SEPTEMBER. 



Sweet is the voice that calls 



From babbling waterfalls 

 In meadows where the downy seeds are flying; 



And soft the breezes blow, 



And eddying come and go, 

 In faded gardens where the rose is dying. 



Among the stubbled corn 



The blithe quail pipes at morn, 

 The merry partridge drums in hidden places; 



And glittering insects gleam 



Above the reedy stream, 

 Where busy spiders spin their filmy laces. 



Ah, soon on field and hill 



The wind shall whistle chill, 

 And patriarch swallows call their flocks together. 



To fly from frost and snow. 



And seek for lands where blow 

 The fairer blossoms of a balmier weather. 



— George Arnold. 



HILE a few^ of our birds depart for 

 the south as early as July, Septem- 

 ber may properly be called the 

 favorite month for southward bird 

 travel. Under the harvest moon, 

 millions of vi^arblers, vireos, fly- 

 catchers, sparrows and thrushes, seeking the pro- 

 tection of the night shadows, come out of the north 



