A Book on Birds 



Just before fall he looks as plain as a 

 pipe-stem — in yellowish brown and gray — 

 and besides this has lost his music, and 

 under the nom de guerre of Reedbird — has 

 become the especial delight and victim of 

 sportsmen along the Delaware river and bay. 



Then, a little later, and still farther 

 south, he assumes a new make-up even more 

 faded, and, as the dreaded Ricebird, covers 

 the country by tens of thousands and for 

 a while gives the plantation owners all the 

 trouble they can cope with. 



But up our way — in the rare visits he 

 makes us — he is nothing more than the 

 jolly, rollicking Bobolink — always hand- 

 some to look at and a pleasure to hear. 



And now — as a fanciful diversion in our 

 bird-questing — let us shift the scene a little 

 to get a sense of the weird and mysterious. 



It still lacks a half hour of sunset; but 

 up here, along this winding creek, in these 

 dense, dewy thickets, rich with honeysuckle, 

 the twilight has already fallen. So luxuri- 

 ant indeed and tangled is the June under- 

 growth that you find difficulty in making 



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