WILD PASTURES 



sters are taught, or learn through ne- 

 cessity, to forage for themselves and 

 cease their fritinancy. Then the thickets 

 are strangely silent. The youngsters no 

 longer yearn noisily and they have not 

 yet learned to sing. The old birds have 

 ceased singing. Indeed, there is nothing 

 left of them but their bones and feathers, 

 and that atmosphere of conscious recti- 

 tude which comes with successful com- 

 pletion of a noble and herculean task. 

 And then even their feathers begin to 

 go, for the moulting season is at hand. 



No longer does the male scarlet tana- 

 ger sit like a lambent flame in the top 

 of a tree and warble, " Look-up, way-up, 

 look-at-me, tree-top/' His scarlet suit 

 begins to fade, grow dingy, show signs 

 of wear, and finally go all to pieces while 

 he sits mute and dumpy in the shadow. 

 By and by the scarlet will have changed 

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