SOME LABRADOR RIVERS 



pop-a-teet, sweet sweet, or repeat the sweet, sweet 

 continuously for minutes at a time. These and 

 many other notes were but the preludes or in- 

 terludes to the real song which varied with the 

 singer or his mood, but, in what I deemed its 

 classical form, consisted of three parts: the 

 first faint and lisping, suggestive of the black 

 and white warbler; the second clear and flute- 

 like recalling some of the notes of the robin, 

 while the third part, the climax, is a wonderful 

 succession of delightfully musical triplets with 

 rising inflection. One might imagine that not 

 one, but several birds were thus performing, 

 or if there were but one performer, he would 

 be at least as large as a bullfinch. This wonder- 

 ful singer, the ruby-crowned kinglet, is, however, 

 about the bigness of one's thumb, and how he 

 manages to get so much melody out of his little 

 frame, or so much inspiration from a wilderness, 

 is to me an unexplained mystery. 



While the eastern Labrador coast is conspic- 

 uous for its rocky headlands, its deep harbours 

 and narrow fiords, this portion of the southern 

 coast is equally conspicuous for its long reaches 

 of sandy shores, its coastal plain and its barrier 

 mountain range, and while the drainage on the 



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