46 LEAVES FROM AN APRIL JOURNAL. 



care to wet his stockings. His relative, however, 

 is half-aquatic in his habits, apparently caring no 

 more for the water than the real long-legged 

 waders. Here is one at this moment standing 

 almost up to his feathers on a submerged rock, 

 flirting over the soaked dead leaves which have 

 been caught by a small snag, and ludicrously scan- 

 ning their surfaces for bits of mollusks and water- 

 beetles. It is peculiar that these birds of the same 

 genus should entertain such distinct views of the 

 world and mankind. Later in the season the 

 swamp-sparrow hastens to the low ground, where 

 he is suspicious and distrustful, seldom showing 

 himself excepting in times of anxiety, but skulking 

 here and there among the rank weeds and sedges, 

 occasionally uttering his cheap-cheap, a^ though 

 he were treating you with sneers. The other bird 

 is as open and free from reserve and cheerful as 

 the sunshine, occupying every rock and bush and 

 fence, on which the persistent little songster, from 

 early spring to late fall, pours from his inexhausti- 

 ble throat the softest, sweetest melodies. 



The yellow-hammers are playing in many keys 

 on their xylophones, for the entertainment of their 

 lady-loves. How they make the woods echo ! 

 When one drums on some dead resonant limb, his 



