ill through the
onlooker, then he may at once pull his hat lower over his eyes and concern
himself only with his immediate business. The joys of Nature are not for
such as he; the love of the wild which exists in every one of us is, in
him, too thickly "sicklied o'er" with the veneer of convention and
civilisation.

Even as late as November, when the water begins to freeze in the tiny cups
of the pitcher plants, and the frost brings into being a new kind of
foliage on glass and stone, a few insect-eaters of the summer woods still
linger on. A belated red-eyed vireo may be chased by a snowbird, and when
we approach a flock of birds, mistaking them at a distance for purple
finches, we may discover they are myrtle warblers, clad in the faded
yellow of their winter plumage. In favoured localities these brave little
birds may even spend the entire winter with us.

One of the best of November's surprises may come when all hope of late
migrants has been given up. Walking near the river, our glance falls on
what might be a painter's palate with blended colours of all shades
resting on the smooth surface of the water. We look again and again,
hardly believing our eyes, until at last the gorgeous creature takes to
wing, and goes humming down the stream, a bit of colour tropical in its
extravagance--and we know that we have seen a male wood, or summer, duck
in the full grandeur of his white, purple, chestnut, black, blue, and
brown. Many other ducks have departed, but this one still swims among the
floating leaves on secluded waterways.

Now is the time when the woodcock rises from his swampy summer home and
zigzags his way to a land where earthworms are still active. Sometimes in
our walks we may find the fresh body of one of these birds, and an upward
glance at the roadside will show the cause--the cruel telegraph wires
against which the flight of the bird has carried it with fatal velocity.

One of the greatest pleasures which November has to give us is the joy of
watching for the long lines of wild geese from the Canada lakes. Who can
help being thrilled at the sight of these strong-winged birds, as the
V-shaped flock throbs into view high in air, beating over land and water,
forest and city, as surely and steadily as the passing of the day behind
them. One of the finest of November sounds is the "Honk! honk!" which
comes to our ears from such a company of geese,--musical tones "like a
clanking chain drawn through the heavy