2 ' Ihtllctiii Xo. jS. 



This morning. (Jctober 7, 1897, fonnd me on my usual pre-breakfast 

 ramble to the flats. I reached them by fifteen minutes to six, just as da\' 

 was making an earnest effort to dispel the lingering shades of nigiit. All 

 is wrapped in mist and fog. As I stand on the elevated rail-road track and 

 gaze over the fiats, they appear more like a sheet of water: in fact it 

 would be impossible to tell where land and water merge were it not for 

 the tops of the fringing poplars. 



Taking up my trail, I force my way cautious!}- out toward the center. 

 E\ery twig and leaf is moist with dew, and so am 1 before I have ad- 

 vanced many rods. The Song and Swamp Sparrows are moving up into 

 the tips of weeds to catch the first gleam of Old Sol as he pushes his 

 rays through the thick mist causing the tops to appear as if studded with 

 sparkling gems. A "squeak" brings a host of them ixom all sides, 

 and I observe that Zonotrichia albicollis has appeared during the night. 

 All seem eager to know what is up, and a second " squeak" brings them 

 all about me, some so close that I could take them with my hand if they 

 would permit, without moving. They now give vent to their anger and 

 denounce the intruder with scornful angry notes, moving about appear- 

 ing like little furies. 



I leave them, and in another place where tall rag-weed forms a thicket 

 of twenty or more feet in width and several hundred in length, bounded 

 on both sides by a maze of golden-rod, asters and poke-weed, 1 crouch 

 low, for here the lower leaves have long since fallen, no doubt due to the 

 absence of sun-light which is shut out by the green canopy above. This 

 growth reminds one of a miniature pine forest. Here I again "squeak" 

 and a Maryland Yellow-throat replies. Soon a whole family of these 

 ever curious fellows is inspecting me from all sides. A little more 

 "squeaking " brings up a Golden-crowned Thrush, all in a rage, strutting 

 about with raised crest, drooped wings, cocked tail and ruffled feathers, 

 subjecting me, the source of all trouble, to close inspection, adding a few 

 angry remarks. But I am looking for another bird, the Connecticut 

 Warbler, and a little more "squeaking" lures him from his tangle. In 

 his movements he resembles the Yellow-throat to some extent, but he is 

 a little more deliberate. While not shy, he nevertheless moves cautiously 

 from reed to reed and darts back into the maze when danger threatens. 

 Very rarely does he leave this retreat for a more elevated position, and 1 

 have only once observed him to fly into a tree, when he was suddenly sur- 

 prised while walking in my path. He is quite silent at this season, due 

 no doubt, to the extreme abundance of adipose tissue. Before I leave 

 this place an aggressive House Wren has joined the ranks of my de- 

 nunciators. 



