A MI.STY morning's FIND. 9 1 



A Misty Morning's Find. 



BY THEODORA RICHARDSON. 



"But all sorts of wind and weather 



Must be taken in together 

 To make up a year, 



And a sphere." 



— Emerson. 



This thought was uppermost in mind when the enthusi- 

 astic bird lover started off at half after five on a misty July 

 morning at Rye. 



That sleepy calm rests all around ; no vehicles, no voic- 

 es, no gongs, the song of birds, and muffled roar of ocean 

 are the only noticeable sounds. Only the near high green 

 bank bordering the sands, and the rocks, a little beyond, 

 bordering the low tide are to be seen. Old ocean is ob- 

 scured in a misty shroud. 



But for cheer there is the delicious strong sea-odor, and 

 a slight breeze just springing up gives promise of a change 

 of weather. 



Wheeling away, our first bird-notes are those of the 

 goldfinches flying overhead in the still, peaceful air, singing 

 as they fl}'. How care-free they always seem in their yel- 

 low coats ! Turning to the right the road conforms to the 

 ocean's curve ; an expanse of marsh, with intermingling 

 alder growth, meets the eye. Each grass blade is 

 bending low with its diamond dew-drop. The rabbit-foot 

 clover looks even more furry with its downy grey head en- 

 veloped in mist. The daisy-like flowers of the camomile 

 are opening at the slight suggestion of light, and clover 

 leaves are unfolding. 



How intense the pink of the wild roses, lasting for an un- 

 paralleled time, as have the cultivated roses this year. In 

 a clump of willows on our left, the catbird begins his early 

 questioning, as we ride by. The Wilson's thrushes are 



