224 GOOD-BY TO THE BIRDS. 



their ebon plumes as they wing their way athwart 

 the sky, and the rustle of their pinions when they 

 fly low, causes quite a loud rumble. I remember 

 one day I thought a cyclone was descending upon 

 me as I stepped out upon the street ; but on look- 

 ing up I saw that it was an immense flock of these 

 blackbirds dashing over the house-tops to the neigh- 

 boring grove. 



Most birds are more or less gregarious during 

 the migrating season, but very few species travel 

 so compactly as the robins and blackbirds ; in fact, 

 most of them, like the snowbirds, tree sparrows and 

 white-throats, infest the woods in scattered flocks. 

 Now and then a solitary straggler pursues a lonely 

 way, either by accident or from choice. For exam- 

 ple, I have seen but one red-breasted nuthatch 

 in this locality, yet he seemed to be as well con- 

 tent as if he were surrounded by hundreds of his 

 kinsmen. 



But the most wonderful feature of migration is 

 the nocturnal flight of the birds. How often I have 

 stood in my door-yard at night and listened to them 

 calling to one another through the darkness as they 

 cruised overhead ! An inexplicable feeling of lone- 

 liness comes over me at such times when I think 

 of these tiny voyagers traversing mile after mile 



