148 MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST 



wise, rather than crosswise, along the branch, churring all the 

 time. Its rattling notes ring out loud and clear in the night air, 

 and if, as sometimes happens, more than one of these birds is 

 thus occupied, the whole woodland is electrified with eerie sound, 

 which, when listened to for the first time, produces a weird effect 

 to those unacquainted with creatures of the night. 



Walking home in the warm glow of a Summer evening, one 

 may espy, under the shelter of a bush or hedgerow, the luminous 

 light set up by the stupidly named Glow Worm, which is, in 

 reality, a Beetle. Whilst the female is wingless and distinctly 

 grub-like in appearance, soft to the touch and prominently 

 segmented, the male is winged, and can fly whithersoever his 

 fancy takes him. The female is the brighter lamplighter of the 

 two, and, when a number of these insects, so truly reminiscent 

 of rural England, are discovered, one's evening ramble is made 

 much more enjoyable. A Glow-worm walk home in the cool 

 of night, after a hot day, is one of the pleasantest experiences 

 that can fall to the lot of any wayfarer, for he is thus brought 

 into touch with the magic of the countryside during the refined 

 stillness of the evening hour. 



Be not deceived, however, as to the Glow Worm's soft irides- 

 cence in the gathering gloom, for there are luminous Centipedes 

 which scuttle over the ground, leaving behind them soft trails 

 of light, which, as the fast-moving creature crosses a path, pro- 

 duces an effect far different to the stationary and brighter signal 

 of the Glow Worm Beetle. 



Perhaps the magic of the seasons is most acute, when in mid- 

 Summer, one stands in a dense wood under the welcome shade 

 of heavily-foliaged trees. It is an oppressive air. There is not 

 a breath of wind. Even the Aspen leaves refuse to quiver. 

 Not a bird sings. Few insects are upon the wing, except a stray 

 reveller in the cool glades among the trees, and, when a noisy 

 Ring Dove disturbs the peace, one has a rude awakening as the 

 bird gets well upon the wing, and takes to the open country. 

 Yet, round about us, there are countless animals and plants 

 which, earlier on, were all agog with excitement, preparing for 

 the carrying on of their race. Now all seems dull and lifeless. 

 I do not like this awe-inspiring stillness of the woods in the 

 height of Summer. Although magical, its quietude mystifies 

 me, and my sensitive nature requires some stimulus, so that I 

 may again be made glad. I know that the hands of Nature's 

 clock cannot always move rapidly forward, and that a halt must 



