Bird Life in September. 



While there is no month of the English summer which 

 may not belie the name, surely September may claim 

 to inspire a feeling not far removed from confidence, 

 so seldom does it fail to bring day and night skies 

 of perfect serenity, accompanied by a stillness of 

 atmosphere rarely known at any other time of year. 

 How often within the memory of all has September 

 thus redeemed the summer. For the lingering smile 

 of summer is still over the land, red berries in the 

 hedges, stubbles fast becoming bare, clusters of nuts 

 on the hazels. Some morning towards the end of the 

 month, what time the bracken-covered slopes have 

 turned to russet, the horse-chestnuts are pranked in 

 ruddy gold and the virginia-creeper flames against the 

 gable end of the old manor-house, one wakes to find the 

 first touch of autumn freshness in the air. A white 

 frost early on has laid its finger on tomatoes, marrows 

 and kidney -beans. All that remains by the time the 

 sun is well up, is that keen breath which brings fresh 

 zest to life, alike to birds and men. There is a general 

 revival of the feathered folk, for the moult is behind 



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