JFlotoers anH Jfrufts of autumn. 311 



tries, and how different his dulcet autumnal ves- 

 pers from the frenzied " Czardas " he is so fond 

 of playing in the morning of the year ! 



I know many a man like him grouty, fault- 

 finding, storming in the morning; mellow, ex- 

 pansive, delightful in the evening. 



Every little while I catch a fragment of a 

 familiar strain voiced by the song-birds on their 

 southward flight as they pause for a day on 

 their migration. From what distant coverts and 

 unexplored forests has not that white-throated 

 sparrow returned, whose silvery tinkle floats 

 from the copse so musically, yet so plaintively, 

 seeming like an echo of departed spring ! 



The yellow-birds, who are busy scattering 

 the milkweed's floss, have a little lisping cry that 

 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 

 itself. 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 



