WILD PASTURES 



brought up among my apple trees and 

 in the cloistered seclusion of the lilac 

 bushes, have grown up in the pasture 

 instead, and very likely their plans for 

 next year will include the pasture wild- 

 apple tree rather than my bird box, and 

 they are far shyer and less responsive 

 to my advances than they would have 

 been. Their song has in it a plaint of 

 autumnal regret. In the spring they 

 sang, "Cheerily; cheerily." Now they 

 say, "Going away; going away." It 

 has in it something of the quality of 

 " Lochaber no more." 



But it is not merely the bluebirds 

 which have been silent for some weeks 

 and are now beginning to sing again. 

 The time between early July and mid- 

 August is a period of retirement for all 

 birddom. The mating season, with its 

 soul-stirring ecstasies, the labor of nest 

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