128 MY DEVON YEAR 



wits and dispositions lie beyond our seeing, yet that 

 every bird and mouse has its proper character, I 

 suspect. Certainly some fledglings are sharper than 

 others, show a keener eye for their parents' return, 

 and a more masterful knack of forcing their own 

 particular open beak upon the eye of the bread- 

 winner. Nature reverses our error in this matter, 

 and rewards the big, strong youngsters for their big- 

 ness and their strength. We keep our failures under 

 glass ; we suffer them in their turn to father and 

 mother new failures ; but Nature's weaklings fill their 

 proper place in her republic, and the feeble folk, 

 making a meal for some beast better equipped than 

 themselves, thus justify the Mother of all her children. 

 Conscious intelligence unhappily departs from Nature 

 in this rational and golden rule ; but amongst the aisles 

 and avenues of the lanes there is no question as to the 

 wisdom that rules and brings the greatest good to the 

 greatest number. No pitiful sentimentality bred of 

 ignorance mars the work here. 



August sometimes weaves a subtle sense of weari- 

 ness about my lanes. The emotion naturally lies in 

 me, not the life around me ; but I feel now in pre- 

 sence of the beginning of that end to which all green 

 things are born. I feel it even as I feel that the 

 deep green of the foliage and the rich darkness of 

 the great elm is the darkness before dawn of Autumn. 

 To-morrow will come sudden grateful rain, and a 

 thousand opening flower -buds will rebuke these 

 anticipations ; and so, banishing thought of Autumn, 



