AN OCTOBER DIARY. 835 



evening, before sunset even, standing in the same spot, 

 I saw none, and, taking much the same vralk, still neither 

 saw nor heard a single individual. Every bird had left 

 the neighborhood. During very stormy weather, par- 

 ticularly in winter, I have found many birds that had 

 sought shelter and were as unlikely to be seen by the 

 average pedestrian as the burrowing mammals ; but this 

 is not the ease during days like this. The birds are 

 ijot in the cedars, nor in hollow trees, nor in caves. 

 They evidently have taken wing, moved to do so by 

 some common impulse, the character of which cannot 

 well be determined. Birds of different species, and of 

 very different habits, are never seen, as a mixed com- 

 pany, to move off like a flock of blackbirds, but drop 

 out of sight and hearing, one by one, gradually, and in 

 an hour or more, it may be, a crowded clump of trees 

 will be absolutely deserted. To-morrow morning every 

 bird may be back, or as many others may have taken 

 their places. It is pleasant to remember these birdless 

 interims are of short duration. This may seem a very 

 trivial matter, and one of no possible interest, but it is a 

 fact in the history of our resident birds, the " true in- 

 wardness" of which we have yet to learn. 



As athwart the hillside's wooded slope the lengthen- 

 ing shadows slowly crept, the last rays of the sun 

 warmed the varied colors of a host of trees, and made 

 of the extended bluff a brilliant panorama. The maples 

 were scarlet, crimson, and maroon; the tulip-trees yel- 

 low; the sassafras and gums purple; the birches gray, 

 and all else green as in midsummer. 



