THE PASSING OF THE FLOCKS 





T is September. August the month of gray 

 days for birds has passed. The last pin- 

 feather of the new winter plumage has burst 

 its sheath, and is sleek and glistening from 

 its thorough oiling with waterproof dressing, 

 @ which the birds squeeze out with their bills 

 from a special gland, and which they rub 

 into every part of their plumage. The youngsters, now 

 grown as large as their parents, have become proficient 

 in fly-catching or berry-picking, as the case may be. 

 Henceforth they forage for themselves, although if we 

 watch carefully we may still see a parent's love prompt- 

 ing it to give a berry to its big offspring (indistinguishable 



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