8 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS. 



To return to the creek. Curiously enough, rare as 

 the Connecticut warbler appears to be in so many places, 

 yet here, in October, it is sure to be found. Perhaps 

 earlier, sometimes even later ; for the southward flight 

 of warblers is notoriously irregular. Here, too, it sings. 

 It is said to be a sad and silent species, but finds melo- 

 dy in its heart while tarrying at Linden Bend. 



Though not loud, it has a fully expressed song, some- 

 thing similar to that of our common yellow warbler, but 

 with more notes ; and occasionally, when concealed in a 

 tangle of smilax, or poison ivy, often utters a shrill chirp 

 suggestive of a larger bird. 



Certainly, during their autumnal migrations, birds are 

 not much given to singing, but if their southward prog- 

 ress is checked, and they tarry for more than a day, one 

 will often hear the songs of the past nesting season re- 

 peated. In the chinkapin woods, not two miles away, 

 I have heard, in October, migrating warblers sing as 

 merrily as ever they sung in early June. Particularly is 

 this true of the beautiful black-and-yellow warbler, and 

 of the sprightly green black-capped fly-catcher. But of 

 all our migratory birds no one is so uncertain in this re- 

 spect as the wagtail. I have often watched one half a 

 day, and heard nothing but an occasional chirp ; yet at 

 other times, when nutting in these same woods, I have 

 been charmed with its song, that seemed to derive ad- 

 ditional sweetness from the bracing frostiness of early 

 autumn. 



Here, at Linden Bend, it was, but under another gen- 

 eration of trees, that Natty Fairthorne had a strange 



