GOOD-BY TO THE BIKDS. 225 



in the darkness, guided only by that wonderful 

 faculty we call instinct. 



Their night calls are quite varied. Sometimes 

 they consist of a sad little Tseep ! as if one weary 

 bird were asking of another, " Are you there ? " 

 And then the reply from the right or left will come, 

 " Here ! here ! " At other times the call is quite 

 loud and nervous, giving one the impression that 

 the bird has lost its way, or become separated from 

 its companions. Frequently I hear a sharp, impa- 

 tient cry, which seems to announce that a collision 

 between two birds has taken place, causing one or 

 both of them to break out petulantly, " Get out of 

 my way ! " 



I often feel sure that I recognize the voices of 

 the birds ; sometimes the tones are like those 

 of some of the warblers, then like the sharp chip 

 of the cardinal grossbeak, or the loud cry of the 

 kingfisher, and even the hoarse alarm-call of the 

 " fly-up-the-creek," or green heron. 



And thus they move on and on in ceaseless pro- 

 cession, these wonderful " birds of passage," pur- 

 suing their nocturnal pilgrimage, and I stand 

 chained to the spot, listening to their calls, until 

 the hour grows late, when I go reluctantly to my 

 room, and lighting a lamp, read over again the sad 



