A FLIGHT OF QUAILS. 



stream in relays from behind the wings, and 

 disappear up the stage, and keep moving 

 eternally. Only that is clever illusion, and 

 this was reality. 



" Lonely," people say ! " No life on the 

 hilltop ! " Why, here was more life at a 

 single glance than you can see in a whole 

 long week in Piccadilly ; an army on the 

 march, making the heather vocal with the 

 " wet-my-feet, wet-my-feet " of ten thousand 

 voices ! 



But you must live in the uplands to enjoy 

 these episodes. Nature won't bring them 

 home to you in the populous valleys. A 

 modest maid, she is chary of her charms ; 

 you must woo her to see them. She seldom 

 comes halfway to meet you. But if you 

 dwell by choice for her sake in her chosen 

 haunts, your devotion touches her : she will 

 show you life enough rare life little dreamt 

 of by those who tramp the dead flags of 

 cities, where no beast moves save the 

 draggled cab-horse. For you, the curlew 



