AN OCTOBER DIARY. 345 



fected by temperature; and only very high winds, or 

 unusually severe snow-storms, send them to shelter. 

 Well can I remember one clear, cold, January day, of 

 the past winter, when the mercury fell to — 2° at sunrise. 

 From the tops of half the stakes of a long worm-fence 

 bluebirds were singing gleefully. Not with any loss 

 of voice, as Dr. Brewer mentions is usually the case, but 

 with all the animation and variation of their May-day 

 warbling. Even then, they seemed actively in search 

 of insect food, for they sallied out into the clear air, pre- 

 cisely as they would do in October. If there were no 

 insects flying, and surely none were visible to human 

 eyes, then these birds were exercising to keep up their 

 warmth. 



There was a red sunset this evening, such as were so 

 common during the past autumn and winter. Not 

 only this, but the eastern horizon was a pale green, and 

 in no direction was nature cheerfully lighted up. The 

 sickly tints cast upon every object seemed to have its 

 depressing effect upon animal life, and the few katy- 

 dids that have survived made only painful efforts to 

 rasp out Ka — and left ty Did to the world's imagina- 

 tion ; but they kept up this monosyllabic effort until 

 midnight. The crickets, however, are full of activity, 

 even on such a night, and, wherever there was tall grass, 

 were noisy as in summer. They stick so close to the 

 ground and under cover that no mere atmospheric con- 

 dition, such as cold, affects them. 



In the hillside woods, a single Pickering's tree-toad 

 tried to get rid of the blues by occasionally uttering a 

 shrill "peep," but it had no inspiriting effect. No 



15* 



