RUSTLING WINGS 



177 



Coming and still coming, trooping 

 in by little groups — to catalogue each 

 one would be reviewing New England 

 ornithology. No concerted stampede 

 as yet, save in the case of the swallows. 

 The cedar-birds are again travelling in 

 flocks, and this morning I watched 

 them for almost an hour as they 

 plumed, sitting in rows in the ash tree, 

 where I first saw them in spring, the 

 fierce weather last year having driven 

 them away from December to April. 

 The young have a bunched, home-made 

 look, with their incipient tufts and soft 

 quaker feathers. 



October comes in with a day of 

 palpitating heat, like August. Helio- 

 trope blooms in the garden, and Jack 

 roses, who open their carmine lips in 

 wonder, when told by the monk's-hood- 

 that it is not June, and that the grass- 

 hopper sparrow brought news from the 



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