WARBLER SUNDAY. 167 



them fire seemed devouring their expanded tails 

 and wings. Down in the alders by the river- 

 side a blackbird called out, " Cong-ka-ree 

 for I see thee," and then he hovered over the 

 marsh grass till red - hot spots appeared on 

 his shoulders. Fortunately for eyes and brain 

 the pine woods were gained at last, and I 

 squirmed under a barbed wire fence and took 

 refuge in their soothing shade. 



Lying there I reflected, and my conclusion 

 was that it was a better day to keep quiet under 

 the pines by Assabet water than to climb the 

 slopes of Nobscot Hill. The hot air trembled 

 with the songs of birds, and wandering songsters 

 passed under or over the pines, sometimes paus- 

 ing in their branches. The noisy calls and only 

 half -musical notes of the robin rang out again 

 and again. A veery or Wilson's thrush com- 

 plained of my intrusion. He reminded me that 

 his cousins, the hermits, had gone north before 

 this, and were even then singing their hymns 

 in the cloisters of the hemlock forests. Over the 

 river a brown thrush was pouring out his rol- 

 licking song, and in a ditch by the railway track 

 a catbird sat among briers and flung out alter- 

 nating bits of music and spiteful complaint. 

 One bluebird sat on the telegraph wire, and 

 another on an apple-tree at the foot of Honeypot 

 Hill. First one and then the other murmured 



