diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/67775-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/67775-0.txt | 4617 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 4617 deletions
diff --git a/old/67775-0.txt b/old/67775-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 874b531..0000000 --- a/old/67775-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4617 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Lone Swallows, by Henry Williamson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Lone Swallows - -Author: Henry Williamson - -Release Date: April 4, 2022 [eBook #67775] - -Language: English - -Produced by: David E. Brown and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive/American - Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LONE SWALLOWS *** - - - - - -THE LONE SWALLOWS - - - - - _NEW NOVELS_ - - - PENDER AMONG THE RESIDENTS FORREST REID - - THE CROSS-CUT COURTNEY RYLEY COOPER - - THE BEST GIFT OF ALL ROWAN GLEN - - AS OTHERS SEE US MARMADUKE PICKTHALL - - THE PIT-PROP SYNDICATE FREEMAN WILLS CROFTS - - ROSEANNE E. MARIA ALBANESI - - - - - THE - LONE SWALLOWS - - _by_ - - HENRY WILLIAMSON - - “The beautiful swallows, be tender to them, for - they symbol all that is best in nature and all that is - best in our hearts.” - - _Richard Jefferies._ - - [Illustration] - - LONDON: 48 PALL MALL - W. COLLINS SONS & CO. LTD. - GLASGOW MELBOURNE AUCKLAND - - - - - Copyright, 1922 - - - _Manufactured in Great Britain_ - - - - -COMPILER’S NOTE - - -Most of the papers in this volume are published for the first time. A -few have appeared in _The Daily Express_, _The London Evening News_, -_The Field_, _The Saturday Review_, _The Outlook_, _The English -Review_, and _The Wide World Magazine_. I am indebted to the Editors of -these publications for permission to reprint them; and I am personally -grateful to Sir Theodore Cook, of _The Field_, and to Mr. Austin -Harrison of _The English Review_ for their encouragement and kindness -in criticising and printing my earliest essays. - -“Winter’s Eve,” the first attempt to describe the common sights and -sounds of the English countryside, I include for reasons of sentiment. -Nature writing, I have been told by some authorities on art, is -regarded as a trivial thing--“nature,” according to those people, is -but a frail base for art-creation. Those authorities, I discovered, did -not know the difference between a linnet and a celandine. And they did -not want to be told. But I imagine that, as children, they would have -been delighted to see a linnet’s woven nest, and to be told that the -celandine is the first of the wild flowers to fashion after a dreary -winter a gold cup in the February meadows and woods. My own belief is -that association with birds and flowers in childhood--when the brain -is plastic and the mind is eager--tends to widen human sympathy in -an adult life. The hope of civilisation (since we cannot remake the -world’s history) is in the fraternity of nations, or so it seems to -myself, whose adolescence was spent at the war; the hope of amity and -goodwill of the nation is in the individual--in the human heart, which -yearns for the good and the beautiful; and the individual is a child -first, eager to learn, but unwilling to be taught. Therefore it would -appear that the hope of civilisation is really in the child. Sometimes -heredity may be too great a handicap, but a sweet environment is a -gradual solvent of inherited vice; at least it will prevent hardness, -whence springs un-understanding, and hate. It was on a Sunday in May, -1920, in a tramcar at Catford, a south-eastern suburb of London, that -the seed of this thought was sown by the sight of children returning -to the slums after a day in the country. How eager they were: and -how their parents were happy! Immediately afterwards, in a visionary -fervour, or, may be because I was very young, I wrote “London Children -and Wild Flowers,” which Austin Harrison published, with Walter de la -Mare as god-parent. - - H. W. - - SKIRR COTTAGE, - _11th November, 1921_. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - THE LONE SWALLOWS 1 - - LADY DAY IN DEVON 8 - - THE INCOMING OF SUMMER 14 - - HAUNT OF THE EVEJAR 30 - - A DESERTED QUARRY IN FEBRUARY 39 - - VIGNETTES OF NATURE (i) 41 - - VIGNETTES OF NATURE (ii) 43 - - HAWK NOTES 46 - - PROPHET BIRDS 50 - - A BIRD MYSTIC 53 - - SAMARITANS 57 - - SPORTSMEN OF THE RUBBISH-HEAPS 60 - - RUNAWAYS 65 - - LONDON CHILDREN AND WILD FLOWERS 68 - - MEADOW GRASSES 82 - - TIGER’S TEETH 96 - - THE OUTLAW 116 - - PEREGRINES IN LOVE 130 - - MIDSUMMER NIGHT 136 - - A FEATHERED WASTER 145 - - INVOCATION 150 - - COCKNEY BIRD TRIPPERS 154 - - “FULLNESS AFTER DEARTH” 157 - - CUCKOO NOTES 160 - - DAYS OF AUTUMN 166 - - SWALLOW BROW: _A FANTASY_ 182 - - WINTER’S EVE 196 - - ERNIE 204 - - A SEED IN WASTE PLACES 212 - - THE CHANGE: _A FANTASY_ 217 - - PROSERPINE’S MESSAGE 236 - - STRIX FLAMMEA 243 - - - - -THE LONE SWALLOWS - - -Along the trackless and uncharted airlines from the southern sun they -came, a lone pair of swallows, arriving with weakly and uncertain -flight from over the wastes of the sea. They rested on a gorse bush, -their blue backs beautiful against the store of golden blossom guarded -by the jade spikes. The last day of March had just blown with the wind -into eternity. Symbols of summer and of loveliness, they came with -young April, while yet the celandines were unbleached, while the wild -white strawberry and ragged-robin were opening with the dog violet. On -the headland the flowers struggle for both life and livelihood, the -sward is cropped close by generations of sheep, and the sea-wind is -damp and cold. Perhaps the swallows hoped to nest, as their ancestors -had done centuries since, in the cave under the precipice at the -headland’s snout, or that love for its protection after the wearying -journey was new-born in their hearts. One cannot say; but the pair -remained there. - -Days of yellow sunshine and skies blue as their wings greeted them. -Over the wave crests and the foamed troughs they sped, singing and -twittering as they flew. Kestrel hawks with earth-red pinions hung over -the slopes of the cliffs, searching with keen eyes for mouse or finch, -but the swallows heeded not. Wheatears passed all day among the rabbit -burrows and the curled cast feathers of the gulls, chiffchaffs iterated -their little joy in singsong melody, shags squatted on the rocks below, -preening metal-green plumage and ejecting plentiful fish-bones. The -wanderer on the sheep-track, passing every day, joyed in the effortless -thrust of those dark wings, the chestnut stain on the throat, the -delicate fork of the tail. Winter was ended, and the blackthorn -blossoming--there would be no more snow or ice after the white -flowers, fragile as vapour thralled by frost, had come upon their ebon -wilderness of spines. The heart could now look forward, not backwards -to other fled springtimes. The first swallows had come from distant -lands, and three weeks before the winged hosts were due! One of the -greatest of nature-writers wrote, “The beautiful swallows, be tender to -them.” In fancy Richard Jefferies, too, was wandering on the headland, -and watching the early vagrants, breathing the fragrance of the wild -thyme that came like an old memory with the wind. Always dearly loved -are the singing birds of passage, returning with such feeble wings to -the land that means love and life to them, and love and life and beauty -to us. Each one is dear; all the swallows returned are a sign and a -token of loveliness being made manifest before our eyes. - -The early April days passed, like the clouds in the sky, softly and in -sunlight, merging into the nights when Venus lighted the western seas, -and belted Orion plunged into the ocean. In the sheltered places the -arums grew, some with hastate leaves purple-spotted, and showing the -crimson _spadix_ like the tip of a club. Brighter grew the gorselands, -till from the far sands they looked like swarming bees gold-dusty from -the pollen of the sun. The stonechat with white-ringed neck and dark -cap fluttered into the azure, jerked his song in mid-air, then dived -in rapture to his mate perched upon a withered bramble. In a tuft the -titlark was building her nest, while the yellowhammer trilled upon a -rusted plough-share in the oatfield. - -Sometimes the swallows flew to a village a mile inland, and twittered -about an ancient barn with grass-grown thatch, haunted by white owls, -and hiding in dimness a cider press that had not creaked in turning for -half a century. Once they were seen wheeling above the mill pond, and -by the mossy waterwheel, hovering along its cool gushings and arch of -sun-stealing drops thrown fanwise from the mouldered rim. Everywhere -the villagers hailed them with delight, and spoke in the inn at nights -of their early adventuring. Such a thing had been unknown for many -years; the oldest granfer had heard tell of it, but had never actually -seen it before. The old man took a poet’s delight in the news, and -peered with rheumy and faded blue eyes, hoping to see them when tapping -along the lane to his “tater-patch.” It became a regular thing for the -wanderer upon the headland to report their presence when he returned -from the high solitude and the drone of the tide, and the yelping cries -of gulls floating white in the sunshine above a sea of woad-blue. - -Gulls selected nesting sites, and the sea-thrift raised pink buddings -from its matted clumps. The ravens rolled in the wind uprushing from -the rocks, and took sticks in black beaks to the ledge where they had -nested throughout the years. The male bird watched upon a spar while -his mate with throaty chucklings built anew the old mass of rubbish -where her eggs would be laid. Sometimes he fed her with carrion filched -from a pearly gull by the flashing and sunpointed foam, and she gabbled -with pleasure. Ever and anon the fleeing specks of the swallows passed -near, winding in and out, floating and diving, “garrulous as in Cæsar’s -time.” Like kittens in distress the buzzards wailed, spreading vast -brown canvas that enabled them to sail high among those silver and -phantom galleons, the clouds. Steamers passing to the Severn basin -left smoke trails on the horizon; the life of the sea and land, wild -and civilised, went on; but no other swallows arrived. Light of heart -the wanderer watched, and waited. Any day, new-born and blessed by -Aurora, would see the arrival, any day now--two dark arrowheads fell -with mighty swoop from heaven, arrowheads that did not miss their mark. -There was a frail flutter of feathers in the sunshine, a red drop on -the ancient sward, a scuttle of terrified rabbits, a faint scream -trembling and dying in the blue. Then only the murmur of the sea far -below and the humming of the single telegraph wire near the pathway. -The peregrine falcons had taken the lone and beloved swallows. - - - - -LADY DAY IN DEVON - - -The rooks are now busy in the elms of the churchyard, and drifting -thwartwise the wind with sticks for their nests. Sometimes a young -male bird comes with food for his mate as she pleaches the twigs with -claw and beak; she flutters her wings like a fledgeling, gapes widely, -and squawks with satisfaction. Daws come to the trees, perching head -to the south-west breeze, ejaculating sharply. Periodical visitants -are the starlings, their songs of mimicry swelling with sudden rush -and wheezing. One bird has learnt the chattering cry of a kestrel, -the mating call, and deceives the rooks into thinking that one of the -brown mouse-hawks is near. That rooks are thieves among themselves is -well known, stealing sticks from their neighbours. To-day I watched -one taking material that a young and enthusiastic sister brought with -difficulty every five minutes or so from the distant beech clump. The -thief was an artist, she was subtle, and cunning. A quick hop took her -to the young bird’s pile, she seized a stick, and drifted upwards into -the wind, swung round in a half circle and brought it to her own nest -in the same tree with a soft _caa-caa_, as though implying relief at -reaching home again. Her mate, judging by his white face, is an ancient -bird; he is wise; he does no work; he fetches no food for his toiling -wife; but perches near the nest, approving her method of labour, and -guarding its results. He is the nearest approach to a bird “fence” that -it would be possible to find. - -A lane of red mud leads through the beech-clump. Life here is hard, -but the celandines show their spoke-rays to the sun and wind-washed -heaven, braving the half-gales that come across the Atlantic and twirl -the fallen numbers of autumn’s leaves among their yellow flowers. A -tawny owl lives in a pollard hornbeam in this clump; he comes regularly -at dusk to my cottage and hoots with mournful insistence to the barn -owls that roost under the thatch. Rabbits’ bones and fur, finches’ -feathers, and the fragile skulls of mice hang in the crevices of the -tree, hundreds of them, some fresh and white, others hidden under the -brown dust of decay that trickles from the old tree’s dead heart. Tap -his home, and he flaps out, pursued by any small birds searching for -spiders or grubs in the spinney. The trees are dwarfed, bent by the -salt winds; a few larches grew here, but never more the sap will rise -and burst in emerald foam on their wispy branches. Constant buffeting -with the winds of the ocean has killed them. A magpie is prospecting -the mazed brittleness of one of them for a nesting site; she appears -nearly every morning. - -Beyond the clump is a combe, or valley, where every year a pair of -carrion crows nest. They fly away as soon as they see me, four hundred -yards below--they are crafty, and leave nothing to chance. In the stone -hedges the celandines, flowers much bigger than those around London, -shine like spilled meteor fragments against their leaves. Primroses -grow with them, and the white blossom of the wild strawberry, and -in places the stitchwort is in bloom. A flock of linnets sings in a -hawthorn, a silver twittering of song coming as the wind rests; with -a rustling of wings the flock leaves for the bloom of the gorse which -everywhere is scenting the air. The apple trees in the orchard close -below are beginning to bud, already goldfinches haunt their lichened -branches, now fighting with gold-barred wings aflutter, now pausing to -pipe sweet whispers of coming vernal glory, when the blossoms shall -spill in showers of loveliness. Afar are the Burrows, and over their -sogged wastes the green plovers wheel and fall, uttering wild calls -to the wind, while their mates stand below, diving with broad pinions -to earth as though they would die for love. High above a buzzard is -sailing. To the right a great horse draws a plough against the skyline, -and a dozen gulls follow in its wake; behind them trip and whistle four -dishwashers, or wagtails. They say in the village that three pairs of -ravens are nesting on the headland this year; I have seen but one. In -this district a raven has only once been known to kill or “eye-pick” -lambs, but that was many years ago, and then their breeding ledge was -robbed in revenge. The raven has come near to extermination, like the -peregrine falcon; but here both of these mighty fliers rarely molest -the belongings of man; the one feeds on offal and dead rabbits that the -stoats have left, and the other takes stock-doves, oystercatchers, wild -duck, snipe, and ring-plover. In the early spring they stoop at gulls -and diving birds just for exuberance of spirit. Certainly every tide -leaves its dead among the seaweed and the beach-wrack: gulls and auks -with their backs torn and ripped by the swift blue-hawks. - - - - -THE INCOMING OF SUMMER - - -Where by the stream the towers of the wild hyacinth bore their -clustered bells, sought by that gold-vestured hunchback the wild bee, -the willow wren sang his little melody, pausing awhile to watch the -running water. The early purple orchids grew with the bluebells, their -spurs upraised, their green leaves mottled with purple. Already the -blackthorn had put forth its blossoms, a sign of frostless nights and -warm days; already the blackbird had planted its nest in the alder -bush. Now the year would advance till the grain was bronzed and the red -arms of the reaper-and-binder whirled among its baked stems. Following -the green and silver windings of the water the blue swallows hovered -and fell, but the cuckoo’s voice had not yet called from the pheasant -coverts. Any dawn would be welcomed by his mellow note, for over the -sea and the land the winged hosts were passing, urged by the love they -bore the thicket or the hedgerow that had weaned them, and for which in -parched lands they had pined. From the time of the early sweet violet -the migrants had been returning, and their journeyings would continue -till the time of the first poppy. - -The willow birds perched on the wands of the sallows, and the swallows -twittered as they glided. Two singing notes, oft repeated, came from -an ash tree where an olivine chiffchaff was piping his simple music. -Throughout the gusty winds of March dust-laden and with only the -celandines to tell of hope, he had been piping by the brook, a wanderer -whose notes would be heard till the blackberries of October. The -allotted span of the celandines was over, their rayed spokes of yellow -were bleached--the wheatears were flitting upon the swarded downlands. -The flowers had gathered to themselves all the light that the sun of -early spring had flung between swift clouds, the seeds were formed, -their hopes fulfilled. In their place came wild strawberries and herb -robert, the dog-violet and the speedwell. - -The meadow grasses were not yet tall enough to sigh at the wind’s soft -passing, but a red admiral had been joying in the sunlight for many -days. Down by the streamlet the moor-hen had woven her rushy nest, -bending an arch of withered sedges over her labour to hide the speckled -eggs. In the mud of the pebbled shallows her webbed feet left a track -as she sought for beetles. Small spoors, the imprint of little claws, -showed where a vole had made quick passage across a mud-bank. In the -turfy bank its retreats were tunnelled, leading to a domed hollow lined -with grasses--here her young would shortly nestle. From the stream and -the shallow the rushes were rising, green spearpoints scarce sturdy -enough to conceal the nest of the wild duck. Now they were thin and -over-sharpened, as though exhausted by the effort of straining upwards -to the light to which the sacrificial flowers would be offered in June; -then they would be “thick and sappy,” annealed; in winter the cattle -would tread their dried stems upon the beaten floors of the shippen. - -Over pebbles, wine-stained, gray, rusted and brown, the stream tumbled, -around mossy boulders and under branches, swaying dreamily the drowned -poa grasses. Brook-trout lurked for the gnats that sometimes brushed -the surface with trailing legs. Where the wind was stayed by arch of -hazel and willow the midges danced their nuptials, in ghostèd assembly -rising and falling. The time of the mayflies was not yet, their -brief pageant would be heralded by the myriad trumpets of summer’s -insects; summer was still shyly virginal. No sunbeam had yet touched -the buttercup, unblazoned was the shield of the meadow by _gules_ of -poppy, _azure_ of cornflower, or _argent_ of feverfew. Fragile were the -greeneries of the hedge above the brooklet, sweet the primroses under -the stubbed roots of the ash trees. Loveliest is the year when “sumer -is icumen in,” when the willow wren, slim as he perches on an amber -wand, sings all the love in his heart. - -Something is moving in the nettles which the bullocks have not -trampled. Their hooves have impressed cloven hollows at the marge, -but the nettles are unspoiled. A tangled song comes from the middle -of the patch, incoherent and unceasing. The pointed leaves quiver -as the motion continues. Presently a little bird with a fawn breast -jerks into the air, flutters a moment, and then disappears. It is a -whitethroat, and till now his presence in the countryside was unknown. -Ecstasy, uncontrolled and rising from his heart like the spring in -the hillside, has all his being enthralled. The trembling of the -nettles and the husky voice continue, and a brown bird passes over -the nettled sanctuary. It is a wren carrying a leaf to the house that -after two days’ labour is nearly built. Swiftly he pushes the oak -leaf into place, then mounts a dry bramble jutting above the pleached -ash and hazel branches, and from his pine-spindle of a beak pours a -ringing melody. The fervour of the crackey’s song is so intense that -in comparison with his size and minute cocked tail it appears an -impossibility--he is a Swinburnian singer. His vernal feelings are so -strong that in the interval of vocal exclamation he fashions many spare -nests, most of them loosely and carelessly made. The shanty in the dead -ivy around the oak is constructed of withered leaves that harmonise -with its surroundings; he has another in a hayrick near, formed of -dried grasses; a third in a green bush composed wholly of moss fetched -from a bank in the sunken lane. - -The whitethroat and his mate have jerked away, the willow bird slipped -upstream, the cock-wren with cocked tail is stuttering an alarm. Down -by the water’s edge a reddish animal nibbles a shoot held in its paws. -Perceiving that it has no hostile bearing, the wren is silent. At the -slightest movement the vole will dive with a musical and hollow plop -into the water and swim to concealment. Quietly it finishes the sappy -stalk, then creeps under a thick stem of cow-parsley, the florets of -which are budding. Finches pass over, calling to each other, and a -silver chirruping announces a wagtail. He alights on a smooth gray -boulder, slender in outline and poised on fragile legs, flaunting a -breast of daffodil. The hen-bird follows, and they perch together. -Their long tails move as though to maintain an earthly balance, so -faery-frail are they. She leaves him, flitting in wavy flight to -another boulder. He follows, but she is restless. Downstream they pass, -stopping for a moment on a jutting fragment of rock in the stone hedge, -peering into a cavity. Throughout the summer the gray wagtails will -haunt the brook, for within the cave foundations of their nest are -already laid, fibres sought inside the pollard willows. - -Those galleons the clouds have sailed into the north-eastern main, -and no canvas or furled rigging are visible. For weeks no treasure of -rain has been brought for the earth to spend with lavish abandon on -verdant raiment, no largesse of shower has been thrown to the humble -chickweed or vagrant sorrel. But on the surface of the land green -things are stained with sap and charged with alchemising sunbeams. The -secret of the philosopher’s stone, anciently sought to change baser -metals to gold, has remained undiscovered through the ages, nor has the -countryman ever found the crock of spade guineas at the rainbow’s end. -These would bring luck; even now we strive to find their counterpart. -In the cities, perhaps: youth storing the gold that one day will mean -happiness: towards the evening of life, maybe, with sight dulled to -a flower and the song of the swallow never heard. Sunlight is all to -the flowers. It distils for them their scents and sweet nectars, it -fashions their petals and ambrosial pollen. The sun loads the galleons -of the airy fullness with the rain drawn from the ocean, unlading its -cargoes upon the million wharves of the earth. - -Peeping from ivy-bowered seclusion for sight of flashing hawk, a robin -slips like a copper oak leaf from its nest. Inside the lined cup of -bent and horsehair five naked fledgelings lie sleeping. By the pale -cuckoo flowers the mother searches, capturing with swift movements -insects that toil among the rootlets. She returns with a beakful, but -her children will not rouse from slumber. A chirping comes from the -hedge above, where a drab hedge-sparrow has her brood. She inspects -with grave demeanour their orange gapes and divides the food among -them. They gulp, then plead vainly with hoarse squeaks for more. -Over the hedge she drops, joining the host of wrens, whitethroats, -blackbirds, thrushes, and red mice, all looking for food. - -The rising club of the wild arum is purple within its sheath; soon the -“lords-and-ladies” will attract the children to their “river.” The -stream is singing a mazed melody of soft sounds; by listening intently -each can be distinguished. Different notes arise from the shattering of -a crystal bubble upon the stones, the hollow dripple of a pebble rolled -over the shallows, the foamy swirling past willow trunks moss-covered, -the splashing into dwarfed trout-pools. Where a sunbeam loads the -ripples a gold network drifts over the sand, holding a twig in its -eddy; or the wind stirs the leaves, and a million sunpoints are thrown -upwards like a silvery flight of starlings. From the mud precious -doubloons have been raised by the root-divers of the kingcups, and are -cast thickly by the bank. - -Behind the hedge the gorse grows, stretching up the hill in spiky -profusion of rusted jade and orange. Under the roots a colony of -rabbits has been founded, and the does are scratching fur from hind -legs to line the dug-outs where their little ones will be yeaned. A -long-tailed titmouse spies a furry fragment, seizes it, and carries -it to her nest in a distant bramble. With faint rustling of wings a -linnet alights upon a bush, and sings to the mate who is weaving her -cradle. Among the apple blossoms below, soft cadences are borne in the -sunshine--the goldfinches cannot cease the telling of their happiness. -A greenfinch answers with wistful, long-drawn note, and a corn bunting -repeats his song again and again. Primroses, daisies, and the scentless -violet grow on the turf under the spinney, where the larches have -concealed their brittleness with emerald buds. A high twitter comes -from one, and almost immediately a bird smaller than a wren flits -moth-like to the ground. Its crest is a pencil-mark of fire. At the -extreme end of a branch a ball of moss and lichen moulded with spider -webs and caterpillar cocoons is suspended. Here the Golden-crowned -Knight and his lady love will flitter throughout the days of summer, -leading their children from the swinging castle as the voice of the -cuckoo falters in June. Flocks of these birds roamed the pine forest -during leafless days, when their shrill needle-lances of sound scarce -pierced the wind’s moaning. Now in coppices and spinneys they seek the -unchivalrous spider and the insects that crawl upon the sprays. Here -under the trees is shade and solitude. I will stay and dream. But I -want more beauty, and am restless; to me floats the voice of the stream -for ever calling; I must return to the sunlit waters and the bended -sedges. - -All the loveliness of fled summers returns to the mind. The spread disk -of the dandelion, so richly hued, is more beautiful now, bearing in its -colour so many hopes of the past. A common flower, a despised weed, -yet a symbol of that pulsing golden happiness that is the heritage -unclaimed of so many. The bees and the birds need no philosopher’s -stone, they have something better in the sweet air, they live every -moment happily. In careless childhood the dandelions were beheaded -with a stick; they are now a token of joy, these common weeds, taking -shallow root wherever the wind flings their seeds. Summer to me would -be incomplete without the dandelions. For what they symbol, would that -there were more in the drifted dust of the cities. The music of the -brook has risen from a murmur to a dull thunder, and a humming sounds -under the maples. The miller has lifted the weedy hatch, and the -ponderous stone wheels are crushing the grain. In the pond the tench -lie unseen, but the light flames upon the scarlet fins of the roach -as they pass. Silently the flume slides forward, then gushes into the -troughs of the great elm waterwheel. Jets of water spurt from its -old mossy planking, and a rain of drops is flung from the trundling -rim. Inside the miller feeds the hoppers, and upon a beam perch two -swallows, unheedful of the shake and the thunder. A dust floats in the -millhouse, hazing the glass windows and giving to the cobwebs a snowy -purity--embroidering the robes of the corn-spirit. For centuries the -wheat has been ground between the fixed bed-stone and the runner, for -centuries the stream has worked for mankind, its splashing imprisoning -the light of the southern sun falling athwart the wheel. I thought -of the men that in the past had laboured for the wheat, of the times -the millpeck had grooved the stones, and the millstaff proven their -setting. The millwheel is very old and will soon turn no more, but -still the human sorrow and the hunger goes on. - -Across the way stand dark yew trees beneath whose stillness the -grave-stones, patched with gray and orange lichens, throw their shadows -upon the grass. The suns of summer have bleached them, autumnal rains -washed them, wintry frosts worked graven patterns upon the ancient -letterings. The stream flowed then as now, many times had the swallows -returned to their mortared houses under the rafters and up the broad -chimneys--think of all the beauty repeated. Centuries of apple blossom, -scented beanfields and floating thistledown; all the happiness of -harvest garnered; all the hunger and the misery of man, ever striving -with his neighbour. Can you not see what the dandelion tells? The -swallows on the beam know no passage of time--they look forward to no -happiness--they have no illusions--all is for them now. The calendar -is not for them. Joyous they are, and wild; their hopes are not for -to-morrow--the to-morrow of the mounded earth--but for to-day. - -Summer comes in with their return, though the calendar shall deny. -Summer: the very name brings to the heart a feeling of joy. There is -so much for all, so much beauty of thought stored in the raggedest -dandelion. Sunshine, the swallow, and the celandine: to know these in -childhood is to take to the heart the glory of summer for ever. - - - - -HAUNT OF THE EVEJAR - - -_i_ - -When the first white flake falls from the hawthorn the immigrant birds -of passage all have come to the countryside. Almost the last to arrive -this year on the south-western coast of England were the mysterious -nightjars, birds ever surrounded by romance on account of their weird -song and phantom habits; and for me, after the experience I had in -the late spring, birds of wonder and having a special claim to my -affections. - -It was night, and on the broad smooth sands, whence the tide had ebbed, -shone a curved moon. As I passed by the ocean’s edge its outline shook -in the sandy pools, blackened and tarnished by seaweed and still -foam-bubbles. No clouds drifted in heaven, there was no wind, the stars -were pale in the luminous sky. Somewhere in front of me a curlew, -disturbed at his nocturnal feeding, whistled plaintively. A mile away -lay Baggy like a badger asleep. - -High above this promontory is an established air-line, or hereditary -route for immigrant birds. Along this track travel the chiffchaffs and -wheatears in March, the martins, warblers, and all the singing hosts -in April. Sometimes the night wind bears a million feeble cries as the -tired travellers pass over. It is a place of enthralling wonder in the -youth of the year--and of sadness when autumnal days bring a weary -return. - -The night was quiet, the wavelets broke on the sand, a great sigh -filled the air. From a sighing it swelled to a rushing of wind, it grew -in volume like a drift of leaves in wintry blasts. Then soft thuds -overbore the strange noise. I stood still. From afar and near came -little croakings, as though of exhaustion and pain. Dark bunches lay -on the sands. I picked one up; it was warm and feathery, its wings -fluttered feebly. The nightjars, called of olden time goatsuckers, on -account of a wide gape and owl-like eyes, had returned to the land for -their yearly nuptials. - -There were hundreds of them on the shore. All were too weak to move. -I was filled with a great tenderness for them; they showed no fear; I -liked to think they knew I would not harm them. The night went on; an -owl bayed on the gorse slopes behind. Soon they left, with flapping -flight, sometimes hopping. Towards dawn the valley and the hills were -filled with their notes rising and falling like the whirring of a -spinning wheel, the love song of the evejar. - -The bee-swallow, as the nightjar is also called, pairs for life. It -is a faithful idealist, like the owl, the falcon, and the long-tailed -titmouse. It feeds on moths and chafer-beetles; and lays two eggs among -the bracken. - -Next morning the sun burned in an azure sky. The gulls wheeled over -the surf, seeking poor soddened bundles of feathers that only a little -while since had been filled with hope and spurred by love to cross the -ocean, but had fallen into the water and been drowned. - - -_ii_ - -Returning from inland fields, three gulls with tranquil evening -flight passed over the hill towards the headland. A sheep path wound -irregularly over the hill, amongst the heather and the uncurling -brakeferns. From here the western ocean was seen afar, until it met -the clouded heaven. A subdued roar, a growling under-current of sound, -floated up the hillside, although the sea was calm. Night and day, for -thousands of years, the same ceaseless mutter of the shifting tides -upon the sands, the same pounding of the headland as the tons of -gray-green water slid over the rocks and into its hidden caverns. - -A small wind moved the heather, and shook a dog-violet with its face -turned to the westering sun. It was the tail of the sea-breeze. The air -over the fields was cold, and soon it would move down to the sands to -explore the darkling sea still warm with the fervour of the sunbeams. -A late bee droned among the birds-foot trefoil on the pathway, eager -to gather more honey for the winter. The yellow flowers grew low down, -and some were stained with deep, tawny orange, as though Antares, the -dull red star of summer, had joined its blessing of colour with the -greatest gift of beauty and life bestowed by the sun. Near them grew -the germander speedwell, also lowly (for the salt winds that sweep the -hill care nothing for the humble things of the earth) their sweet blue -eyes turned in wonder to the great flower of the sky. A lark with crest -upraised waited upon a hummock of mould thrown up by a rabbit--her -nest was somewhere near, hidden in a tangle of burnet-rose. The bee -left the trefoil, and droned away down the hill. A blackbird sang in -the valley below, where gorse, blackthorn, bramble, and stunted holly -choked an ancient waterbourne between the steep hills. It was evening, -and he chanted to the departing splendour. Alone sang the sable artist, -serene on a twig of blackthorn, having no illusions about life, fretted -by no unnecessary labour or research, for ever happy in the sunshine or -sleeping restfully as the stars burned above the lonely valley. - -Over the sea a golden beam of light trailed from a cloud and lit the -gray waters. The massed vapours opened and other beams cast their -gilt on the waves. A full rigged sailing ship, vague in the distance, -entered the sacred gleam and became a barque of glory passing into the -unknown. Nearer the shore, where the white lines of surf crept up the -sands, a silver glitter danced and threw a million silver points for -the mind to dream upon--as though an Immortal had flung the Golden -Fleece for mortal eyes to see. Slowly the sun sank seawards; the beams -were dulled; the ship became once more a drab wanderer on its human -mission; a wild mew came down from heaven. With dark wings motionless, -a buzzard sailed circlewise, although the hour of hunting was over. -Higher and higher the great bird soared, controlling the winds of -evening. In his mastery of the air he joyed, as though desiring to -outsoar the stars that soon would glimmer over a quiet world. Below on -the flats a flock of ring-plover ran to their feeding; their nests were -among the pebbles and bleached seaweed near the dunes of the Burrows. -Although unseen, their presence was known by the sweetness of their -call-notes. - -Like a cannon-ball heated to a crimson glow was the sun behind -the vapours where a fume of vague light appeared over the hills to -eastward. More sinister grew the outline of the headland, a beast -replete and resting its shaggy head on sunken paws. No gulls drifted -to their nocturnal roosting; the buzzard had plunged into the hidden -pinewood to his eyrie. Here a vast collection of sticks, rabbits’ -bones, rats’ tails, beetle skins and skulls of voles, carried there -during a score of years, and resting in a fir, supported his brooding -mate and her three blotched eggs. - -When the moon was up an evejar rose from the patch of swaled gorse; -the creamy marks on its wings and tail were visible in the confluence -of light from the gates of heaven--the flood of the moon’s white fires -and the lingering afterglow over the Atlantic. In anguish at the -violation of its hymeneal sanctities the skep-swallow returned and -wheeled, beating its wings together. No sound disturbed the silence, -no movement stirred the bracken; only a mouse rustled in the dried -brambles, only a chafer beetle, booming through the dusk, sought -a dew-drop on a leaf of foxglove. The birds, wedded for all time, -returned together and settled on the ground. Then the male bird mounted -a stump of gorse, crouched low, and poured forth a reeling song. Like -the risp of a grasshopper it came, like a shaken matchbox, like a -crowstarver’s clappers heard afar. Against the moon the evejar sang his -song, whispering huskily of his ecstacies during the pause. Sometimes -he waited for the shy answer of his love--she who had journeyed over -foreign wastes with him to the remembered valleyside of heather. Soft -was her rapturous murmur in the summer night, a gentle reassurance of -faith and hope, while the stars shone in the sky above them. Like spun -and argent coins the moths went down to the dew-sweetened flowers. Only -a reverent watcher and the pure face of the moon saw their espousal. - - - - -A DESERTED QUARRY IN FEBRUARY - - -Many celandines are now showing a yellow cup to the sun; a dearly loved -flower the celandine, braving the frosts and the loneliness, with only -the windrifted leaves of a dead year for company. But its courage makes -it beautiful--one of the first of the players in the country orchestra -of scent and colour and loveliness to take its seat in the amphitheatre -of spring. - -On the railway embankment the coltsfoot flowers are rising. How can -one be sad when Proserpine will shortly float over the meadows and the -woodlands? Now we must lift our hearts above earthly unhappiness, and, -with Nature, be joyous. - -What matter the fallings of so many leaves in the past when to-day the -wild and happy humble bees are passing in the sunshine, dusty from -the pollen of the willow-palm? That the symphony of summer must die in -autumn’s cadences is inevitable, but now the grass is rising on the -crumbled brick rim of the deserted limekiln, and on the pile of chalk a -wagtail calls to his mate. - -There are the sweet notes of the finches who are fluttering round the -weeds of the wasteland, and the distant caw of rooks. A great cloud -rushes in the sky; the light is checked. It is cold once more. But -every day the sun swings in a higher curve; over the sea the call has -gone, and even now the migrants in Africa and Egypt are restless. - -Very soon the chiffchaff will pipe his monotonous tune by the lake, and -the wheatears will be back on the sward of the downlands. A few weeks -and the cuckoo will call in the forest and the swallows glide around -the barns and the ricks--“all the living staircase of the spring, step -by step, upwards to the great gallery of the summer.” - - - - -VIGNETTES OF NATURE - - -_i_ - -From their tussocks upon the sward the pink flowers of the sea-thrift -are rising. In one clump a pippit has its nest. The male bird rises -high in the air, then falls suddenly, singing his little sweet song; he -regains height by mad flutterings, sing-sing-singing all the time. In -the matted turf the leaves of the wild thyme give a faint fragrance to -the hands. Near by is the skull of a finch, whitened by the sun and the -rains. Perhaps the falcons left it there, or one of the buzzards; or -a herring gull chased and killed the bird, for gulls are prepared for -any villainy. But it is still of use to something. A small spider lurks -within its shadowed emptiness. - -Reclining by the precipice edge one morning in May I was made curious -by a sudden sweeping of gulls from the cliff-face (where they nest) -to the sea. Two or three hundred, white in the sunshine, flapped and -glided in a narrow circle by the rocks far below. - -I looked carefully, but could see nothing. The spiral of tumbling -whiteness and wild noise continued. Something in the green water was -causing intense excitement. From all directions other sea-birds swept -up; only the black shags squatted indifferently on their favourite -rock. Then I saw a smooth, dark form swirling in the water, and heard -a hoarse bark; the next moment it had dived. It was a seal. Presently -the glistening animal rolled on the surface with a huge dogfish held -in his jaws. The gulls screamed; a shrill clamouring broke out as the -seal, having bitten the fish in two, threw one part into the air, -caught it endways, and swallowed it. Round the Point he swam, while the -birds fought over the remains. Presently he appeared with a writhing -conger-eel, which with the greatest ease he bit up into little pieces. - -An old fisherman, known as The Tiger, told me that the seal had been -there for the last twenty years, and that so far as was known it had -no mate. It showed no fear of a boat, and often came up alongside one, -inspected it with filmy eyes, and quietly disappeared. - - -_ii_ - -In spring the gulls throng to their colony upon the headland. When -disturbed, they cry wildly, and circle in the air. Once as I lay in the -sun listening to the sea-fret a sharp chattering overbore the wailing -of the gulls, and a pair of peregrine falcons swept by. - -In but a moment, it seemed, they were half a mile high, flying with -incredible swiftness, the male chasing the larger female. From the -direction of Lundy Island a pair of stock-doves came across the sea, -no mean fliers. They saw the wheeling falcons, and fear doubled their -wing-beats. - -I watched the hawks in their mad love chase, and then the tiercel saw -the doves, closed his pinions, and fell from a thousand feet to the -terrified doves in a few seconds. I have seen scout machines diving in -France, but the peregrines, one behind the other in echelon, seemed to -stoop with greater speed than the fastest of them. - -In fear the gulls fled to their crannies in the cliff-face. There -was a flurry of feathers as the male hawk struck the leading pigeon; -he dropped it, swerved, and struck the other, while his mate clawed -his first kill. Upwards, with the dove suspended in her talons, she -climbed. A heavy black raven flapped to the dove whose blood was -staining the green sea as it lifted in the swell. - -The peregrine screamed--_check, check, check_--and dropped on the -heavier pirate, who, as the hawk came above him, rolled over and held -up his javelin beak. The hawk slipped, regained height, stooped again, -was met with the great beak, and then flashed away chattering towards -the mainland, followed by his mate. - -The next moment a crowd of gulls splashed and quarrelled over the dead -pigeon, the raven a sombre fellow amid their whiteness; the rabbits -crept from their burrows; and in the sunshine the tiny pippits jerked -towards heaven in weak flight, then fell, singing and trilling. And -life in the springtime went on. - - - - -HAWK NOTES - - -A cloud from the sea dragged over the mountain so that the buzzards -wheeling in the upper air were hidden, and only their mewling cries -came down. I suppose they outsoared the cold autumnal vapours; they -often sail in the heavenly freeness a mile and more above the earth, -broad wings for ever lifted by the winds. - -These big hawks are quite common in the West Country; I have seen as -many as ten pairs on the wing at once. They are clumsy in the lower -air, flapping heavily and beating over the slopes of heather and gorse -very much like an owl. But when they attain to high solitude they are -transformed. Sometimes as they turn the sun throws a golden lustre on -their pinions. - -All the British hawks that I have seen--kestrel, sparrowhawk, merlin, -peregrine falcon, buzzard, and marsh harrier--hover to find their -prey. Their hovering may be prolonged, or for an instant only. The -kestrel leans on the wind, the sparrowhawk (I am referring to those -that hunt in the open) dashes down wind, swings up, poises, then dashes -down at his prey. The peregrine falcon hangs high above the cliff slope -or the inland fields. He and his mate, hunting together, are like two -black anchor-heads. Even in a considerable wind they are not disturbed. -They remain fixed till something is seen, and then they fall, head -first, swifter and swifter, plunging at an enormous rate. If they are -within three hundred yards, and the day is still, you may hear the -hissing of the stoop. They strike their victim and smash it, or miss -altogether, abandoning after three failed stoops. The male usually -follows the female should she miss. - -Buzzards--spanning nearly four feet--are the most graceful hoverers. -They hang, with wings arched back, a few yards over the rabbit runs -through the gorse and the bracken. A fairly steady breeze is needed -to keep them stable. I have watched for more than a minute a buzzard -hanging thus, moving only its tail. The secret of its poising is that -it _falls_ continually on the wind, pressing its breast into the flow -to counteract the lifting impulse of its wings. - -Once I saw a buzzard glide down a hill at about eight miles an hour, -a yard from the ground, its feet hanging below, ready to grasp -something. Its slow slip downwards (“glide” would convey too rapid a -motion) amazed me--it might have been sliding on a wire. Eventually -it alighted, and rose with a lashing snake. The reptile was too much -for it; the buzzard rushed about in middle air, turning and screaming. -Eventually the snake fell to the ground. - -I know an eyrie in a pinewood composed of nearly two hundredweight of -sticks. It is about seven feet across, and quite as deep. For half a -century and more it has been repaired every spring. Years ago I took -the three eggs and lay for a long time in the nest, trembling with joy. -The old birds were frightened to come near. I still have those eggs. - -The buzzards nested there this year, but I could not climb up. The nest -was at a terrible height. Underneath were hundreds of rabbits’ skulls, -rats’ tails, beetle skins, and the feathers of small birds. Perhaps in -the years to come when I go there I shall be terrified to see an eager -face looking over the nest, and a shrill, triumphant voice exclaiming, -“I say, father, I’ve got three eggs. What a bit of luck!” - - - - -PROPHET BIRDS - - -One September morning there wheeled a great concourse of gulls over the -headland. Through the mist their cries came wild and plaintive. Old men -in the village said that it meant a big storm. - -I did not believe that birds could prophesy. Having studied the -phenomena of nature for many years, I have come to know that -everything happens by chance. For instance, during the autumn of 1920 -severe wintry weather was forecasted because the hawthorn peggles -were plentiful, and the granaries of squirrels were more numerous -than usual. Quite a number of journals and periodicals stated these -“portents” quite seriously. What illusions! The spring of that year was -mild, the hawthorn blossom beautiful, and unravaged by frost. Hence the -peggles. As for the squirrels, they found a goodly fall of beechen -mast, and promptly stored it! - -But to return to the gulls over Baggy Point. There must have been two -or three thousand of them, floating and wailing. “A master storm be -cumin’,” said the granfers. - -All that day, sunlessness and quiet seas. I told the granfers that they -were wrong (I am young and self-confident). I explained that their -knowledge of nature was not great--had one not told me that swallows -sleep in the mud of the river Taw during winter? - -But that night clouds came up and hid the stars, the owls called -mournfully, the wind shook the elms in the churchyard. A moan under the -door, a rattling of the window; the spaniels on my bed whined uneasily. -Something was astir--a great silence hollow and foreboding. The chimney -tun hummed a little song of rue in the dark; I was instantly awake, and -waiting. - -A faint roar overbore the near sounds. It was the sea on the rocks -two miles away. Suddenly the rain came, like goose-shot against the -window, on the trees: the blast tore at the thatch. All through the -night it continued until a gray dawn showed low clouds going over like -the canvas of ancient galleons, windburst and tattered. - -The next morning tons of seaweed--deep-sea plant, too--heaved and -shuddered in the rockpools, while a belt of oil fuel lay on the sand -with spars and planks. Had there been a wreck somewhere? No one knew. -Certainly it looked as though a cargo had gone overboard, for from the -headland one could see another black belt where the walls of gray-green -water toppled in foam. - -But the gulls? They had gone inland, right up the wide sandy estuary of -the river. How did they know, so many hours before, that the storm was -coming? - -The more one thinks one knows of nature the more open should be the -mind of the naturalist. I am learning, or should I say, unlearning? - - - - -A BIRD MYSTIC - - -Every year the ragtailed swallows are fewer, for many are destroyed as -the hosts sweep southward in autumn, killed by electric wires on the -Continent “for food” (I have seen them, with thrushes and blackbirds, -laid out, pitifully small and gentle, in the Italian shop-windows--Nero -in hell must be awfully pleased with this sure sign of degeneracy among -the descendants of that race of which he declared himself to be “a -genius.”) - -In all the tallats[1] of my Devon village there were but four swallows’ -nests during the summer of 1921. There are over fifty tallats. Under -the rafters are the ruins of nearly two hundred mud mansions--belonging -to past summers. Some, indeed, are intact, others utilised by -flycatchers, others have been selected by wrens for foundations of -their domed nests. But only four are being used this year. - -Although the swallows are becoming extinct the swifts are increasing. I -have met many people who do not know one bird from the other. Yet it is -easy to tell. - -The swift is the mystic among birds. He is aloof from other -birds--apart from life. He is never seen to perch unless it be on the -rigging of a ship during migration. The swift is black, he screams -shrilly as he darts through the air, his wings are curved like a -boomerang. During June I have seen and heard them long after midnight, -whole cohorts of them wheeling in the sky, their cries sounding like -the thin jingle of a frail chain. I verily believe that some remain -on the wing (not the brooding females, of course) from dawn till -dawn. They pass my cottage door a foot away from my head, their wings -hissing. Under the ancient thatch they nest, plunging, it seems, -straight into the holes. This is necessary, because a swift clings -with difficulty; for some reason all its four toes are in front of the -foot. Through the dark holes they creep, to reach the nests of saliva, -cobwebs, and straw-speck laid like a mouldered saucer on the lath and -plaster. - -One midsummer eve a great commotion brought me to my doorway. I looked -out and saw about half a hundred swifts pursuing a great barn owl, -white and slow-fanning, holding in one dropped foot a limp rat. The -owls are nesting on the lath and plaster of my cottage, but they do not -interfere with the swifts. - -When the wheat is nearly ready for the reaping, the swifts begin to -think of the journey to Africa. They are among the last birds to arrive -here in the spring, but the first to depart (excepting the cuckoo). -When the Voice speaks in the night they mount many miles, flying up to -the stars, and rush to the south. It is a sad time for some birds, as -the instinct for migration is so intense that if any young are unable -to fly they are left. What caused this remorseless migration in the -first place, and why does it happen? Nobody knows. It is one of the -problems insoluble by research or reasoning; insoluble as the mystery -of life itself. - - - - -SAMARITANS - - -Towards the end of August a pair of house-martins (or eave-swallows--I -prefer the name given them by Richard Jefferies) came to my cottage -wall, and clung, two slim, black-and-white fairies, to the rough cob -surface. Excited twitterings and peckings for a minute, then they flew -away. Almost immediately one returned with a beakful of mud, taken from -the verge of a ruddle-red pool in the roadway. This was tacked to the -wall, close under the ragged fringe of thatch, and away sped the bird -as her mate came with his burden. All day they worked, seeming never to -feed. - -But the nest grew slowly. Perhaps their other muddied cup had been -knocked down by boys, or sparrows had seized it; by their intense -eagerness it appeared to me that their first brood had failed -altogether; there was something of the frenzy of April in their labour. - -In the evening I was amazed by what I saw. The toiling pair had been -joined by about a dozen other martins, all bearing beakfuls of mud -and grass to the precipitous site. In regular order came mud, quickly -moulded and kneaded into place, then came a broken straw, a rootlet, -or a twitch of grass. There was just time to place this in position -before another bird would arrive. A sweet soft trickle of eagerness -fell continually from just above my window. The next morning succour -was still availing, and quickly the nest grew. We discussed this in -the village, but even the oldest granfer had never heard tell of such -a thing before. Toilers in the harvest fields (the “unimaginative -labourers”) paused and regarded. They were interested, and many -pondered the problem with me. - -“League o’ Nations,” grinned one. “There is much friendship among -birds,” I said. “Aiy, aiy!” agreed another, and told me in the soft -melodious burr of the west country how, in his garden that spring, a -robin had fed a nest of hedge-sparrows. - -The nest was finished in three days. The lining of feathers was a -speedy business, for I scattered a handful on the ground beneath, -wishing to give my small aid. I am sure the pair were grateful, for on -the fourth day, when I inspected from a ladder, the first egg was laid -and the mother was not alarmed by my intrusion. - -This intensive construction is not usual. It is not instinctive. It -is the result of reason and decency of life in their colonies. Rooks, -being amoral, would not help one another. Martins live together in -trust and decency. Who, hearing their song (jumbled though it may be), -can doubt this. - -“League of Nations,” a simple man had said to me. I wondered if -the hopes of Richard Jefferies will ever be fulfilled. Are not the -eave-swallows wiser than us? Sometimes I think so. - - - - -SPORTSMEN OF THE RUBBISH-HEAPS - - -An old, faded notice board, bearing the legend that trespassers will be -prosecuted, leans at a low angle in the hedge; newer and larger boards -announce that the land is “admirable for building purposes” and for -sale. A gate guards a gap in the hedge, over which bold boys swarm on -Saturdays and Sundays when no policeman is in sight. - -This preserve, as the crow flies, is about eight miles from London -Bridge in a south-easterly direction. It is known to dustmen, who dump -their loads upon its once-green fields, and it is also known to certain -cockney sportsmen. - -Trams and omnibuses pass near its violated woodlands (soon to fall), -and yet its possibilities are immense. One Sunday after the war I -walked there. Four shooting parties, complete with dogs, were out -after its game. Now, it is not lawful to pursue game on Sundays; nor -is it lawful to carry a gun without a licence. But the sportsmen do -not mind that. Their guns have sawn-off barrels, and take apart in -less than ten seconds. An inside pocket conceals both. As for their -dogs--well, although I am a dog-lover and like rough shooting, I would -not care to be seen in my own village with such dogs. Every man I met -would grin and wink--long, swift dogs they are, a mixture of greyhound -and bulldog, chiefly, with various other strains, in order to make them -that rare breed--the true lurcher. They never bark. They look slyly at -you. Often they grin in dog-fashion, suspiciously, almost a leer. - -The sportsmen shoot anything. The last hare has been gone for years, -even a rabbit is an unusual sight, almost as rare as a partridge. -Generations ago gravel was taken from this estate, leaving shallow pits -that in winter are filled with water. Snipe haunt the pools even now, -but they fly up so quickly and then zigzag that it is impossible to hit -them. - -When a shot is fired guns are hidden, and heads look round for -policemen. Sparrows are common game, thrushes and blackbirds are -considered the equivalent of pheasants, and the large missel-thrush -causes as much excitement and admiration as a first woodcock. A pigeon -is as rare as a golden plover, and talked of for weeks. - -Sport is not confined to turning-up birds and snap-shooting. The -superior ones carry guns; the lowlier fraternity hunt the humble rat, -who loves the rubbish-heaps. Their holes are everywhere, by broken -umbrellas, decrepit straw hats, burst boots, papers, straw, tins, -novels, bottles, and old torn shirts. Little terriers quiver with -excitement as their masters from Deptford and Shoreditch dig with the -crowbars--great excitement this. - -Of course the boys must have their shooting parties. Some of them are -very skilful with the catapult, and when bored with life they are quite -equal to shooting at their elders. Others frequent the pools, wading -after efts and sticklebacks. Once I saw a systematic dragging of the -ponds with the aid of an old army blanket. - -At another end of the preserve bird-catchers are busy with clap-nets -and call-birds. Perhaps, if you go near, surly looks will greet you, -and you may hear the sound of frail wings ceaselessly fluttering -against the bars of tragically overcrowded and small cages. Sometimes -goldfinches flit over, their sweet sipping notes rising and falling as -they pass to the thistle-heads of last autumn; and wistfully comes the -answer from the cages as beaks covered with blood are thrust again and -again through the bars. - -I knew this place years ago, when it was the country. The land is for -sale; they are going to build; and the house-squares of civilisation -will be better than the green fields so foully ravaged. But it is -nothing to do with me. The happy, happy days of boyhood are gone for -ever, with their hopes and their friendships: I shall never go there -again, nor shall I hear the wood-larks singing there on a morning of -May, nor watch the kingfisher as he draws a sapphire line to the pit -where every spring we found his nest. All these are dead: let the -houses and the streets obliterate the place for ever. - - - - -RUNAWAYS - - -Many pet birds escape from captivity every year, and their distressed -owners wonder how they fare. For it is generally understood that the -wild creatures resent one who has had long association with man, and -usually do their best to kill it. But this, I think, is merely a -fiction. It is said that should a canary join a flock of goldfinches, -they will taboo it, and even fall upon it and eventually kill it with -their beaks. Cases that I have known prove exactly the reverse. I know -that a canary among sparrows meets with kindly treatment, perhaps -because its appearance is so much more striking than their own dull -plumage that like primitive savages seeing a white man for the first -time, they are inclined to fall down and worship it. - -In Hyde Park one summer I saw a little green love-bird feeding on -seeds of the grass. Now lovebirds are often born in captivity, and -their wings are feeble. But in this case the bird had the full power of -its wings, and when a boy tried to capture it, it flew away with the -speed and agility of a mothflitsie, or jack-snipe. - -Even such a bird as the parrot can support itself. There is a rookery -in the Lewisham Infirmary Gardens, and for some years past a gray -and red African parrot has been flying about with rooks, who seem to -welcome its presence. - -In flight it resembles a pigeon and a hawk, and its presence among them -is all the more mystifying, because the antipathy of rooks to a hawk is -well known; they mob one and drive it away whenever seen. The Lewisham -parrot escaped before the war, and survived many winters, for I saw it -feeding with them in the Recreation Grounds during 1919. - -Its curved beak prevents it from digging in the ground, and in the -spring and summer seasons there are few seeds for it to feed on, -especially in a crowded suburb like Lewisham. I have watched to see if -the rooks feed it, but have never been able to discover. - -It would be interesting to know how the spirit of fraternity is born -between birds of such widely divergent characteristics. The parrot, -however, cannot change its plumage, although it squawks like a young -rook and caws like an old one. This may be the explanation of the -phenomenon--it can speak the language like a native! - - - - -LONDON CHILDREN AND WILD FLOWERS - -(_To W. de la M._) - - -The sphere-blooms of the dandelion have left their anchorage and are -floating away in the warm wind. That same wind bears with it a vague -scent, for the wild flowers are open to the sun, while the white buds -of the may-tree and the lilac-blossom of the keeper’s cottage yonder -have come before their time. The yellow celandine petals have gone from -the meadow, already their little heart-shaped leaves are tinged at the -edge with the rust of decay; the brighter buttercups drink deeply of -the poured sun-wine, and the red sorrel and pale cuckoo flowers move as -the wind comes more strongly. No form of flower life remains for long. -When I came here but a few weeks since the celandine was everywhere; -a brave flower, for it rises so early, and is one of the first signs -of life stirring again in the cold earth. Then the wood-anemones -shone like stars among the brown leaves under the hazel wands and -ashpoles of the covert, and on the raised bank near the vermin tree -where the marauder stoats and pirate crows hang, the sweet violets -drooped their heads, shy in their loveliness. I passed by that bank -to-day, but the sweet violets have gone, even as the wood-anemones are -withering. Nothing remains for long. But the first swift screams high -in the azure, his black curved wings bearing him in fast circles, less -graceful than the swallow, who floats on the bosom of the wind, then -falls and turns sharply rather than sweeps through the air with the -effortless thrusts of the swift. So in the place of the violet’s scent -I have the scream of the swift, and the cuckoo calls above the dying -wind-flowers. - -I leant against a wooden fence, placed to keep the cattle in the -meadow from straying into the covert behind, and to guard them from -the brook that ran at the edge of the hazels. High nettles hid the -lower rails of the fence, growing straight and green, and giving off -a heavy odour from their flowers. From afar a cuckoo was calling, but -near me the only sounds were the burring of the dusky humble bees at -the nettle flowers, and the soft voice of the brook. A great cloud -shadow came rushing over the meadow, the wind lost its warmth, and a -few drops pattered on the hawthorn. Immediately a blackbird sang on the -topmost bough of an oak tree in the wood, and a wren trilled from some -hidden bush. Gently the rain fell, plashing on the veined leaves of the -hazels; a yellow-green wave of light descended the distant hills and -followed the black shadow over cornfield, meadow, and webbed pattern -of hop field, washing the red oast-houses with instant colour. The -swift sunlight swept down to the meadow, the shadow passed onwards, -and again the sun gave its vitalising rays to the grass and the wild -flowers. - -The blackbird left the oak tree and dropped down to continue his -search among the moist leaf-mould; the wren was silent. Just behind, -and dividing the field from the pheasant wood, the brook, its waters -swelling with light, brimmed smoothly round a curve. A sweet little -whispering call, oft repeated and so gentle that it might have been -the voice of the brook, came from the ashpoles beyond. A long-tailed -tit was gathering the down from the hazel catkins, calling, or -rather murmuring, in shy ecstatic love to her mate as she did so. -The sunlight--rendered whiter and purer by the wind from the far -hills--streamed down through the nut trees and the opening buds of -ash; as the leaves rustled they caught the sunbeams, and were turned a -lucent green. Mingling with the tender notes of my little bottle-bird -gathering her material was the voice of the brook, almost inaudible, -but lifting the heart with sudden joy for its poem. - -I watched the two birds, so happy with each other, and heedless of -anything but the immediate joyful moment, carry the down to a quick-set -hedge, snowy with blossom, dividing the meadow from the wheatfield. -They disappeared for a moment among its greeneries and spiky thorns, -and then flew back to the covert, still murmuring to each other -in their wheezy, subdued tones. In the hedge the house was nearly -completed, and had been fashioned with wondrous skill. Outside the -birds had woven gray lichen from the apple trees with the green moss -found under the oaks, and gradually a long, bottle-shaped nest had -grown among the thorns. Several hundreds of feathers had been borne -from the farmyard--distant over a mile--each journey made with the -feeble jerky flight. Think of the infinite labour and searching before -the cradle is ready for the dozen minute eggs that will nestle in its -soft cup! The little chap and his adoring wife were not alarmed at my -presence: I stood within two yards of their nest, but they flew into -the hedge and out again without fear or distress. - -A wild bee hummed among the nettles, content and self-sufficient; a -crow slanted overhead, veering as he saw me, for crows and gamekeepers -hate each other equally; a dead leaf fluttered into the water and was -carried in a foam-capped whirlpool under the roots of the hawthorn. -Three willow-wrens came to the tree, and sought the insects that walked -over the broad platform of the leaves; one flew to the surface of -the brook and seized a horse-fly struggling in the water. The stream -sang and sang, carrying the leaf that had left the tree for ever; the -sunlight flashed a burnished ripple, was gone again, and the bees -brushed against the nettles, wondering if they should stay there or -gather their harvest from the bluebells, lit by the shuffling shadow -mazes, whose honey lay ready for loading. All the morning the bells on -the green towers of stalk had been pealing their chimes of fragrance -to the bees; the busy harvesters went heavily past, drawing their -song-inspiration from the infinite flame of the sun, passing from -bell to bell with an eagerness that must cause the wild hyacinths to -rejoice--for would they not shortly vanish like the celandines and the -wind-flowers? Nothing remains for long. A brief life, and they have -gone whither all things that draw upon the earth-energy must go. Though -the blackbird sing so leisurely, the flowers stand gently timorous in -their fragility, the veined leaf stain itself with the sunbeams, and -I am exalted in the “light and fire of summer,” yet for all there is -only so little of time. Therefore, it seemed to me, by the brimming -water, so pitiable that millions were confined in factory and office, -breathing the air fouled by exhaust of petrol engine and chimney, while -the brook rippled so sweetly, and the living air formed a passionate -stream with the energy of the sunbeams. - -Dreaming by the brook, I thought of other woods nearer London, which -are so dear because of old association with the friend of my boyhood. -There still the nightingale returns, the jay lurks, and the mysterious -nightjar wheels when the chafer-beetles flit against the oak leaves at -twilight. And yet, less than half a mile away, is a busy tram terminus. -The wild things in freedom love their haunts and are not easily driven -away, but in the higher wood--beautiful in spring with apple blossom, -uncurling brakefern, silver birch and sheen of bluebell--no birds sang -as alone I walked among its violated sanctities. It was the hour of -solitude, when the sun almost was quenched and the moon had not yet -come above the dim hills. The paths were beaten into mire by the -passing and re-passing of a thousand feet, acres of bluebells had -been uprooted and taken away, many trampled and crushed, or gathered -and cast carelessly on the paths. The apple blossom was stripped -from the trees. In his instinctive effort to possess beauty, man -invariably destroys it--for is not all beauty ever elusive? It is -the subconscious, or deeper than subconscious, realisation of this -elusiveness of beauty that causes the sadness of its contemplation--the -blossoms were gone, a whole spring-life of them, carried away by the -people who had come from Walworth, Shoreditch, and Woolwich. Branches -of those graceful trees, the silver birches, had been torn and wrenched -off; not content with decimating the flowers, grasping hands had broken -the smaller trees. A week ago, before the fatal beauty of the apple -bloom had drawn the hordes from their strongholds, I found dozens -of thrushes’ and blackbirds’ nests--some with eggs, others with -fledgelings--all these disappeared on that Sunday. No beauty remains -inviolate for long. - -I walked slowly to the tram terminus, where the crowded cars waited -to bear the many people back to London, thinking that soon the woods -would be down, and houses with their inevitable laurel and rhododendron -bushes crowd together in regular patches; the sooner, perhaps, the -better. Memory of former days was only too poignantly present. - -In the cars sat the women and the men, each one clasping a flower or a -fragment of blossom--of hawthorn, apple, or chestnut tree; the little -children wriggled and chattered, holding in their arms great bunches -of bluebells with their sappy stalks gleaming white where the sun had -not stained them; boys with purple-dusty grass bennets and girls with -lilac-coloured cuckoo flowers and drooping buttercups. A phantom -carillon still chimed from the wild hyacinths, though their towers were -fallen and the belfries wrecked. I looked at the transfigured faces of -the children--old or young, they were all children--who breathed in the -smoke and worked in the shadow, and saw that the beauty of the wild -flowers had passed into their eyes; although the woods were ravaged, -the spoiling and pillaging had not been in vain. For two or three days -wilting flowers and stolen blossom would remind them of the sunlight -and the fresh air, of the cloud shadow that swept up and the warmth -that followed when the beams of light lacquered the branches of the -trees. - -I was filled with an ecstasy; the car, ordinarily so drab with its -burden of artisans and factory workers, seemed illumined and vitalised -with yellow, the colour of happiness; a radiance hovered about the -children, as though the buttercups had dislustred their gold upon the -air. I wanted to shout my joy aloud. Here was a manifestation of -my hopes for mankind, the thoughts ever with me; at night when only -the stars are in the sky, or when the moon is old and like a scarred -shield nailed under the rafters of heaven; at dawn, when the light -flows over the eastern bar of the world till it drains into the western -sunset. One thought by night and one thought by day--my hope is for the -happiness of mankind. Could words of mine but tell you of the dream -that lurks by the brook in summer, or with the clouds floating with -snowy sails in cerulean waters! There the Immortals are waiting. See -the joy and happiness that is with every swallow flying low over a -lake, his liquid image gliding under him. What is all the philosophy in -the world to the joy of the beautiful swallow? Civilisations have risen -and crumbled, faded into nothingness, like footprints in the desert -obliterated by sand. The sweet little whispering call of my long-tailed -titmice fashioning their bottle nest, so happy in the sunshine, is a -wiser and more profound utterance than all the philosophy collected -from the books of the world.... - -The tram drew nearer London with its ragged children; had I doubted it -before, no longer was the ideal of the artist obscured from me--you -must hear it. It must be the ideal of man to beautify the lives of -those who pass nearly all their days in the places whence the wild -birds and the flowers have gone for evermore. - -I thought of these things as the voice of the brook mingled with the -love-whisper of my little bottle-birds, and the bees droned their -anthem to the pealing chimes of the bluebells. For every year the -flowers come, the migrants travel across the great dim sea, the wheat -sways and bends as the wind rushes over, and the silver-burning sun -swings across the sky; but never enough of these do the little ones in -the city see; life does not remain for long. And I saw the children of -the trams reflected in the light-burthened brook, and was glad, even -though the buttercups had gone from the meadow, and the wandering bees -sought in vain in those other woods for the loveliness of the stained -apple blossom. - - - - -MEADOW GRASSES - -(_To B. E. H. T._) - - -_i_ - -A brimstone butterfly drifted with the wind over the waving -grasses, and settled on the shallow cup of a tall flower, -John-go-to-bed-at-noon. The bright flowers were closing, for the sun -was high. It paused for an instant only, and then fluttered over the -hedge and was gone. Came a common white butterfly--a weed of the air, -hated by the countrymen: yet part of summer’s heart as it flickered -like a strayed snowflake in the sunshine, passing the whorled spires of -red-green sorrel and glazed petals of buttercup, living its brief hour -among the scents and colours of summer. Vibrating their sun-crisped -wings with shrill hum, the hover-flies shot past: the wild humble bees -sang to themselves as in a frenzy of labour for their ideal they took -the pollen from the roses in the hedge; the cuckoos sent call after -call of melody from the distant hazel coppice. The sound of summer -was everywhere, the earth filled with swelling ecstasy--everything -so green and alive, the waving grasses and the hawthorns; the green -kingdom charged and surcharged with energy, from the wild strawberry -to the mighty, sap-surfeited bole of the oak. Although so still, the -vast earth was humming and vibrating, the crescendo of passion reached -gradually while the sun swept nearer, day by day, the zenith of its -curve. - -In one corner of the meadow was a small pond, half hidden by rushes, -bearing a golden blazon of flower--in autumn the countrypeople would -grind the roasted seeds of the iris to make their “poor man’s coffee.” -With them grew the bog asphodel, crowned by a tapering spike of -starlike flowers, also yellow, the colour of happiness: in old time -this plant was supposed to soften the bones of cattle, hence the Latin -name, _ossifragum_. Hidden securely among the rushes, the moor-hen -had her nest of dried water-weed, a platform on which at night rested -her children, little black balls of fluff with a red beak. A faint -chirruping came from the flags, a splash, and silence: the mother -had heard my slow approach and called to her young to remain still. -Something with a thin, stick-like body, enamelled blue and fanned by -a whirling crystal of light, alighted on the open white petals of a -crowsfoot--the water-buttercup; the dragonfly folded its gauzy wings -and contemplated the still deeps from which, a few hours before, it -had crept--a summer thing that would fulfil its destiny so quickly, -and die. Like the civilised bees that leave the security of skep and -stored caves of honey to the new race, so all the wild things live but -to secure the future of their species. Everything strives for the -beautiful, the ideal, without conscious effort, maybe, but the ideal is -there--all for the species. The nightingale that silvers the dusk with -song has finer notes than his ancestor of olden time; he has learnt so -much during the centuries; through generations of faithful loyalty to -an ideal his tiny soul-flame has become brighter, and his voice speaks -with sweeter poetry. On the may trees in the hedge, already shaking -their blossoms into the wind, the wild roses were open to the sky; it -was now their brief hour of sunshine. Simple petals stained with roseal -hue, they waited for the wild bee to bring the pollen that would change -the beauty into life. - -High sang the larks over the meadow, striving with fluttering wings to -reach the blue vision of heaven. Their voices trailed to the earth and -filled the heart with hope and joy. Afar, the noisy rooks fed their -young in the colony in the elm-tops; at hand, on the ground, golden -buttercup and white moon-daisy, lemon-coloured hawk-weed and obstinate -charlock, beloved of the visiting bee for its great dowry of honey. The -sunbeams had flooded the cold earth during the springtide of the year, -and now the earth had sent its flowers and its grasses with their faces -turned above, whence came the light that was life, the light that was -truth to the birds and the bees, the flowers and the grasses. For years -I pondered the higher meaning of life, studying in a city, amid the -smoke and clattering hum of traffic; the wild ones have never needed to -seek--they have been happy by the brook with its lanced sunpoints and -swallowy song of summer over the pebbles and the mossy boulders; they -have had no illusions. Nor have they needed philosophies or discarnate -paradises. - -Everything loved the mowing meadow. By the stream the blackbirds sought -for food, the finches came to sip, the hover-flies fanned above -the kingcups. Scarlet soldier flies and little plain moths clung to -bennet-bloom and spray-like awn, the wind sighed in the grasses as it -shook the dust-pollen from the heads. The meadow grasses were timorous -of the breeze, and trembled at its coming, like the heart of a maiden -reluctant yet yearning: whispering to the wind to bear the seeds, for -the mowers would come shortly. Over the water-meadow the lapwings -wheeled and spun--the lapwing holds the secret of the swamps and -boglands, and you hear it in his wild voice as his wings sough above. -In the early spring he makes over the dull furrows his plaintive music, -climbing high and diving to the ground as though it were sweet ecstasy -to fall, wing-crumpled and broken-hearted, before his mate. Something -in the call of the peewit fills me with sadness, like the memory of -those passed springs that were in boyhood so glamorous. The peewit’s -song is wild, he knows that all things pass, that the leaves and the -flowers will die and nothing remain. - -Now, as he saw me, his voice was harsher, more husky; somewhere among -the tufts of spiked grass his young were crouching, depending on their -plumage in harmony with the ground to remain unseen. _See-oo-sweet, -see-oo-sweet, woo_, cried the mother: her curled crest was visible -against the sky as she turned on broad pinions. - - -_ii_ - -One morning, when the cuckoo was silent and the young partridges were -following their parents through the culms of the meadow-forest, two -labourers arrived with the mowing machine, drawn by a pair of chestnut -horses. The overture to the midsummer hum was beginning to be heard in -the fields: wild and tame bees ceased not from their labours; the wolf -spiders were everywhere in the long grass, searching for fly or insect -in their blood lust. Another kind of spider had erected a net-like web -between the stalks, with a round silky tunnel in the middle, in which -he crouched among the skins of beetles, glowing a dull bronzy green in -the sun; the torn wings of a red admiral butterfly never again to pass -with colour-dusty sails above the blue scabious flowers; all the tragic -remainder of his catch scattered like jetsam at the sea’s marge. The -larks still sang into the sunshine. It was the time of year, just past -the fullness of young summer, when the song of visitant birds was over -and the insect hum had begun its shimmering undertone. - -The mowing machine, drawn by the glossy-coated horses, moved down one -side of the field. One of the mowers sat on the iron seat and drove -the pair; his mate walked alongside and scooped the cut grasses from -the knives with a rake. The horses tossed their manes and swished -their tails, drawing along with magnificent power the light machine, -and leaving behind a swathe of broken grasses and coloured flowers -whose fragrance and hue availed no longer--in an instant the life was -gone--whither? Rhythmically they moved in straight line, the clattering -of the machine mingling with the cries of the driver: like a sea-green -wave overcurled and spent in foam the flowery grasses lay in the sun. -Cat’s-tail grass, foxtail grass, meadow soft grass, pale red in tint -and sometimes called Yorkshire fog; couch grass--the _agropyron_ of -ancient Greece--the wild kin of the wheat; the sweet-smelling Vernal -grass without whose presence one of the fleeting scents of summer were -denied us. Steadily the mowing machine was drawn round the field, -fresh wallow lay where but a moment before the meadow-forest bowed and -returned to the wind, and the dandelion wrought its goldened disk in -the image of the sun. With the lilac flower of the scabious lay the -incarnadine head of the poppy--tokening sleep that now had claimed -its own. Meadow crane’s-bill, which had overtopped the grasses with -the wine-dark sorrel and prickly thistle, the vetch, and the blue -speedwell--from the highest to the lowest--all brought low by the -skirring knives. - -Years ago in an old village the mowers went down into the meadow with -their curved scythes, and throughout the long summer day they swung -their ancient implements. Every now and then they paused to whet the -sap-blurred blades with a stone carried in their belts. _Tu-whet, -tu-whaat_--holding the symbol of olden times near the point: it was -the extreme edge of the curve that required such constant sharpening. -Their hats were bleached by the showers and the sunshine--I do not -recollect seeing a new one--but it may have been a faulty impression of -childhood. It was thirsty work wielding the scythe on its long handle, -and required much skill to prevent the point from digging into the -ground. Great wooden “bottles,” or firkins, of ale were brought out in -the early morning and hidden in the nettle ditch, well down in the cool -and shade; and often a gallon of small ale was drunken by each labourer -before the Goatsbeard closed its flowers at noon. - -The sun bronzed their arms and dried the wallows; colour soon faded. -The scarlet poppy shrivelled to a purple brown, the gold of the -dandelion became dulled, the grasses wilted as they fell. It was great -fun to follow the workers, to gather whole armfuls of flowers, and -to pull their petals apart. They were but flowers to me then, pretty -things, their colours delighting the eye, so many of them: the boy -was natural and thought little, knowing nothing of life. I have not -been there for years, but even now, when so many stacks have grown -and dwindled near the barn, I am wandering in those fields. No other -meadows can be the same, the flowers there were fairer, the sunlight -brighter as it followed the clouds. With so many summers burnt out -in autumnal fires there is a dearer thought for every flower of blue -chicory: and each germander speedwell, so common in the hedgerow, has -in its little petals something of the mystery of the sky. The breath of -all the springtimes, the light and shade of summery months, the colour -and song of the fields stored, layer upon layer, in the boy’s mind, -return a hundredfold, and with them a desire, never ceasing, for others -to share in this secret of happiness--the thoughts given by nature. - -In the evening the village girls came into the field to turn the -hay when the grass was fully dried by the sun, and nothing remained -of luscious clover or disk of corn feverfew. The young larks or -corncrakes, caught perchance by the rasping sweep of scythe, had been -dead many days. They raked the harvest of the meadow into mound-like -wakes, while the master haymaker, ever watching the clouds and the -wind, urged them to greater endeavour, for rain meant instant loss. We -tossed wisps of hay at one another, and formed ourselves into rival -parties, each with its castle, and defied our enemies with shrill -cries. The lumbering wain came back from the stack, a host of flies -pestering the horse, who stamped and kicked in vain when a gadfly -fastened to his side and drew his blood. If the weather were fine, and -no danger of rain impending, the carter would, as a great treat, let -us ride on the broad back of the horse, who appreciated the fan of -wych-elm twigs that was whisked about his ears and eyes. - -They were happy days--gone now with the wielders of the scythes in -their faded hats and their wooden ale-bottles. Now the knives of the -mowing machine shear the field in half a day; the happy girls no -longer turn the swathes in the evening. The old spirit of the country -is dying, and the factory and town calls to its children--there is more -life there, and more money to be made. The “big house” is sold, and a -new squire has arrived, once a merchant and now a rich man; the sons -of the old squire lie somewhere in the deep sea near Jutland, so why -retain the estate, heavily taxed and scarce self-supporting, when it -will eventually pass away into other hands? - -I have come to know other meadows now, but they can never be quite the -same. I lie in the flowery fields, seeing the quaking-grass against the -sky, and a wild bee swinging on a blue columbine, while a lark rains -joy from on high. These return, these are eternal; and with them a -voice that is silent, a colour that is faded. - - - - -TIGER’S TEETH - -(_To J. S. of Croyde_) - - -The story of the Tiger’s great climb is still told in the village, -although it happened a dozen or more years ago. - -The headland runs out into the Atlantic for nearly two miles, and is -a mile wide across its base. They grow oats there, for the ground is -starved. Some of it, indeed, is so poor that the plough never furrows -it, and only sheep stray upon the sward. Gorse grows plentifully, -hiding many rabbits’ holes, and in summer near the cliff-edge at the -Point the curled cast feathers of the gulls tremble in the wind. - -At the Point the cliff drops almost sheer to the rocks three hundred -and ten feet below, forming an indentation in the headland known as the -Hole. Gulls dwell in colonies upon the ledges and in the crannies, and -like drifting snowflakes a swirl of birds floats on the air, uprising -from the sea and uttering gabbling cries of alarm when an intruder -passes near the lip of the Hole. - -The village historian told me the story one rainy night in the -Nightcrow Inn. He was a great friend of mine, and universally known as -“Muggy”; he had been in most places on the earth, returning eventually -to his remembered village, happy in the open air with his simple -livelihood. The returned wanderer did all kinds of jobs in the hamlets -round about, gathered and sold watercress and mushrooms in their -seasons, arranged for the purchase of patent manures by the farmers, -representing many firms, and was also--“I be nothing if I be not up to -date, zur, do ee see?”--an agent for fire insurance in the big town -eight miles away. For generations his family had lived in the village; -his grandfather had bought the wreckage of _H.M.S. Weasel_, that went -on the rocks of the Hole over a century ago, all but one man being -drowned. He had the newspaper cuttings of the wreck, and sure enough, -his ancestor was mentioned. He cherished that cutting. - -One night we had finished our game of whist with the frayed cards, and -were talking. The Inn has a low ceiling of black oak beams, roughly -shaped, and is lit by a paraffin lamp having a permanent black fringe -to its orange flame. In a momentary silence we heard the sharp patter -of rain flung against the window by a rapidly rising wind. - -“It would be dangerous at the Point to-night,” I murmured, shivering. - -Amid a chorus of assent my friend Muggy remembered the epic story of -the climb of Raven Rock. Had I heard tell of it? No, I hadn’t, and I -settled my elbows more comfortably on the oak table, and prepared for -the yarn. More beer first, of course. Muggy would not have any; he -drank but a pint every night, he said. - -The pots were brought back, foaming with home-brew, the landlord -adjusted the milled screw of the lamp so that less dark soot-shadows -slipped against the whitewashed guard above, and we listened in silence -while the wind drove hard against the western face of the house, -bringing the rain-clouds straight from over the wild wastes of the -Atlantic. - - * * * * * - -They had tried to get the robbers in many ways, but rarely were they -seen. Evidence of their visitations was much against them. Dead lambs -had been found in their pens--little gray bundles lying still while -their mothers bleated above them. One morning Voley, the shepherd, came -to the yeaning field and found that a ewe itself had been attacked, and -had lost an eye. After that he carried the great ten-bore flighting gun -that was usually brought out in the frosty winter when wildfowl haunted -the great lonely wastes by the estuary formed of the confluence of -two rivers. The robbers were too cunning, however, perceived him from -invisibility, and never came near. - -Muggy had a job at the time trapping rabbits for the bailiff of a -gentleman’s farm. He was paid by results, being given so much a head -for perfect rabbits; and rabbits did not pass as perfect to the dealer -at the market town when half their heads had been battered as though -by the blows of some mighty instrument. The curious thing was that he -did not know for a long while what caused the damage. He thought of a -fox, but a fox would not have mauled rabbits like that; he would have -carried them away. The idea of a badger being the aggressor came to -him, but he could find no spoor of a badger’s pad, which, once seen, -is never forgotten. And still the mysterious depredations went on. -Farmer Smith of Crowberry, later on in the year, lost seven chicks one -morning, with no sign of how they had gone. He thought of hawks, and -waited all that afternoon with a gun, but nothing came. He knew that -had it been a kestrel the bird would have returned for more. Another -morning he lost seventeen. Nine of them had been left--mutilated lumps -of stained feathers. They looked as though a spike had been driven -through their bodies. He knew that it was no ordinary thing that caused -the destruction. - -Mortality among the lambs continued. And then, one night in the -Nightcrow Inn, light came to them. They slapped their thighs, and -rattled their pint mugs; of course, it could only be “thay” ravens! -Till closing time that night it was the only subject talked about. - -The Tiger was there and his brother Aaron--two men who belonged to a -family that has been famous for cliff scaling in the district for many -generations. They had immense arms, being blacksmiths. - -The following day a boat pulled round the headland, and the stronghold -of the robbers was detected, though no sign of them could be seen. -Aaron was in the boat, and he fixed the place by a peculiar formation -of the edge of the cliff. This done, he grunted, and a long pull back -to the sands began. - -The waning moon of dawn had floated above the Exmoor hills when the -next morning three men left the village and set off along the road to -the base of the headland. They carried ropes, hauling blocks, a great -crowbar, and a sledge-hammer. John Smith of Crowberry was one, and his -companions were the blacksmith brothers. - -They were going to rob the robbers. - -Now ravens are rare birds, having been persecuted during the centuries -almost to extinction. The reasons for that persecution are easily -understandable. There was no compensation for the dead lambs, no money -paid out for the slaughtered chicks, and many farmers, especially -in the remote districts, found it hard enough to live, without being -preyed upon by ravens. Still, the ravens were now heavily protected by -law; in the village it was reckoned that any one who took their eggs -or shot the parent birds would be imprisoned for at least a month. -By reason of their rarity, a certain visiting bird-fancier from the -town had mentioned that he would give ten shillings a bird for any -fledgelings brought to him. It was a grand price, they agreed at the -Nightcrow Inn; not knowing, of course, that the dealer would make a -huge and assured profit by sending them to London. - -Along one of the sheep-wrought paths, among the springing brakeferns -and blackthorns, sea-bleached holly-bushes and gorse clusters, just -beginning to respond to the sunbeams, the three men went that spring -morning. Already the larks were singing high in an azure sky, the -kestrels hanging in the light wind, the buzzard wheeling in lone -circles far above them. They did not pause to watch, however, for there -was a dangerous job on hand, and it was three miles to the Point. - -The three hunters kept a sharp look-out for the ravens, but saw -nothing, even when they neared the lip of the Hole. - -Aaron dropped his bar, the tackle was flung on the sward, and coats -were stripped off. Work began in earnest. The first few powerful twangs -of the sledge-hammer on the bar woke echoes in the Hole, and a thousand -gulls spread pearly wings tipped with jet and slipped into the air. -An uproar of hoarse voices came upwards, and, mounting high, a great -seabird, spanning near six feet, dived at them with a soughing of vast -wings and passed a bare two feet over their heads. But the men took no -notice. Time was precious, and they feared that the policeman might -discover them; the terrifying thought of prison was ever behind the -thought of golden sovereigns in their pockets. Deep into the sward -Aaron drove the bar, until it remained rigid, leaning backwards from -the line of the cliff-face. Under his arms Tiger passed the hempen rope -and the thinner guide-rope, while John Smith of Crowberry adjusted the -hauling blocks. - -“Thaat be aa-right, reckons.” - -“Aiy aiy!” - -Aaron and John Smith of Crowberry took a strain on the rope and began -to pay out hand over hand. The Tiger leaned outwards over the Hole and -slowly disappeared over the edge. - -Two tugs on the guide-rope, and the men remained still. Next came three -tugs, and Aaron whispered to Farmer John that Tiger was near the ledge. -They held on tight. - -Meanwhile Tiger was spinning slowly on the rope. He started to swing, -backwards and forwards, aiming for the ledge whereon was the mass of -twigs and sticks comprising the ravens’ nest. He was about two hundred -feet above the rocks, and looking down he noticed how the waves slid -smoothly over them, churning and boiling white with foam afterwards. -Sometimes a gull passed near him, showing its yellow beak with the -reddish blotch at the end. Now he was swinging nearer the ledge--in and -out, in and out. Once or twice he looked upwards and wondered what he -should do if the old ravens came for him. He had no stick, and their -beaks could easily pierce a lamb’s skull. But not so much as a croak -was to be heard. He decided--as he heaved to and fro--that with his -share of the money he would buy a purse-net for shore-fishing. Nearer -and nearer he swung to the nest, and at last he could touch it with his -foot. But the time was not yet, so he pushed hard away with his feet, -and a loose fragment of stone, dislodged from above, hissed past him, -and grew smaller as it dropped towards the sea. Once more he pushed -away from the ledge, which was about two feet wide, swung towards it, -grasped a projecting stone, clung hard with his left hand, and gave -one tug on the guide-rope. Up above they lowered him one foot, and he -clambered to the ledge, panting. - -In the centre of the cradle of sticks, a yard across, gaped three -fledgeling ravens. At sight of Tiger they opened their big black beaks -in fear and croaked dolefully. He put his hand over and one pecked at -it; he struck it a sharp blow and it croaked the more, deep, rasping, -and hoarse. - -Tiger knew he would have to hurry. He seized one of the three birds -by the leg and dragged it from the fouled nest, to which it clung -gawkily. But at last it was free, its legs tied with the twine already -looped to his belt, and thrust into his basket. Quickly he seized the -other two and tied them, noticing while he did so that pieces of dead -gulls, rabbits, chickens, lamb’s wool, fish, frogs, and broken ducks’ -eggs lay about on the twigs. At last he had secured them, and left the -ledge. The old birds, if they were near, made no sign. For a while -Tiger swung idly, satisfied, looking lazily at the tide below. A few -stones hurtled down, and one hit his wrist, numbing it; the fledgelings -kicked and struggled, squawking. Three minutes, and his swinging was -much lessened; he gave five tugs for the hauling signal. - -There was no response, for just before John Smith and Aaron had -realised with fear that the crowbar had worked loose in the sward. -Unthinkingly they had relaxed the strain, and the loose stratum had -yielded. - -The Tiger tugged away, but there was no answering lift. Five times he -tugged, slowly. He hung still over the rocks, whence the tide was now -ebbing, leaving them gaunt and gray. - -Up above the two men held tight. They dared not move, for fear of the -bar coming right out of the ground. If there had been one more man it -would have been possible to haul Tiger up, bit by bit. As it was, they -could only remain still. The weight on the rope was heavy, but they -could stop so for hours if need be; till help came, at any rate. - -Presently Tiger realised what had happened, and grunted in disgust. He -started to climb, using his arms only, for he was frightened lest he -should hurt the birds and so lessen their value. Dimly he realised that -if he tired and dropped, the rope would jerk the other two over the -cliff-edge, and all three, with the birds, would crash to their death. -He climbed twenty feet, feeling no fatigue. There was another hundred -feet to go, easy work, before the cliff bulged slightly. Slabs of -dislodged rock hurtled past him, and one cut his brow. The blood poured -into his eye, and he spat angrily. - -When the first ache came to his damaged wrist he wound the rope -round his right leg and stood upon it. He cared no longer about the -birds. But he knew that to rest thus was no rest at all, so upwards he -went again--a terrible laboured climbing, slowly and with a strained -wrist, blood running from broken knuckles, and the sweat pouring from -his body. He began to feel the weight of the dragging loop of rope -below him, but still he struggled upwards. A shower of dust spat into -his face, and he wondered if he were blinded. His arms shook, his -muscles burned, and his palms, in spite of their coating of horn, were -beginning to tear. He could hardly see for the blood and sweat in his -eyes, and as he breathed he snored heavily, with great shuddering gasps. - -The jutting-out cliff was just above him now. Here the rope lay flat -and taut against the loose rubble, but he dug each hand alternately -into the shale and literally dragged himself up, fist over fist. Then -it was possible to press his toes into the slight slope, and rest. - -For a minute he lay thus, in agony. But he knew that to rest much -was fatal; reaction would set in. He wound his left leg round the -rope, seized the guide-rope (which ran through another loose belt) -and patiently pulled its lower end through so that there should be no -slack between him and the two men above. After an eternity of patient -hauling the line lay straight between him and the lip of the Hole. Then -he wound it twice round his thick neck, and bit on it firmly with his -teeth. This done, he gave five tugs on it, and saw it tighten. Crushing -his jaws together, he took the mighty strain, and was drawn up a foot. -Arching his back, and leaning out nearly at right angles to the face -of the cliff, he put one foot above the other. All the weight of his -ascent was borne by his teeth; they were his last hope. Tiger’s teeth -were yellow like old ivory, and the best in the village. Many a time he -had taken a hundredweight sack in them and moved about with it; many a -time he had swung from a beam by them, holding a rope in his jaws. Now -they were to save his life. Both the haulers and himself were well-nigh -exhausted when his beard covered with blood-stained froth appeared over -the lip of the cliff, and they dragged him sobbing and cursing on the -matted grass. - -Ten minutes later they had coiled up their ropes, taken up the bar, and -were walking quickly to the village. The three ravens were alive and -well, quite unhurt by Tiger’s struggles. The men spoke seldom as they -walked; their fear was that the policeman would see them. - -They reached Tiger’s cottage in safety and closed the door behind them. -His wife had a two-gallon jar of small ale for them, and Tiger drank a -gallon, only pausing to fill his basin. Then he licked his moustache, -and sat down on a chair. The other two men had thrown the tackle -on the table, and were taking deep draughts of the beer. They had -finished the two gallons when a succession of heavy blows came on the -door; these ceased, and there was a great thudding on the roof. - -At first they thought it was the policeman. Rural folk are usually -terrified at the idea of the law; they have the simple imagination of -children. - -“Come in, zur,” quavered Mrs. Tiger. - -Aaron, who was a devout chapel-goer, began to tremble. - -“It be a ghostie!” he whispered. - -“Git out!” scoffed Mrs. Tiger, for she had seen two large black shapes -that she recognised pass across the little window. - -Sure enough, the old ravens had discovered their young. The curious -thing, Muggy emphasised, was that there had been no sign of them either -during Tiger’s climb or afterwards, while the three men were tramping -the three miles to his cottage, nor had they heard any croaking. - -Meanwhile, the people in the cottage were fearful that the policeman -would come their way and discover everything. The old birds kept -banging away at the thatch, tearing out great mouthfuls of it in an -endeavour to get at the fledgelings. Tiger did not dare to use his -gun; the situation frightened him; so he opened the door. Immediately -the cat pounced at a young bird, but one of the old birds swooped down -and gave the cat a tap on the head that sent it spinning away, to drop -dead with a hole in its skull that Tiger could put two fingers in. The -youngsters, with nobody to stop them, got right away, half flying and -half hopping. - -“And since that day, zur,” Muggy said solemnly, “no raven has been -known to touch a lamb. That’s as true as I’m sitting here.” - -The ravens have nested on the headland again this year, using their old -breeding ledge; and I am glad that at least one pair of these rare -birds haunts the solitudes by the sea. No one interferes with them, -except the peregrines, but the raven is too much for that fierce swift -raider, turning on his back in mid-air and holding his beak upwards -like a javelin as the falcon is about to strike. A quick eye the raven -needs, for the hawk plunges at about two hundred miles an hour. But -they never harm one another, and I know for a fact, having seen it -myself, that the ravens practise their turning movement. They love to -float in an uprushing wind just below the cliff-edge, and roll over -like a twirled distaff, sideways, and then back again. And I think that -if any stranger tried to shoot one, the Nightcrow Inn would rise in -anger against him. The ravens have earned their sanctuary. - - - - -THE OUTLAW: - -_Being the indisputable (journalese) truth about the peregrine falcon -that came to St. Paul’s Cathedral in 1920._ - - -The beechwood was ten miles from London. One morning in late -September a strange visitor came to it, and perched upon a low -branch. A blackbird, feeding below among the dried moss and brown -leaves, shrilled a sudden alarm. The blackbird had never seen such an -apparition before, but he recognised the family. - -The newcomer remained still. He was tired and exhausted after a long -journey. Since dawn he had flown high up, his pinions urged on and on -by a fierce despair. For his mate had been shot upon Lundy Island, and -he had flown straight into the sun’s face as though to find her spirit -taken back into its flame that gave all the wild ones life. Swift had -he flown, never pausing till he came to the beechwood; seeing it -below, and wrapping his wings around him, he had fallen like a great -iron arrowhead into its solitude. - -The pigeons who roosted were in the stubble: the starlings haunted the -water-meadows: the jackdaws flocked with the rocks about the furrows. -The beechwood was still, for the blackbird had slipped away. - -The stranger flapped his long thin wings, and looked around him. - -He was about eighteen inches long, and bluish-ash in colour. His throat -and upper breast were white, tinged with yellow, and marked with a -few dark streaks. But the most noticeable thing was the eyes. They -were large, and keen, dusky; ringed with yellow eyelids. Fierce and -remorseless was their expression, aided by the short, hooked bill. - -The falcon suddenly stiffened. From the lake below the sloping forest -had come a faint trumpet-like call. He knew the call well, for many -times had he and his mate preyed upon the wild duck in the Devon -estuary opposite Lundy Island. - -The next moment he had gone through the trees, a swift shadow. A little -vole splitting a beechmast on the ground below crouched in terror. For -everything preyed upon its kind. The weasel came by day, and in summer -the grass snake; if it left the wood and went to the meadow there was -the poised kestrel hawk; in the furrows a fox sometimes ran, snapping -at the tiny mice; in the dark night came the great wood owl, and that -white devil, the barn owl. - -The mouse crouched in terror, but he passed on, a swift shadow: he was -a noble bird, and did not take rodents. - -Seven duck had flighted, and were going towards the reaches of the -Thames. They flew fast and steadily, at fifty miles an hour. The -passing narrow shadow became a relentless and swift whirling speck -above them, ever climbing. - -Then one of the duck was falling, the flight was scattered; the falling -one clutched and borne to the beechwood, where the hooked beak tore and -ripped. - -Thenceforward the wood became a place of terror. One morning the keeper -discovered a cock pheasant lying dead on the leaves. A small part of -its breast had been eaten. At first he thought that it was the work -of a fox--but he was puzzled; he knew that the fox usually ate more -of a longtail than a small part of its breast, and always buried his -half-eaten victim for consumption on another occasion. And on turning -it over, he was still more puzzled. The back was ripped as though a -knife had slashed and turned the skin right back. - -A hundred yards away he found a carrion crow. The back of the crow was -also smashed, although no attempt had been made to eat any section of -its body. In other parts of the wood the keeper found slain pheasants, -all badly broken; the remains of a squirrel--one forepaw and a bushy -tail comprising the remains. Three dead duck floated in the lake. -Whatever new and ghastly thing was causing the havoc, he told his head -man later, it seemed to delight in destroying and killing for sport. - -Gradually the terror became the topic of talk in the inns roundabout -Bromley, in Kent. Some of the bolder and more imaginative declared -that it was caused by an Arctic owl--one even said that he had seen it -stooping at a dog in the twilight. He was a well-known liar. - -No one in the district--which was outlying to a large town just outside -the suburban area of south-east London--had ever heard of the like. - -The mystery was solved in a sudden manner. The keeper had been setting -baited traps--of the “gin” variety--tempting the unknown with the -entrails of rabbits. But he caught nothing save a mangy stoat, blind -in one eye and the other filming over with age. The gins were of no -avail. - -The keeper kept fowls in his garden. One day he was sitting in the -porch of his cottage, smoking after the midday meal, and ruminating on -what the squire had said about giving up the rearing of pheasants. His -fowls were strutting and scratching: one had recently produced an egg -and was proclaiming the fact with unmelodious insistency. - -There came a hissing as of something falling: an alarmed curse from a -hen. The keeper jumped up, swearing at the bluish tumbling of narrow -wings that had gone over the hedge. - -One of his fowls was kicking the air spasmodically. There was blood on -the path. He picked the hen up--it was headless. - -The keeper swore; he knew what had caused the mischief among his -longtails and duck. It was a big hawk--of a kind never seen before. -So swiftly had it come that the fowl was decapitated by those dagger -spikes on the hind claw of the raider’s feet. - - * * * * * - -One day a journalist was walking in a meadow. The meadow was near to -a copse containing a dozen tall elm trees. In the elms were nearly -a hundred black patches--a colony of rooks at their old nests. The -rookery had been deserted in June, when old and young birds took to the -fields and made local migrations. - -That morning a mist had lain in the meadow and the rooks had known that -it was time to return to the colony. - -As the journalist, happy in the October sunshine, passed near the -rookery, he was surprised to see the whole flock--some hundreds of -birds--rise with harsh imperative cries into the air. The beating of -many jet wings caused a vast soughing, and the leaves below the trees -rose and flitter-fluttered with the winnowing. As suddenly as it had -begun, the outcry ceased. Yet still the birds climbed higher. - -Soon they were just specks against the blue, wheeling like a ring -of smoke in one great circle. Then the agitated cries came again. -One segment of the circle broke into falling and diving, zooming and -slipping, birds, as though a strong wind had scattered them every way. - -The journalist was mystified. He sat down to watch, and to discover the -reason. - -Two of the rooks had left the circle, and were diving to earth. As they -came nearer he saw that their wings hung limp. They fell a hundred -yards away, and he ran over to them. They were dead. - -Picking one up, it was warm, the sunlight gleaming on the hues of its -wings, glinting green and purple. Their backs were bare of feathers, -and gaping with a terrible wound. He was more mystified, then thought -that for some inexplicable reason the other rooks had pecked them to -death. But why? He was more puzzled as he thought. He was well known -for his puzzles. - -Looking up, he saw that the circle had swung higher than ever. -Gradually it drifted away, silent. - -The journalist, who had some knowledge of natural history and -ornithology, returned to London the next day and wrote the incident up -as a “news story.” But he could give no explanation. The editor was -sceptical; said that it was no good. He laughed, and mentioning that it -was “punk,” promptly “spiked” it. - -Meanwhile something was about to happen in London. - -It was half-past five on Saturday afternoon. The journalist, who worked -with a newspaper that went to press on Saturday night for publication -on Sunday, was passing St. Paul’s Cathedral. He stopped to look at the -pigeons strutting and searching for crumbs upon the worn paving stones. -He found two months continuous work to be most exhausting. He still -was puzzled about the dead rooks. He had been to every paper in London -with his “rook story,” but no one would print it. He even got laughed -at as a “fake merchant”--a tribute to imagination, but damning as a -reputation. - -Like chaff before a blast of wind the pigeons scattered. His paper was -rumpled by the agitated draught caused by their departure. - -Looking up to the dome he saw a flock of about fifty pigeons wheeling -in steady flight near the cross at the top. A speck fell with a -suddenness that reminded him of a shot aeroplane: like a plunging -halbert-head it was; there was a puff of feathers dancing and -fluttering--the flock scattered, dived to earth, anywhere, anyhow, and -the dark halbert-head became outlined against the sky, perched on the -gilt cross that glistened in the afternoon sun. - -Then he knew that it was a peregrine falcon, and thrilling with the -sight, took a taxi-cab back to Fleet Street (he was young and keen) and -“wrote the story up.” - -His editor “liked” the idea, but demanded that it should be rendered -in what the journalist thought was the most illiterate English. The -journalist and the editor sneered at each other about prose for some -time: and the editor won. The illiterate account was penned, mauled -over by a sub-editor, and finally displayed prominently on the front -page of his paper. But the editor only leered when the journalist asked -for his taxi-cab fare. - - * * * * * - -The falcon, leaving the woods near London came once more. The woods -were ten miles from St. Paul’s, and it took him eight minutes to fly to -the dome. - -His end was an epic one, and becomes such a noble spirit. From what the -journalist dreamed, he was able to imagine the death, and here it is. - -One morning by the lake side stood a gray stump, a tall thing on two -stalk-like legs. The gray stump remained motionless, as though watching -his own dull image in the water. - -It was a heron fishing. - -He remained still for many minutes. Something passed in the water, -a long neck shot forward, and a gleaming fish, pierced by the beak, -drawn from the lake. The heron, who had paid a visit every morning from -the heronry at Tonbridge, flew away; a slow-flapping, unwieldy thing, -over a yard in length. His feet stretched out behind him, his head was -tucked in between his shoulders. - -The falcon was about. He stooped at the heron. Perhaps the spirit of -ancestors, who left the gauntletted wrists of falconers to fly at -the heron of olden times, was about him: for how else should he have -dared that pointed beak? Rolling like a ship in a gale, heavily and in -distress, the heron turned on his back, and held his beak pointed at -the stooping falcon. - -The hawk swerved; swept up again; regained height, wrapped his wings -about him and plunged. Again the beak met him, once more he swerved. - -So the combat went on. Nearer the keeper’s cottage they drifted. -Now the heron was calling in distress, _Kaa-ack, kaa-ack_. Fell the -halbert-head, darted the spear-beak, slipped the halbert-head. It was -to be a fight to the death, till one should misjudge by the minutest -error of time, the plundering heron or the outlawed falcon. The small -birds hid themselves in the bushes--the sound of a shot rang out, -the heron tumbled in alarm, recovered, flapped away; an eddy of gray -feathers swirled in the wind, the echo of the report shivered back -from the woods--and the falcon fell on the grass, its beak gaping, and -panting for breath. - -The keeper picked up the wild one, never more to swoop on “longtail” or -“bird,” never more to descend upon terrorised tame pigeon in Barnstaple -or the great Dome of London. The proud eyes misted, the noble head fell -back--the keeper was surprised to feel how light the bird was; and -while he was weighing it in his hand the outlaw died. - - * * * * * - -But perhaps the most extraordinary thing about this falcon-raid was -that nearly every journalist in London saw the bird; but I saw it -first, therefore it is mine. - - - - -PEREGRINES IN LOVE - -(_To E. G. S._) - - -In the salt winds of the Atlantic, and above their ancient eyrie, the -peregrine falcons anchor their flight with easy mastery of the gusty -uptrends of the precipitous headland face. When first the celandine -came below the hedges, the male hawk mounted high, and stooped at his -larger mate like a black and shaftless arrowhead of iron, uttering -shrill love-notes the while. Now the dog violets and the red campion -flowers are among the grasses; the pink sea-thrift blooms in sheltered -places; and still the peregrines pursue each other and kiss with swift -fondness over the foamed waters. - -The kestrel is considered by some naturalists to be the most scientific -hoverer of our British hawks. Certainly he uses with great skill the -winds of heaven for his livelihood. He leans upon the moving air, -sometimes slipping sideways and losing height, but reassuming poise by -quick beats of his chestnut pinions. Our largest hawk, the buzzard, is -common in this district by the sea, and with large wings outspread he -sails circlewise till his prey is detected, when a slow descent is made -to the ground. Often these birds have been observed to hang low over -the heather and gorse, motionless, wings arched and bent backwards, for -nearly a minute at a time. But the peregrines, so swift and ruthless -in flight and habit, out-hover both the kestrel and the buzzard. The -hovering of the kestrel is weak, delicately balanced; that of the -buzzard clumsily weighty, and only managed in a strong air-current; -the peregrine falcon cuts into the gusts, controlling his flight with -instant power, unheeding the wind’s vagaries. He can remain still, soar -higher, or drift sideways with ease. - -The eyrie is a hundred feet down the cliff-face, upon a narrow ledge. -For years their young have been taken by the Tiger, a small, wiry man -who, descends by a rope attached to a driven crowbar, swings inwards to -the ledge, and is hauled to the top with the young falcons in a basket. -Yet every year when the celandines come the falcons’ courtship begins, -ending only when the scent of the wild thyme fades and the sea-thrift -rusts with autumn’s decay. They hunt together, ranging afar. Their -stoop is terrible to behold, so swift and shattering its ending. It -may be at a rabbit which ventures forth from the holes of the swarded -slopes, at a stock-dove beating speedy flight from Lundy Island, or -at an immigrant swallow flying from alien wastes to the shore and -sanctuary. Nothing is immune from ravage save the larger gulls and the -sombre ravens, who croak defiance from their aerial soughing. - -The peregrines raid from their base upon the headland to the inland -villages, watching for the chance of taking a tame dove from a -cot; onwards to the lonely wastes of the sandhills, crowned with -spike-grass, where the peewits wail throughout the springtime. They -dash up the wide estuary; the ring-plover crouch low among the stones -and seaweed as they pass; they even visit Barnstaple itself for the -blue-gray pigeons that wheel above its old shipyards. In the skyey -loftiness one moment are the hawks, watching and soaring, the male -usually the higher; one will close pinions and dive like a dark -arrowhead through the air, flattening as a bird is reached; there is -a burst of feathers, a triumphant chattering, and the limp victim is -borne to the solitudes of the dunes. A week later upon the sand a -bleached skeleton will lie, surrounded by a scattered ring of feathers, -in company with old bones of rabbits and bead-like shells that tell of -ended generations. - -The pair rarely separates. Maybe the leading hawk will miss; its mate -follows instantly. Sometimes a third striking is attempted. Usually, -however, it is not needed, although the course of the dive, once begun, -cannot be altered--either the object is missed entirely or secured. In -the pools below the cliffs the sea boils, tossing the spray afar. Shags -haunt particular rocks, content in the sunlight. The falcons do not -molest them, but they may watch the loving couple high in heaven, and -so may the gulls that with yelping plaints rise and fall and glide upon -the air. Swiftly and with quick wing-beats the peregrines climb, almost -vertically, it would appear. Then a sudden speeding at eighty or ninety -miles an hour, a downward dash at the rocks, beaks and wings touching; -they hiss past the gulls, swoop apart and glide upwards, uttering their -sweetly wild mating cries. Nothing matters in the ecstasies of spring. -They may pass uncaring within a few yards of a beholder, when he may -see the neck and wings, slate-ash in colour, the dark crown and nape, -the hooked beak and the barred tail. He may shout and wave his arms -in excitement, the ravens croak, the gulls scream, the lone buzzard -wail as he circles, but the love-chase continues. On the falcons -rush, above the crested waves and the marbled troughs of the ocean, -past the crannies and the ledges of the precipice, among the summer -cloudlets, over the hills of heather and the slopes of golden gorse, by -the mounded sand-dunes and the glistening mud-flats; all the heavenly -freeness is theirs to roam. Bold they are, and observe no law, but they -hunt openly and in defiance--often cursed by the sporting farmer; and -yet all of us are proud of our “pregun forlkns.” - - - - -MIDSUMMER NIGHT - -(_To G. E. R._) - - -Against the deep blue of the sky a little money spider was taking a -line from one veined ash leaf to another. Although so small, he was -easily seen in the waning light, a dark speck moving with great care. -It was evening time, and the vesper hymn of warblers and thrushes, -pippits and blackbirds, was all but sung. - -Throughout the day the great vibrant waves of sunlight were plangent -on the cornfields and rushing with golden swell over the bee-visited -hedgerows and green meadows, vitalising the slender grasses and red -sorrel growing in beauty with branched buttercups and incarnadine poppy -flowers. Slowly the day-tide of summer’s light and glory ebbed, the -sun swung down from heaven and dipped its lower rim into the ocean. -The fields and distant oakwood were laved in yellow light, and like a -golden sand gleaming in the western sunlight as the sea recedes, the -ebbing tide of sunlight left its pools among the woods and the hedges. -Far away some children were singing as they went slowly homewards -through the closed buttercups and daisies, and their careless cries -were in harmony with the evening. - -I sat on a gate and watched the rooks flying over the elm trees in the -village below, where all was peace and quiet. The wind sighed through -the hedge: a dead leaf moved listlessly, twirling as the wind spun -it. The tissues of the tree’s dead lung had decayed and sunk into the -earth; the winter had been mild, and the invisible hand, composing and -decomposing, had not yet touched the filigree web of its brittle frame. -On its parent ash tree it hung and quivered, never more to respond to -the fire of summer. - -Gradually the children reached their homes, and no more cries came -from the meadow. The little spider paused half-way between the leaves, -and hung quiescent. Perhaps some flaw in his architectural scheme was -apparent to him, or he feared that the wind of the summer night would -destroy his foundation threads. Born only a few weeks before, without -tuition or practice, he knew the angles of his pillars, the proportions -of his stanchions, the symmetry and balance of his walls. He had -watched no honey-coloured parent at work, yet within his minute brain -were the plans of a perfect system to entangle the smallest flying -insects, feeble of wing, that would fall against his web. - -The pools of gold about the oaks slowly drained away, and the sky above -became a more profound blue. Three swifts passed above, wheeling in -final flight before creeping to their nests of straw-speck and saliva -under the tiles of the church. The songs of the warblers and thrushes -as the light drains away, find an echo in the heart of the poet, for -they sing of the beauty of summer: the swift’s cries belong to the -spectral light of the stars and the mystery of infinite space. The -swift is the mystic among birds. - -The spider moved on as the first star shone in the sky. Maybe his -problem was solved, or that he had waited for the beauteous whiteness -of Lyra’s ray. Slowly he travelled to the leaf he had chosen as a base, -paused awhile, and crept back across his life-line. The rooks were -settled in the elm-tops by the church, and their _caa-caas_ came less -often; the prospects of the next day’s forage among the new potatoes -had been discussed thoroughly, and were known to all--in satisfaction -the colony had settled down to sleep. Gradually the sun sank into the -sea, its fire spreading its broad glow through the cloud strata over -the far horizon. One by one the stars crept into their places, waiting -for the queen-moon to lift her head above the hills of Exmoor. Antares -shone in the south; above were Lyra, Aquila, Northern Crown, and all -the heavenly concourse: Mars glowed red, with Spica Virginis swung low -in adoration and sending its wan green fires to the watcher. Slowly the -afterglow drenched in the gray waters, an owl quavered in loneliness as -it fanned over the churchyard; a jackdaw answered sharply, querulously, -and night had come to the earth. - -A pale golden vapour over the Exmoor hills, and the moon rose, like -the head of a yellow moth creeping from its case. It swam into view -over the dark hills, and I looked into its face, while it shrank into -a silver disk. The sky became lavender-coloured, the moon dust falling -with the dew and forming a gauzy veil above. The boom of the waves -pounding the distant headland was borne on the wind burthened with foam -fragrance and the scent of the sweet clover fields beyond the village. -It stirred the green corn, came fitfully, then sighed to silence. - -The last labourer left the inn and the village slept. The walls of the -cottages gleamed white under the dark thatch as the moonlight fell -directly upon them. I was alone with the sapling wheat and all was -still. - -I was alone with the wheat that I loved. Moving over the field my feet -were drenched in an instant by the dew. Lying at full length on the -earth, I pressed my face among the sweet wistfulness of stalks, stained -and glowing as with some lambent fire, pale, mysterious. On each pale -flame-blade depended a small white light, a dew-drop in which the -light of the moon was imprisoned. Each flag of wheat held the beauty -of pure water, and within the sappy blades glowed the spirit of the -earth--in the spectral silence a voice spoke of its ancient lineage: -of the slow horses that had strained at the wooden plough through the -ages, scarring the glebe in long furrows that must be sown with corn; -race after race of slow horses moving in jangling harness to the deep -shouts of the heavy men. Generation after generation of men, bent with -age and unceasing labour, plodding the earth, sowing the yellow grains -that would produce a million million berries for mankind. Spring after -spring, each with its glory of blue-winged swallows speeding, wheeling, -falling through the azure, the cuckoo calling in the meadows, and -the lark-song shaking its silver earthchain as it strove to be free. -Through all the sowings and the reapings for thousands of years the -wheat had known that it was grown for man, and the soul of the wheat -grew in the knowledge of its service. Lying there on the cool couch of -the silver-flotten corn, with the soft earth under me, sweet with its -scent of stored sunbeams, the beauty of the phantom wheat carried me -away in a passion of sweet ecstasy. Faint as the sea-murmur within the -shell, the voice of the corn came to the inward ear. Ever the same was -the earth that it knew, the east washed with faint rosewater in the -dayspring, the lark-flight loosened upon the bosom of the dawn wind, -and the golden beams of the sun breasting the hills of the morning. It -was but a moment since the wild men had goaded the sullen oxen, and -with rude implements torn a living from the earth; all the great power -of the wheat rested above the growing corn now, of kin to the grains -beaten by oxen, and later, by the flails of the wretches who were ever -hungry. - -The moon floated in the nightpool with the Swan, the distant roar of -the surf floated from over the clover fields, and still I lay there, -one with the Maker of Life ... a white mistiness flapped in front, -beating broad pinions as it hovered, it dropped to the earth, and a -shrill scream trembled into the night. Fluttering like a moth, the -ghostly barn owl struggled with the rat, held it in a remorseless -clutch of powerful talons. Into the wheatfield the rat had come, urged -by instinct to seek the means of life, and it had found only death. -Dreamily the owl fanned the night with his broad wings and then floated -away to his nest in the loft of the cottage near the church. Saddened -by the consciousness of life’s tragedy--every form of life depending -for existence on the death of another form--I walked towards the -village, while a landrail began his jarring _crake-crake_ in the corn, -and little moths went down to drink the honey of the night-opening -flowers, living their short life while the moon, soon to die, was in -its fullest beauty. Antares was a dull red ember in the south: the star -of summer that Richard Jefferies loved. My thought was with him--he -was near me, though the body had long been lying in Broadwater. Had he -spoken to me in this mystic June night, I wondered; and then a blackcap -warbler sang in a thorn bush; my thought was as old as its song, and I -doubted no longer. - - - - -A FEATHERED WASTER - - -No bird-lovers can but desire the destruction of the Little Owl -(_Athene Noctua_), a prolific bird introduced into England half a -century ago by Lord Lilford. It has no redeeming trait. I have watched -several pairs, and my observations show without doubt that he is not -worth his salt, and deserves not the slightest mercy. - -Old Bob, a keeper with whom I am very friendly, showed me a pollard -oak standing at the side of a hazel covert, which he suspected as -the home of a pair of these birds. I sat down in the dry ditch and -waited, while the humble bees swung themselves among the flowering -nettles. This was in the early afternoon, and not in the evening or -the night; in the bright sunlight, when all self-respecting owls are -dreaming in barn-loft or hollow tree. But to the Little Owl time is -obviously money, for it was not long before a brown bird, not unlike -a large thrush, fluttered out of the tree and flew to a may hedge -running at right angles to the covert. A large white cabbage butterfly -drifted past, and was captured dexterously by the alien. Now cabbage -butterflies are a distinct pest, so one good mark was registered to the -accused. Shortly he descended into the sapling corn, probably to take a -beetle or mouse, and as these are not yet valuable as human food he was -given another good mark. - -He flew away after this, and landed a hundred yards down the hedge. -Something drew his attention, something that was in the hedge itself. -He dropped to the ground, and through my glasses I could see that he -was climbing up the branches. When he returned, it was with something -in his beak. I ran over the field and found that he had been robbing -a chaffinch’s nest of its fledgling young. A weasel will do this, or a -rat, and often a crow. But an owl! I was ashamed of my own kin. - -I decided to advise the keeper to shoot all Little Owls. - -Later in the day the little pirate seized a thrush, nearly as big as -himself, and perching on it falcon-fashion, commenced to tear at the -breast. I love the thrushes, for they do great good in the spring, -destroying snails and worms. Besides, they voice with such ecstasy the -joyful spirit of spring returned to the cold earth; in the winter they -fill the heart with hope for the future. Most certainly the Little Owl -would be outlawed. - -During succeeding days I watched the pair eating worms; hunting, -stoat-wise, in the ditch for baby rabbits; hovering over the meadow, -like kestrel hawks, for mice and rats. Once I saw them catch a frog. -And I knew that later on the partridge chicks would be taken. There -was no doubt in my own mind that he must be shot and trapped whenever -possible. I would tell Old Bob to bring along his twelve-bore. - -With this determination in my mind I thought I would look at the nest. -Now most owls will fly out when disturbed and leave the eggs or young -to their fate. Much to my surprise, this bird sat tight. I broke a twig -off and prodded her gently. She refused to budge. I pushed a little -harder. With a mew like a distressed cat she left her four eggs and ran -quickly to a hidden corner of the platform on which they were laid (the -eggs were just visible as I looked down at them through a small hole in -the top of the tree). - -But she did not leave them uncovered for long, for with another cry of -pain she crept over them again, covering them with her body. Again I -tapped her with the stick, but she was obstinate. She was evidently -decided to risk death in the protection of her unborn little ones. - -Later, over at the rearing field, I saw Old Bob. - -“Well, sir, do ee reckon ’em to be proper vermin?” - -“No, Bob,” I said casually, looking at his weather-rutted hands. “No, -they eat mostly beetles and mice, I think, and an occasional sparrow or -so. I don’t think they will hurt your chicks.” - -Mere sentiment, of course, but the mother whined so wistfully, and her -little body was so soft when I, like a great bully, prodded her with -the stick. Besides, she was an owl, and blood is thicker than water. - - - - -INVOCATION - - -Throughout the long glaring days of July pitiful cries quiver in the -heat; the sheep are dying of thirst. Even some of the hill-springs are -now mere trickles. - -This north coast of Devon is mocked by the vision of the bluest of -seas, calm and shining under the summer sun. The fields stretching down -to the sands are parched and brown, the grasses mere ghosts, dry and -sapless. Even the sea-breeze has little of refreshment in its motion; -it is merely heated air. - -Many of the sheep are dead. Jackdaws, gulls, carrion crows, and rooks -are feasting on the bloated carcases which remain; the shimmering -hum of flies innumerable gives to our English midsummer a tropical -semblance. Nor are there any swallows to decimate these pests. I have -seen about four pairs this year--the first pair, which arrived on -the last day of March, was taken by the peregrine falcons. Swifts and -house-martins are not scarce, but they keep to the inland villages. - -The prolonged drought seems to have brought to life several rare -butterflies, but even the interest that one may find in these is small. -Even the blue sky and the blue sea produce an intolerable weariness. -Wherever I go there sound those pitiful cries of the sheep; there is -the slippery grass, and the glare of the sun on the sward. The wheat is -yellow in the flag, dried and rustling; the poppies are sickly, though -usually the fiercer the sun the more sultry their bloom. - -A brook runs through sandhills on the other side of the headland, and -at one place the red cattle stand in cool water to their dewlaps, -gazing tranquilly about them. Here is the great meeting-place of -the birds, and at any time of the day, from dawn to sunset, its -pebbly shallow is thronged with finches, pippits, doves, warblers, -and cuckoos. How the goldfinches love the water! With sweet, reedy -twitterings a flock will come from orchard haunts and bathe in the -running water, the yellow-barred wings aflutter and crimson faces -dipped again and again. Copper finches follow, with perhaps those -minute travellers the Golden-Crowned Knights, as the country folk so -beautifully term the smallest British bird. - -Other creatures know of this avian meeting-place. The weasel comes, and -a great sombre pair of ravens; and the sparrowhawk dashes sometimes -in the midst, seizing one of the bathers. To me this is a place of -pilgrimage, where all things come down to the life-giving waters. Even -here, however, there is heard in the heated air those sad cries from -the hills. - -A village girl showed me some verses she had written on the drought. -She was singing by the waterside, a little maid in a print dress. With -shy eyes she tendered the poem. I remember the last verse:-- - - _God of Pity, I beseech Thee, - Send us rain in healing shower, - For the fields I see around me - Death and Ruin hold in power._ - -But from the west comes no cloud; only the fiery sun burns in a -pitiless sky. - - - - -COCKNEY BIRD TRIPPERS - - -My work necessitated long hours in London, and I used to bless the -sparrows; I was never tired of watching them. They lifted my mind from -dusty pavements and the smell of motor traffic. A favourite place to -see them was a garden adjoining a church in Gracechurch Street; another -was by the fountains of Trafalgar Square. About the time of harvest -in the country, for which I pined, I used to notice an absence of the -winged urchins. Where before a noisy, squabbling party congregated in -the park or near the pigeons in Trafalgar Square, in August a solitary -couple or two hopped quietly. These, I imagined, had not answered the -call that came to their dingy brethren, the same call that came to the -weary Londoner at that period of the year. - -The sparrows go into the country. Where the corn is cut and shocked -you will see them in vast flocks, searching in the stubble or openly -robbing the ripe ears. It is no uncommon thing to observe a thousand -or more in one field. And perhaps as you watch a swooping hawk will -flash over the hedgerow, the cloud will arise, chattering in terror; -one miserable victim will be seized and carried swiftly away. Almost -before the last floating feather has drifted to the ground the flock -will be back, greedy for the golden grains. Perhaps there is some deep -philosophy among the wild creatures, for immediately the danger of -death is past they have forgotten it, and continue to live every moment -in complete happiness. - -Male chaffinches and other finches often join the trippers. So ready -are sparrows to imitate, or perhaps to return to natural conditions -long since abandoned in the city, that after a few pastoral days their -chirps become sweeter, resembling the silvery _spink spink_ of their -gay cousins. - -The sparrow has the power to produce sweet notes, but in the rush of a -big city he has become careless regarding his personal appearance, his -song, and the construction of nest. - -About the second week of September the bird trippers come back, their -voices clearer and their feathers sprucer. After a while, however, they -return to their old habits, quarrelsome and untidy as before. - - - - -“FULLNESS AFTER DEARTH” - -(_September, 1921._) - - -Where the fields were scorched and drab during the drought the sweet -green grass is growing. Gone are those gaping fissures in the slopes by -the sea, those swarms of flies about the dead sheep, and the crows and -jackdaws ever glutted with carrion. Many summery flowers that should -have formed their seeds had no chance to bloom; but now the rains have -blessed them, and everywhere their colours and scents have been made -from cold earth, sunshine, and a dot of life. - -In mythology the goddess of spring returned to the bleak woodlands and -barren fields, scattering life and song as she wandered. Nowadays we -do not believe in pagan deities, but the idea survives, like poetry, -for ever. That _something_ has returned to this wild and lovely land -by the sea there can be no doubt. In every dry ditch the nettles -are springing up, and the white blossom already crests some of the -clusters. The spade-shaped leaves of the celandine--a flower that -usually comes in February or March, and resembles a buttercup--are -among the grasses in the meadows, the cuckoo-plants are rising, a lark -has two eggs in her nest, while her mate sings with vernal ecstasy high -above. - -The hedge-banks are refreshed with young seedling plants, dandelions, -hawk-weeds, speedwell, thistles, lords-and-ladies, and a score of -others. I know a damp patch by the roadway where every spring giant -docks grow. In July their immense leaves, three feet long, turn crimson -and brown; in August tall spires of rusty seeds are prepared, and the -stalks stand next spring. This year, however, the seeds were dropped in -June. Now the plants are putting forth fresh leaves that over-shadow -the tiny efforts of their off-sprung life. Those docks have been there -a generation, and are still unwearied--they must have launched millions -of seeds into the light. - -The swallows are still singing, but the chill nights are a sign to -them. Yesterday a young bird flew full-tilt into the wall of a barn, -and was picked up dead. It was blind, and had been so since birth. How -had it existed till now? I am inclined to think that it had lost its -parents, who hitherto must have been shepherding it. - -Or perhaps it had seen the goddess Proserpine come back into the -September days of gold and royalest blue, and had paid the penalty of -vision. I burnt the tiny corpse on a bramble-fire; its ashes went up in -smoke and spark towards the sun. - - - - -CUCKOO NOTES - - -Most people know that the “cuckoo lays its eggs in another bird’s nest.” - -The few will say that the cuckoo does nothing of the sort, that she -will lay her egg on the ground somewhere, and then carry it either by -beak or foot to the selected nest, deposit it there, and fly away. They -will say (once I said the same thing) that “it never actually lays in -another nest.” They are wrong, in one case, at any rate. - -This spring a hedge-sparrow built its nest in the rough edge of a pile -of faggots. In the course of time four pale blue eggs appeared, and one -morning very early a large bird flew down to it. She must have remained -there for some time, for as I strolled past when the sun was just -rising above the hills she flew off the nest. I knew by the flight -that the bird was a cuckoo. Below the pile of faggots, on the ground, -lay the scattered remains of the eggs, and the cuckoo, before _laying_ -her solitary egg in the nest, had apparently sucked all four of them. - -I feared that the hedge-sparrows would desert the nest, which now -surely was but an empty mock, with its one alien egg. In the ordinary -way one will find the cuckoo’s egg amongst the others, in some cases -exchanged for one belonging to the nest. When the young cuckoo is -hatched, he displays great irritation if anything touches his back, -and will not rest till the other occupants of the nest, whether eggs -or fledgelings like himself, are cast out. The parent birds show an -indifference to these unfortunates, and all their efforts are for the -intruder. - -Thus I was considerably surprised to find that the female sparrow was -sitting on the strange egg. Had I, before the tragedy, taken the four -eggs away, and placed instead an egg of a robin or a thrush, it is -practically certain that it would have been ignored. Both parent birds -were near when the female cuckoo was laying her egg, and kept flying -round the nest, accompanied by a robin who may have been, like myself, -a curious spectator in this domestic affair. - -Five weeks afterwards the young cuckoo was many times the size of his -wretched foster parents, and throughout the long days of June they -worked in the hedges, seeking caterpillars, grubs, and spiders for -their querulous nestling. - -The migration of the young cuckoo in August is helped by a most -interesting series of ingenious frauds. The old cuckoos depart for the -south in July, and the younger birds making their way independently, -day by day, are directed only by instinct. But the baby cannot feed -itself (or probably will not, being a born parasite), and the poor -little pair of birds who have slaved for it will not follow him when -the wanderlust comes into his blood. The method of cadging a meal is as -extraordinary as it is utterly callous. - -The cad will fly ten or twelve miles a day in a southerly direction. At -intervals he cries in an infantile, screaming voice. There is bound to -be near a pair of birds with young, and should they hear the cry, they -leave their own children and go and feed the wide-mouthed impostor. -No small birds, _with fledgelings_, appear to be able to resist the -call. They go and feed him. The fact that the young cuckoo bears a -resemblance to a kestrel hawk, both in flight and colour, makes their -charity all the more mysterious. Down to the south he wanders, his -wings getting stronger every day, until the time comes when the sea -shines in the distance, and his long journey begins. And throughout the -days of his English stay, he lives on the foolish and charitable ones -among the smaller, insectivorous birds. - -Sometimes he is a positive blackguard. One year (1914) I found a -cuckoo’s egg in a tiny nest of a common wren. When hatched, and only -after much difficulty, he hoisted out all his companions, or squashed -them, until he broke the nest (round like a ball, and with the hole -about an inch or so in diameter in the side) and squatted insolently -on top of it. The wrens, with their upright, barred little tails -ever jerking with pride, fed him incessantly. The female worked so -hard, and the cuckoo was so greedy, that eventually the top of her -head was devoid of all feathers, and made quite raw by the beak of -her wonder-child. But she was very brave, and was apparently quite -indifferent to the risk she ran of one day disappearing altogether. I -have often wondered if cuckoos have the power of projecting into other -birds the maternal love, or instinct, that is so obviously deficient -in themselves. This seems to be the logical conclusion to draw, even if -it be incomprehensible to the man who in human life thinks in terms of -matter and the individual, instead of the spirit and the species. - - _1916._ - - - - -DAYS OF AUTUMN - - -One morning in the hollows of the meadow land below the wood lay a -silver mist. The sun sweeping upwards in its curve beat this away -towards noon, but it was a sign. The fire of autumn was kindled: -already the little notched leaves of the hawthorn were tinged with -the rust of decay, already a bramble leaf was turning red: soon the -flames would mount the mightier trees and fan their pale heat among -the willows and ash trees round the lake, lick among the drooping elms -and the lacquered oaks, and sweep in abandonment with yawning fire of -colour through the old beech forest. - -Years ago now, in the glamorous time of childhood, this coming of the -mist in the morning with its fragrance arising from the earth peculiar -to summer’s end--the fumous, clinging smell of a torch--filled me -with great sadness. No birds sang in the woods. By the mere, about -this time, hundreds of swallows would gather. Restlessly they clung -to the sedges and the rushes, whose tips were beginning to brown and -make faint whisper in the wind; now flinging themselves into the air, -twittering, mounting high, wheeling and slipping, now descending like -a shower of iron darts to the border of the lake. Sometimes on my -way to school I went to watch them, being caught occasionally as I -crept in through an unofficial entrance to the school, and punishment -ensued. What use to explain the poignant feelings about autumn and -the departure of my beautiful swallows to lands where I could not -follow? More important to the boy were his forced learnings than his -blundering and unconscious poetry; and the sunlight came through the -window, making him miserable. In fancy he was roaming the old hills, -or dreaming by the brook; and that was indolence--he would never fit -himself for the conflict of a mature life in London by idleness and -dreaming. So the little boy was often punished, and frequently occupied -the lowest seat of his form. - -As the days went on the swallows were more anxious. The cuckoos and the -swifts had long since departed. Here and there in the fountain-shaped -elms a yellow patch of leaves showed like a spilled plash of water -imprisoning a sunbeam. The peggles on the hawthorns were reddening; and -waving their pennants in the wind the dry rustling of the sedges came -across the water with excited notes of the swallows. As one swept by, -low in flight, the deep blue of his wings, their exquisite and soft -uplift, the delicacy of the forked tail, were reflected on the surface; -with a sighing sound he would pass and his liquid image glide on the -mirrored surface below him. - -The mornings were chilly, but the vagrants continued to hold their -parliament in the rushes. Insect life was on the wane, adventure -stirred their little hearts to excitement. Every passing of the wind -beckoned a forlorn following of leaves from the trees, a spider seeking -hibernation threw a prospecting line of silk against the face. With a -tired sound the starred sycamore leaves, each condemned by the black -patch of autumn, fluttered to the earth; by listening closely it was -possible to hear the stalks break from the twigs. Flittering like -chafer-beetles in a dusky summer night the vaned seeds risped and -whirled away from the parent trees. As yet the conflagration had not -caught the forest, only isolated flames browned a beech tree, scorched -the branch of an ash with yellow or made a buff haze in the distant -oaks. It seemed as though the funeral pyre of dead summer would blaze -in majesty only when the swallows had left. - -One afternoon their shriller notes told that the hour was approaching. -So eager were they among themselves that I was permitted to approach -within a yard of them. I could see their frail claws, and admire the -slim outline of their bodies; a melancholy admiration, like that of age -with a young heart for youth and beauty that it yearns to share; the -swallows were much to me, but I was nothing to them. Suddenly with a -rush of wings they swept up, soon to become a smudge against the sky. -But the wind was not favourable, or the message anticipated had not -arrived, for they returned to the sedges that never ceased to shiver -of coming dreariness. The autumnal air was tranquil in its silence and -solitude; the wings of gnats dancing their mazy columns assumed in the -sunshine a fairy semblance. Over the waters sped the swallows, taking -the last banquet, for once the long journey were commenced no halt -would be made for food; the thousands of miles over sea and land must -be passed without falter, urged and directed by the ancient instinct -developed long before Zoroaster came from the plains of Iran with his -Magian worship. - -The next morning when I went to bid them farewell the lake was -deserted. My friends had gone, and I had not said good-bye. During the -night a wind had risen, and they had fled before it to the warm south. -I prayed that their strength did not fail while the little things were -over the cold gray sea. I could do no more. But my heart was heavy. - -When the migrants have departed the fires of autumn throw their flames -and falling shadows rapidly over the countryside. In the morning -moisture drip-drips from the trees, their tops are wraithed in mist, -and the jay screams as he lurks among the acorns. Every day the sun -describes a lower curve and, red and small, looms through the vapours. -But above he is spinning and carding the mist, warmth blows on the -cheek as for a moment brightness streams down, and so happiness comes -again. Once more the thoughts of desolation are dispelled like the -mist, and hope rises anew to the heart. In the murmuring green of -spring, the radiant birdsong of summer, it is indeed difficult to -be sad. Though all human efforts seem without avail, the song and -scent and colour of summer fills the yearning heart and assuages its -broken hopes. But in autumn and winter, at least for a long time, no -consolation was there anywhere. Underfoot the old paths were beaten -into mire by the passing of feet; these were the leaves, each so -perfect and veined and shaped, that had opened from buds to the croon -of wild cloves and the tap-tap of woodpeckers. Nature seemed to care -nothing for the things that were created: the hand that composed so -lovingly decomposed as inevitably. - -To youth the world seemed bitterly cruel and uncaring, for every form -of life--except those idealists, the bees--survived by the death of -another form. The declining days with their ebb of warmth killed the -million million insects and butterflies whose hum had been so dim and -happy in the summer. - -By a dry mossy bank underneath a hedge of bullace in whose unleafed -raggedness the sere and twisted chords of the traveller’s joy had -grown, the willow herb flowers were still in bloom when October had -yielded most of its blackberries. Below the pink flowers and on the -same stem the long pods were splitting and their seeds, swung under -down, drifting with the wind. As I watched, a humble bee, numbed with -cold sought the sanctuary of a pink flower, clung for a moment swaying, -then fell to the moss below and lay still on its side. The hooked -legs moved feebly, the wings shivered; no warmth came from the weak -sunshine, and so it died. - -By night a mouse would consume its body--beautiful with the bar of -tawny velvet on its duskiness. From the time of early spring, when -first the willow wren had called by the stream, the bee had climbed -over the flowers, bartering the gold grains of the pollen for the honey -that it desired so eagerly. In April it had gone to the apple blossom -in the orchard and heavy-odoured nettles filling the ditches; invaded -the sanctities of all the flowers of summer’s lavishing. Busy was my -hunchback bee, feeding on no other form of life, helping the birth -of the seeds to which the hue and scent of the petals were servant, -working for the future of her race, utterly selfless; humming a -wander-song as the sun strengthened its vanes, now fretted by toil and -labour. - -Then there was no hope anywhere, no voice among the trees, nothing but -the feeble winnowing of the leaves as they sank to the earth, and the -dazed drone of a dying fly. - -In the beechwood the split covers of the mast crushed under the feet, -the leaves were crisped and curled. No cunning of sculptor in copper -could fashion such as these. The beech tree is indeed the aristocrat of -the forest, for it is superb at the fall. No leaves possess such a rich -colour or have the appearance of majesty and preserved form. The elm -leaves are drab and lifeless, the oak leaves blotched and frayed; from -the horse chestnut the big green splayed leaves are either withered and -rusted or drop when seemingly full of sap. The elderberry and the ash -loosen their sprays at the first singe of autumn’s fire. But gradually -dyed a deep golden-brown, and untouched by fungus or blight, the -leaves of the beech preserve their outline and take on a silkiness and -shining of surface. Seen against the blue sky the veins and arteries -of each leaf are clear-cut and distinct; no degeneration in the beech -tree. During the autumn the numerous summer tenants of the wood have -quitted. There is silence in the cold air. Old and twisted, the beech -trees have yielded generations of leaves uncurling from torch-like -windings when first the swallows come across the sea; the rooks built -in their massy summer greeneries; woodpeckers hewn a nesting place in -the rotten boles, spreading a whiteness of chips on the moss beneath; -starlings with wings of metallic gleaming stolen their old trysts, -and jackdaws nested where the branches had decayed and gaped. Far -down across the fields yonder the rooks are following the plough. The -jackdaws have joined them, and as light ebbs at evening they will -return in a long stream to the rookeries. - -The starlings haunt the water-meadows, the mocking cry of the green -“gallypot” is heard no more. Walking quietly through the solitude of -the wood the wanderer may see a squirrel storing his granaries with -mast and acorns, working earnestly lest the frost come early and bind -the earth till the sun of March shall solve its graven pattern. - -From the edge of the wood the field slopes downwards to the longpond, -now covered with a haze in the sunshine. The rushes fringing its edge -are rusted and bent like old Roman swords, the reeds like the spears -of ancient Britons, thrown with Arthur’s sword, into the lake. By the -pebbled shore the water is pure and clear and gloomy, the sunlight -showing the moist brown velvet of the leaves upon its bed. Quietly -feeding in the centre, a dozen moor-hens send ripples to the side, each -wavelet bearing a shifting line of light over the leaves as it travels -forward. Yonder the sallows have loosened their slips of leaves and the -sunshine throws up their ruddy and yellow wands--broken segments of a -rainbow trembling by the marge. A wren goes by, a fluttering moth of -a bird, silent; sipping and twittering in sweet cadences a flock of -goldfinches passes over towards the patch of thistledown in the meadow. -A chuckling, rattling sound; the fieldfares and redwings have arrived -from Scandinavian forests. - -The path through the higher wood was covered with leaves, and bordered -by bleached stalks of wild parsley and crumbling sorrel spires. From -the tall grasses the sap went with summer, and like frail ghosts -they drooped over the pathway. The sun was warm, as though it were -celandine-time. Upright and pallid under the trees, and lit by the warm -sunshine, the stalks of the year’s bluebells bore their skull-like caps -filled with their black shining seeds. Even as the wind stirred the -branches of the trees the old loved shadow lacings slipped and shuffled -on the ground. The wind sounded as in summer, the loveliest goldy-brown -brimmed the hollows under the oaks. The phantoms of summer were with me -as I leant against a sapling, the cast feather of a chaffinch swung on -a spider’s line encircling the trunk waved a gentle farewell. Where the -shafts of sunlight lingered among the brambles their leaves were fired -a lucent green; autumn is kind to the bramble, touching a leaf here and -there only with blood red splash. - -I waited under the oak, unable to leave the warmth and tranquillity. -A cloud hid the sun. I wanted to see the beauteous light come again -through the rifted clouds, to see the staining of the bramble leaves. -Once more the sun gilded the bare branches, colouring the red berries -of the holly that would feed the thrushes in winter, and lacquering the -beech trees till they seemed like the tawny beards of vikings. - -Somewhere in the wood was the ghost of Proserpine returned to see how -her children were faring--under the leaves were the seeds that would -bring forth bloom and beauty and fragrance in the spring; deep in the -earth lay the cocoons and shells whence would arise the happy throng -of summery moths and butterflies. For this is the purpose of autumn: -rest and quietude for those who have laboured throughout the summer to -ensure life for their kind. So now in autumn my hope is as firm as the -oak. Every leaf that falls is pushed from its hold by a bud awaiting -the mystic order to unfold itself in spring; every flower lives but to -form its seeds. All through the centuries the spirits of the flowers -and the wild things have been growing more beautiful in the knowledge -of their service. - -As I walked away a timid song sounded on the air. Somewhere a robin -was singing. He was not made miserable by thought--he was happy every -moment. He did not need to brood upon immortality--he lived unconscious -of time--every moment was _lived_, the beauty of the earth and the -sun, and his mate, all accepted without question. The robin lives like -an immortal here, upon the earth that is so beautiful: and all the -wisdom of the dead civilisations is nothing to what the robin’s song -tells, if you will but listen. - - - - -SWALLOW BROW: _A Fantasy_ - -(_To P. T._) - - -That morning as she brushed her hair little Jo felt a great joy in -her heart, for the sunlight was making bright the room. Her real name -was Mary, but they called her Jo for short. She dropped her brush and -leaned out, while a blackbird with a yellow bill flew to the top of -one of the apple trees in the garden and commenced to flute in a rich, -beautiful voice. Then a wild bee crawled on the window-sill and began -to clean gauzy wings with his legs. Little Jo watched him with the -eager look that some small children have when regarding the lesser -works of God, and thought that his body was very velvety, with a sash -tied round the middle of it. A lark sang over the cornfield behind the -garden, and she wanted to sing and shout, for everything was so lovely -in the world. But it was nearly time for breakfast, and mother would be -angry if she went downstairs after her sisters and brothers had eaten -their porridge, so with her heart singing like the gold-bill outside, -she picked up her brush and peered into the mirror. - -Her face stared back at her, with its dark eyes and shyly smiling -mouth. Then a June rose seemed to hover in each cheek, shedding their -petals to give her beauty: and her eyes shone. - -“Oh, you are pretty,” she thought, touching the glass with her hand. - -She was soon dressed, and ran downstairs, almost falling in her -eagerness to move, for the sunshine that came from over the orchard was -still spinning its thread of happiness in her heart, as it was in the -heart of the lark who sang above the green corn. - -All breakfast time she thought of the face looking back at her from -behind the mirror, and hardly heard the talk about the two visitors -coming that day. - -After the meal, when Great-uncle Sufford had gone into his study to -read the paper before going down to the meadow to paint, Michael pulled -her hair and said roughly, for he was her eldest brother, “What were -you grinning at during brekker, eh, kid?” - -“Nothing,” replied Jo, wishing she had a stick to bang his ankles. - -“Well, ugly-face, if you are contemplating ragging my room, or sewing -my pyjamas up, or trying any nonsense, you look out,” he said with the -dignity of one whose voice had broken six weeks and three days. - -“I’m not ugly-face!” she cried. - -“Ho, aren’t you! You’re worse!” He pulled her hair again. - -“Oh, I hate you, Micky.” - -She ran out of the room, and upstairs in her bedroom she stared -mournfully at her own image. It was true, she was an ugly-face, as -Michael had said! Oh, and she wanted to be pretty, just to please -other people. - -Her mouth trembled, and a tear rolled down her cheek. Another and -another fell, until she could not see anything, for the mirror was all -misty. - -“Oh, I want to be beautiful,” she sobbed. “Dear God, make me -nice-looking.” - -A butterfly drifted in at the open window and flew towards her as -though she were a flower. Then, feeling that the gold-dust that came -from the great blue sky no longer warmed the white and black bars of -his sails, he flickered out again. - -Little Jo brushed her eyes, and tripped down the stairs, her misery -gone. She ran into the kitchen garden, down the path, past the -flowering beans and the cabbages, and through the gate into the -cornfield. Soon she reached the brook and flung herself down suddenly -at its edge. - -She watched the water rippling past, and the green water-weed waving -to her. A school of roach went by, the light showing their bright red -fins. Little Jo wondered if the fishes knew that they had lovely red -fins, and if it was nice to stir the water with them. Behind her the -corn seemed to sigh as the wind swept over, as though it knew of coming -midsummer, with its hum over the fields, for that meant that August -would follow, and the reapers come with the horses and machines. - -Then she wondered if the sun loved the brook, for it shook with silvery -flashes, and sang a sweet song where it ran into an eddy just by her -feet. She was always wondering things. She turned on her back and tried -to see a lark in the sky. It was so warm lying there in the sun, and -the bees from her Great-uncle Sufford’s hives went over to the clover -fields. So warm, and the tiny brook-song so sweet, that her eyes -closed. Still the water murmuring softly and the lovely summer sun -kissing her. She wondered dreamily if you felt like that when you were -in heaven: then remembered that she was ugly and with a small sigh fell -asleep. - -A swallow flew low over the water, dipping his chestnut breast in the -stream. Immediately Jo sat up and clapped her hands. - -“Swallow, swallow,” she cried, “how little you are!” - -“Am I, my love?” twittered the bird, circling over her head. - -“Your wings are so blue, little swallow.” - -The bird dived from above and perched at the edge of the brook. Jo -could see his slim wings folded over his tail. He took one dainty sip, -and then sped, light as a spider’s thread, into the air. - -“Come back, little swallow,” she called, “come and perch on my finger. -Unless you are afraid,” she added wistfully. - -“I will come,” said the swallow. She could feel the tiny claws just -touching her fingers. - -“We are not afraid of you, my love,” he twittered, “we know that you -would not hurt us.” - -“Who told you?” she asked in wonder. - -“The blackbird who sings on the highest branch of the apple tree by -your window, and the humble bees, and the goldfinch into whose nest you -peered without touching, and the baby hare you stroked, and all the -wild folk.” - -“But do they know then how I love them, little swallow?” - -“Why, yes,” the bird answered softly, “all the wild things know when a -man or a child loves them. Do you not remember the sparrows eating from -the hand of an old man in London when you went there one day last year? -And how they had no fear of him, but when a lady approached wearing -what is called by some a beautiful hat, they all flew away?” - -“Yes, I remember, dear swallow.” - -“Well, my love, those despised sparrows knew that on that hat were -the skins of nineteen humming birds, and though they knew that they -themselves would not be desired, or have to give up their lives for the -cause of beauty, yet they did not like the woman.” - -“Oh, I hate her, I hate her,” cried Jo. - -“Hush,” said the swallow. “When she bought the hat she did not think of -nineteen of our tiny brothers killed for a hat. She was really a kind -woman, only she never thought very much.” - -“Tell me,” said the child, very happy, looking at his glorious wings, -“Tell me, why do you speak to me? Do you speak to every one?” - -“No,” said the swallow sadly, “I want to, but they will not listen. I -know that the meadow grasses want to as well, but most of the people -seem to be deaf. The meadow grasses talk to the butterflies and the -coloured insects that dance among them, for they come to listen to the -music of the wind as it swings the little gray and purple pollen-bells -that you love to knock off with your hand. And the sound you hear -is sometimes the love-whisper of the stems as they tell one another -that the baby seeds are being born. For if the seeds are born before -the mowers come they are very happy. It is always so among the wild -flowers, my love. All they live for is the seeds.” - -“I am sad when I see the grasses cut,” said Jo, “for often the little -larks are killed and the sorrel dies, and the golden buttercups, and -all the sweet flowers.” - -“Do not be sad, darling,” twittered the swallow, “for all beauty must -die. And beauty gives itself willingly in death when it loves. I -remember when I was young we passed over a strange land at dawn, just -as the light was coming to cheer us, and below were still figures on -the slopes of the hill. We knew that they had given their lives to save -their beautiful land: we knew because the wind told us that he had -carried their spirits away at the moment of death.” - -Little Jo began to sob again. - -“Hush, my love, for is not the sun shining and the brook singing its -wander-song? We do not know death, for all we think of is the lovely -life we have now. The swallows do not struggle as you wise ones do, or -kill one another, but each has sufficient and no more. And oh, we are -so happy.” - -“I am not happy, little swallow, for I am ugly.” - -“My love, you are beautiful, for your heart is kind. We all love you so -very much. And one day, when you are older, some one will come to you, -some one to whom I talk now as I talk to you, and he will tell you that -you are beautiful. He is great friends with the owl, who calls to him -at night. But at present he is only a little boy.” - -“How lovely,” Jo cried, jumping up and dancing. “Will he be long in -coming? And will he have a horse, and a sword, and a squire to take off -his armour?” - -“One day he will have a sword, and he will be brave although his heart -may be heavy. And when that is over, he will be sad for a long time, -but always brave. But that is years to come. Sometimes even now he is -sad, for his mother is dead, and his father thinks that he will grow up -wild. Yet he is often jolly and naughty, especially with his friends in -a wood. His name is Willie, and he is nine years old.” - -“I must be beautiful when he sees me,” said the child-woman, “or he -will go away.” - -“He will only go away if you do not want him,” twittered the swallow, -preening his feathers, “and one day he will need you very badly.” - -“Oh, but I shall want my little boy,” she said, “and when I meet him I -will tell him I’m his friend. But I am ugly,” and her eyes filled with -tears. - -“My love,” breathed the swallow, perching on her shoulder, “I have -a gift for you, which I give gladly. It is all I have, and soon the -meadow grasses will fall, and the roses on the hedges, and then we will -be told by the wind that we must go again over the great sea into which -so many of us fall. I shall have to die soon, so it does not matter,” -he added to himself, but Jo did not hear, for she was wondering what -the gift would be. - -“Good-bye, dear,” whispered the swallow presently, “and do not forget -us when you grow up. So many do.” - -“No, swallow, no, but come back soon, and give my little boy a kiss for -me, because he hasn’t any mummy.” - -The swallow rose high in the air, and in gay flight sped over the -cornfield; a swift brown bird dashed after him; a few light feathers -danced in the air; a tiny poppy suddenly bloomed on a bended flag of -wheat. - -“O swallow,” wept the child. “O little, little swallow.” - -Her heart still murmured with sadness as she went down the path towards -home, past Great-uncle Sufford and a strange man, both painting at -their easels. Jo wanted to look at his picture, but she thought that -he might think her rude. At first he frightened her when he jumped up -and exclaimed, “Oh, let me sketch your head, little lady. Beautiful, -glorious!” speaking rapidly to himself, “such an angle, and glorious -uplift!” But his eyes looked kind, and already she liked him. And -Great-uncle Sufford was laughing. - -“Don’t be frightened,” he said, “but just let Mr. Norman sketch your -forehead. My child, I have only just noticed it. You have the most -perfect brows I have ever seen, blue-black like a swallow wing, and -such an angle! Norman, you must make your picture worthy of Jo.” - -So she stood before him, smiling and with shining eyes, and once more -the spirit of the wild rose was in her cheeks. The strange painter-man -liked her! - -Now, behind the hedge Michael, her eldest brother, was crouching, -having crept sinuous and Indian-like, down to the hedge to track the -two artists. He watched with disgust what was happening, and determined -to take it out of Mary later on. Michael was already disgusted because -another stupid girl had arrived in the house a little while ago, and -was staying a week. - -“Now, I must thank you,” beamed the bearded stranger, “for your beauty -has inspired me, you sweet fairy. Now we’ll all go home, and you must -meet my little daughter Elsie.” - -He picked her up and kissed her lightly and Jo kissed him back, -although his face tickled, for he was kind and had said that she was a -fairy. - - - - -WINTER’S EVE - -(_To T. H. H. T._) - - -“_Woo--oo--oo--._” - -Long drawn out as though the note is bubbling through water, it quavers -from the dark wood yonder, seen in the dim light of the stars. From the -other wood, across the grass land, a plain hoot floats back. _Woo-loo, -woo-loo!_ No sound of wings beating--the flight of the wood owl is -silent, his broad wings, covered with the softest down, fan the air as -he proceeds through the wood. - -_Woo--oo! Woo--oo!_ There is mystery in the cry. All other creatures -are silent, except the field mice and voles running over the ground. -They cannot be seen by the human eye, but I can hear their squeaks. -Again the faraway answer haunts across the darkness over the grass. -The leaves have fallen long ago, they lie black and rotting on the -ground. Those that drifted down when summer died have already merged -into the earth whence will come the bluebells in April. But a short -time since they were scurrying over the grass and among the bramble -bushes, all crisp and brown. The wind caught them up and whirled them -in their thousands: then came the time of wintry rains and mists. Their -brittleness went, they sank into the earth. - -The owl is silent. He has fanned his way from branch to branch, peering -to the ground. The slightest movement is watched by his large eyes. A -little dark thing running quickly over the leaves, a silent glide to -the ground, wings fanning the air, the clutch of a powerful foot, a -faint shriek as talons sink into the warm body, and then to the trees -again. The mouse is swallowed whole. The faintest of squeaks from -behind, the owl’s head turns and he peers down on the ground. The eyes -are fixed, but the head can be turned completely round. Those large -ears, hidden by the tiny feathers--the ear-cavity being twice the size -of an eye--take in every sound, even as the eyes can see in the dark -night. The faint squeak came from a rat that runs swiftly on the trail -of another. The next moment his body is seized in a grip of death--he, -too, screams, and is borne upward, limp and dead, to be devoured at -leisure. The owl’s beak opens to a wide gape, and a deep contralto -hoot, bubbling and quavering, carries to his mate who hunts in the -distant copse. - -Heard thus in the loneliness of the winter night, there seems infinite -sadness in the deep mellow cries of these night fliers. To hear an -owl hooting repeatedly around the cottage at night is supposed, in -the country, to portend death. It is easy to imagine how such a -superstition arose. The species of owl that hoots, sounding like the -call of a lost soul from the blur of the forest, remains concealed -during the day, perched up against the bole of a fir tree, or in the -cavity of a hollow oak or elm. At night they are seen occasionally and -by chance, as their broad wings beat against the sky. Any such cries, -lonesome and ghostly, coming in the dark, can mean but one thing to the -countryman--death. - -What fantasies are called up on a night like this, leaning up -against the barred gate, alone! Away in front, the dark, level grass -land--beyond, the forest. A sky bright with stars gleaming and -winking, high up, unattainable. There is Sirius, the largest star, -flaming with sudden molten crimson, then flashing a blue spearhead of -light. Possibly there is a mist around that sun, so many millions of -miles away, that breaks up the light as the prism of glass does the -colours of the spectrum. Over the thick blackness in front a figure is -moving-or am I imagining things? Just a faint feeling of fear, the -nerves strung up, caused perhaps by slumbering instinct. Thousands -of years ago a figure coming stealthily nearer in the darkness might -mean an enemy. I glance over my shoulder; there is a feeling that -some one might leap on to my back. But as he draws nearer I can hear -his footfalls in the frosty grass and his laboured breath--it is one -of the farm hands going home from the inn. He climbs over the gate, -starts violently as he sees me standing here, and bids me good-night. -I answer, adding that I have been listening to the owls. He politely -tells me that there are a “good few on ’em about,” but to himself says -that I am mazed. Then he passes on, his steps get fainter and fainter, -and I am alone. - -_Yak wrik! Yak-yak-wrik!_ low over my head. A blood-curdling noise -if ever there was one. The latter part of the screech, the _wrik_, -is considerably higher in tone than the former part. The barn owl -passed over the gate, just above my head and only when he startled -me with his cry--not long and sobbing as the wood owl, but sharp and -high-pitched--did I know that he had gone. A white mistiness in the -night, wings beating slower than those of his hooting brother, and the -white or barn owl had drifted over the grass, hunting the mice and -field vole. - -The barn owl is more common than the wood or brown owl. The former is -snow white on its breast and under its wings. The wings themselves, -and the back, made it one of our most beautiful birds. They are of -an amber-yellow colour, shaded with ash gray, and streaked with -small white and brown markings. The pinion feathers and the broad -soft feathers of the tail are yellowy-white, barred with light -brown. Most remarkable of all is the face, which is heart-shaped, -surrounded by a line of gray and yellow featherlets standing out -like a ruffle. The eyes are black, a contrast to the pure white of -the down that surrounds them. In the summer evening he can be seen -beating up the hedges, pouncing as he goes. When hungry, his capacity -is enormous--nine or ten mice. He swallows the mice and small birds -whole--the indigestible part being cast up later in the form of a -grayish pellet. If a hollow tree, where these birds are likely to sleep -during the day, be tapped fairly loudly, it will often drive its tenant -into the light. Its exit will invariably be hailed by a chattering -chorus of tomtits or finches, who will pursue it. In the bright -sunlight the sight is dazzled, but in dull weather it would be able to -see quite easily. - -A wind-blown copse crowns a hill a mile away from the park, and one day -in summer I found the skeleton of a barn owl flung among the thorns. -Of the dark eyes--each a wonderful instrument--nothing was left, only -a little dust collected in the empty orbits. Ants and flies had long -completed their work. The white of the breast feathers was turned a -dull gray by the rain’s bedragglement; the muscles of the shoulder had -withered, though the sinews were dry and silky. The feet were clenched -as though the bird had died in agony after the shot had rung out and -it sunk to the ground. An owl rarely dies immediately it is shot; it -lies back, if badly hit, resting lightly on its downy wings and stares -with a mournful anguish, as though puzzled, and conscious that this is -farewell to its mate. Owls pair for life, and, like most birds, their -lives are ideal. It seemed to me, regarding the skeleton, a sadness -that all that was left of a beautiful bird was a wasted bundle of bones -and feathers, flung among the thorns. - -_Woo-loo-woo-loo-woo-o-oo!_ the brown owl calls in the night. And while -I am here on earth, let me be in the fields where I can see the bright -stars, and dream as my birds of mystery pass in silence and alone. - - _1914._ - - - - -ERNIE - - -My Devon hermitage is only a sixteenth-century cottage rented at four -pounds a year. There are two bedrooms, very small and lime-washed, and -a living room with a stone floor and open hearth. A simple place, built -of cob, and thatched, with a walled-in garden before it, and then the -village street. The churchyard with its elm-rookery is on one side, a -small brook below the wall. Even in the hot summer the water runs; I -have made a pool of stones where the swallows and martins can go for -the mud to build their homes. Beautiful it is to see, in the shadow of -the trees, these birds alighting softly on a boulder, or by the pool’s -edge, and shovelling the red mortar on their beaks. They are timid, -restless things, rising into the air at the least noise. I have passed -many hours in watching them, noting the number of times they came in -a minute, and how they mix fragments of dried grass and straw with the -mud before taking the material aloft. All the while the water murmured, -and the birds answered with gentle song. They soon came to know me, and -minded not my presence; and I kept away marauding village cats--lean -animals with pointed ears and staring eyes; a race existing on rats. - -Sometimes a little boy comes and stands by me, and watches them too. He -is a funny little fellow, about two and a half years old, with yellow -curls and solemn brown eyes. His name is Ernie, and his father is a -labourer, a very kind man. He used to spend all his money in the inn, -but suddenly took a wife, and drank no more. When Ernie is a naughty -boy, he threatens to go “up to pub,” and Ernie wails immediately, and -is good again. - -“I got this one,” says Ernie, coming to the cottage door, and holding -out in a filthy paw a piece of cake. “You ain’t got this one, ave ee?” - -“Go away, Ernie, I’m writing.” - -“You ain’t got this one,” he replies, munching the cake, “ave ee, Mis’r -Wisson?” - -I feel more comfortable in the company of children than with -“grown-ups”; and to discourage his talk I put my tongue out, and make a -hideous face. - -“Ah’ll cut ees tongue off, ah wull,” he gravely warns, repeating what -his mother has said to him when he has done it to her--a frequent -happening, I fear; I taught him to do it. - -“Good-bye,” I shout. - -Then he departs, and five minutes later I hear a feeble -“_’onk-’onk-’onk_” in my garden. Ernie is driving his car, which he has -made from my wheelbarrow, a cinder sifter, and an egg-shaped pair of -pram-wheels. - -“’Onk-’onk,” he cries to the sparrows, “git out, ’onk-’onk.” Then on -seeing me: “I got this one. You ain’t got this one, ’ave ee?” - -“Noomye!” I exclaim, while Ernie goes faster and faster. - -This motor-car is not the only toy. The pram-wheels, or “wills,” as he -calls them, are a source of happiness. A broom tied to the axle acts as -a horse, and Ernie goes driving in the road. Other small brats come up, -and a puppy dog or two, and great fun they have, often ending up in the -stream. - -Ernie’s mother is always finding him in the water. She cannot keep him -away. He goes out in a clean jersey, knickers, and socks, and suddenly -there is a cry for Ernie, a rushing past the door, a curse from myself, -and a loud wail. - -“You come out of that water, my boy! I told you not to go in that -water. Little devil, you,” cries the exasperated mother. - -“Ah’ll tull feyther,” shrieks Ernie, as he is driven like a porker past -the door. His sobs grow less, and a minute later he comes back and -stares at me. - -“I got some good water,” he informs me. “You ain’t got no water, ’ave -ee?” And he toddles away for more. - -He delights in the filthiest old can or bottle. He loves to kneel down -and see the water bubbling in. Sometimes it is a “cup of tea” he has -got, or a “glass of beer.” And always he has “got this one.” - -He appears to be wandering about at all hours of the day and night. -The life of a recluse in a cottage, remote from ordinary life, has -its moments of exaltation, especially in the lovely months of spring -and summer, but when the wind sways the leafless trees and whirls the -cold rain, it is hard to prevent melancholy. On these occasions I go -and have a chat with Ernie’s parents, my immediate neighbours. Often I -find Ernie asleep at the table, with his curls in the empty plate. The -little imp has been all day in the water, or on a long tour in his -motor, and has fallen asleep from exhaustion. He breathes quietly, his -mouth droops. - -“Poor lill chap, he’m be tired,” says Ernie’s father; “dear lill boy, -he’m be.” - -It is always the same tender remark. No wonder Ernie loves his father. -But this does not prevent the most savage quarrelling sometimes. Then -through the wall I hear him yelling,-- - -“Dawbake!--dawbake!--dawbake!” - -And his father’s threat (it never materialises into action), “Naughty -boy, swearin’! Ah’ll tell plicemun!” - -“Dawbake!--dawbake!--dawbake!” yells Ernie. - -“Ee shouldn’t speak tew ees feyther like that.” - -“Dawbake!” moans Ernie, and hides his curly head at father’s knees. - -“Could never whip ee,” mutters the parent, “ee be so little.” - -“Of course,” I agree, having decided notions about the relation of the -big parent to the tiny child. - -Every day it is the same. Ernie in the water, Ernie covered with mud -and jam. Ernie holding out pails, bottles, cans, kettles, and food for -me to see. - -“You ain’t got this one, ’ave ee? I got this one. Ah’ll tell plicemun -of ee, Mis’r Wisson, swearin’! I got my wills. You ain’t got no wills. -I got the wills.” - -“Go away, boy!” I shout, as once a schoolmaster used to bellow at me. - -He departs, but returns with a cup of muddy water. - -“I got a glass o’ beer. ’Tis mine, it is. Yaas.” - -Dirty face, wet boots, disturbing voice, everlasting questions, and -possessive boastings--how can I complete the various volumes of _The -Flax of Dream_, with Ernie always pestering. I have told him again -and again that I wish he would go away to another cottage. But if he -were to, I should be miserable, and miss my long motor-rides with -Ernie among the cabbages, while the driver wears an enormous pair of -his father’s boots. I should miss, too, the accounts of how Ernie has -killed rats and rabbits with a stone and how he cut off the policeman’s -head with a knife because the policeman used a swear word to Ernie. - - - - -A SEED IN WASTE PLACES - -(_To M. G. S._) - - -To and fro over the heated surface of Fleet Street passed the red -omnibuses, a sickly pale vapour coming from the engines. It was a -Saturday afternoon in August, and there were few people about. For -myself, I had to toil at my useless and fretting work of getting -material for one of the big Sunday newspapers. Saturday was the day -when the paper became alive, and the Editor more exacting and more -like an Egyptian slave-driver than ever. This was from the point of -view of the wretched hack-writers who were privileged to work from ten -o’clock in the morning till midnight the same day. Possibly the Editor -did not regard himself as one so omnipotent, since he was the target -for the deadly arrows of the proprietor’s wrath on Tuesday morning, -should any blemish in the make-up of the paper be discovered, or any -important item of news be missed. Nevertheless, we loathed the Editor -on Saturdays, especially at evening. His face grew whiter, and his -despairful leer at our non-success in obtaining some facts from a West -End flunkey whose mistress had that morning lost a pearl necklace, -or a reputation, was most exasperating for men with tired feet and -grit-filled eyes. - -That afternoon of August London was more arid than ever. I looked with -despair for any sign of beauty, something that could take my mind away -from dinginess. My mind was drouthy, and the roots of calm thought were -sapped. The blue sky overhead made me miserable: I thought of the waves -lapping the sunlit sands of the West Country that I knew so well. There -the gray stock-doves flew from the bushes growing on the headland cliff -sides, and the lark’s song was ever in the air. Here by the church of -Mary-le-Strand all nature was dead. True, there were pigeons, but their -wings were tinged with soot, and they were alienated from the wild -dove whose nest was among the blackthorns. Even the bark of the plane -trees was unrefreshed, and guarded by iron cages; my thought was shut -in too. My mind was never in my drudge work, however much I tried to -force myself to think in terms of sensation and factory-made phrases. -Everything was ugly, the competition, the smoke, the grimy buildings. - -And then I saw, floating across the shimmering roadway, a few downy -seeds. They came from the direction of the Thames. They swung in the -motion of the street-air, and the light glistened on their filaments. -One drifted to the pavement at my feet, and released a curved brown -seed. By its size I knew it to be that of the Yellow Goatsbeard, or -John-go-to-bed-at-noon. Immediately the bus-rattle, the whirr of -cab-wheels, and the burnt-oil smell sank away. The seed bloomed in -the palm of my hand, and I saw its flowers of pure yellow, and a -whitethroat was slipping through the nettles of the ditch. The city -was old, but the brown seed was older. Men raised their buildings -anew after the great fire, hundreds of years ago; the flower did not -change. My mind reached back before the time of the Romans with their -tiled baths and chariots; further still, when the first wild settlers -made their hut circles by the marge of the wooded river. All the while -the dandelion had been blooming so that the seed should be formed. No -haste, no strife, no misery: growing in the sunlight. A lovely disk -of gold, a summer day, a wandering bee, and the mother-beauty became -the child-seed. And this common speck, coming with the moving air to -my feet, was as old as the spirit that manifests itself through dull -matter in a million million forms and ways. - -I dropped the seed and went away, no longer stifled by the weary -monotony of my useless work. Then I thought that I would like to -keep it, and plant it in some known corner in order to watch its -increasing joy as the plant grew in spring, and to take to myself some -of its happiness. I searched on the pavement, but it was so small and -commonplace I could not see it. A passerby asked if he might help me: -had I lost anything and was it of any value--a gold ring, perhaps? I -replied in my enthusiasm that it was of more value than a gold ring, -hoping (as ever the dreamer has) that he would share my wonder of this -seed in London. He was interested and puzzled, so I told him it was the -seed of a sort of dandelion that I sought. He stared at me as though -I had said that God was in the Strand, and had just spoken to me; and -then he turned away with a smile. - - - - -THE CHANGE: _A Fantasy of Whitefoot Lane_ - -(_To J. R._) - - -He was standing at the edge of the strip of wood, quite still, and -looking towards the east as though at something far away. No wind was -blowing. - -As I approached he did not move, although my feet made a sighing in the -long grass. Abruptly he turned. - -“When I was last here, the field swept away, open and free, for many -miles. In summer, the wheat grew yellow in the sunshine. Now the houses -are nearly to the wood, and the little piece of land left is turned -into allotments. But even those are deserted, for they are going to -build shortly.” - -Dreary patches of decaying cabbages, their leaves sodden and drab, -were between the edge of the wood and the fences protecting the small -back-gardens. Old broken pails and bundles of bean-sticks littered the -allotments; sparrows chirped as they searched the backyards for crumbs. - -“This was a field for poppies,” he said softly. “Before the stems of -wheat stiffened, while the awns and flags whispered softly in the -air, the poppies were among the green corn like blood-drops. What -untamed colours there were amongst the civilised wheat! The yellow -charlock grew every year; we hated the wild mustard, but still it grew. -Everywhere the alien creeps in, and hangs fiercely to life. Great big -thistles held their spears and purple plumes higher than the grain -with the yellow ragwort in August. And the moon daisies, sought by the -moths at night. But you think that I am talking foolishly. Perhaps wild -flowers are nothing to you.” - -He looked at me quickly, and in his face was youth. Yet he had said -that he remembered the field before it became part of the suburb: that -must have been many years ago. - -“Sweetest of all things is wild-flower air,” I quoted from old memory. - -“Ah! You have not forgotten!” - -With a wild poignancy he spoke. - -“I am remembering now.” - -He faced me so abruptly that the hair flung over his forehead. Then he -spoke again, and my heart was heavy. - -“In the early morning the birds sang sweetly, and the air was pure. I -used to creep down the stairs, holding my boots in my hand. The third -step from the bottom creaked and had to be avoided. The cat asleep on -its rug in the kitchen stirred and stretched and yawned as I opened the -door, then curled and slept again. It’s funny how I remember things -like that so vividly. When my boots were laced, I used to tiptoe to the -door, draw the bolt and turn that creaking lock with its huge key, and -then outside into the morning. Sometimes I came to this very place, -listening to a nightingale, and his song then was not yearning as it -was at night. I watched the warblers at their work of weaving cradles -among the brambles. I had a friend in those days, a true friend, to -whom I told all the things in my heart. Together we wandered and -explored the big woods in the country.” - -He sighed, while a little wind stirred a leaf upon the oak tree above, -a leaf alone among the guarded buds of next spring and the buff oak -apples upon the twigs. The leaf made a faint risping as it spun and -shook, and he looked up at it, and never had I seen a face so sad. - -“Not so long ago that leaf was a bud, opening timorously to the spring -sunshine and the lark-song far up into heaven. I wonder if, in its -own obscure way, it wondered about the world, and wove a little dream -of happiness for ever, like the dream of a child. The nightingale -sings no more when it is spring; he is gone like the wheat and its -silky wind-wave. Terry--that was the name of my friend--came to me -one day and held out his hand, and said shyly, ‘I say, shall we swear -life-friendship?’ He had been reading some romantic book. After that we -went everywhere together. Ah, now you begin to remember the round pond -over by the Seven Fields.” - -“Terry and I would go and fish there at five in the morning. Yes, -well may you remember those lovely summer morns, the sun staining the -air and charging its loveliness with light and life. We made our own -rods of hazel wands, and floats from gray goose-quills and corks. The -eagerness with which we put ground bait down the night before in the -hope of snaring one of the monster carp that lurked in that little -pond! I suppose really that none were there at all, but all through -those springs and summers of boyhood we fished, never catching anything -bigger than a small roach or dace. We used to argue about the merits of -different baits: aniseed paste, small boiled potatoes, brandling worms -and broad beans. Do you know what that pond is like now?” he cried, -tragic eyes looking into mine. “All the people from the suburbs have -cast their unwanted cats and split boots into the water. There are no -fish in it now, not even an eft remains to float to the surface, turn -over and show a stain of fire as he swims to the bottom. Everything is -dead, dead! When the sun slants through the trees at its edge, you can -see the blur of rusting tins and papers deep underneath. But in those -days it was beautiful and beloved of a wandering kingfisher. By the -shallow drinking-place the cattle came down to ponder, as with soft -stare they stood in the mud. Sometimes a bullfinch came, and a turtle -dove from the hawthorn: all the birds loved to splash and ruffle in -the water. That little lake in the wood was a place of glamour and -romance, especially in later years when I was deeply in love.” - -The sun came over the houses, the starlings whistled and clucked -among the smoke-burnt and red chimney pots. Wives in the houses were -preparing breakfast for their men who soon would walk quickly down -the pavements towards the station; another day’s work in London was -beginning. - -“Yes, I was deeply in love,” the pale stranger continued, “with Louise. -That was her name to me, a name I gave her because----” - -He faltered and ended. I looked away, for pain had come into his eyes -and his voice. The heaped bean-sticks became indistinct as I looked. -Again he spoke,-- - -“When I first saw her, I knew that I would love her, and that she -would love me. The bluebells had drooped and faded, their spirits -gone to make the sky a deeper hue, and somewhere in the wind pealed -the ghostly chimes of their fragrance. The meadow was glorious with -buttercups, and the light reflected upwards from so thick a cluster of -golden rivets driven into the grasses glowed on her face as she walked -slowly across the field. She wore a print dress, and her brown hair was -thick and loosely coiled. But it was her eyes that made her face so -sweet--they were gentle like those of a hare. I just stood and looked -at her. Then she was gone, and I hid behind a hedge, but she did not -look back. Her father was an artist living in a cottage by the farm, -and she was his only daughter. When we knew each other, I used to talk -a lot with him, and she would listen with earnest eyes upon me, as I -could see without actually looking at her. When I did glance at her, -she would look on the ground, and then we smiled, and in her cheeks -I saw the bramble blossom steal and die. Her father sang the song of -Julien in the opera _Louise_, and would think of his dead wife as he -sat at the piano. And I would think of Louise as I first saw her, in -her simple dress, bareheaded in the meadow, with a rich golden-brown -light on her cheeks like the lacquered ripples of a stream hovering and -gleaming under a bridge.” - -“You are very sad,” I said. - -“A poet is always sad,” he answered. - -“Then there should be no poets if that is so. Happiness is greater than -poetry.” - -“You are right,” he whispered presently, “but let me tell you my tale -before it is too late, for shortly the wood will be down, and on the -place where we stand will be houses. And when that happens the last -link will be broken.” - -“Terry and I and Louise became fast friends, and so we grew up. I went -away to London in order to learn the tea trade. Terry stopped here with -his father, and, instead of sitting on a stool in a dim office, helped -with the sowing and the reaping. One day in summer Louise and I were -walking over the Seven Fields, and by a stile I put my arm round her, -and she said, ‘No, Julien, not yet,’ but said it so softly and timidly -that I knew she loved me. And I held her, the little thing that she -was, in my arms, just to feel her making a small struggle, and to watch -her shy eyes and tinted cheeks. But she would not let me kiss her, so I -pretended to say farewell to her, but she pressed my hand and told me -to stay. And when I asked her if she loved me, she would not answer. - -“‘Would you break my heart, Louise?’ I said. ‘You know I love you.’ - -“‘No, Julien,’ she answered very softly, ‘but I do not want you to -break your own.’ - -“‘What do you mean, Louise?’ - -“But she would not say immediately, and when the time came for us to -go back to the cottage, she kissed me nervously on the cheek and -whispered that she might be enough for me now, but not later on; that -she was only a silly girl. Of course I loved her all the more, and -thinking of her, could not work much during the day at the tea trade, -but wrote books at night feverishly in order to immortalise my love. -All that summer we walked among the flowers, and one day I asked her to -marry me. She shook her head, and her eyes were wet and sorrowful. - -“‘Not yet,’ she whispered. - -“‘I don’t want to marry you now,’ I cried, the impetuous, eager fool -that I was, ‘I only want to know if you love me enough to marry me some -day. I want to feel that I possess you.’ - -“She laughed a little shaky laugh, and I took her close to kiss her; -but she drew back slightly, and immediately I felt that I wasn’t -wanted, and to cover my humiliation I spoke coldly and brutally. Fool -that I was!” he cried bitterly. - -The drone of a tramcar passing towards Catford along the newly-made -high road a mile below the wood rose in pitch as it went faster with -its first burden of artisans and factory hands. The stranger brooded, -thinking of that time before the field had been built upon. And yet -he was still a youth, alone with me in the early hours of the winter -morning, standing in the long grass at the eastern edge of the wood. -Almost immediately he went on: his voice became wild with yearning. - -“Spring came again, with the larks battling over the Seven Fields and -the wind anemones rising like wan-white stars above the dead leaves. -I fretted with brooding why she withheld herself. I was intensely -poetical and equally egoistical. The great artist rises above egoism, -the little one is killed by it, and becomes embittered--egoism narrows -the view and ruins happiness. But I could not help it--I was held in -chains by the tyranny of my own immature thoughts. Ah, God, if I had -only known!” - -His thin hands covered the pale face, his shoulders shook, and once -again the bean-sticks were a smudge. - -“One day I kissed her brutally and suddenly--Louise, more fragile of -spirit than the tenderest windflower. One day I crushed her lips with -my mouth. She struggled away, and the tenderest girl became a spitfire. -She reviled me for a weakling. She said that I had no sense of honour, -that I was not worthy of being a man--and then she seemed to shrink, -her expression of anger fled, and the tears streaming down her face, -she sobbed,-- - -“‘Julien, Julien, won’t you make a great effort to kill your egoism? -Cannot you see that your intolerance of all people because they have -not the same fervour about poetry as yourself will eventually cripple -all your powers? You sneer at Terry, who is one of the dearest boys, -because he doesn’t want to hear you quote “The Hound of Heaven”; you -sneer at your own father because you say that he doesn’t understand -you. Oh, Julien, won’t you try to alter things for your own sake?’ - -“‘Not for yours?’ I sneered. - -“‘For your own, Julien,’ she replied quietly. - -“‘You don’t love me?’ - -“‘Not as you love me, Julien.’ - -“‘No, of course not! You don’t know what love is! I can eat my heart -out for you; dream, dream, dream in London all the time, pine in -the smoke, and no one understands me. No one! The poet is always -the outcast, from Christ downwards. The world smashes and destroys -genius--the genius that is always trying to make others see the beauty -in the world, and make humanity happier.’ - -“‘No, not an outcast, Julien: a beloved friend who will rise above -introspection, and be happy. But if that man be caged by egoism, isn’t -it best to try to undo the door of that cage? Oh, Julien, if only you -would believe.’ - -“She was distressed, and at the thought of hurting her a devil in me -rejoiced. She had called Terry one of the dearest of boys. I seized -upon the remark. - -“‘No doubt you are in love with Terry, who is blue-eyed and has such -nice wavy hair. Well, go and marry him. _I_ shall never ask you to -marry me again. Good-bye, Louise.’ - -“I walked away, and after a while turned to go back to her. We had been -quarrelling, at least I had made my pitiable remarks, just where we are -standing now. But when I returned she had gone. An insane conceit made -me want to hurt her. I wanted to break her spirit--to make her believe -in me first: then I would try to alter my views. Already I could see -the truth of her remarks. I brooded, and my vitality was sapped. My -pride, or conceit, faltered. Then, when I determined to crave her -pity, I found she had gone away to Devon with her father. I wrote a -bitter letter to her and left my home. I never wrote again to Louise, -nor did she write to me. Not for a year. Then she wrote to me. And I -came back. I was already a changed man. Her letter was short, and in -it she said that she wished and prayed for my happiness. I came back -humbly to see her----” - -He put a shaky hand up to his forehead, wet with moisture. His anguish -was unbearable. I looked away to the yellow houses with their blue-gray -roofs of slate; another tram passed in the High Street. - -“She had died,” he muttered. “Little sweet Louise had pined away -and become ill. One day she got wet through and developed rapid -consumption. She was only eighteen--a child. They said it was -consumption, but I knew better. _I_ killed her. I, the self-flaunted -idealist, my eyes brimming for humanity, had neglected every one -around me. I only realised it then. She had known it all the while, -because love was a far holier and greater thing to her than it was to -me. I thought because I had wanted to pour out my heart’s blood at her -feet that therefore my love was not selfish, but real, divine! Ah, what -did I know about love! I went to the churchyard and saw the mounded -grave with a simple stone at the head, and it seemed to me that she was -near, wearing the print frock and standing among the buttercups that -reflected a gold vapour about her, her eyes dark with a shadow. The -maiden eyes, the eyes soft with love, and yet so sad, regarded me, and -so sharp was the impression of her standing there that I could hear her -pleading, ‘Julien, for my sake now, Julien!’ In the churchyard I stood -alone, looking at her, while in an orchard near the blossom was shaken -by the fluttering of goldfinches. Spring was in the hearts of the wild -birds I loved, but my heart was dead. What was there left? To recreate -that love and cruelty, and write out of my sorrow and folly! Greater -than all written art is life and happiness: a simple living with a -beloved and the joy of children’s young voices. By the grassy mound I -stayed with the shadows. My heart was broken, the more irretrievably -because I had broken it myself. Remorse, remorse!” - -Memory ceased. Again the dry whisper of the leaf overbore the wintry -solitude and song-silence in that little wood in Whitefoot Lane, where -the bark of the trees was stripped, and all undergrowth was trampled -down. The green woodpeckers would laugh no more in spring: only a few -poor wind-flowers and bluebells would tell of past loveliness. The pale -visitant was gone, and with no sound of footfall. - -The leaf spun insistently as the wind passed wearily onwards, and -beside me the long green grasses held their drops of light-laden water, -nor was there any mark as of feet having pressed there, nor any trail -leading away. - -With a vague mournfulness I turned and went along the miry path to -the roadway, where a tattered fence gaped forlornly. The land would -be sold, the trees cut down, and useful houses erected. Perhaps the -spirit of the dead haunted that wilderness of torn branches and charred -fire-circles, to find rest only where all was changed. Never again -would I go back among those poor trees, where in the cruel days of -youth sweet hopes had been crushed like a wood-anemone under careless -and unknowing feet. - - - - -PROSERPINE’S MESSAGE - - (_Written during the spring-like days of October, 1921, when the - prolonged drought had been broken by the rains following the - equinoctial gales._) - - -Some happy goldfinches flew twittering to the loosened thistle-heads -on the sward of the promontory. Their wings fluttered as they took the -seeds; they were timorous of alighting on the down, such a soft couch -it was, too; their lives were wild and restless. Soon the flock rose -and went to other haunts. The brief visitation gave me time to observe -the crimson faces, the yellow bars on the wings--they were gone, and I -was alone with the spirit of the apple blossom and the blue sky. On the -trees of the inland orchards the ungathered apples were ready to fall. -Goldfinches always associate themselves in my mind with the May month, -when their nests are in the apple trees, but it is only when summer is -gone that the wild beauty of spring--apple bloom time--is yearned for. -The goldfinches that now flocked to the headland for the thistledown -brought with them a thought of blossom. - -For Proserpine has returned--with a child-god in her arms. The nuts -in the lane are ready for gathering, the blackberries are luscious, -and the partridge coveys have been broken up many weeks. On the ledges -of their precipice colony the gulls are no more, the swallows have -followed the sun. Many times have I searched the flawless bell-flower -of the sky for these ragtailed vagrants, but not even one is to be -seen. I cannot understand it; my heart is heavy. Why have they gone -so suddenly? The sun shines, and insects are plentiful. Usually the -hosts foregather on the single telegraph wire that never ceases to hum -between the sun-bleached posts in the sunken lane. This autumn there -were no preparations for the great southerly flight. One night, in -the quiet starlight, they disappeared, speeding down the silver stain -of the Milky Way towards the big lantern star Fomalhaut. Did they -flee the coming of the spring goddess? Other things have welcomed -her. The lesser celandine flowers are in the hedge-banks, the sorrel -is rising, the wild arum will shortly show its purple club in the -green sheath, pink campion is blooming. Proserpine, the goddess of -spring, has returned to see how her children are faring; and a little -child-god is in her arms. With her, too, is the spirit of the apple -blossom, symbolling felicity, whispered to me by those fairy heralds, -the goldfinches; the loved swallows have not waited to see her. Again I -wonder to myself if the penalty of meeting an Immortal is death. Dear -swallows, already they brave much during their migrations--the storms, -the waves, and the electric wires erected by a debased portion of -humanity along their airlines. - -The bracken upon the headland has rusted, and the gorse is brown and -sapless. Never has there been such an untarnished sky fused with the -sea. Those stately swans, the clouds, have sailed over the marge of -the earth, leaving not even a downy feather to tell of their heavenly -passage. Somewhere in a brake of blackthorn a robin sings frailly, -while a red kestrel hangs above for sight of vole or mouse. Croaking -deeply a raven wings towards a gully in the mainland where the shepherd -pitches his dead sheep. The robin is quiet, and there is no other sound -except the croak of the carrion raven: only the mellow sun of autumn, -and the grape-frosty air, and the silence. But listen! that sweet -birdsong must surely be of the nightingale. There is the low trill, the -fluting cadence, the reedy melody that sinks away into silence. But -the nightingale does not come to the West Country; only in my mind do -I listen to the old and loved voice. The song of the nightingale is -so joyous, so essentially pure spirit, that the listening heart feels -an emotion beyond that of earthly life. It is passion more chaste than -any Hellenic ideal--it is the voice of the wind, the meaning of the -green leaf, the purpose of the seed, the secret of the star. But now as -I listen the wistful song, only a little less perfect than Philomel’s -own, brings poignantly the present before me. However I would dream, -it is now October; I can read _The Pageant of Summer_ during the -dreariness of autumn’s chill and winter’s murk; but it is not the same. -Change is bitter to me, whether of falling leaf or friendship. Leaves -must fall, but friends can be steadfast; yet everywhere is bitter -change. For many days now the voice has run through the grape-frosty -air; always the voice, but never sight of the singer. For hours and -days I have sought to find the singing bird, but in vain, in vain. -There is genius in the song--a hymn to the life-giving sun, to the -light. Somewhere a rabbit screams in an iron gin; the bird sings on. - -Gone is the evejar, that weird moth-taker who pairs for life. By the -Nile, with the cuckoo, the nightingale, and the swift, he flaps his -mottled wings. The jackdaws and the curlews are with me; there is the -seal four hundred feet below hunting the conger-eel come back to the -deep pools. Of his summer diet of dogfish he must have wearied by now. -The orange hawkbits are everywhere at my feet--common weeds, perhaps, -but very dear: each yields a thought of beauty, each is a gold coin of -our true heritage of the earth. The metal coin that they stamp with -the die is false; I would have all the children of the earth spend the -dandelions. Therein lies our hope--in the wild-flower and the sunlight, -in what they symbol--let the children spend these. The more they spend, -the richer they will be. They will never forget the flowers: and to -remember them is to yearn towards goodness and beauty. Like the -migrants that return, so the impressions of childhood come back to us. -And like the swallows that every year grow scarcer, so every generation -of man has more to contend with in heredity. This is the price we pay -for our metal gold. Let us spend the golden treasure of the dandelions, -now, on earth, while we may; so that those to follow may enjoy a more -sunlit life. Sitting on the sward above the still blue sea, listening -to the sadly-sweet song of the unknown, drinking the grape-frosty air, -thus I meditated; perhaps Proserpine had paused in her wandering and -whispered to a lonely mortal. - - - - -STRIX FLAMMEA - - -“Where man goes nature ends,” wrote Richard Jefferies. But the wild -creatures cling to their ancient places with stubbornness, especially -in and around London. - -One day in summer, intolerably weary, I left Fleet Street very late--or -very early. The morning star, Eosphoros the Light-bringer, was sweeping -above the eastern line of buildings, the spectral dawn flooding -into the concave dusk above. Pausing by the Temple Gardens near the -Embankment I became aware of glints of sound from the lawns and under -the trees, the cries of questing mice. Then something indistinctly -white and with great winnowing wings went over, fluttered vaguely to -the grass, rose again, and drifted away. Strix Flammea was in London, -hunting in the very heart of its turmoil. My fatigue passed, and hope -came into my heart: I would be as indifferent to my surroundings as my -barn owl was to them! - -There are owls in the city at night, but never before had I known -Strix Flammea visiting. The quavering and mournful plaint of the wood -or brown owl has often been heard in Hyde Park and St. James’s Park -during the darkness. Once, from the top of a motor-bus, I saw one -roosting in a chimney cowl near Marble Arch. He looked forlorn in such -a neighbourhood. Such a strange object naturally caused many cockney -sparrows to assemble for communal vituperation. - -Unlike other birds, owls cannot exist where there is noise. Most of -their hunting is done by sound, detected by the ultra-sensitive and -enormous cavities in the sides of their head, much larger than their -eyes. - -Maybe you will see Strix Flammea as he floats, a great moth of a bird, -round the ancient wharves and docks of London Bridge. But it will be -in the forsaken silence of the morning, when the traffic of the streets -is stilled and few people are about, except the human derelicts huddled -by London’s river and an occasional poet enraptured at life’s beauty. - -[Illustration] - - -GLASGOW: W. COLLINS SONS AND CO. LTD. - - - - -Messrs. - -COLLINS’ - -Latest Novels - -[Illustration] - - _Messrs. COLLINS will always be glad to send their book lists - regularly to readers who will send name and address._ - - -PIRACY - -Michael Arlen - -This is the story of Ivor Pelham Marlay between the ages of 18 and 32, -and the period is London, 1910-1922. It is the history of England, -two loves, and an ideal. Mr. Arlen deals with all the types of London -Society, and he likes to bring out the queer and unexpected sides of -his characters. No one who read Mr. Arlen’s first book, _A London -Venture_, or his delightful short stories, _A Romantic Lady_, needs to -be told that he writes wittily and well. - - -TYLER OF BARNET - -Bernard Gilbert - -Author of _Old England_ - -This long, powerful novel shows the dilemma of a middle-aged man with -an invalid wife and grown-up children, who falls passionately in love -for the first time. As he is a man of iron self-control he represses -his passion till it bursts all bounds, with a tragic result. No one -now writing knows so well or describes so vividly life in the English -countryside as does Bernard Gilbert. - - -THE PIT-PROP SYNDICATE - -Freeman Wills Crofts - -Another brilliantly ingenious detective story by the author of _The -Ponson Case_. The mystery of the real business of the syndicate utterly -baffled the clever young “amateurs” who tried to solve it, and it took -all the experience and perseverance of the “professionals” to break up -the dangerous and murderous gang. - - -THE BEAUTIFUL AND DAMNED - -F. Scott Fitzgerald - -This book has caused an even greater sensation in America than _This -Side of Paradise_. It is a long, searching, and absolutely convincing -study of degeneration, that degeneration which ruins so many of the -rich, young, idle people. The “smart set” of New York is hurled into -the limelight and mercilessly revealed. A witty, pungent, and entirely -original book. - - -DANDELION DAYS - -Henry Williamson - -This is the tale of a boy’s last terms at a public school, a very -sensitive, unusual boy, and it is in a sense a sequel to _The Beautiful -Years_. It is the work of a very clever young writer whose nature -essays have attracted the widest attention here and in America, and is -utterly unlike the usual “school story.” It is a subtle and beautifully -written study of character. - - -BEANSTALK - -Mrs. Henry Dudeney - -A charmingly told novel of Sussex. The theme is Motherhood, and all the -emotional subtleties of the desire for children. - - -PENDER AMONG THE RESIDENTS - -Forrest Reid - -This is an episode in the life of Rex Pender, who inherited and came -to live at Ballycastle. It is the story of the curious spiritual -experience which came to him there. It is in a sense a “ghost story,” -but it is told by an artist and a stylist. “The Residents,” moreover, -are admirably contrasted, and in some cases deliciously humorously -drawn. A charming, enigmatic, “different” book. - - -THE DEAVES AFFAIR - -Hulbert Footner - -This is a story of Evan Weir’s wooing, and a very strenuous and -original pursuit it proved. In fact the lady of his choice so far -dissembled her love, as frequently to threaten his further existence. -At the time, Evan was acting as secretary to old Simeon Deaves, famed -as the possessor of the “tightest wad” in New York. - -Now certain individuals had designs upon old Simeon and his hoard, and -amongst them was the forcible and beautiful object of Evan’s affections. - -Like _The Owl Taxi_, it goes with a splendid snap, and is packed with -exciting and humorous incidents. - - -ROSEANNE - -Madame Albanesi - -The author calls this an “old-fashioned story.” It does not concern -itself with sex or any other problems, but is just a lively, well-told -life of a very fascinating heroine who has plenty of adventures -sentimental and otherwise. - - - - -Collins’ ‘First Novel’ Library - -AUTUMN TITLES - - -EXPERIENCE - -Catherine Cotton - -This charming chronicle has no “plot.” It is an attempt to present a -happy, witty, simple-minded woman who attracted love because she gave -it out. This is a very difficult type of book to write. The attention -of the reader must be aroused and held by the sheer merit of the -writing, and the publishers believe they have found in Catherine Cotton -a writer with just the right gifts of wit, sympathy, and understanding. - - -DOMENICO - -H. M. Anderson - -This is the story of a Cardinal of Rome, a member of one of the great -noble families. In his youth something had happened which had thrown -a shadow over his life. There are three great crises in his life, one -of them due to this shadow, one to the contrast between his conscience -and his ambition, and the third when, an exile in England, he falls in -love. Miss Anderson shows much skill in drawing the character of this -great and tragic figure. - - - - -FOOTNOTE: - -[1] The loft over a shippen, or open cattle-shed. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber and is - entered into the public domain. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LONE SWALLOWS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |