114 SONGS OUT OF SEASON. 



up such an incessant pot-pourri of shrill sounds 

 that one's ears fairly tingled. Sometimes three or 

 four of them would cluster together and engage in 

 a musical tournament, making the welkin ring. 

 These performances continued until the latter part 

 of October or first of November, when they 

 suddenly ceased and the birds disappeared. 



It is not an uncommon occurrence to hear the 

 loud Biah-yer^ hisli-yer ! of the great Carolina wren 

 in November and December, although the spring is 

 his favorite season of song. The month of Decem- 

 ber was exceptionally Avarm even for this latitude, 

 a fact that was favorable to my investigations, and 

 I was surprised and delighted at the number of 

 songs I heard. On the eleventh of the month — a 

 clear, bright day — as I stood at the border of the 

 woods the sweet, sad minor whistle of the black- 

 capped chickadee fell on my ear, sounding from the 

 sylvan depths like the lament of some love-lorn 

 sprite whose heart had been broken by the defec- 

 tion of a fickle suitor. Again on the nineteenth 

 those pensive notes were heard : Wh-e-e-e^ wJi-e-e- 

 phit ; wh-e-e-e^ wh-e-e-phit ! so sad and far-away that 

 the tears almost started to my eyes. 



The bugle call of the tufted titmouse in early 

 spring is one of the most stirring sounds of the 



