66 THE Birps Asout Us. 
those hazy, golden, dreamy days, such as our grand- 
fathers talk of, as Indian summer and a feature of 
November. We have such days now, but they usu- 
ally come a month earlier, and while the ripening 
chestnuts are being scattered by the squirrels I have 
heard the lingering oven-birds singing, but with no 
such ardor as characterizes their evening song in 
June; for the ¢tseé-tseé-tseé-tseé-tseé, five or six times 
repeated, has a good deal of music in it, when all we 
hear is the chirps and twitters of lazy resident birds 
or the chatter of blue-jays. The occasional splendid 
burst of song, first described, I believe, by John Bur- 
roughs, I have sometimes heard. It is as described, 
“clear, ringing, copious, rivalling the goldfinch’s in 
vivacity and the linnet’s in melody.” 
“Its nest is placed on the ground, usually among dead leaves on 
an inclined surface, and though usually arched over with a lateral 
opening, is often of a simpler construction.”’ 
The two Water-thrushes are migratory birds, ap- 
pearing in the Middle States in spring and autumn. 
Let us consider these birds as we see them tripping 
along, either in May or September. Here we have, 
according to ornithologists, a warbler, but our eyes 
tell us it is a curious combination of a thrush anda 
sand-piper. They delight not only in the more quiet 
inland waters, but seem to have a fancy for the wind- 
tossed ripples of tide-water streams. I have watched 
them rush in and out, as the waves came and went 
along the river-shore, with all the dexterity and grace 
of a sand-piper. There was the same apparent un- 
steadiness of the legs; the same dipping of the tail 
