is but the sleep of the bivouac fires, that an army 

 is breaking camp to move under cover of the 

 night. Every wild thing that knows the dark 

 will be stirring to-night. And what softest foot 

 can fall without waking the woods ? 



Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn 



leaves lie dead; 

 They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's 



tread. 



Not a mouse can scurry, not a chestnut drop, 

 not a wind whisper among these new-fallen 

 leaves without discovery ; even a weasel cannot 

 dart across the moon- washed path and not leave 

 a streak of brown upon the silver, plain enough 

 to follow. 



A morning in May is best of all the year to be 

 afield with the birds ; but to watch for the wild 

 four-footed things, a moonlight night in October 

 is the choice of the seasons. May-time is bird- 

 time. That is their spring of mate-winning and 

 nest-building, and it bubbles over with life and 

 song. The birds are ardent lovers ; they some- 

 times fight in their wooing : but fighting or sing- 

 ing, they are frank, happy creatures, and always 

 willing to see you. The mammals are just as 

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