the peculiar jerking of the tail, one would hardly 

 recognize the yellowpoll in his dull suit. The fly- 

 catchers frequently declare their identity through 

 mannerisms. Were it not for difference of manner 

 and voice, the phoebe and the pewee might easily 

 be confused; so also the redeye and the warbling 

 vireo. I have known the redeye for years, but can 

 never make out his red eye, unless it be a glass 

 one. 



Now comes the winter wren, peeping and prying 

 round about a mossy tussock like a little mouse, 

 but far more self-contained. His wee tail is ele- 

 vated and his whole demeanor pert. What a 

 pidture he makes, prying about in the hair-caps, 

 his head little higher than the capsules, — a ruddy, 

 rich-hued, speckled little fellow. If only he would 

 give us a measure of that fabled song, that Orphean 

 strain of the far North and of the mountain tops, 

 which is denied to dwellers on these lower levels ! 

 There are songs to be heard only on Parnassus. 



These are the days of journeying seeds. In 

 spring it was blowing pollen; in early autumn, 

 mushroom spores; and now winged seeds flying 

 before the wind. Those of the hop-hornbeam 

 are done up in little papery bags which, though 



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