32 IValks in New England 



as always, in the hoarse and knowing caws of the 

 crows and the lighter but still passionate tempers 

 of the bluejay. But no longer the crow and his 

 cousin jay, no longer the tones of winter strike 

 the keynote gentler, tenderer, more exquisite 

 strains are filling the air. 



One may hardly call the croak of the early 

 bullfrog and the shrill piping of the hyla by such 

 titles as these ; but these queer creatures now 

 make, wherever there are ponds or marshes, an 

 important part of the spring symphony. What 

 an elusive being is this little hyla, clinging to the 

 stems of the cat-tail or sweet-flag or to the sedges 

 and water grasses, indistinguishable from the 

 stems he clings to unless one with exhaustless 

 patience sits beside some marsh until the tiny crea 

 ture forgets that the alien is there, and again raises 

 muzzle above the water. Even then what a long 

 time will pass before the &quot; curious impertinent &quot; 

 (to quote from the Cardenio story in &quot; Don 

 Quixote &quot;) may detect the fifer. Shrill beyond 

 the highest-keyed piccolo rises the hyla s greeting 

 to spring, and none may be sure that the winter 

 barrier has been broken until it is heard. This 

 year hyla is ahead of time, as indeed all the birds 

 have been. One of our few close observers 

 assures us that this is an extraordinary season for 

 early migrations to our latitude. It is now three 



