Ii8 ON THE BIRDS' HIGHWAY 



cease to. sing in the pasture lands and 

 begin th«ir roaming life. We may now 

 and then find a stray loon or coot swim- 

 ming on the mirrored bay, cripple birds, 

 unable to migrate with their 

 comrades in. the spring. A 

 flock of herring gulls often 

 remain the year round in 

 our waters dotting the rocks 

 and sand-bars with their 

 gray and silvery forms. 

 Summer days pass quickly by ; we may 

 have chanced to meet some birds when 

 berrying, but our summer friends are old 

 friends ; we have a pleasant chat with each 

 and wander on till the goldenrod whispers 

 its same sad story of every year and the 

 swallows that are flocking by thousands 

 warn us that the great fall journey south- 

 ward of the avian host has already com- 

 menced, and as the sun sinks in the last 

 summer's sky we feel the cool September 

 breeze sweep over the ripened fields. 



" Summer, sister, seraph, 

 Let us go with thee ! 

 In the name of the bee. 

 And of the butterfly. 

 And of the breeze, amen ! " 



