:::::::::C THE HOT LANDS OF THE PACIFIC ;*::::::::: 



the strange in a way which was most fascinating to 

 us, knowing, as we had heretofore, only our American 

 Robin. I had never imagined that our beloved bird 

 could have any imitators, he always seems so distinctly 

 individual ; there exists such a gulf between him and 

 even his near relative the Wood Thrush. 



Another familiar form slipped around the dead bark 

 of a broken limb and with a penetrating chirp greeted 

 me as a friend — a Black and White Creeper in full 

 plumage. There was no mistake this time. Our little 

 feathered countryman was on his way northward, per- 

 haps the first of his kind to feel the thrilling impulse 

 tugging him along, although the same instinct would 

 as surely restrain him until the deep snows, which then 

 covered his summer home, were melted and the cocoons 

 and hibernatino- insects were bare and beo'innino: to 

 quicken in the sunshine of the coming month. 



On the side of the tauirle farthest from the brook 

 was an impenetrable natural barrier of thorny bushes, 

 the favourite haunt of a half-dozen wrens. They were 

 Oak Forest Wrens, although they certainly did not 

 deserve their name in this low country. Perhaps they 

 had a nest in preparation, for they were very fearless 

 and scolded me roundly, uttering a harsh wren-like 

 chatter, whenever I approached. Now and then their 

 clear liquid song was heard, a ringing Chut'-e-ti/ ! 

 Chut'-e-ty ! Clmi'-e-ty ! bringing to mind the strain of 

 our Carolina Wren. 



«# 305 ^ 



