IRoa&stDe 



ously injured; but, I judged, the enemies of these 

 trees had all been killed. Never, outside of their 

 native forests, have I seen the foliage of pines so 

 perfect. It was distinctly blue rather than green, 

 and every needle so long that each twig was 

 bushy as a fox's tail. We stopped a moment 

 longer to listen to that sad monotone, so marked 

 a feature of the seaside forests. We plainly heard 

 it. These lovely pines upon a distant hill mur- 

 mured the same story of the untiring waves and 

 never-resting wind that we now best hear near the 

 resounding sea. 



This was the highest point we reached, and 

 probably not over five hundred feet above tide 

 water ; but even this slight elevation brings about 

 many changes in anticipation of what occurs along 

 the river shore, and in the low-lying meadows at 

 home. The frosts of early autumn certainly make 

 an earlier appearance, and so drive the insect-eat- 

 ing birds down to the valley. The vesper-sparrows 

 and other small finches, from these hills, are 

 among the earliest of autumn accessions to our 

 avian ranks. In the longer-summered lowlands 

 there is always a flight of visiting birds that have 

 not the habits of the residents. They do not fre- 

 quent the same localities and have no settled 

 homes or purposes. They wander as if lost, twit- 

 ter a great deal, and sing but little. These are 

 the hill-country birds that flee from frosty nights 

 and short rations. I noticed but nine species of 

 173 



