It was not for several years that I had an opportunity of seeing the
bird again; later I have seen it scores and hundreds of times, at rest
or flying, at all times of the day and in all states of the
atmosphere, in all its most beautiful aspects, as when at sunset or in
the early morning it stands motionless in the still water with its
clear image reflected below; or when seen flying in flocks--seen from
some high bank beneath one--moving low over the blue water in a long
crimson line or half moon, the birds at equal distances apart, their
wing-tips all but touching; but the delight in these spectacles has
never equalled in degree that which I experienced on this occasion
when I was six years old.

The next little bird adventure to be told exhibits me more in the
character of an innocent and exceedingly credulous baby of three than
of a field naturalist of six with a considerable experience of wild
birds.

One spring day an immense number of doves appeared and settled in the
plantation. It was a species common in the country and bred in our
trees, and in fact in every grove or orchard in the land--a pretty
dove-coloured bird with a pretty sorrowful song, about a third less in
size than the domestic pigeon, and belongs to the American genus
_Zenaida._ This dove was a resident with us all the year round, but
occasionally in spring and autumn they were to be seen travelling
in immense flocks, and these were evidently strangers in the land and
came from some sub-tropical country in the north where they had no
fear of the human form. At all events, on going out into the
plantation I found them all about on the ground, diligently searching
for seeds, and so tame and heedless of my presence that I actually