66 NEW HAMPSHIRE 



" continuous melody "), the cackle of robins, 

 and the croaking of rusty blackbirds, the air 

 was loud. To these travelers, as to me, the 

 weather seemed to be changing for the better, 

 though the sun did not yet show itself, and find- 

 ing themselves in so delectable a valley, they 

 were in exuberant spirits. 



Just above the Profile House farm the road 

 took me into a flock of birds that proved to be 

 the better part of half a mile in length. The 

 wayside hedges were literally in a flutter, snow- 

 birds being the most abundant, I think, with 

 white-throats and myrtle warblers not far 

 behind. Hermit thrushes, winter wrens, chip- 

 ping sparrows, song sparrows, and ruby-crowns 

 were continually in sight, and an unseen purple 

 finch was practicing niggardly, disconnected, 

 vireo-like phrases, as the manner of his kind is 

 in the autumnal season. 



Then, when the older forest was reached, 

 there came an interval of silence, broken at last 

 by the distant, or distant-seeming, voice of a 

 red-breasted nuthatch and the cheerful notes of 

 chickadees. Soon two hermits showed them- 

 selves, facing me on a low perch, and lifting 

 their tails solemnly in response to my chirping ; 

 and not far away were a winter wren or two, 

 and a flock of white-throats and snowbirds. I 



