THE PASSING OF THE BIRDS. 181 
the ground, — in the bed of the road, about 
the bare spots in the marsh, and on the gray 
faces of the hills. Other multitudes were in 
the bushes and low trees, literally loading 
them. Every few minutes a detachment 
would rise into the air like a cloud, and anon 
settle down again. As we stood gazing at 
the spectacle, my companion began chirping 
at a youngster who sat near him on a post, 
as one might chirp to a caged canary. The 
effect was magical. The bird at once started 
toward him, others followed, and in a few 
seconds hundreds were flying about our 
heads. Round and round they went, almost 
within reach, like a cloud of gnats. “Stop! 
stop!” cried my companion; “I am getting 
dizzy.” We stopped our squeakings, and 
the cloud lifted; but I can see it yet. Day 
after day the great concourse remained about 
the hills, till on the 13th we came away and 
left them. The old lighthouse keeper told 
me that this was their annual rendezvous. 
He once saw them circle for a long time 
above the dunes, for several hours, if I re- 
member right, till, as it seemed, all strag- 
glers had been called in from the beach, the 
marsh, and the outlying grassy hills. Then 
