MAKING BIRD SANCTUARIES 



have, that kept the song birds from this place; it was 

 the work of the living that had driven them away. 

 From one boundary to another there was scarcely a 

 yard of underbrush where a Thrasher or Chewink 

 might lurk, or in which a Redstart, or a dainty Chest- 

 nut-sided Warbler, might place its nest . Not a drop of 

 water was discoverable, where a bird might slake its 

 thirst. Neither in limb nor bole was there a single 

 cavity where a Titmouse, Wren, or Bluebird might 

 construct a bed for its young. No fruit-bearing 

 trees were there to invite the birds in summer; nor, so 

 far as I could see, any berry-bearing shrubs such as 

 birds enjoy, nor any weed patches to attract the 

 flocks of Whitethroats and Juncos that come drifting 

 southward with the falling leaves of autumn. 



Had my visit to this place been made late in April, 

 or in May, there might have been a different tale 

 to tell. September might also have yielded more 

 birds than June, for September is a season when the 

 migrants are with us for a time. Then the little 

 voyageurs of the upper air are wont to pause after a 

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