A LABRADOR SPRING 
In the alder thickets by the brook fed by the 
departing snows, yellow-bellied flycatchers were 
common, and the wild but tender warbling 
song of an unseen Lincoln’s sparrow came 
suddenly to my ears, and, at not infrequent 
intervals, the more mechanical, ringing song 
of the winter wren burst forth. These two 
birds are about as easy to see as wood mice. 
The contrast was as great among the birds as 
in the appearance of the snowbank and the 
surrounding vegetation on these two days. 
It is difficult in these days of specialism to 
be an all-round naturalist, but one need not be 
an entomologist, if one has been in Labrador 
in summer, to be very conscious of the fact 
that in this cold, brief spring mosquitoes and 
flies were singularly conspicuous by their ab- 
sence. Although I noted two mosquitoes on 
June 1st, and several on June roth, as well as 
flies, they were gentle, harmless things, and 
the cold kept down the ardour of their passion 
for human blood. In fact it was not until the 
last day — June 21st — that I was attacked by 
black flies and mosquitoes, and that very feebly 
and in scanty numbers. It is interesting to 
note that Cartwright on this same day of June 
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