Some of the old country folk used to make as much mystery about this
bird as the cuckoo. Because it was seldom seen till the first fogs the
belief was that it had lost its way in the mist at sea, and come inland
by mistake.
Just as in the early part of the year green buds and opening flowers
welcome swallow and cuckoo, so the colours of the dying leaf prepare the
way for the second feathered immigration in autumn. Once now and then
the tints of autumn are so beautiful that the artist can hardly convey
what he sees to canvas. The maples are aglow with orange, the oaks one
mass of buff, the limes light gold, the elms a soft yellow. In the
hawthorn thickets bronze spots abound; here and there a bramble leaf has
turned a brilliant crimson (though many bramble leaves will remain a
dull green all the winter through); the edible chestnut sheds leaves of
a dark fawn hue, but all, scattered by the winds, presently resolve into
a black pulp upon the earth. Noting these signs the sportsman gets out
his dust-shot for the snipe, and the farmer, as he sees the fieldfare
flying over after a voyage from Norway, congratulates himself that last
month was reasonably dry, and enabled him to sow his winter seed.
'Sceap--sceap!' and very often the snipe successfully carries out the
intention expressed in his odd-sounding cry, and does escape in reality.
Although I could not at first put my theory into practice, yet I found
by experience that it was correct.
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