386 
on the other side of the pond, there is 
a sudden whistle of wings and a rush 
overhead, and a little flock of Teal 
stoop swiftly down upon the decoys, 
then as swiftly glance upwards again, 
and with a beautiful wheel, the white 
under-coverts of their wings twinkling 
an instant in the eastern light, dash 
into the water, sending it up far in front 
of them. Both barrels roar at once, 
and as the echoes come bellowing back, 
a vast swarm of Blackbirds, who for 
some time have been chattering and 
whining in the reeds to the right, now 
start into the air, and swoop about. 
awhile confusedly with a crackle of 
complaint, and then, not being able to 
make up their minds to settle again, 
make off for their feeding - grounds. 
Now the birds in the rice and reeds 
at our side begin to show themselves 
more ; not the Rails, they are unseen 
still, and multiply themselves by their 
ventriloquism ; now near, now far, 
whether one or a hundred no one 
could say. But the Swamp Sparrows 
come into sight, and a Chickadee tilts 
lightly on to the edge of the boat with 
a day-day of recognition, like an old 
acquaintance met in an out-of-the-way 
place, thence to the level gun-barrel 
along which he hops, twisting right or 
left at each hop, peeps into the muzzle, 
and, finding nothing attractive there, 
makes his way with one sideways 
glance under the rail of the gunnel, to 
the marsh again. He is not a sedge- 
bird, yet he is not out of place there. 
His close cousin in Europe bears the 
name of Marsh Tit, and he himself has 
been passing the summer in a thicket 
at the edge of the swamp, where in the 
side of a slanting birch ruined by last 
winter’s snow and now falling to decay, 
he chiselled a hole for his soft-felted, 
purse-like nest, and drawled Aha@dbe to 
his mate the season long. Now his 
villeggiatura is ended, and the senti- 
mental fit past; he has resumed his 
brisk winter accent, and is coming back 
again to the pine-groves and gardens. 
While we are seeing him off, the sound 
of a paddle comes from behind the 
point to the right, and gradually a punt 
emerges and makes leisurely way to- 
Sedge-Birds. 
[ March, 
wards us, its broad-shouldered occupant 
sinking the stern deep in the water. 
At last he heaves to off our stand, and 
the voice of “the old Captain” hails 
us, asking whether we have seen a 
decoy of his. We have not, but he 
edges in, still unsatisfied, and flings 
out in a short growling way that it 
looked much like a wild one, &c., &c., 
evidently thinking we have shot his 
bird, perhaps knowingly. Indeed, what 
do these young scamps come here for, 
to spoil what little shooting is left? 
There never was much, and now there’s 
none. All this inside the teeth, how- 
ever, for he manages to consume his 
own smoke, though with some rum- 
bling. He still keeps edging in until 
he gets fairly alongside, where we dis- 
pel the doubt which native delicacy 
would not allow him openly to express, 
even to such miscellaneous-looking in- 
dividuals as we. Satisfied that his pet 
is not among the slain, he softens up, 
becomes chatty, at length hearing a 
name which he will not directly ask, he 
looks up sharp and fairly overflows 
with friendly talk and stories of the 
olden time, until we, warned by the 
sunbeams that now begin to gild the 
woods on the western point, with some 
difficulty make our escape. A kindly 
old giant, —beneath all his gruffness as 
tender as true. He has vanished with 
the bit of wilderness and the game he 
almost survived, and now men are lev- 
elling off the oak-clad knolls that hid 
his trig cottage from the north and 
from the Concord road; the railway 
runs where the curving edge of the 
bank met the waters of the bay, and 
the swale where his little greenhouse 
stood open to the pond and the sun is 
blocked across by a line of ice-houses. 
They have turned his place round, to 
suit the requirements of a newera. He 
dwelt there sunning himself in the old 
memories, among his flowers or in his 
boat, silent, introverted, brooding over 
the old New-England times to which he 
belonged. But now the present has 
come in with its far-reaching schemes, 
its cosmopolitan interests, and must 
live on the street, and has no time to 
think of the sunshine or the want of it. 
