200 AS THE YEAR PASSES 



with anxiety regarding his fate. Spring came without 

 his cheering call, and autumn passed without his 

 sociable activity. The next year was awaited with 

 anxiety, and the few eager announcements of actual 

 visits left the balance even between expectancy and 

 disappointment. Now our happy friend is as familiar 

 as ever, and his bright blue coat and dark red breast 

 are conspicuous among the leafless branches as he 

 lingers on his southern journey. The harsh voice of 

 the Jay calls a visitor to admire his beautiful display 

 of blue and white. He is a happy fellow, quite content 

 with the fare provided by the bleak woods throughout 

 the winter. The White Throat is among the most 

 interesting of the passing migrants — so full of song 

 that his music may overflow at any time, even in the 

 night. It sings away the days in its southern home 

 when other birds are silent, but has a wealth of spirit 

 in reserve for his love song in the northern woods. 

 Though many of the passing visitors lack the bright 

 plumage and inspiring songs of spring, there is a warm 

 sociability in their transient gatherings and a confident 

 familiarity that seem a compensation for the vanished 

 youth of the year. 



