WHERE RUNS THE TIDE, 



time the sound was even more unlike the ordinary 

 cries or calls of birds than in the early evening, and 

 was calculated to cause the superstitious to weave 

 strange stories of ghost-like visitations. 



At home I have often heard these plovers' tremu- 

 lous notes, charged with superabundant sweetness, 

 when the birds were on their way to other lands. 

 Heard them, but they were so far in cloud-land that 

 I never saw them. 



Yellow-legged Tattler. 



According to my experience with the feathered 

 folk about where I live, the yellow-leg is pre-emi- 

 nently a song-bird. The time when I eagerly pur- 

 sued it along the river-shore and brought it down 

 to the mud-flats by cunning imitation of its call has 

 gone by, but as long as life remains I will never 

 tire of watching it about the ponds, nor forego the 

 pleasure of listening to its flute-like whistle as it passes 

 to and fro between the river and the meadows. 



