2 1 8 IN BIRD LAND. 



names, like a lover wooing a bride ; but now, in my 

 dejected frame of mind, they were prosaic enough, 

 and provokingly shy, and I felt too indifferent even 

 to ogle them with my glass as they tilted in the tree- 

 tops. What a humdrum life was the life of the 

 birds, anyway, and how indescribably humdrum my 

 semi-frequent beat in the woods was becoming ! 



But by and by, in the autumn, an event occurred 

 that transformed my inner world, dispelling the 

 darkness, dissipating the clouds, bathing all in sun- 

 shine. Then I hied to the fields and woods, and, 

 behold, a metamorphosis ! The inner miracle had 

 wrought an outer wonder. Never was there " such 

 mutual recognition vaguely sweet " between the 

 autumn woods and my appreciative heart. The 

 ground, flecked with sunshine, filtering through the 

 browning leaves, became a work of mosaic fit for a 

 king to tread on, and the westerly breeze sang a 

 paean through the branches. And how many birds 

 there were ! A flock of robins were chirping in the 

 grove, now and then breaking into song, as if they 

 had forgotten that spring was past and that it was 

 unconventional for robin redbreast to sing in the 

 autumn ; but they seemed to be willing to make a 

 breach of the convenances to give me delight. 



Numerous warblers chirped in the tree-tops, or 

 swung out on the upbuoying air to catch some ill- 

 fated insect on the wing ; and although I could not 

 identify many of them, I felt no annoyance, as I had 

 at other times, for I could truly '• rejoice with those 

 that do rejoice,'' because I had no sorrow of my 



