roost, to be mentioned later, it seems well-nigh certain that it was
still upon the increase.

Toward the close of August I became interested in the late singing of
several whippoorwills, and so was taken away from the robins' haunt at
the hour of sunset. Then, from the 5th to the 13th of September, I was
absent from home. On the night of my return I went to the shore of the
pond, where, on the 1st of August, I had counted 1533 entries. The
weather was favorable, and I arrived in good season and remained till
the stars came out, but I counted only 137 robins! It was plain that the
great majority of the congregation had departed.

As I have said, there was little to be learned by going into the wood
after the robins were assembled. Nevertheless I used frequently to
intrude upon them, especially as friends or neighbors, who had heard of
my "discovery," were desirous to see the show. The prodigious cackling
and rustling overhead seemed to make a deep impression upon all such
visitors, while, for myself, I should have had no difficulty in
crediting the statement had I been told that _ten thousand_ robins were
in the treetops. One night I took two friends to the place after it was
really dark. All was silent as we felt our way among the trees, till,
suddenly, one of the trio struck a match and kindled a blaze of dry
twigs. The smoke and flame speedily waked the sleepers; but even then
they manifested no disposition to be driven out.

For curiosity's sake, I paid one early morning visit to the roost, on
the 30th of July. It would be worth while, I thought, to see how much
music so large a chorus would make, as well as to note the manner of its
dispersion. To tell the truth, I hoped for something spectacular,--a
grand burst of melody, and then a pouring forth of a dense, uncountable
army of robins. I arrived about 3.40 (it was still hardly light enough
to show the face of the watch), and found everything quiet. Pretty soon
the robins commenced cackling. At 3.45 a song sparrow sang, and at the
same moment I saw a robin fly out of the wood. Five minutes later a
robin sang; at 3.55 another one flew past me; at four o'clock a few of
the birds were in song, but the effect was not in any way
peculiar,--very much as if two or three had been singing in the ordinary
manner. They dispersed precisely as I had seen them gather: now a
single bird, now two or three, now six, or even ten. A casual passer
along the road would have remarke