218 IN BIRD LAND. 
names, like a lover wooing a bride ; but now, in my 
dejected frame of mind, they were prosaic enough, 
and provokingly shy, and I felt too indifferent even 
to ogle them with my glass as they tilted in the tree- 
tops. What a humdrum life was the life of the 
birds, anyway, and how indescribably humdrum my 
semi-frequent beat in the woods was becoming ! 
But by and by, in the autumn, an event occurred 
that transformed my inner world, dispelling the 
darkness, dissipating the clouds, bathing all in sun- 
shine. ‘Then I hied to the fields and woods, and, 
behold, a metamorphosis! The inner miracle had 
wrought an outer wonder. Never was there “ such 
mutual recognition vaguely sweet’? between the 
autumn woods and my appreciative heart. The 
ground, flecked with sunshine, filtering through the 
browning leaves, became a work of mosaic fit for a 
king to tread on, and the westerly breeze sang a 
peean through the branches. And how many birds 
there were! A flock of robins were chirping in the 
grove, now and then breaking into song, as if they 
had forgotten that spring was past and that it was 
unconventional for robin redbreast to sing in the 
autumn; but they seemed to be willing to make a 
breach of the convenances to give me delight. 
Numerous warblers chirped in the tree-tops, or 
swung out on the upbuoying air to catch some ill- 
fated insect on the wing; and although I could not 
identify many of them, I felt no annoyance, as I bad 
at other times, for I could truly * rejoice with those 
that do rejoice,” because I had no sorrow of my 
