NOVEMBEB'S BIRDS OF THE HEAVENS 



AS the whirling winds of winter's edge strip 

 . the trees bare of their last leaves, the leaden 

 sky of the eleventh month seems to push its cold 

 face closer to earth. "Who can tell when the north- 

 ern sparrows first arrive? A whirl of brown 

 leaves scatters in front of us ; some fall back to 

 earth ; others rise and perch in the thick briers, — 

 sombre little white-throated and tree sparrows! 

 These brown-coated, low-voiced birds easily at- 

 tract our attention, the more now that the great 

 host of brilliant warblers has passed, just as our 

 hearts warm toward the humble poly-pody fronds 

 (passing them by unnoticed when flowers are 

 abundant) which now hold up their bright green- 

 ness amid all the cold. 



But all the migrants have not left us yet by any 

 means, and we had better leave our boreal visi- 

 tors until midwinter's blasts show us these 

 hardiest of the hardy at their best. 



"We know little of the ways of the gaunt herons 

 on their southward journey, but day after day, in 

 the marshes and along the streams, we may see 

 the great blues as they stop in their flight to rest 

 for a time. 



The cold draws all the birds of a species 

 together. Dark hordes of clacking grackles pass 



269 



