A LABRADOR SPRING 



In the alder thickets by the brook fed by the 

 departing snows, yellow-bellied flycatchers were 

 common, and the wild but tender warbling 

 song of an unseen Lincoln's sparrow came 

 suddenly to my ears, and, at not infrequent 

 intervals, the more mechanical, ringing song 

 of the winter wren burst forth. These two 

 birds are about as easy to see as wood mice. 

 The contrast was as great among the birds as 

 in the appearance of the snowbank and the 

 surrounding vegetation on these two days. 



It is difficult in these days of specialism to 

 be an all-round naturalist, but one need not be 

 an entomologist, if one has been in Labrador 

 in summer, to be very conscious of the fact 

 that in this cold, brief spring mosquitoes and 

 flies were singularly conspicuous by their ab- 

 sence. Although I noted two mosquitoes on 

 June ist, and several on June igth, as well as 

 flies, they were gentle, harmless things, and 

 the cold kept down the ardour of their passion 

 for human blood. In fact it was not until the 

 last day June 2ist that I was attacked by 

 black flies and mosquitoes, and that very feebly 

 and in scanty numbers. It is interesting to 

 note that Cartwright on this same day of June 



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