179 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 



SPLASHES of yellow on the Maples and darkening red 

 on the Oaks are the signals along the great aerial 

 highway from the remote north* The broods of the 

 season, grown to maturity in the close bounds of their 

 habitations, nurtured and fed by attentive parents 

 who did not travel more than a few yards from home, 

 are now led and guided into a new and vast world 

 in response to the signals of a changing landscape. 

 In their long night flights the green and gold are 

 indistinguishable, and they see only the alternating 

 of land and water, with the feeble reaching up of 

 lights from the spots where restless humanity 

 congregates* But during the daily rest they hurry 

 among the changing and leisurely falling leaves of the 

 tall trees or settle down under the bright red feathers 

 of the Sumach, where the poison ivy in tints of flame 

 seeks to redeem its evil reputation. 



White Throats in large numbers are passing over, 

 about, and through the city, busily gathering daily 

 supplies among the falling leaves. Some have the 

 three white lines on their heads clearly distinct, while 

 others show only a tawny promise of white in the 

 advancing season. All show the distinguishing white 

 throat and the eager, coy activity that gives them a 



