anti JFrufts of Autumn. 



always seems tinged with sadness at this season. 

 Perhaps the season has more to do with the 

 apparent sadness than the voice of the bird it- 

 self. If the frogs were vocal in October, no 

 doubt the trombone of the great green batra- 

 chian would seem a Miserere. Were the green 

 leaf -cricket a spring chorister, his measured 

 "Treat-treat-treat" would doubtless appear a 

 buoyant " Friihlingslied." So much depends on 

 association of familiar sounds with the season, 

 or the circumstances under which they are 

 heard. I can scarcely imagine how the call of 

 the meadow-lark would sound from the depths 

 of a thicket, or how much of its metallic quality 

 the veery's song would lose if uttered in the 

 open field. 



But the blackbird's notes during autumn are 

 assuredly sad, as they linger over the withering 

 stubbles, or drop down from the home-bound 

 flocks at evening. Every morning, now, they 

 pass overhead in large bands from the marshes, 

 on the way to their daily forage-grounds ; and 

 every evening, now flying low and now flying 

 high, they return over the self-same route to the 

 haven of the reeds. The majority are black- 

 birds, though the starling and crow-blackbird 

 feed with them, and form part of the morning 

 and evening flights. The flocks grow larger as 



