FEBRUARY. 41 



There are, in a general sense, no birds on the island to- 

 day, and if to-morrow be clear they will be abroad in full 

 force ; but, as I can testify from repeated experiences, if 

 you stay until to-morrow, keeping a sharp lookout the 

 night through, you will stand guard in vain. The coming 

 of the birds will be without a sign ; swift as the first flash 

 of the morning's sun. 



However it may be in other quarters of the globe, sea- 

 sonal migration along our river valleys is in no way re- 

 markable, and presents nothing of near like interest to 

 many a phase of bird life during either the summer or 

 winter season. This sudden change that I have men- 

 tioned, and which occurs at all seasons but when the birds 

 are nesting, is more full of meaning, and throws more 

 light upon bird intelligence. 



And now of the few birds that remain. Certainly, 

 during this funereal day that one sparrow gave abundant 

 evidence of being in anything but a joyous state of mind. 

 It acted as though it had forgotten itself for a moment, 

 and so was either frightened or ashamed ; like a child when 

 it speaks aloud in church and is answered by a frown. 



It will doubtless be said that this is a strained, stilted, 

 exaggerated statement of the effect of peculiarly gloomy 

 days, or even a baseless fancy; but such counter-state- 

 ments, popularly yclept criticism, do not alter the case, 

 and I wish that some I kn<3w would winter in the mead- 

 ows for one season. Well, as my field notes show, other 

 than bird life was inactive. When I chanced to overturn 

 a broad bit of bark, and so unroof the snug retreat of a 

 meadow-mouse, it did not flee, but crouched in one corner 

 as though expecting me to shrink to its size and share its 

 shelter with it. Of a cold, breezy winter day, with blue 

 sky and yellow sunshine, how quickly this same mouse 

 would have disappeared, perhaps before I could have 

 caught a glimpse of it ! Surely there is something that 



