AUTUMN SONGSTERS. 197 



mutely through the months of winter. Imperceptibly 

 their various songs are missed from the trees and 

 hedges ; with the turn of the leaf they decline and then 

 ultimately cease altogether. Most birds lose their song 

 in the autumnal moult, and never warble again until the 

 spring-tide sun and flowers rouse the latent spark of 

 love within them and cause them to carol forth notes of 

 invitation to their mates. To this, however, there are 

 certain welcome exceptions. The woods and spinneys 

 are carpeted with brown and yellow leaves, ruins of the 

 summer's fairest charm ; the breezes sound desolately 

 through the bare branches, and all things seem embraced 

 with seasonable decay. But the Robin's cheerful song 

 sounds everywhere amongst the shrubs ; like a bright 

 hymn of hope amongst the devastated trees his beautiful 

 music enlivens the autumn days, and gladdens the dying 

 year's oppressiveness. No bird sings so continuously as 

 this little bright-eyed red-breasted chorister, and his 

 tuneful melody, especially in autumn, is one of the most 

 soothing and welcome sounds the woods and fields 

 contain. Then he is so trustful, so confiding, so tame, 

 so active and so engaging, as he perches daintily on the 

 old familiar branch at dusk, sitting there singing at 

 intervals until darkness settles over the woods, and the 

 big white fog-banks wrap the meadows in a cold and 

 soaking shroud. I think we all of us appreciate the 

 Robin most in autumn and winter ; in spring and 



