WOOD SILENCE 



THE scarcity of birds and bird music, of 

 which I spoke a week ago, still continues. 

 The ear begins to feel starved. A tanager's 

 chip-cherr, or the prattle of a company of 

 chickadees, is listened to more eagerly than 

 the wood thrush's most brilliant measures 

 were in June and July. Since September 

 came in (it is now the 8th) I have heard 

 the following birds in song: robins, half a 

 dozen times, perhaps, in snatches only ; a 

 Maryland yellow-throat, once ; warbling vir- 

 eos, occasionally, in village elms ; yellow- 

 throated vireos, rarely, but more frequently 

 than the last ; a song sparrow (only one !), 

 amusing himself with a low-voiced, inarticu- 

 late warble, rather humming than singing ; 

 an oriole, blowing a few whistles, on the 4th ; 

 a phoabe, on a single occasion ; wood pewees, 

 almost daily, oftener than all the foregoing 

 species together. 



