NOTES BY THE WAt 151 



water. I have found them early in April upon the 

 ground in the woods, and again late in the fall. 



In November, 1879, the warm, moist weather 

 brought them out in numbers. They were hopping 

 about everywhere upon the fallen leaves. Within 

 a small space I captured six. Some of them were 

 the hue of the tan-colored leaves, probably Picker- 

 ing's hyla, and some were darker, according to the 

 locality. Of course they do not go to the marshes 

 to winter, else they would not wait so late in the 

 season. I examined the ponds and marshes, and 

 found bullfrogs buried in the mud, but no peepers. 



THE SPRING BIRDS 



We never know the precise time the birds leave 

 us in the fall: they do not go suddenly; their 

 departure is like that of an army of occupation in 

 no hurry to be off; they keep going and going, and 

 we hardly know when the last straggler is gone. 

 Not so their return in the spring: then it is like 

 an army of invasion, and we know the very day 

 when the first scouts appear. It is a memorable 

 event. Indeed, it is always a surprise to me, and 

 one of the compensations of our abrupt and change- 

 able climate, this suddenness with which the birds 

 come in spring, — in fact, with which spring itself 

 comes, alighting, maybe, to tarry only a day or two, 

 but real and genuine, for all that. When March 

 arrives, we do not know what a day may bring forth. 

 It is like turning over a leaf, a new chapter of start- 

 ling incidents lying just on the other side. 



