Waiting for Warblers. 8i 



To give the story of the redstart from May to 

 October is to write the history of a summer, and 

 I scarcely dare assume that task. Redstarts and 

 azaleas, dog-wood, violets, and snowy wind-flowers ; 

 young leaves as dainty as the choicest blossoms, 

 green grass, and all the lush growths that cluster 

 in the marsh ; fresh new earth unmarred as yet by 

 chilling storm or wilting sunshine ; gentle, invigo- 

 rating warmth and all that follow in its train ; spring- 

 tide and music ; redstarts and all vernal beauty. 



The sleepy sunshine of long summer afternoons, 

 the dense shade beneath the thick and dusty leaves, 

 the quiet of mid-day hours, the noiseless flow of the 

 unresting tide, and with it all the agile, flashing, ever- 

 flitting redstarts, their wiiy notes as ceaseless as those 

 of creaking crickets, — a summer song that neither 

 angry storm nor savage heat can silence. 



