56 



Bird - Lore 



kih, ii-kiks, and various other similarly abrupt, explosive cries, uttered in 

 tones of indignant protest an.l cominjj; from far and near on every side. 

 Most of these calls are made by younj^ Carolina Rails. 



In September and October, and occasionally well into November, we 

 frequently hear, both by day and night, especially when the weather is 

 clear and warm, the autumnal call of Pickering's hyla. It consists of a 

 prolonged series of short, dry or crackling notes, given very deliberately and 

 often haltingly or at irregular intervals, rather feeble or at least not 

 loud, yet audible at a considerable distance, and so very unlike the clear, 

 brisk, spring peeping that no one would suspect that both sounds were 

 uttered by the same creature. The autumnal call, moreover, is heard 

 most frequently in woods or thickets, sometimes on high ground. It 

 often seems to come from the branches of the trees or bushes, but if 

 one is patient and fortunate enough to trace the sound to its little 

 author, he is most likely to be found clinging to some leaf or grass 

 blade only a foot or two above the ground. 



In October the prevailing color of the marshes changes to browns 

 and russets of rich and varied shades. Most of the Rails have departed, 

 but there are still plenty of Song and Swamp Sparrows among the reeds 

 and numbers of Savanna Sparrows in the beds of shorter grasses. Where 

 the grass has been cut flocks of Titlarks alight to feed on the exposed, 

 muddy ground, and their feeble, piping calls are heard at frequent intervals. 

 The Rusty Blackbirds have also returned from their summer homes at 

 the north, but they are comparatively silent at this season. At day- 

 break Black Ducks circle low over the marsh, attracting our attention 

 by their loud quacking or perhaps by the light, silvery whistling of their 

 wings — audible at a surprising distance when the air is perfectly still. 

 Towards the close of the month, just as the level beams of the rising 

 sun begin to light up the meadows white with the hoar frost which, 

 during the night, has encrusted every leaf and blade of grass, we hear, 

 faintly but distinctly, coming from high overhead, a tremulous twitter, 

 immediately followed by a single, short, clear whistle. It is the flight 

 call of the Snow Bunting and the first sound of autumn, which unmis- 

 takably suggests the near approach of winter. 



