instantly returning to the ground and resuming their line of march. At the ap- 

 proach of night they throw themselves into thickets of brambles, where, in com- 

 pany with several other species, they keep up a murmuring conversation until 

 long after dark. Their flight is short, rather irregular, and seldom more elevated 

 than the height of moderate-sized trees. 



With the exception of the Sharp-shinned Hawk, the Marsh Hawk and the 

 black snake, these birds have few enemies, children being generally fond of pro- 

 tecting them. Little or no differences is perceptible between the sexes, and the 

 young acquire the full plumage of their parents at the earliest approach of spring. 



The Things Divine 



By Jean Brooke Burt 



These are the things I hold divine : 

 A trusting child's hand laid in mine, 

 Rich brown earth and wind-tossed trees. 

 The taste of grapes and the drone of bees, 

 A rhythmic gallop, long June days, 

 A rose-hedged lane and lovers' lays. 

 The welcome smile on neighbors' faces, 

 Cool, wide hills and open places, 

 Breeze-blown fields of silver rye. 

 The wild, sweet note of a plover's .cry. 

 Fresh spring showers and scent of box, 

 The soft, pale tint of the garden phlox. 

 Lilacs blooming, a drowsy noon. 

 A flight of geese and an autumn moon. 

 Rolling meadows and storm-washed heights, 

 A fountain's murmur on summer nights, 

 A dappled fawn in the forest hush, 

 Simple words and the song of a thrush, 

 Rose-red dawns and a mate to share 

 With comrade soul my gypsy fare, 

 A waiting fire when the twilight ends, 

 A gallant heart and the voice of friends. 



— The Outlook. 



636 



