To Mountain Tarn 



From the hedge on the far side came the 

 sharp, melancholy piping so characteristic among 

 winter sounds. Beyond, was more piping. One 

 seemed to ask if the other was there, and the 

 answer came back. For about the length of half 

 a field, the piping went on. The male is a dusky 

 bird. So charmingly dark is he, that when I 

 hear of " dusky" I think of the hedge- warbler. 

 Like the wren, they are companionable, but not 

 quite so pleased to see you, nor so loth to part. 

 So far as they go, they keep talking to each 

 other. They are in pairs, which may be one 

 reason why they are less dependent on the 

 chance passer-by. 



The crackling of a robin was somewhere 

 about. He is not silent like the wren. Usually 

 he is heard before seen. No mate is within 

 hearing. He is alone the most solitary of 

 winter birds. Yet the crackling is on the frosty 

 air. It may be half a challenge, for he is 

 impatient and irascible, notwithstanding his good 

 character about Christmas time. His note is 

 independent, as himself. It is original among 

 the sounds made by familiar birds. No manner 

 of explanation will turn it inside out. One may 

 only guess at its meaning. He is not much 

 given to following. Not that he will let you pass 

 without notice. He will drop to the road, jerk 

 in his characteristic way, and hop on in front. 



Further along the hedge came the blackbird's 

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