sparrows, swallows, and in the marshes the red-wing blackbirds.
Not one of these did I see after leaving the open spaces behind.
The avifauna of the scrub-oak underbrush and of the white oak and
pitch-pine trees overhead was as distinct as that of a new
continent. A flight of pine warblers was on and the oaks and pitch
pines were alive with them. The juncos had gone north to nest in
flocks of thousands, in a wonder of full song, all eagerly
pressing on towards the hills but they left their songs behind
them, as it were, to be sung by the other birds. In the pastures
and cultivated fields the chipping sparrows, newly arrived from
the South, took up the trill with an accent of their own, and all
the pine warblers sang it, each with an individuality that
slightly but clearly marked him from his fellow. I think all birds
show this slight but definite individuality in manner and voice
and are probably known to their neighbors of the same clan, as we
are, each by his voice. And even so simple and definite a thing as
the pine warbler's song may be varied by the individual singer
from time to time. I heard one fine bird singing in the
stereotyped form. As he sang a flicker flicked in the distance.
Whereupon the pine warbler sang again, the same trill but with a
tittering twang about it that just jocosely imitated the flicker.
I saw no other warbler or other bird near enough to be the
beneficiary of this joke. He did it just for himself, and his
motions as he flew over to the next tree seemed a visible chuckle
that ended in a saucy flirt of the two white tall feathers which
are one distinguishing mark of the bird in flight.

[Illustration: Dusty Miller blossoming among the Cape Dunes]

Other warblers I noted none. The woods seemed given up for the
occasion to Dendroica vigorsi.

The wood warblers disappeared at the border line of the open
fields at Wakeby and the home-loving birds appeared again in
numbers, robins, bluebirds, swallows and the sparrow kind. The
downy woodpeckers and flickers, to be sure, passed to and from
both zones, though they, too, seemed to love the trees of the open
rather than those of the deeper wood, but in the main the boundary
line, as usual, was quite distinctly marked. The noon sun was high
and the north wind's chill had been fairly combed out of it by the
bristly harrows of a thousand pine tops. In its place was a warm,
resinous fragrance, an incense to the season. The heart of the
Cape fores