November 



grieves to think how many of these fine songsters 

 fall ready indeed, too ready, victims to the frost ; 

 for there seems to be a lack of moral fibre in the 

 bird, and it may be seen thus cowed and inert 

 even before the berries are gone. 



How differently the starling faces the untoward 

 change ! He is here, there, and everywhere, flying 

 high and low, singly or in hundreds, ransacking 

 every midden heap for miles around. He is never 

 too hungry to fight, and if one watches a large 

 group of starlings, scarcely a moment passes but 

 several couples spring up a few inches from the 

 ground to spar on the wing, their sudden rising 

 and subsidence resembling nothing so much as the 

 continuous splashing of raindrops in a puddle. 

 How little cold affects this bird may be judged by 

 the fact that if he chances upon an unfrozen puddle, 

 he forthwith enters it to bathe, laying about him 

 with such energy that others, standing aside to 

 await their turn, get a sufficient baptism as spec- 

 tators. In fact, the starling is the bird of the 

 month ; for, with the cessation of the robin's song, 

 which made that bird so conspicuous during October, 

 the starling comes to the front by sheer force of 

 numbers and ubiquitous energy, not to mention 

 the cheerful optimism with which he enlivens the 

 dead season by a sort of bronchial wheeze, in 

 which the spirit of song struggles vainly to utter 

 itself through an unpropitious organ. 



The pied wagtail remains with us, growing 

 47 





