THE CHILDREN OF THE NEW FOREST. 177 



thus into the heart of the primeval forest, among the 

 great oaks and beeches, to seat ourselves face to face 

 on the soft moss at the foot of some tree, and listen to 

 the weird-like sounds alternating with the solemn still- 

 ness of the woods. At times the silence became 

 almost audible, so profound was the hushed calm of 

 night ; while at intervals the sharp yapping bark of a 

 fox might be heard in the distance, the drowsy hum of 

 the watchman beetle came vaguely through the air, 

 and the locust-like cry of the goat- sucker resounded 

 from the trees. These curious birds were very common 

 and quite familiar, allowing us to approach within 

 twenty yards of the branch on which they crouched, or 

 sometimes sweeping with their noiseless flight to the 

 ground in front of us, and then pecking merrily away 

 at the various insects which traversed the grass. There 

 is, by the way, a curious superstition about these birds. 

 If they come close to a house and sing three times, 

 they prophesy a death in the family ; if five times, a 

 birth, and if seven times a wedding. It is strange 

 that man and animals should fall so readily into the 

 primitive life, and allow the instincts to regain their 

 original and legitimate sway over the habits. Even 

 the very cows learn the customs of the bush in a mar- 

 vellously short time, and walk with the same lifted 

 step as the antelope that has spent all its life in the 

 forest. One night, as we were concealed under the 

 shade of a tree, a light crackling of dry sticks was 

 heard. We drew deeper into the shadows, assured our- 



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