RUSTLING WINGS 



179 



The Greeks had their Spring Swallow 

 Song; why will not some one give us a 

 bird song of autumn, not pathetic, but 

 tripping with realistic bustle? 



Where to look first? Robins were 

 thick on the lawn, wood thrushes 

 scratched under the purple-leaved rose 

 bushes. The berry-tipped dogwood 

 was quaking with the horde that feasted 

 upon it; the foot-paths were alive with 

 the sociable hair-birds, and mingling 

 with them came the beautiful white- 

 throated sparrows. 



How many associations follow in the 

 train of a single incident ! The white- 

 throated sparrow's soft call is the first 

 bird note that I remember from child- 

 hood. In May, returning from a long 

 stay in the city, with my heart swelling 

 with pent-up longing, I stood on the 

 steps of the little station, and as the 

 train ceased breaking the stillness and 



