MY WOODLAND INTIMATES 



known, we seem to hear some of its oft-repeated 

 solemn utterances: 



Trinity, Eternity. Trinity, Eternity. 



We are not the only watchers by the river-side 

 to-day. Over yonder, gazing silently down from 

 a projecting limb into the depths of the stream 

 below, I see a belted kingfisher. Perhaps it was 

 his home that I discovered in the bank a few 

 days ago, not far from where we are seated. I 

 would not investigate the mysteries of the deep 

 entrance for fear of disturbing possible nestlings ; 

 yet this was perhaps an unnecessary precaution, 

 as the young halcyons were probably launched 

 some time ago. 



Now our silent friend rises; he hovers above 

 the stream. " It needs only the glint of a shin- 

 ing fin or scale just beneath the surface to catch 

 his watchful eye." Now, like a lightning-dart, 

 he drops to the stream, and now, as suddenly, he 

 rises again; but he is silent no longer. With a 

 loud, triumphant rattle he flies away, for in his 

 beak he bears his writhing, glistening prey. 



Kingfishers are numerous here and kingbirds 

 are abundant, but I see few of my best beloved 

 among birds the robins. Whether the whole 



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