ins; but for the rest, the birds have flocked together, finches,
starlings, sparrows, and gone forth into the midst of the stubble far
from the place where their nests were built, and where they sang, and
chirped, and whistled so long.

The swallows, too, are not without thought of going. They may be seen
twenty in a row, one above the other, or on the slanting ropes or guys
which hold up the masts of the rickcloths over the still unfinished
corn-ricks. They gather in rows on the ridges of the tiles, and wisely
take counsel of each other. Rooks are up at the acorns; they take them
from the bough, while the pheasants come underneath and pick up those
that have fallen.

The partridge coveys are more numerous and larger than they have been
for several seasons, and though shooting has now been practised for more
than a fortnight, as many as twelve and seventeen are still to be
counted together. They have more cover than usual at this season, not
only because the harvest is still about, but because where cut the
stubble is so full of weeds that when crouching they are hidden. In some
fields the weeds are so thick that even a pheasant can hide.

South of London the harvest commenced in the last week of July. The
stubble that was first cut still remains unploughed; it is difficult to
find a fresh furrow, and I have only once or twice heard the quick
strong puffing of the steam-plough. While the wheat was in shock it was
a sight to see the wood-pigeons at it. Flocks of hundreds came perching
on the sheaves, and visiting the same field day after day. The sparrows
have never had such a feast of grain as this year. Whole corners of
wheatfields--they work more at corners--were cleared out as clean by
them as if the wheat had been threshed as it stood.

The sunshine of the autumn afternoons is faintly tawny, and the long
grass by the wayside takes from it a tawny undertone. Some other colour
than the green of each separate blade, if gathered, lies among the
bunches, a little, perhaps like the hue of the narrow pointed leaves of
the reeds. It is caught only for a moment, and looked at steadily it
goes. Among the grass, the hawkweeds, one or two dandelions, and a stray
buttercup, all yellow, favour the illusion. By the bushes there is a
double row of pale buff bryony leaves; these, too, help to increase the
sense of a secondary colour.

The atmosphere holds the beams, and abstracts from them their white
brilliance. They come slow