SOME LABRADOR RIVERS 
pop-a-teel, sweel sweet, or repeat the Sweel, sweet 
continuously for minutes at a time. ‘These and 
many other notes were but the preludes or in- 
terludes to the real song which varied with the 
singer or his mood, but, in what I deemed its 
classical form, consisted of three parts: the 
first faint and lisping, suggestive of the black 
and white warbler; the second clear and flute- 
like recalling some of the notes of the robin, 
while the third part, the climax, is a wonderful 
succession of delightfully musical triplets with 
rising inflection. One might imagine that not 
one, but several birds were thus performing, 
or if there were but one performer, he would 
be at least as large as a bullfinch. This wonder- 
ful singer, the ruby-crowned kinglet, is, however, 
about the bigness of one’s thumb, and how he 
manages to get so much melody out of his little 
frame, or so much inspiration from a wilderness, 
is to me an unexplained mystery. 
While the eastern Labrador coast is conspic- 
uous for its rocky headlands, its deep harbours 
and narrow fiords, this portion of the southern 
coast is equally conspicuous for its long reaches 
of sandy shores, its coastal plain and its barrier 
uiountain range, and while the drainage on the 
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