SUMMER VOICES. 39 



The birds know in some mysterious way that 

 this is the time for them to renew their strength 

 after their arduous maternal duties. In the bright 

 spring-time the wood-pigeon — the "cushat-doo" — 

 could not give full vent to all the exuberance of his 

 vitality. He crooned to his mate, rose in the air, 

 spread out his tail, inflated his neck, and clapped 

 his wings above his back loudly and frequently for 

 her admiration. 



Now, as we look up through the heavy dark-green 

 tracery, we can see them both sitting side by side 

 in a kind of Darby-and-Joan fashion. The land 

 itself must rest. There are seed-time and harvest, 

 and the rest-time of fallow lands ; this is an impera- 

 tive law of Nature, carried out by all created beings. 



You can see the creatures that the woods hold 

 by fits and starts only ; for they know that a man 

 is in their haunts, and they come in their quiet 

 manner to find out if he intends them harm. Re- 

 cently a squirrel ate his provender just over my 

 head, and the fawn -backed, white -bellied, large- 

 eyed wood-mouse, or, as he is called from his love 

 of cultivation, the garden-mouse, sat up on his 

 haunches and trimmed his fine long whiskers al- 



