WOOD SILENCE 61 



Except a single water thrush, on the first 

 day of the month, I have seen no land bird 

 that could be set down with certainty as a 

 migrant, and in the eight days I have listed 

 but thirty-seven species. And of this num- 

 ber twelve are represented in my notes by a 

 single individual only. My walks have been 

 short, it is fair to say, but they have taken 

 me into good places. I could spin a long 

 chapter on the birds I have not seen ; but 

 perhaps the best thing I could do, writing 

 merely as an ornithologist, would be to make 

 the week's record in two words : " No quo- 

 rum." 



My last hummingbird (but I hope for 

 others before the month ends) was seen on 

 the 2d. He was about a bed of tall cannas 

 in a neighbor's dooryard, thrusting his tongue 

 into the flowers, one after another, and I 

 went near and focused my opera-glass upon 

 him, taking my fill of his pretty feathers and 

 prettier movements. It was really the best 

 music of the week. The sun was on his 

 emerald back and wings, making them shine. 



One thing that pleased me, as it always 

 does, was his address in flying backwards. 



