THE CUSIIIE-DOO. IO/ 



the general opinion (which I do not share) that 

 the pigeon's cry is full of sadness. 



" And oft I hear the tender dove 

 In firy woodlands making moan." 



Walking in the garden with my lady nicotine 

 in the eve of a hot summer day, I find the 

 gentle murmuring " coo-coo, roo-o-o " of the Ring- 

 Doves in the adjoining wood very pleasing, and 

 rather soothing than otherwise. Contrasted with 

 the shrill cry "Cur-lieu, cur-lieu," a mile 

 away, of the Whaup, whose mate is sitting 

 on e gg s on the moor to the east, or the 

 harsh, grating "crek crek" of the Landrail in 

 the field close by, it is far from being a 

 querulous, melancholy sound, as it is often termed 

 in books treating of ornithology. 



Later on, in that bewitching hour " 'tween 

 the gloamin' and the mirk," when the Mavis 

 has finished his evening roundelay and dropped 

 from his elevated perch into the wood, the Wood- 

 cocks begin to fly, uttering their hoarse, subdued 

 croak. Their nests are close by. They are 



