12 GAME-BIKDS AT HOME. 



blue; amid the down of the thistle yet gleam 

 the yellow and black of the goldfinch, and the 

 hare still makes his form in the woods instead of 

 going to the open. Little sign of autumn ; yet 

 that strange feeling deepens by the day. 



Anon the bobolink in somber suit chirps sad 

 farewell above our heads, russet and gold steal 

 over the oaks, red lights the fading green of the 

 maple, and a change comes over the old dog. 

 No longer does he tap out a lazy welcome on the 

 floor with his tail at your approach, but springs 

 to his feet and with sparkling eye tries to fathom 

 your intentions. 



A few more days, and from the edge of the 

 timber, where the sweet berries of the viburnum 

 are darkening among its reddening leaves, comes 

 a Cloi-ee — ce, cloi-ee — ce^ cloi-ce — ce^ cloi-ee — ce 

 that sets your soul ablaze. How different from 

 the ^' Bob White " that so lately rang across the 

 harvest-field, yet how gentle and penetrating 

 this autumn call of the quail ! He who has never 

 felt its sweet power when the hills arc arrayed in 

 crimson and gold and a mellower sunlight falls 

 from on high has missed the strangest emotion 

 of the human breast. And strong must be the 



