AN OCTOBER DIARY. 333 



for a weather-sign, but at that half-hour before the first 

 flakes appear, when the woods are always painfully si- 

 lent, unless these birds proclaim the glad tidings, "the 

 snow is coming." Indeed, the song of this bird may be 

 fairly well expressed by the words, " Snow's coming, 'tis, 

 'tis, 'tis." 



With the snow-birds, this morning, there were a few 

 white-crowned sparrows, singing their peculiar songs. 

 The former — Juncos, as I call them — seemed to exult over 

 reaching the dear old hillside again, and even quarrelled 

 with the robins that still thronged the poke-bushes, gum- 

 trees, and grapevines. They certainly did not appear 

 to have been on any long journey, and probably, like 

 many warblers, have been coming south by very easy 

 stages. 



A gentle rain, such as that of this morning, is stimu- 

 lating to bird-life. The few warblers that I saw were 

 constantly chirping, and one Maryland yellow-throat 

 sang vociferously. The crested titmice were noisier 

 than usual. 



Crossing the pasture lot, I was serenaded by rival 

 song-sparrows, one perched upon the garden fence, the 

 other on a tall mullein stalk. The effect was fine. The 

 birds followed each other antiphonally, uttering nothing 

 in concert ; so I took it, they had made me umpire to 

 determine their merits as songsters. I, at least, acted 

 fairly by listening for a long time, and when, at last, 

 they flew away without hearing my decision, I bowed 

 politely, hoping by so doing to give each the impression 

 that I thought him the victor. 



