A LABRADOR SPRING 



lets and robins. On the thirteenth of June 

 I again sought the ravine, and photographed 

 from the same spot the much dwindled snow- 

 bank around which the alders, birches and 

 mountain ashes were unfolding their leaves. 

 The woods were far from silent, as they had 

 been nine days before. Pipits and snow bunt- 

 ings had departed for more northern regions, 

 but, in addition to the other birds found 

 before, the woods were full of warblers. Black- 

 polls were everywhere, lisping their simple, 

 lazy songs; brilliant magnolia warblers and 

 redstarts displayed their yellows and reds and 

 blacks, and sang unceasingly; Wilson's war- 

 blers, jet black in cap, elsewhere bright yellow, 

 appeared undisturbed by my presence and 

 sang at close range ; a rare for these parts 

 Nashville warbler gave vent to the emotions 

 of his heart from a clump of mountain ash 

 sprouts, and, lastly, from among this gentle 

 band of warblers, a Maryland yellow-throat 

 not only sang from some bushes, but in the 

 intensity of his passion was borne aloft to the 

 level of the next terrace, and dove to earth 

 again, filling the air with a confusing and sur- 

 prising explosion of his calls and songs. 



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