THE REDBREAST. 183 



joyous ; and those which are now, perchance, sing- 

 ing in warmer climates, shall come back to tlieir 

 old and long-remembered haunts. 



And yet the wanderer now may be greeted by 

 an occasional strain of music. Even the notes of 

 the yellowhammer are welcome as the bird flits 

 beforc us from bush to bush, as if wishing for our 

 companionship ; and the goldfinch has begun again 

 to welcome a bright day with a tune ; wliile the 

 thrush or the blackbird now and then accompanies 

 tliem, or the hedge-spaiTOw trills a lay from the 

 bough, or the skylark or the woodlark pours its 

 flute-like notes into the air. The songs are all 

 sweet — per] laps the sweeter because we hear tliem 

 so rarely, but the notes are not so gay as in the 

 brigliter days of summer. They have a plaintive- 

 ness, which agrees well with the whispers of the 

 autumnal winds among the trees, and with the 

 falling leaves, Avhicli those winds scatter before 

 them to die. 



But these birds are rather the occasional singers, 

 than the constant minstrels, of the autumnal or 

 winter months. Not so the robin and the wren ; 

 for, as the old adage says, " When the robin sings, 

 look out for winter." No weather, save the gloomy 



