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THE

BIRDS AND SEASONS

NEW ENGLAND.

BY WILSON FLAGG,

AUTHOR OF "THE WOODS AND BY-WAYS OF NEW ENGLAND.'

£llustrati0ns.

"I walk the hills my feet first knew, and from year to year they grow
dearer and dearer to nie." — R. A. OAKES.

BOSTON:
JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY,

LATE TICKNOR & -FIELDS, AND FIELDS, OSGOOD, & Co.

1875.

COPYEIGHT, 1875.

BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO.

UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & Co.,
CAMBRIDGE

TO

SAMUEL P. EOWLEK, ESQ.,

THE AMATEUR NATURALIST ;

THE FRIEND AND ABLE ADVOCATE OF THE BIRDS,

AND
THE USEFUL AND ENTERTAINING WRITER,

tEfjts Folume

IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY ONE OF THE ADMIRERS
OF HIS GENIUS AND HIS WORTH,

THE AUTHOR.

38268S

mTEODTJOTIOK

THE title of this work does not give the reader a
full understanding of its scope and contents, as it
treats of Scenes and Flowers as well as of Birds and
Seasons. Its present form was adopted for the sake of
brevity. My classification of Birds is wholly arbitrary,
but not without signification. In the Index I have
given their scientific names, chiefly according to Nut-
tall, preferring those which were used by our early
writers on Ornithology, because the species can be
more easily identified by those than by the Greek names
applied to them in the new nomenclature.

My essays are not biographies of the Birds. I treat
of them chiefly as songsters, and speak only of those
habits which render them useful, interesting, or pic-
turesque. I have confined myself principally to my
own personal observations, but have freely quoted from
several authors. I ought to remark in this place that
I am much indebted to Mr. John Burroughs, whose
essays on Birds and kindred subjects in " The At-
lantic Monthly" I formerly read with great pleasure.

VI INTRODUCTION.

Mr. Burroughs is confessedly the most graphic and en-
tertaining of our authors on Ornithology. I regret that
I had not seen his book, " Wake Kobin" before this
volume was in type, as the perusal of it would have
improved my own pages.

I would remind the reader that some parts of my
book have previously appeared in print.

WILSON FLAGG.

ILLUSTBATIONS.

[Printed by the Heliotype Process, after Views from Nature.]

PAGE

THE OLD HOMESTEAD OF GENERAL PUTNAM, IN DANVERS Frontispiece.

VIEW OF CHARLES RIVER FROM THE FARM OF MR. ANTHONY HOL-

BROOK, IN AUBURNDALE .43

SCENE NEAR FRESH POND, IN CAMBRIDGE, ON CONCORD TURNPIKE 83
VIEW OF NEPONSET KIVER IN MATTAPAN 118

VIEW IN LYNN, LOOKING THROUGH A VISTA OF TREES ON A DESCEND-
ING ROAD 164

OLD ROAD, AS SEEN FROM THE HILL LEADING TO SPOT POND, ON

THE ROUTE FROM MEDFORD TO STONEHAM 202

SCENE ON BASS RIVER, IN RYALL SIDE, BEVERLY .... 248
MILL SCENE IN BOXFORD 277

VIEW OF LANDSCAPE, INCLUDING THE SOUTH SIDE OF CAPTAIN ENOCH

WOOD'S ESTATE, IN WEST BOXFORD 333

VIEW OF OLD WINDING ROAD IN NORTH ANDOVER ... 364
"DEN ROCK," IN ANDOVER, ON THE OLD SALEM TURNPIKE . . 403

VIEW OF BIRCH BROOK, IN LYNN ........ 431

THE BIKDS AND SEASONS OF NEW
ENGLAND.

MUSIC OF BIEDS.

AMONG civilized people those are the most cheerful
and happy, if possessed of a benevolent heart and favored
with the ordinary gifts of fortune, who have acquired by
habit and education the power of deriving pleasure from
the objects that lie immediately around them. But these
sources of happiness are open to those only who are en-
dowed with sensibility, and who have received a favora-
ble intellectual training. The more ordinary the mental
and moral organization and culture of the individual, the
more far-fetched and dear-bought must be his enjoyments.
Nature has given us in full development only those appe-
tites which are necessary to our physical well-being. She
has left our moral powers and affections in the germ, to
be developed by education and reflection. Hence that
serene delight that comes chiefly from the exercise of the
imagination and the moral sentiments can be felt only
by persons of superior and peculiar refinement of mind.
The ignorant and rude are dazzled and delighted by the
display of gorgeous splendor, and -charmed by loud and
stirring sounds. But the more simple melodies and less
attractive colors and forms, that appeal to the imagination
for their principal effect, are felt only by individuals of a
poetic temperament.

2 MUSIC OF BIRDS.

In proportion as we have been trained to be agreeably
affected by the outward forms of nature and the sounds
that proceed from the animate and the inanimate' world
are we capable of being happy without resorting to vulgar
and costly recreations. Then will the aspects of nature,
continually changing with the progress of the seasons, and
the songs that enliven their march, satisfy that craving
for agreeable sensations which would otherwise lead us
away from humble and healthful pursuits to those of an
artificial and exciting life. The value of these pleasures
of sentiment is derived not so much from their cheapness
as from their favorable moral influences, that improve
and pleasantly exercise the mind without tasking its
powers. Those quiet emotions, half musical and half
poetical, which are awakened by the songs of birds, be-
long to this class of refined enjoyments.

But the music of birds, though delightful to all, con-
veys active and durable pleasure only to those who have
learned to associate with their notes, in connection with
the scenes of nature, a crowd of interesting and romantic
images. To many persons of this character it affords
more delight than the most brilliant music of the concert
or the opera. In vain will it be said as an objection, that
the notes of birds have no charm save that of association,
and do not equal the melody of a simple reed or flag-
eolet. It is sufficient to reply that the most delight-
ful influences of nature proceed from sights and sounds
that appeal to a poetic sentiment through the medium of
slight and almost insensible impressions made upon the
eye and the ear. At the moment when these physical
impressions exceed a certain mean, the spell is broken,
and the enjoyment, if it continues, becomes sensual, not
intellectual. How soon, indeed, would the songs of birds
pall upon the ear if they were loud and brilliant like
a band of instruments. It is simplicity that gives them
their charm.

MUSIC OF BIRDS. 3

As an illustration of the truth of this remark, I would
say that simple melodies have among all people exercised
a greater power over the imagination, though producing
less pleasure to the ear, than louder and more complicated
music. Nature employs a very small amount of physical
agency to create sentiment, and when an excess is used
a diminished effect is produced. I am persuaded that the
effect of our sacred music is injured by an excess of har-
mony or too great a volume of sound. A loud crash of
thunder deafens and terrifies, but its low and distant rum-
bling produces a pleasant emotion of sublimity.

The songs of birds are as intimately allied with poetry
as with music. "Feathered Lyric" is a name that has
been applied to the Lark by one of the English poets ;
and the analogy is apparent when we consider how much
the song of this bird resembles a lyrical ballad in its
influence on the mind. Though the song of a bird is
without words, how plainly does it suggest a long train
of agreeable images of love, beauty, friendship, and home !
When a young person is affected with grief, he seldom
fails, if endowed with a sensitive mind, to listen to the
birds as sympathizers in his affliction. Through them
the deities of the gro've seem to offer him their conso-
lation. By his companionship with the objects of nature
all pleasing sights and sounds have become anodynes for
his sorrow ; and those who have this mental alembic for
turning grief into poetic melancholy cannot be reduced
.to despondency. This poetic sentiment exalts our pleas-
ures and soothes our afflictions by some illusive charm,
derived from religion or romance. Without this reflection
of light from poetry, what is the passion of love, and
what our love of beauty, but a mere gravitation ?

The music of birds is modulated in pleasant unison
with all the chords of affection and imagination, filling
the soul with a lively consciousness of beauty and de-

4 MUSIC OF BIRDS.

light. It soothes us with romantic visions of love when
an ethereal sentiment of adoration as well as a passion,
and of friendship when a passion and not an expediency.
It reminds us of dear and simple adventures, and of the
comrades who had part in them ; of dappled mornings
and of serene and glowing sunsets ; of sequestered nooks
and of sunny seats in the wildwood ; of paths by the
waterside, and of flowers that smiled a bright welcome
to our rambling ; of lingering departures from home, and
of old by-ways hedged with viburnums and overshadowed
by trees that spread their perfume around our path to
gladden our return. By this pleasant instrumentality
has Nature provided for the happiness of all who have
learned to be delighted with her works, and with the
sound of those voices which she has appointed to com-
municate to the human soul the joys of the inferior
creation.

BIEDS OF THE GAEDEN AND OECHAED.

THE singing-birds whose notes are familiar to us in
towns and villages and in the suburbs of cities are stran-
gers to the deep woods and solitary pastures. Our familiar
birds follow in the wake of the pioneer of the wilderness,
and increase in numbers with the clearing and settlement
of the country, not from any feeling of dependence on the
protection of man, but from the greater supply of insect
food caused by the tilling of the ground. It is well known
that the labors of the farmer cause an excessive multipli-
cation of all those insects whose larvae are cherished in the
soil, and of all that infest the garden and orchard. The
farm is capable of supporting insects in the ratio of its
capacity for producing fruit. These will multiply with
their means of subsistence contained in and upon the
earth ; and birds, if not destroyed by man, will increase
with the insects that constitute their food.

Hence we may explain the fact, whicli often excites
surprise, that more singing-birds are seen in the suburbs
of a great city than in the deep forest, where, even in the
vocal season, the silence is sometimes melancholy. The
species which are thus familiar in their habits, though
but a small part of the whole number, include nearly all
the singing-birds that are known to the generality of our
people. These are the birds of the garden and orchard.
There are many other species, wild and solitary in their
habits, which are delightful songsters in the uncultivated
regions lying outside of the farm. Even these are rare
in the depths of the forest. They live on the edge of the

6 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

wood and the half- wooded pasture. The birds of the gar-
den and orchard have been frequently described, and are
very generally known, though but little has been said of
their powers and peculiarities of song. In the sketches
that follow I have given particular attention to the vocal
powers of the different birds, and have attempted to
designate the part that each one performs in the grand
hymn of Nature.

THE SONG-SPARROW.

The Song-Sparrow, one of our most familiar birds,
claims our first attention as the earliest visitant and
latest resident of all the tuneful band, and one that is
universally known and admired. He is plain in his ves-
ture, undistinguished from the female by any superiority
of plumage. He comes forth in the spring and takes his
departure in the autumn in the same suit of russet and
gray by which he is always identified. In March, before
the violet has ventured to peep out from the southern
slope of the pasture or the sunny brow of the hill, while
the northern skies are liable at any hour to pour down
a storm of sleet and snow, the Song-Sparrow, beguiled
by southern winds, has already appeared, and on still
mornings may be heard warbling his few merry notes,
as if to make the earliest announcement of his arrival.
He is therefore the true harbinger of spring ; and, if not
the sweetest songster, he has the merit of bearing to man
the earliest tidings of the opening year, and of proclaim-
ing the first vernal promises of the season. As the notes
of those birds that sing only in the night come with a
double charm to our ears, because they are harmonized
by silence and hallowed by the hour that is sacred to
repose, in like manner does the Song-Sparrow delight us
in tenfold measure, because he sings the sweet prelude to
the universal hymn.

BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 7

His haunts are fields half cultivated and bordered with
wild shrubbery. He is somewhat more timid than the
Hair-Bird, that comes close up to our doorsteps to find
the crumbs that are swept from our tables. Though his
voice is constantly heard in the garden and orchard, he
selects a retired spot for his nest, preferring not to trust
his progeny to the doubtful mercy of the lords of crea-
tion. In some secure retreat, under a tussock of moss or
a tuft of low shrubbery, the female sits upon her nest
of soft dry grass, containing four or five eggs of a green-
ish-white surface covered with brownish specks. Begin-
ning in April, she rears, two and often three broods during
the season, and her mate prolongs his notes until the last
brood has flown from the nest.

The notes of the Song-Sparrow would not entitle him
to rank with our principal singing- birds, were it not for
the remarkable variations in his song, in which I think
he is equalled by no other bird. Of these variations
there are six or seven that may be distinctly recognized,
differing enough to be considered separate tunes, but they
are all based upon the same theme. The bird does not
warble these in regular succession. It is in the habit of
repeating one of them several times, then leaves it and
repeats another in a similar manner. Mr. Charles S.
Paine, of East Eandolph, Massachusetts, was, I believe,
the first to observe this habit of the Song-Sparrow. He
took note, on one occasion, of the number of times a par-
ticular bird sang each of the tunes. As he had numbered
them, the bird sang No. 1, 21 times ; No. 2, 36 times ;
No. 3, 23 times ; No. 4, 19 times ; No. 5, 21 times ; No.
6, 32 times ; No. 7, 18 times. He made the same ex-
periment with a dozen different individuals ; and was
confident from these trials that each male has his seven
songs, or variations of the theme, and they are all equally
irregular in the order of singing them.

BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

After reading Mr. Paine's letter, I listened carefully to
the Song-Sparrow, in the summer of 1857, that I might
learn to distinguish the different tunes, as reported by
him. I had never thought of it before ; but in less
than a week I could distinctly recognize the whole seven,
and was convinced that his observations were perfectly
correct. It is remarkable that when one powerful singer
takes up a particular tune, other birds in the vicinity
•will follow with the same. These are mostly in triple
time, some in common time, while in others the time
could riot be distinguished. Each tune, however, con-
sists of four bars or strains, sometimes five, though late
in the season the song is frequently broken off at the
end of the third strain. This habit of varying his notes
through so many changes, and the singularly fine intona-
tions of many of them, entitle the Song-Sparrow to a
very high rank as a singing-bird.

There is a plain difference in the expression of these
several variations. The one which I have marked No. 3
is very plaintive, and is in common time. No. 2 is the
one which I have most frequently heard. No. 5 is quer-
ulous and unmusical. There is a remarkable precision
in the Song-Sparrow's notes, and the finest singers are
those which, in the language of musicians, display the least
execution. Some blend their notes together so rapidly
and promiscuously, and use so many operatic flourishes,
that if all were like them it would be impossible to distin-
guish the seven different variations in the song of this bird.

Whether these tunes of the Song-Sparrow express to
his mate or to others of his species different sentiments,
and convey different messages, or whether they are the
offspring of mere caprice, I cannot determine. Nor have
I learned whether a certain hour of the day or a certain
state of the weather predisposes the bird to sing a par-
ticular tune. This point may perhaps be determined by

BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

9

some future observer, who may discover that the birds of
this species have their matins and their vespers, their
songs of rejoicing and their notes of complaint, of court-
ship when in presence of their mate, and of encourage-
ment and solace when she is sitting upon her nest. Since
Nature has a benevolent object in every instinct bestowed
upon her creatures, it is not probable that this habit of
the Song-Sparrow is one that serves no important end in
his life and habits. All the variations of his song are
given below ; and though individuals differ in their sing-
ing, the notes will afford a good general idea of the sev-
eral tunes.

No. 1. Theme. -JM- -*-(*-

No. 6. Subdued and querulous.

tr tr • t/r

10 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

No. 7. Brilliant.

NOTE. — The notes marked guttural seem to me to be performed by a
rapid trilling of these notes with their octave. No bird sings constantly
in so regular time as is represented above, and the intervals between the
high notes are very irregular. Both the time and the tune are in great
measure ad libitum.

THE VESPER-SPARROW.

Soon after the arrival of the Song-Sparrow, before the
flowers are yet conspicuous in the meadows, we are
greeted by the more fervent and lengthened notes of the
Vesper-Bird, poured forth with a peculiarly pensive mod-
ulation. This species resembles the Song-Sparrow, but
may be distinguished when on the wing by two white
lateral feathers in the tail. The chirp, or complaining
note, of the Song-Sparrow is louder and pitched on a
lower key. The Vesper- Bird is the less familiar of the
two, and, when both are singing at the same time, will
be seen to occupy a position more remote from the house.
In several places they are distinguished by the names of
Ground-Sparrow and Bush-Sparrow, from their supposed
different habits of placing their nests. I believe, how-
ever, that while the Song-Sparrow always builds upon the
ground, the Vesper-Bird builds indifferently upon the
ground or in a bush.

The Vesper-Bird, of the two species, attracts more
general attention to his notes, because he sings a longer
though more monotonous song, and warbles with more
fervency. His notes resemble those of the Canary, but
they are more subdued and plaintive, and have a reedy
sound which is not perceptible in the Canary's tones.

BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 11

This bird is somewhat periodical in his singing habits,
confining his lays in some measure to certain hours of
the day and conditions of the weather. The Song-Sparrow
sings about equally during every hour from morning till
night, and the different performers do not always join in
concert. This habit renders the little songster more com-
panionable, but at the same time causes his notes to be
less regarded than those of the Vesper-Bird, who sings
in concert with others of his kind, and at more regular
periods.

The Vesper-Bird joins at day-spring with all his kin-
dred in the general anthem of morn, after which he sings
occasionally during the day, especially at an hour when
it is still and cloudy, but most fervently during the sun's
decline until dusk. Hence is derived the name it bears,
from its evening hymn, or vespers. There are particular
states of the weather that call out the songsters of this
species and make them tuneful, as when rain is suddenly
followed by sunshine, or when a clear sky is suddenly
darkened by clouds, presenting an occasional morn and
an occasional even. In this respect these birds are not
peculiar, but by singing together in numbers their habit
is more noticeable. We seldom hear one of them singing
alone. When one begins, all others in the vicinity im-
mediately join him.

The usual resorts of the Vesper-Bird are the hayfields
and pastures, from which he has derived the name of
Grass-Finch. His voice is heard frequently by rustic
roadsides, where he picks up a considerable part of his
subsistence ; and it is remarkable that this songster more
frequently sings from a fence, a post, or a rail than from
a tree or a bush. This is the little bird that so generally
serenades us during an evening walk at a short distance
from the town, and not so near the woods as the haunts
of the Thrushes. When we go out into the country on

12 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

pleasant days in June or July, at nightfall we hear mul-
titudes of them singing sweetly from many different
points in the fields and farms.

THE HAIR-BIRD.

A gentle and harmless little bird, attracting attention
chiefly by his tameness and familiarity, chirping at all
hours, but without a very melodious song, is the Hair-
Bird, belonging to the family of Sparrows, but differing
from all the others in many of his habits. He is one of
the smallest of the tribe, of an ashen-brown color above and
grayish- white beneath. He wears a little cap or turban
of velvety-brown upon his head, and by this mark he is
readily distinguished from his kindred. Eelying on his
diminutive size for security, he comes quite up to our
doorstep, mindless of the people who are assembled near
it, and, fearless of danger, picks up the scattered crumbs
and seeds. His voice is not heard in the spring so early
as that of the Song-Sparrow and the Bluebird. He lives
chiefly upon seeds, though like other granivorous birds
he feeds his young with larvae. This is a general practice
among the seed-eaters, in order to provide their young with
soft and digestible food. Nature has provided in a differ-
ent manner, however, for the Pigeon tribe. The parent
bird softens the food in its own crop before it is given to
the offspring. From the peculiar manner in which the
young are fed comes the expression " sucking doves."

It is common to speak disparagingly of the Hair-Bird,
as if he were good for nothing, without beauty and with-
out song. He is despised even by epicures, because his
weight of flesh is not worth a charge of powder and shot.
Though he is contemptuously styled the " Chipping-Spar-
row," on account of his shrill note, this name I shall
never consent to apply to him. His voice is no mean
accompaniment to the general chorus which may be heard

BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 13

on every still morning before sunrise during May and
June. His continued trilling note is to this warbling
band like the octave flute, as heard in a grand concert of
artificial instruments. The voices of numbers of his spe-
cies, which are the first to be heard and the last to become
silent in the morning, serve to fill up the pauses in this
sylvan anthem like a running accompaniment in certain
musical compositions. How little soever the Hair-Bird
may be valued as a songster, his voice, I am sure, would
be most sadly missed, were it nevermore to be heard
charmingly blending with the louder voices of other chor-
isters.

How often, on still sultry nights in summer, when hardly
a breeze was stirring, and when the humming of the moth
might be plainly heard as it glided by my open window,
have I been charmed by the note of this little bird, ut-
tered trillingly from the branch of a neighboring tree. He
seems to be the sentinel whom Nature has appointed to
watch for the first gleam of dawn, which he always faith-
fully announces before any other bird is awake. Two or
three strains from his octave pipe are the signal for a gen-
eral awakening of the birds, and one by one they join the
song, until the whole air resounds with an harmonious
medley of voices.

The Hair-Bird has a singular habit of sitting on the
ground while thus chirping at early dawn ; but I am
confident he is perched in a tree during the night. The
nest is most frequently placed upon an apple-tree, or
upon some tall bush, seldom more than ten feet from the
ground. I have found it in the vinery upon the trunk
of an elm. It is very neatly constructed of the fibres
of roots firmly woven together, and beautifully lined with
fine soft hair, whence his name. It is unsurpassed in neat-
ness and beauty by the nest of any other bird. The eggs
are four in number, of a pale blue with dark spots.

14 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

THE AMERICAN GOLDFINCH.

During all the pleasant days of autumn, when the
thistle and sunflower are ripening their seeds, after the
songs of the birds have ceased, and we greet them only
as friends after the concert is over, we hear the plaintive
chirping of the Hemp-Birds, and see the frequent flashing
of their golden plumage among the thistles and golden-
rods. Like butterflies they are seen in all the open past-
ures and meadows that abound in compound flowers, not in
flocks, but scattered in great numbers, and always, when
flying from one field to another, uttering their singularly
plaintive but cheerful cry. This is so sweetly modulated
that, when many of them are assembled, the songs of
early summer seem to be temporarily revived. They are
very familiar and active, always flitting about our flower-
gardens when they abound in marigolds and asters.

The Hemp-Bird bears considerable resemblance to the
Canary in his habits and the notes of his song. Being
deficient in compass and variety, he cannot be ranked
with the finest of our songsters. But he has great sweet-
ness of tone, and is equalled by few birds in the rapidity
of his execution. His note of complaint is also like that
of the Canary, and is heard at almost all times of the
year. He utters, when flying, a rapid series of notes
during the repeated undulations of his flight, and they
seem to be uttered with each effort he makes to rise.

The female does not build her nest before the first
broods of the Kobin and the Song-Sparrow have flown.
Mr. Augustus Fowler, of Danvers, thinks, from his ob-
servation of the habits of these birds when feeding
their young, that the cause of this delay is " that they
would be unable to find in the spring those milky seeds
which are the necessary food for their young," and takes
occasion to allude to that beneficent law of Nature pro-

BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 15

viding that these birds "should not bring forth their
young until the time when the seeds used by them for
food have passed into the milk, and may be easily dis-
solved by the stomach."

These little birds are remarkable for associating at a
certain season, and singing as it were in choirs. " During
spring and summer," says Mr. Fowler, " they rove about
in small flocks, and in July will assemble together in con-
siderable numbers 011 a particular tree, seemingly for no
other purpose than to sing. These concerts are held by
them on the forenoon of each day for a week or ten days,
after which they soon build their nests. I am inclined
to believe that this is the time of their courtship, and
that they have a purpose in their meetings beside that of
singing. If perchance one is heard in the air, the males
utter their call-note with great emphasis, particularly if
the new-comer be a female ; and while, in her undulating
flight, she describes a circle preparatory to alighting, they
will stand almost erect, move their heads to the right and
left, and burst simultaneously into song."

While engaged in these concerts it would seem as if
they were governed by some rule that enabled them to
time their voices, and to swell or diminish the volume of
sound. Some of this effect is undoubtedly produced by
the gradual manner in which the different voices join in
harmony, beginning with one or two and increasing their
numbers in rapid succession, until all are singing at once,
and then in the same gradual manner becoming silent.
One voice leads on another, the numbers multiplying,
until they make a loud shout which dies away gradually,
and a single voice winds up the chorus. These concerts
are repeated at intervals for several days, ending probably
with the period of courtship.

A singular Jiabit of the Hemp-Bird is that of building
a nest, and then tearing it to pieces, before any eggs have

16 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

been laid in it, and using the materials to make a new
nest in another place. When I was a student I repeat-
edly observed this operation in some Lombardy poplars
that grew before my study windows. I thought the male
bird only addicted to this habit, and that it might be his
method of amusing himself before his mate is ready to
occupy the nest. This is made of cotton, the down of
the fern, and other soft materials woven together with
threads or the fibres of bark, and lined with cow's-hair.
It is commonly placed in the fork of the slender branches
of a maple, linden, or poplar, and is fastened to them with
singular ingenuity.

THE PURPLE FINCH OK AMERICAN LINNET.

The American Linnet is almost a new acquaintance of
many people in Eastern Massachusetts. In my early days,
which were passed in Essex County, I seldom met one in
my rambles. It is now very common in this region, and
has been more generally observed since the custom of
planting the spruce and the fir in our gardens and enclos-
ures. The Linnet, though not early in building its nest,
is sometimes heard to sing earlier even than the Song-
Sparrow. I have frequently heard his notes in March ;
and once, in a mild season, I heard one warbling cheer-
ily on the 18th of February. But the Linnet does not
persevere like the Song-Sparrow and other early birds.
He may sing on a fine day in March, and you may not
hear him again before the middle of April. Soon after
that time he becomes a very constant singer.

The notes of this bird are very simple and melodious,
delivered without precision, and different individuals dif-
fer exceedingly in capacity. It is generally believed that
the young males are the best singers, and that age dimin-
ishes their vocal powers. This is the supposition of Mr.

BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 17

Nuttall ; but I have not been able to test the truth of it
by my own observation. The greater number utter only
a few strains, resembling the notes of the Brigadier.
These are constantly repeated during the greater part of
the day. The song usually consists of four or five strains,
very much alike ; but when the bird is animated he mul-
tiplies his notes ad libitum, varying the modulation only
by greater emphasis. I have not observed that the Lin-
net is more prone to sing in the morning and evening
than at any other hour.

The Linnet is a somewhat eccentric bird in his ways.
He is usually high up in an elm or other tall tree when
he sings, and almost out of sight, like the Brigadier.
Hence he is as often heard in the elms in the city as
in the country. He sings according to no rules, at no
particular hour of the day, with but little regard to sea-
son, and utters notes that are wholly wanting in precision.
His song is without a theme, and seems to be a sort of
fantasia. He may often be seen sitting on a fence war-
bling with ecstasy and keeping his wings in rapid vibra-
tion all the while. He is also regardless of the mischief
he may do. He feeds upon the flower-buds of the elm
and then upon those of the pear-tree, thus damaging our
gardens and keeping himself at a safe distance from the
angry horticulturist after he has concluded his feast.

I have seen the Linnet frequently in confinement,
which he very cheerfully bears ; but he will not sing
if he be placed near a Canary-Bird, nor does he at any
time sing so well as in a state of freedom. He likewise
changes his plumage ; and soon, instead of a little brown
bird with crimson neck, you see one variously mottled
with brown and buff. The finest and most prolonged
strains are delivered by the Linnet while on the wing.
On such occasions only does he sing with fervor. While
perched on a tree his song is usually short and not greatly

18 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

varied. I think there may be less difference than is com-
monly supposed in the powers of individuals, and that
the songs of the same warbler vary with his feelings.
If you closely watch one on a tree while singing, he
may be observed suddenly to take flight, and while pois-
ing himself in the air, though still advancing, to pour out
a continued strain of melody with all the rapture of a
Skylark.

The male American Linnet is crimson on the head,
neck, and throat, dusky on the upper parts of his body,
and beneath somewhat straw-colored. It is remarkable
that some of the males are wanting in the crimson head
and neck, being plainly clad, like the female. These are
supposed to be old birds, and the loss of color is attrib-
uted to age. I am doubtful of this, for it can hardly
be supposed that any bird can escape the gunner long
enough to become gray with age. The only nests of this
bird which I have seen were upon spruce-trees. The
eggs are of a pale green with dark spots of irregular
size.

THE PEABODY-BIRD.

In the northern parts of New England only are the
inhabitants familiar with the habits of the Peabody-Bird,
or White-throated Sparrow. I have seen it, however,
in Cambridge ; and during a season when the currant-
worm was very destructive, one individual came fre-
quently into my garden and employed himself in pick-
ing the caterpillars from a row of currant-bushes. As
the fruit was then ripened, or partially ripe, his appear-
ance so late in the season led me to infer that he had
probably a nest somewhere in the Cambridge woods.
This is a large Sparrow, and a very fine singing-bird.
Samuels says : " The song of this species is very beauti-
ful It is difficult of description, but resembles nearly the

BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 19

syllables 'chea, dee de ; de-d-de, de-d-de, de-d-de, d£-d-de,
uttered first loud and clear, and rapidly falling in tone
and decreasing in volume. This is chanted during the
morning and the latter part of the day. I have often
heard it at different hours of the night, when I have been
encamped in the deep forest, and the effect at that time
was indescribably sweet and plaintive. The fact that
the bird sings often in the night has given it the name
of the Nightingale in many places, and the title is well
earned."

The inhabitants of Maine mention this bird as singing
late in the season. This is caused by his delay in build-
ing his nest, which is not done before June. The words
used by the Peabody-Bird in his song are thus described
in that State : —

All day whittling, whittling, whittling, whittling.

THE EAELY FLOWEES,

AMONG the vernal flowers are usually classed all those
which in propitious seasons are open during the mouth
of April, like the ground-laurel, the draba verna, and
the hepatica, also during the month of May, like the
anemones, violets, bellworts, and Solomon's seals, which
are among the true Mayflowers. Within the space of
these two months the most delicate and interesting flow-
ers of the whole year come to perfection, beginning with
the epigsea and hepatica, and bringing along in their rear
myriads of bellworts, ginsengs, anemones, saxifrages, and
columbines, until the procession is closed by the cranes-
bill, that leads forth the brilliant host of summer.

The vernal flowers are mostly herbaceous and minute.
They grow in sheltered situations on the southern slopes
of declivities and the sunny borders of a wood, and re-
quire but a short period of heat and sunshine to per-
fect their blossoms. They are generally pale in their
tints, many of them white, and often tinged with deli-
cate shades of blue or lilac. The anemones of our woods
are our true Mayflowers. They seldom appear before the
first of May, and there is hardly a solitary one to be seen
after the first week in June. The ground-laurel, vul-
garly called Mayflower, is usually in perfection in the
middle of April, and, except very far north, is out of
bloom by the middle of May. There are some of our
early flowers that remain in perfection during a part of
the summer, until they lose their charms by constantly
intruding themselves upon our notice. Such are the com-

THE EARLY FLOWERS. 21

mon buttercups, which are favorites of children when
they first appear, but shine like gilded toys, and sym-
bolize no charming sentiment to endear them to our
sight.

One of the earliest flowers of April, appearing about
two weeks later than the ground-laurel, on the sunny
slope of a hill that is protected by woods, and continuing
to put forth its delicate blossoms during about five weeks
from its first appearance, is the hepatica, or liverwort.
They are the flowers that have generally rewarded my
earliest botanical rambles, and every year I behold them
with increased delight. They are often seen in crowded
clusters, half concealed by dry oak-leaves, that were ele-
vated by the flowers as they developed their petals. They
vary in color from purple or lilac to lighter shades of
the same tints. Appearing in heads that often contain
more than twenty flowers, they form a pleasing contrast
with the little wood anemones that spangle the mossy
knolls with their solitary drooping blossoms. The rue-
leaved anemone differs from both of these. More lively
in its appearance than either, it bears several upright
flowers upon one stalk, with such a look of animation
that they seem to smile upon us from their green, shady
nooks.

Not the least charming of our Mayflowers is the
houstonia, which has no English name that has become
popular. As early as the middle of May its flowers are
often so thickly strewn over the fields as at a distance
to resemble a thin veil of snow. This plant is almost
as delicate as the finer mosses, and its flowers, though
minute, are rendered conspicuous by the brilliant golden
hue of their centre, that melts into the cerulean white-
ness of the corolla. About the first of May a few flow-
ers of this species peep out from the ground, as in
early evening a few stars are seen twinkling through

22 THE EARLY FLOWERS.

the diminishing light. They multiply until they glitter
in the meads and valleys like the heavenly hosts at
midnight. By degrees they slowly disappear until June
scatters them from the face of the earth, as morning
disperses the starry lights of the firmament. It may
seem remarkable that the earliest flowers that come up
under a frosty sky, and are often enveloped in snow,
should, notwithstanding this apparently hardening expos-
ure, exceed all others in delicacy. Such are the ground-
laurel, the anemone, and the houstonia, among our native
plants, and the snowdrop, the crocus, and the hyacinth,
among exotics.

Children, who are unaffected lovers of flowers, have
always shown a preference for those of early spring,
when they are more attractive on account of their nov-
elty, and seem more beautiful as the harbingers of a
warmer season. After the earth has remained bleak and
desolate for half the year, every beautiful thing in nature
has a renewed charm when it reappears, and a single
violet by the wayside inspires a little child with more
delight than he would feel if surrounded by a whole gar-
den of flowers in summer.

Parties of young children are annually called out by
the first warm sunshine in May to hunt for early flowers.
The botanist is also out among the birds and children,
peeping into green dells, under shelving rocks, or in
sunny nooks, brushing away the dry autumn leaves to
find the pale blue liverwort, dipping his hands into crys-
tal streams for aquatic plants, or examining the droop-
ing branches of the andromeda for its rows of pearly
gems. He thinks not meanly of his pursuit, though he
finds for his companions the village children, and the
poor herb woman, who is gathering salads for the market.
From her lips he may obtain some important knowledge,
and derive a moral hint that the sum of our enjoyments

THE EARLY FLOWERS. 23

is proportional to the simplicity of our habits and pur-
suits, and that this poor herbwoman, who lives chiefly
under the open windows of heaven, enjoys more happi-
ness than many envied persons who are prisoned in a
palace and shackled with gold. By talking with the
children he may learn the locality of some rare plant, a
new phase in the aspect of nature, or discover some for-
gotten charm that once hovered round certain old famil-
iar scenes to whose cheering influence he had become
blunted, but which is now revived by witnessing its
effects on the susceptible mincls of the young.

We have to lament in this climate the absence of many
beautiful flowers which are associated in our minds with
the opening of spring by our familiarity with English lit-
erature. We search in vain over our green meads and
sunny hillsides for the daisy and the cowslip, that spangle
the fields in Great Britain and gladden the sight of the
English cottager. We have read of them until they seem
like the true tenants of our own fields ; and when on a
pleasant ramble we do not find them, there is a void in
the landscape, and the fields seem to be wanting in their
fairest ornaments. Thus poetry, while it inspires the mind
with sentiments that increase the sum of our happiness,
often binds our affections to objects we can never behold
and shall never caress. The daisy and cowslip are remem-
bered in our reading as the bright-eyed children of Spring,
and they emblemize those little members of our former
family circle of whom we have heard but have never
seen, who exist only in the pensive history of the youth-
ful group whose number is imperfect without them.

In our gardens only do we find the pensive snow-
drop, the poetic narcissus, the crocus, and the hyacinth.
There only is the pansy, or tri-colored violet, which adorns
the fresh chaplets of April and blends its colors with the
yellow sheaves of autumn. There only are the lily of

24 THE EARLY FLOWERS.

the valley, the white Bethlehem star, and the blue-eyed
periwinkle. The heath is neither in our fields nor in
our gardens. The flowers of classic lands and many plants
which are sacred to the muse are not in the fields and
valleys of the new continent. Our native flowers, for the
most part, are rendered sacred only by the recollections
of childhood, not by poetry or romance. The anemone,
the houstonia, and the bellwort look up to us from their
mossy beds full of the light of the happy days of our
youth; but the flowers which have been sung by the
Grecian or Bornan muse belong to other climes, and
our fields do not know them.

EOCKS.

IT is not necessary that an object should be intrinsi-
cally beautiful, like a collection of water, to add a pleas-
ing feature to the landscape. Though rocks considered
apart from Nature are unsightly, no scenery is complete
without them. To a prospect they afford variety which
it would be difficult to obtain from any other objects.
Without them there is a want of those sudden transitions
from the smooth to the rough, from the level to the pre-
cipitous, from the beautiful to the wild, and from the
tame to the expressive, which are essential to a perfect
landscape. It is only among rocks that the evergreen
ferns, those beautiful accompaniments of a rustic retreat,
are found growing abundantly. There is no more beauti-
ful sight than a series of almost perpendicular rocks cov-
ered on all sides by ferns, with their peculiarly graceful
foliage, and here and there a rill trickling down their sur-
face and forming channels through the evergreen mosses.
The solitary glens formed by these rocks could not be imi-
tated by any artifice ; and their jutting precipices afford
prospects unequalled by the gentle elevations of a rolling
landscape. In a country where rocks are wanting, the
land rises and sinks in gradual declivities, and prospects
are difficult to be obtained except from lofty elevations.

There is so much that is attractive in the abruptness
of rocky scenery, especially when half covered by trees
and other vegetation, that some authors have attributed
its picturesque character to its rudeness and roughness.
I should attribute this interesting expression to the mani-

26 ROCKS.

fest facility which abrupt situations afford both for pros-
pect and for pleasant secluded retreats. Large clefts
produced by the parting of the two sides of an enor-
mous rock furnish dells, — often perfect gardens of wild-
flowers, — bursting on the sight like an oasis on a dry
waste. In these places there is always a remarkable
verdure, as the rains that pour down the slopes conduct
fertility to the soil at their base. A rocky surface, there-
fore, is productive of a greater variety of shrubs and wild-
flowers than a plain or rolling country of similar soil
and climate.

There are many plants whose native localities are the
tops and sides of rocky cliffs and precipices. Such are the
saxifrage, the cistus, the toadflax, and the beautiful pedate
violet. The graceful Canadian columbine is found chiefly
among the clefts of rocks, like a little tender animal, nest-
ling under their protection, and drawing nourishment
from the soil that has accumulated in their hollows. To
satisfy ourselves of the number and variety of plants that
may grow spontaneously upon a single rock, let us con-
struct one in fancy thus enamelled by the hand of Nature.

We will picture to ourselves a craggy precipice, rising
thirty or forty feet out of a wet meadow, and forming
in its irregular ascent many oblique and perpendicular
sides, which have collected upon their upper surface sev-
eral inches of soil. A grove of pines and birches covers
the summit, with an undergrowth of various shrubs, such
as the whortleberry, the wood-pyrus, the spiraea, and
the mountain andromeda. Here, too, the bay berry and
sweet fern mingle their fragrance with the odors of the
pines. The rocks, in the driest places, are covered with a
bedding of gray lichen, which is a perfect hygrometer,
breaking like glass under our footsteps when the atmos-
phere is dry, but yielding like velvet when it contains the
least moisture. The cup-moss grows abundantly along

ROCKS. 27

with it, and in moist situations the green, delicate hair-
moss, the same, that covers the roofs of very old buildings.
The rain has washed down from the summit constant de-
posits from trees and shrubs, birds and quadrupeds, and
formed a superficies of good soil on all parts of the rock
where it could be retained. On the almost bare surface
grows the beautiful feather-grass, supported only by the
soil that has accumulated about its roots.

The mountain-laurel luxuriates upon these natural ter-
races, by which we descend to the meadow at the base
of the rock. But this evergreen, with its magnificent
clusters of flowers, is not the most attractive object, for
the little springs that issue from the crevices of the rock
have brought out a variety of ferns and lycopodiums that
cover its sides with their green fronds, like the tiles on the
roof of a house. Some oaks and beeches project fantasti-
cally from the sides of the cliff, which is covered with in-
numerable vines. Beside the beautiful things that cluster
at our feet, and the little winged inhabitants native to
the situation, made attractive by their various forms,
colors, and motions, this rock gives additional extent to
the prospect of the surrounding country, and affords
many different views from the various openings through
its wood and shrubbery.

Such are the beauties and advantages multiplied about
a mere rock. But in my description I have omitted to
notice the grotto formed by the shelving of rocks, so de-
lightful to the traveller who seeks shelter from the sultry
heat of noon, or to one who only wishes to gratify a
poetic sentiment. Eocky scenery cannot fail to suggest
to the mind the various scenes and incidents of .romantic
adventure ; and I believe the difficulties and dangers it
presents to the traveller magnify the interest attending
it. I have often seen a whole party eager to obtain pos-
session of a flower that was growing out of the edge of a

28 BOCKS.

rocky cliff. Each one would feel a desire to climb upon
its sides, and to obtain a resting-place upon its dangerous
summit.. These circumstances stimulate the adventurous
spirit, and become picturesque when represented on can-
vas, by affording the same agreeable excitement to the
imagination. Hence the imaginative as well as the ad-
venturous are delighted with this kind of scenery, that
arouses the enterprise of the one and awakens the poetical
feelings of the other. What do we care for a scene, how-
ever beautiful, which is so tame as to offer no exercise for
the imagination ? Rocks, by increasing the inequalities
of the surface, proportionally multiply the ideas and im-
ages that are associated with a landscape.

It is not an uninteresting inquiry, why a prospect
beheld from a rocky cliff yields us more pleasure than
the same beheld from an even slope. Is it more poetical,
when we partake of any such enjoyment, to be discon-
nected from objects immediately around us ? Or, when
standing upon a rock that projects from the surface of
the ground, may we not experience an illusive feeling of
elevation ? On the northern coast of Massachusetts Bay
are many grand and delightful views of the ocean from
points on the neighboring hills and eminences. Some of
these views are unsurpassed in beauty. I have repeatedly
observed that parties of pleasure, when making an excur-
sion on the hills, are not satisfied with a view of the sea
and the landscape until - they have beheld it from some
towering rock. There is probably a poetic feeling of
isolation attending us when standing upon a rock that
increases the emotions, whether of beauty or sublimity,
which are excited by the prospect.

Any one who has rambled over the bald hills that
bound this shore can bear witness to the power of such
rude scenery to magnify the sentiments that spring from
the aspect of desolation. They are felt in these places,

BOCKS. 29

unaccompanied by the melancholy that attends us on
surveying a wide scene of ruins. Here the appearance
of desolation is sufficient to produce a sentiment of grand-
eur ; but while surrounded by the evidences appearing
in a distant view of a fertile and prosperous country, we
are equally affected with a sense of cheerful exaltation.
The most beautiful garden that wealth and taste could
design would not afford so much of the luxury of senti-
ment as a ramble over these bald hills affords to one
whose mind is rightly attuned for such enjoyments. It
is evident that the hills without the rocks would be des-
titute of one of their most charming features. From the
sight of the rocks comes likewise that feeling of alliance
with the past ages of the world which tends greatly to
elevate the mind with sentiments of grandeur.

The New England stone- wall, as a feature in landscape
scenery, is generally considered a deformity ; yet it can-
not be denied that the same lines of wooden fence would
mar the beauty of our prospect in a still greater degree.
On account of the loose manner in which the stones are
laid one upon another, as well as the character of the
materials, this wall harmonizes with the rude aspects of
nature better than any kind of masonry. It seems to me
less of a deformity than a trimmed hedge or any other
kind of a fence, except in ornamented grounds, of which
I do not treat. In wild pastures and lands devoted to
common rustic labor, the stone-wall is the most pictu-
resque boundary-mark that has yet been invented. &
trimmed hedge in such places would present to the eye
an intolerable formality.

One of the charms of the loose stone-wall is the mani-
fest ease with which it may be overleaped. It menaces
no infringement upon our liberty. When we look abroad
upon the face of a country subdivided only by long lines
of loose stones, and overgrown by vines and shrubbery,

30 ROCKS.

we feel no sense of constraint. The whole boundless
prospect is ours. An appearance that cherishes this feel-
ing of liberty is essential to the beauty of landscape ; for
no man can thoroughly enjoy a scene from which he is
excluded. Fences are deformities of prospect which we
are obliged to use and tolerate. But the loose stone-wall
only is expressive of that freedom which is grateful to
the traveller and the rambler.

It may be remarked that no inconsiderable share of the
interest added to a prospect by the presence of rocks
arises from their connection with the past ages of the
world. They are indeed the monuments of the antedilu-
vian period ; and no man who is acquainted with the
most commonly received geological facts, when wandering
among these relics of the mysterious past, can fail to be
inspired with those emotions of sublimity that proceed
less from the creations of poetry than from the wonders
of science.

MAECH.

To the inhabitants of a variable climate, like our own,
the weather is at all times one of the most interesting
themes of speculation ; but at no period of the year does
it come more directly home to our feelings than in March.
"We know that there is a new sign in the heavens, and
the altitude of the sun in his meridian seems plainly to
assure us of the comforts of spring. But the aspect of
the heavens is constantly changing, the winds ever veer-
ing, clouds alternating with sunshine, wind with calm,
and rain with snow ; so that we are never sure, on a
bland morning in March, when the sun is shining almost
with the fervor of summer, that we may not be overtaken
by a snow-storm before noonday, or the cold of the Arctic
Circle before sunset. Any one of the three winter months,
though usually cold and stormy, may once in a few years
be mild and pleasant from beginning to end ; but March
preserves the same variable and boisterous character from
year to year, without deviating from its precedents. It
is the only month when day's harbingers never fulfil their
promises, — when the rosy hours that come up with the
morning and the fair sisters that weave the garlands of
evening are all deceivers.

Though the present time is nominally the spring of
the year, there is not yet a flow^er in the fields or gar-
dens, and the buds of the trees are hardly swollen with
waking vegetation. The wild-flowers are still buried
under the snows and ices of winter, and the grass has
begun to look green only under the southern protection

32 MARCH.

of the walls and fences. Many of the early birds, fol-
lowing the southerly winds that often prevail for a few
days, and tempted by the bright sunshine of the season,
have arrived from their winter haunts, and sing and chirp
alternately, as if they were debating whether to remain
here or return to a more genial clime. It is a remark-
able instinct that prompts so many species of birds to
leave their pleasant abiding-places at the south, where
every agreeable condition of climate, shelter, and pro-
vision for their wants is present, and press onward into
the northern regions, before the rigors of winter have
been subdued, and while they are still liable to perish
with cold or starvation. Often with anxiety have I
watched these little bewildered songsters who have so
unseasonably returned, when, after commencing their
morning lays as if they believed the vernal promises
of dawn, they were obliged to flee into the depths of
the woods to find shelter from a driving snow-storm.

It may seem remarkable that before vegetation has
awakened there should be a revival of some of the in-
sect tribes ; but in warm, sheltered situations many small
flies may be seen, either newly hatched or revived by the
heat of the sun. They do not seek food, but crawl about
in dry places, sometimes rising into the air and drowsily
and awkwardly exercising their wings. So exposed are
these minute creatures to the mercy of the climate, that
Nature has made them insusceptible of injury from the
severest cold. Many species, though enclosed in a mass
of solid ice, may be revived by gradual heat and fly
abroad as gayly as if they had been refreshed by sleep.
But the period of life assigned to the insect race is very
short, and before the arrival of winter the brief and joy-
ous existence of nearly all the species is terminated, and
their offspring in an embryo state lie torpid until a new
spring awakes them into life.

MARCH. 33

Our climate, being a discordant mixture of the weather
of two opposite latitudes pouring their winds alternately
upon our territory, is the most variable and deceitful in
the world. Alternating with each other and struggling
as it were for the mastery are two winds, — one that
sweeps across the Canadas and brings with it the cold
of the polar regions, another that comes from the Gulf
of Mexico and brings here the summer breezes of the
tropics. No natural barrier is interposed to check their
progress whenever any meteoric influence may urge them
onward. The prevalence of a moderate temperature in
this part of the country during a calm, either in spring
or autumn, proves this to be the true weather of our lati-
tude. The north and south winds are intruders that spoil
the comfort we might otherwise enjoy in the open air
at all seasons except the three months of winter. Our
climate may, therefore, not unaptly be compared to a
village that is peopled by quiet and peaceable inhabit-
ants, but visited by troublesome people from the adjoining
villages, who by their quarrels with each other keep it in
a constant uproar, leaving the villagers only an occasional
respite during their absence.

March is persistent only in its variableness. If it be
cold, heat will soon succeed ; if we have clouds, they will
soon bring along a clear sky. "We see none of those mel-
ancholy clouds, so common in the latter part of autumn,
that remain for weeks brooding over the landscape, as if
the heavens were hung in mourning for the departure of
summer, — none of that ominous darkness in the glens
and valleys, denoting that the sun has at length sur-
rendered to the frosty conqueror of the earth. Though
March is colder, it has more light than November. The
sun daily increases in power, and the snow that remains
upon the earth renders the effect of his rays more brill-
iant and animating. The clouds of this month are sel-

2* c

34 MARCH.

dom motionless. They are borne along rapidly by the
brisk winds, now enveloping the landscape in gloom,
then suddenly illuminating it with sunshine, and pro-
ducing that constant play of light and shade which is
peculiar to the early spring.

During the occasional days of pleasant serenity that
occur in March, we begin to look about us among the
sheltered retreats in the woods and mountains, to watch
the earliest budding of vegetation. Seldom, however, do
we find a flower outside of the gardens ; but many a
green herb, that has been preserved under the snow or
under the protection of shrubbery, may be seen creeping
upon the surface, and spreading its delicate verdure upon
the brown turfs. There the leaves of the strawberry
and the cinqfoil are as green as in summer, and the
tall hypericum, which is as it were a tree in summer,
becomes in winter and spring a creeping vine, with foli-
age as fine as that of a heath. At such times, while saun-
tering about the fields, rejoicing in what seems to be a
true revival of spring, the fierce north- wind begins his
raging anew, and ere another morning the birds lie con-
cealed in the depths of the forest, and all hearts are
saddened by the universal aspect of winter.

The change that has taken place in the appearance
of the sun at his rising, since the opening of this month,
may be regarded as one of the usual indications of the
reviving spring. The atmosphere, on clear mornings, is
more heavily laden with vapors than is usual at the
same hour in winter. The exhalations of the preceding
day have been descending in frosty dews by night upon
the plains, and while gathered thickly about the hori-
zon yield to the first rays of the sun a tint of purple
and violet, like the dawn of a summer morning. The
sun in midwinter, when there are no vapors on the lakes
and meadows, after the cold winds have frozen every

MARCH. 35

source of exlialant moisture, rises into a clear, transparent
atmosphere. As spring advances, and the sun rises higher,
the evaporation increases, the atmosphere in the morning
becomes charged with prismatic vapors, and every mead
and valley is crowned at sunrise with wreaths of mist
adorned with the hues of the rainbow. The crimson haze
that accompanies the dawn denotes that the icy fountains
are unlocked, and that the lakes and rivulets are again
pouring their dewy offerings to the skies.

March is an unpleasant month for rambling. There
is but little to tempt the lover of Nature, in either field
or wood, to examine her treasures, or to enjoy the lux-
ury of climate ; but there is still a motive for roaming
abroad, though it were but to watch the breaking up
of the ice, and to mark the progress of the thousands
of new-born rivulets that leap down the snowy moun-
tains toward the grand reservoir of waters. There are
places always to be found which are inviting to the
solitary pedestrian during the most uncomfortable sea-
sons. The fairy hands that were once busy in spreading
tints upon the flowers and upon the heavens still toil
unseen in their deserted places, weaving the few frag-
ments of remaining beauty upon moss-grown hillocks and
in fern-embroidered nooks.

People who have always lived in the interior of the
country can have only a feeble conception of the pleasure
of a seaside ramble, which is during this month, when
the west-winds prevail the greater part of the time, more
agreeable than a walk in the open plain. Among the
lakes and rivers and hills and valleys of an interior land-
scape, though there be an endless variety of pastoral
beauty, there is nothing that will compare with the grand-
eur of a water prospect from the sea-shore. Neither can
such a view be fully appreciated by those who have be-
held it only from the harbor of a large city, where the

36 MARCH.

works of art cover and conceal its native magnificence,
and withdraw the mind from those poetic thoughts that
would be awakened by an unsophisticated ocean-scene.
We must go forth upon the solitary shores, at a distance
from all artificial objects, and walk upon the high bluffs
that project far enough into the sea to afford sight of
a complete hemisphere of waters, to obtain a just idea
of a sea-prospect. When we look from the deck of a
sailing ship, where nothing on any side is to be seen but
the ocean, bounded by the circle that seems to divide the
dark blue of the waters from the more ethereal azure of
the skies, our sublime emotions are not modified by any
sensations of beauty ; but when this blue expanse of
waters divides the prospect equally with the landscape
that is spread out in a luxuriant variety of wood, plain,
and mountain, the emotions excited by the sublimity of
the scene are softened into repose by the beauty and
loveliness of the opposite prospect.

But the sun is daily rising higher into the zenith.
The blustering winds are losing their force and are yield-
ing to the fate that awaits them inevitably after the win-
ter has passed away. The trees bow their heads less
lowly to the gales, standing more and more erect, as if
conscious that the time of their triumph is near, and that
the singing-birds are awaiting the opening of their flow-
ers and the unfolding of their leaves. The infant Spring
is fast becoming a maiden and a goddess, and the herbs
are preparing to weave garlands for her virgin brows,
daisies to spread at her feet, and ambrosial incense, such
as in heaven surrounds the presence of purity and holi-
ness, to gladden her coming. Let the winds rage, and the
clouds threaten ; we know that soon their anger will be
quelled by the genial sunshine of spring, as the tumults
in the human breast are tranquillized by the smiles of
innocence and beauty.

SINGING-BIEDS.

THE Singing-Birds, with reference to their songs, are
distinguishable into four classes: — The Eapid singers,
whose song is uninterrupted, of considerable length, and
delivered in apparent ecstasy; the Moderate singers,
whose notes are slowly modulated, without pauses or rests
between the different strains; the Interrupted singers,
who sometimes modulate their notes with rapidity, but
make a distinct pause after each strain. The Linnet and
the Bobolink are examples of the first class ; the com-
mon Eobin and the Veery of the second ; the Eed
Thrush and particularly the Hermit Thrush of the third.
There are other birds' whose lay consists only of two or
three notes, not sufficient to be called a song. The
Bluebird and the Golden Kobin are of this class.

June, in this part of the world, is the most tuneful
month of the year. Many of our principal songsters do
not appear until near the middle of May ; but all, wheth-
er early or late, continue to sing throughout the month
ojf June. The birds that arrive the latest are not always
the latest in returning. The period of time they occupy
in song depends chiefly upon the number of broods of
young they raise in the year. If they raise but one brood
in a season, their period of song is short ; if they raise
two or more, they may prolong their singing into August.
Not one of our New England birds is an autumnal war-
bler, though the Eobin, the Wood-Sparrow, and the Song-
Sparrow are often heard after the first of September. The
tuneful season in New England comprises April, May3
and the three summer months.

38 SINGING-BIRDS.

There are certain times of the day, as well as certain
seasons of the year, when birds are most musical. The
grand concert of the feathered tribe takes place during
the hour between dawn and sunrise. During the remain-
der of the day until evening they have no concerts.
Each individual sings according to its habits, but we do
not hear them collectively. At sunset there is an appar-
ent attempt to unite once more in chorus, but this is i'ar
from being so loud or so general as in the morning, when
they suffer less disturbance from man.

There are but few birds whose notes could be accu-
rately described upon the gamut. We seldom perceive
anything like artificial pauses or true musical intervals
in their time or melody. Yet they have no deficiency
of musical ear, for almost any singing-bird when young
may be taught to warble an artificial tune. Birds do not
dwell steadily upon one note at any time. They are
constantly sliding and quavering,, and their songs are
full of pointed notes. There are some species whose
lays, like those of the Whippoorwill, resemble an arti-
ficial modulation, but these are rare. In general their
musical intervals cannot be accurately distinguished on
account of the rapidity of their utterance. I have often
endeavored to transcribe their notes upon the gamut, but
have not yet been able to communicate to any person
by this means a correct idea of the song, except in 'a
few extraordinary cases. Such attempts are almost use-
less.

Different individuals of certain species often sing very
unlike each other; but if we listen attentively to a num-
ber of them, we shall detect in all their songs a theme,
as it is termed by musicians, of which they severally
warble their respective variations. Every song of any
species is, technically speaking, a fantasia constructed
upon this theme, from which, though they may greatly

SIXGING-BIBDS. 39

vary their notes, no individual ever departs. The
theme of the Song-Sparrow is easily written on the
gamut, out of which the bird makes many variations ;
that of the Eobin's song is never more than slightly
varied ; but I have not been able to detect in the medley
of the Bobolink any theme at all.

The song of birds is innate. It is not learned, as
some have supposed, from parental instruction ; else
why should not a Cowbird sing like a Vireo, which is
sometimes its foster parent, and would undoubtedly, if
this were the usual custom, be as willing to teach the
young interloper to sing as to supply it with food ? Birds
of the same species have by their organization a dispo-
sition to utter certain sounds when under the influence
of certain feelings. If the young bird learned of its
parents, nature would have made the female the singer
instead of the male, who, I am confident, would not
trouble himself to be a music-teacher, and, if he were
willing to take this task upon him, would not select
the males only to be his pupils. If we should see re-
peated instances of the exemplification of their mode of
instruction, — if we should see the young birds standing
around an old cock Eobiii while he delivers his song,
note by note, for the young to imitate, — we should
have some reason to believe that all male singing-birds
are music-teachers as well as performers. But after all,
would an old Bobolink ever have patience to repeat his
notes slowly to his young for their instruction ?

Many birds are, however, imitators of sounds, and will
sometimes learn the songs of other birds when confined
in a cage near them. The Bobolink when caged near a
Canary readily learns its song, but in a wild state he
never deviates from his own peculiar medley. Nature
has provided each species with notes unlike those of
any other as one of the means by which they should

40 SINGING-BIRDS.

identify their own kindred, and there is reason to believe
that if one of them had never heard the note of his own
parents he would still sing like all his predecessors. In
a state of confinement birds will occasionally imitate the
notes of other species, and in this respect they differ
entirely from quadrupeds.

The song of birds seems to be the means used by the
male, not only to woo the female, but to call her to him-
self when absent. Before he has chosen his mate he
sings more loudly than at any subsequent period. The
different males of the same species seem at that time
to be vying with each other, and the one that has the
loudest and most varied song is likely to be the first
attended by a mate. When the two birds are employed
in building their nest, the male constantly attends his
partner and sings less loudly and frequently than before.
This comparative silence continues until the female be-
gins to sit. During incubation the male again sings
with emphasis at his usual hours, perched upon some
neighboring tree, as if to assure her of his presence, but
more probably to entice her away from the nest. It is
a curious fact that male birds seem to be displeased to
a certain extent while their mate is sitting, on account
of her absence, and are more than usually vociferous,
sometimes with the evident intention of coquetting with
other females.

After the young brood is hatched the attention of
the male bird is occupied with the care of his off-
spring, though he is far less assiduous in his parental
duties than the female. If we watch a pair of Eobins
when they have a nest full of young birds, we shall see
the female bring the greater part of their food. The
male bird continues to sing until the young have left
their nest; but if there is to be no other brood, he
becomes immediately silent. If, early in the season, a

SINGING-BIRDS. 41

couple whose habit is to rear but one brood are robbed
of their nest, they will make a new one, and the male
in this case continues in song to a later period than those
who were not disturbed.

If the male bird loses his mate during incubation, he
seldom takes her place, but becomes once more very
tuneful, uttering his call-notes loudly for several days
and finally changing them into song. It would seem,
therefore, that the song of the bird proceeds in some
degree from discontent, — from his want of a mate, in
the one case, or from her absence when she is sitting,
in the other. The buoyancy of spirits produced by the
season and the full supply of his physical wants are
joined with the pains of absence, which he is determined
to relieve by exerting all his power to entice his partner
from her nest. I have often thought that the almost
uninterrupted song of caged birds proves their singing to
arise from a desire to entice a companion into their own
little prison. Hence, when an old bird from our fields
is caught and caged during the breeding-season, he will
continue his tunefulness long after all others of the same
species have become silent. The Bobolink in a state of
freedom will not sing after the middle of July ; but if
one be caught and caged, he will continue to warble
more loudly than he did in his native meadows until
September.

It is generally believed that singing-birds are chiefly
confined to temperate latitudes. That this is an error
is apparent from the testimony of travellers, who speak
of the birds of Africa and of the Sandwich Islands as
singing delightfully; and some fine songsters are occa-
sionally imported from tropical countries. It should
be considered that in these hot regions the birds are
more scattered and are not so well known as those
of temperate latitudes, which are generally inhabited

42 SINGING-BIKDS.

by civilized man. Savages and barbarians, who are the
principal inhabitants of hot- countries, are seldom ob-
servant of the songs or habits of birds. A musician of
the feathered race, no less than a human singer, must
have an appreciating audience or his powers could not
be made known to the world. But even with the same
audience, the tropical birds would probably be less es-
teemed than those of equal merit in our latitudes, for
amid the stridulous and deafening sounds from insects
in warm climates the notes of birds are scarcely audible.
Probably, however, the comparative number of singing-
birds is greater in the temperate zone, where there are
more of those species that build low, and live in the
shrubbery, which the singing-birds chiefly frequent. In
warm climates the birds are obliged to live in trees, and
the vegetation of the surface of the ground will not sup-
port the Finches and Buntings, which are the chief sing-
ers of the North.

BIEDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

II.

THE VIEEO.

IN the elms on Boston Common, and in all the lofty
trees of the suburbs, as well as in the country villages,
are two little birds whose songs are heard daily and
hourly, from the middle of May until the last of sum-
mer. They are usually concealed among the highest
branches of the trees, so that it is not easy to obtain
sight of them. These birds are two of our Warbling
Flycatchers, or Yireos; one of which I shall designate
as the Brigadier, the other as the Preacher. I give below
the song of the Brigadier : —

Brig - a - dier, Brig - a - dier, Brigate.

The notes of this little invisible musician are few,
simple, and melodious, and, being often repeated, they
are very generally known even to those who are un-
acquainted with the bird. At early dawn, at noon, and
at sunset its song is constantly repeated with no very
long intervals, resembling, though delivered with more
precision, the song of the Linnet or Purple Finch. In
my boyhood, when I had no access to a book descrip-
tive of our birds, and very seldom killed one for any pur-
pose, I had learned nearly all the songs that were* heard
In the garden or wood, without knowing the physical

44 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

characters of more than one out of three of the songsters ;
and as I have since studied the markings of birds only
by viewing them from the ground as they were perched
upon bush or tree, and have never killed or dissected
one for this purpose, I cannot describe all the specific
or generic characters of our birds. I am well acquainted
•with two of our Vireos ; but I cannot distinguish them
from each other except by their notes, which are as
familiar to me as the voice of the Eobin. I have, there-
fore, determined to name them according to the style of
their songs, leaving it to others to identify the species to
which they respectively belong.

The Brigadier, which is the one, I think, described by
Nuttall as the Warbling Vireo, is a little olive-colored
bird, that occupies the lofty tree-tops while singing and
hunting his food, and is almost invisible as he is flitting
among the branches, and never still. The Preacher (Red-
eyed Vireo) arrives about a week or ten days earlier than
the Brigadier, and is later in his departure. The two are
very similar, both in their looks and their habits, frequent-
ing the trees in the town and its suburbs in preference to
the woods, singing at all hours of the day, particularly at
noon, and taking their insect prey from the leaves and
branches of the trees, or seizing it as it flits by their
perch, and amusing themselves while thus employed with
their oft-repeated notes. Each species builds a pensile
nest, or places it in a fork of the slender branches of a
tree. I have seen a nest of the Brigadier about ten feet
from the ground on a branch of a pear-tree, so near my
chamber-window that I might have reached it without
difficulty. The usual habit of either species is to sus-
pend its nest at a very considerable height from the
ground.

BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 45

THE PREACHER.

The Preacher is more generally known by his note,
because he is incessant in his song, and particularly
vocal during the heat of our long summer days, when
only a few birds are singing. His style of preaching is
not declamation. Though constantly talking, he takes
the part of a deliberative orator, who explains his subject
in a few words and then makes a pause for his hearers
to reflect upon it. We might suppose him to be repeat-
ing moderately, with a pause between each sentence,
" You see it, — you know it, — do you hear me ? — do
you believe it ? " All these strains are delivered with a
rising inflection at the close, and with a pause, as if wait-
ing for an answer.

The tones of the Preacher are loud and sharp, hardly
melodious, modulated somewhat like those of the Eobin,
though not so continuous. He is never fervent, rapid,
or fluent, but, like a true zealot, he is apt to be tiresome,
from the long continuance of his discourse. He pauses
frequently in the middle of a strain to seize a moth or a
beetle, beginning anew as soon as he has swallowed his
morsel. Samuels expresses great admiration for this little
bird. " Everywhere in these States," he remarks, " at all
hours of the day, from early dawn until evening twilight,
his sweet, half-plaintive, half-meditative carol is heard,"
and he adds, that of all his feathered acquaintances this
is his favorite. The prolongation of his singing season
until sometimes the last week in August renders him a
valuable songster. When nearly all other birds have be-
come silent, the little Preacher still continues his earnest
harangue, and is sure of an audience at this late period,
when he has but few rivals.

4G BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.
THE BOBOLINK.

There is not a singing-bird in New England that en-
joys the notoriety of the Bobolink. He is like a rare
wit in our social or political circles. Everybody is talk-
ing about him and quoting his remarks, and all are
delighted with his company. He is not without great
merits as a songster ; but he is well known and admired
because he is showy, noisy, and flippant, and sings only
in the open field, and frequently while poised on the
wing, so that any one who hears can see him and
know who is the author of the strains that afford so
much delight. He sings . also at broad noonday, when
everybody is out, and is seldom heard before sunrise,
while other birds are joining in the universal chorus.
He waits till the sun is up, when many of the early per-
formers have become silent, as if determined to secure
a good audience before his own exhibition.

In the grand concert of Nature it is the Bobolink who
performs the recitative, which he delivers with the ut-
most fluency and rapidity, and we must listen carefully
not to lose many of his words. He is plainly the merriest
of all the feathered creation, almost continually in motion,
and singing on the wing apparently in the greatest ecstasy
of joy. There is not a plaintive strain in his whole per-
formance. Every sound is as merry as the laugh of a
young child, and we cannot listen to him without fancy-
ing him engaged in some jocose raillery of his compan-
ions. If we suppose him to be making love, we cannot
look upon him as very deeply enamored, but rather as
highly delighted with his spouse and overflowing with
rapturous admiration. His mate is a neatly formed bird,
with a mild expression of face, of a modest deportment,
and arrayed in the plainest apparel. She seems perfectly
satisfied with observing the pomp and display of her

BIEDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 47

partner, and listening to his delightful eloquence of
song. If we regard him as an orator, it must be allowed
that he is unsurpassed in fluency and rapidity of utter-
ance ; if only as a musician, that he is unrivalled in
brilliancy of execution.

I cannot look upon him as ever in a very serious
humor. He seems to be a lively, jocular little fellow,
who is always jesting and bantering ; and when half a
dozen different individuals are sporting about in the same
orchard, I can imagine they might represent the persons
dramatized in some comic opera. The birds never re-
main stationary upon a bough, singing apparently for
their own solitary amusement ; they are ever in com-
pany, passing to and fro, often beginning their song upon
the extreme end of an apple-tree bough, then suddenly
taking flight and singing the principal part while bal-
ancing themselves on the wing. The merriest part of
the day with these birds is the later afternoon, during
the hour preceding dewfall, before the Kobin and the
Veery begin their evening hymn. At that hour, assem-
bled in company, they might seem to be practising a
cotillon on the wing, each one singing to his own move-
ment as he sallies forth and returns, and nothing can
exceed their apparent merriment.

The Bobolink begins his morning song just at sunrise,
at the time when the Robin, having sung from earliest
daybreak, is near the close of his performance. Nature
seems to have provided that the serious parts of her
musical entertainment in the morning shall first be heard,
and that the lively and comic strains shall follow them.
In the evening this order is reversed, and after the com-
edy is concluded Nature lulls us to repose by the mellow
notes of the Vesper-Bird, and the pensive and still more
melodious strains of the solitary Thrushes.

In pleasant shining weather the Bobolink seldom flies

48 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

without singing, often hovering on the wing over the
place where his mate is .sitting upon her ground-built
nest, and pouring forth his notes with the greatest loud-
ness and fluency. Vain are all the attempts of other
birds to imitate his truly original style. The Mocking-
Bird is said to give up the attempt in despair, and re-
fuses to sing at all when confined near one in a cage.
The Bobolink is not a shy bird during the breeding
season ; but when the young are reared and gathered in
flocks the whole species become very timid. Their food
consists entirely of insects during at least all the early
part of summer. Hence they are not frequenters of
the woods, but of the fields that supply their insect
food. They evidently have no liking for solitude. They
join with their own kindred, sometimes, during the
breeding season, in small companies, and in the latter
summer in large flocks. They love the orchard and the
mowing-field, and many are the nests which are exposed
by the scythe of the haymaker when performing his task
early in the season.

THE O'LINCON FAMILY.

A flock of merry singing-birds were sporting in the grove ;
Some were warbling cheerily and some were making love.
There were Bobolincon, Wadolincon, Winterseeble, Conquedle, —
A livelier set were never led by tabor, pipe, or fiddle : — *
Crying, "Phew, shew, Wadolincon ; see, see Bobolincon
Down among the tickle-tops, hiding in the buttercups ;
I know the saucy chap ; I see his shining cap
Bobbing in the clover there, — see, see, see ! "

tip flies Bobolincon, perching on an apple-tree ;

Startled by his rival's song, quickened by his raillery.

Soon he spies the rogue afloat, curvetting in the air,

And merrily he turns about and warns him to beware !

" 'T is you that would a wooing go, down among the rushes 0 !

"Wait a week, till flowers are cheery ; wait a week, and ere you marry,

Be sure of a house wherein to tarry ;

Wadolink, Whiskodink, Tom Denny, wait, wait, wait ! "

BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 49

Every one 's a funny fellow ; every one 's a little mellow ;
Follow, follow, follow, follow, o'er the hill and in the hollow.
Merrily, merrily there they hie ; now they rise and now they fly ;
They cross and turn, and in and out, and down the middle and wheel

about,

With a "Phew, shew, Wadolincon ; listen to me, Bobolincon !
Happy 's the wooing that 's speedily doing, that 's speedily doing,
That 's merry and over with the bloom of the clover ;
Bobolincon, Wadolincon, Winterseeble, follow, follow me ! "

0 what a happy life they lead, over the hill and in the mead !
How they sing, and how they play ! See, they fly away, away !
Now they gambol o'er the clearing, — off again, and then appearing ;
Poised aloft on quivering wing, now they soar, and now they sing,
" We must all be merry and moving ; we must all be happy and loving ;
For when the midsummer is come, and the grain has ripened its ear,
The haymakers scatter our young, and we mourn for the rest of the year ;
Then, Bobolincon, Wadolincon, Winterseeble, haste, haste away ! "

THE BLUEBIRD.

Not one of our songsters is so intimately associated
with the early spring as the Bluebird. Upon his arrival
from his winter residence, he never fails to make known
his presence by a few melodious notes uttered from some
roof or fence in the field or garden. On the earliest
morning in April, when we first open our windows to
welcome the soft vernal gales, they bear on their wings
the sweet strains of the Bluebird. These few notes are
associated with all the happy scenes and incidents that
attend the opening of the year.

The Bluebird is said to bear a strong resemblance to
the English Eobin-Eedbreast, similar in form and size,
having a red breast and short tail-feathers, with only this
manifest difference, that one is olive-colored above where
the other is blue. But the Bluebird does not equal the
Eedbreast as a songster. His notes are few and not greatly
varied, though sweetly and plaintively modulated and
never loud. On account of their want of variety, they do

3 D

50 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

not enchain the listener ; but they constitute an important
part of the melodies of morn.

The value of the inferior singers in making up a
general chorus is not sufficiently appreciated. In a musi-
cal composition, as in an anthem or oratorio, though there
is a leading part, which is usually the air, that gives char-
acter to the whole, yet this leading part would often be a
very indifferent piece of melody if performed without its
accompaniments ; and these alone would seem still more
trifling and unimportant. Yet, if the composition be the
work of a master, these brief strains and snatches, though
apparently insignificant, are intimately connected with
the harmony of the piece, and could not be omitted with-
out a serious disparagement of the grand effect. The
inferior singing-birds, bearing a similar relation to the
whole choir, are indispensable as aids in giving additional
effect to the notes of the chief singers.

Though the Eobin is the principal musician in the gen-
eral anthem of morn, his notes would become tiresome
if heard without accompaniments. Nature has so ar-
ranged the harmony of this chorus, that one part shall
assist another ; and so exquisitely has she combined all
the different voices, that the silence of any one cannot
fail to be immediately perceived. The low, mellow war-
ble of the Bluebird seems an echo to the louder voice
of the Robin ; and the incessant trilling or running ac-
companiment of the Hair-Bird, the twittering of the
Swallow, and the loud, melodious piping of the Oriole,
frequent and short, are sounded like the different parts
in a band of instruments, and each performer seems
to time his part as if by some rule of harmony. Any
discordant sound that may occur in this performance
never fails to disturb the equanimity of the singers, and
some minutes will elapse before they resume their song.
It would be difficult to draw a correct comparison be-

BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 51

tween the birds and the various instruments they repre-
sent. But if the Eobin were described as the clarionet,
the Bluebird might be considered the flageolet, frequently
but not incessantly interspersing a few mellow strains.
The Hair-Bird would be the octave flute, constantly
trilling on a high key, and the Golden Kobin the bugle,
often repeating his loud and brief strain. The analogy,
if carried further, might lose force and correctness.

All the notes of the Bluebird — his call-notes, his
notes of complaint, his chirp, and his song — are equally
plaintive and closely resemble one another. I am not
aware that this bird utters a harsh note. His voice,
which is one of the earliest to be heard in the spring, is
associated with the early flowers and with all pleasant
vernal influences. When he first arrives he perches upon
the roof of a barn or upon some leafless tree, and delivers
his few and frequent notes with evident fervor, as if con-
scious of the pleasures that await him. These mellow
notes are all the sounds he makes for several weeks, sel-
dom chirping or scolding like other birds. His song is
discontinued at midsummer, but his plaintive call, con-
sisting of a single note pensively modulated, continues
every day until he leaves our fields. This sound is one
of the melodies of summer's decline, and reminds us, like
the note of the green nocturnal tree-hopper, of the ripened
harvest, the fall of the leaf, and of all the joyous festivals
and melancholy reminiscences of autumn.

The Bluebird builds his nest in hollow trees and posts,
and may be encouraged to breed around our dwellings, by
supplying boxes for his accommodation. In whatever
vicinity we reside, whether in a recent clearing or the
heart of a village, if we set up a bird-house in May, it
will certainly be occupied by a Bluebird, unless pre-
viously taken by a Wren or a Martin. But there is com-
monly so great a demand for such accommodations, that

52 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

it is not unusual to see two or three different species
contending for one box.

THE HOUSE-WREN.

The bird whose notes serve more than any other spe-
cies to enliven our summer noondays is the common
House-Wren. It is said to breed chiefly in the Middle
States, but is very common in our New England vil-
lages, and as it extends its summer migration to Labrador,
it probably breeds in all places north of the Middle States.
It is a migratory bird, leaving us early in autumn, and
not reappearing until May. It builds in a hollow tree
like the Bluebird. A box of any kind, properly made,
will answer its purposes. But nothing is better than
a grape-jar, prepared by drilling a hole in its side, just
large enough for the Wren, and setting it up on a
perpendicular branch sawed off and inserted into the
mouth of the jar. The bird fills it with sticks before it
makes a nest, and the mouth of the jar serves for drain-
age.

The Wren is one of the most restless of the feathered
tribe. He is continually in motion, and even when sing-
ing is constantly flitting about and changing his position.
We see him in a dozen places as it were at the same
moment; now warbling in ecstasy from the roof of
a shed, then, with his wings spread and his feathers
ruffled, scolding furiously at a Bluebird or a Swallow
that has alighted on his box, or driving a Eobin from a
neighboring cherry-tree. Instantly we observe him run-
ning along a stone-wall and diving down and in and out,
from one side to the other, through its openings, with
all the nimbleness of a squirrel. He is on the ridge of
the barn roof, he is peeping into the dove-cote, he is in
the garden under the currant-bushes, or chasing a spider
under a cabbage-leaf. Again he is on the roof of a shed,

BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 53

warbling vociferously ; and these manoeuvres and peregri-
nations have occupied hardly a minute, so rapid and in-
cessant are all his motions.

The notes of the Wren are very lively and garrulous,
and if not uttered more frequently during the heat of the
day, are, on account of the general silence of birds, more
noticeable at that hour. There is a concert at noon-
day, as well as in the morning and evening, among the
birds ; and of the former the Wren is one of the principal
musicians. After the hot rays of the sun have silenced
the early performers, the Song-Sparrow and the Bed-
Thrush continue to sing at intervals during the greater
part of the day. The Wren is likewise heard at all hours ;
but when the languishing heat of noon has arrived, the
few birds that continue to sing are more than usually
vocal, and seem to form a select company. The birds
which are thus associated with the Wren are the Bobo-
link, the Preacher, the Linnet, and the Catbird, if he be
anywhere near. If we were at this hour in the woods
we should hear the loud, shrill voice of the Oven-Bird
and some of the warbling sylvians.

Of all these noonday singers, the Wren is the most re-
markable. His song is singularly varied .and animated.
He has great compass and execution, but wants variety
in his tones. He begins very sharp and shrill, like a
grasshopper, slides down to a series of guttural notes,
then ascends like the rolling of a drum in rapidity of
utterance to another series of higli notes. Almost without
a pause he recommences his querulous insect-chirp, and
proceeds through the same trilling and demi-semi-quaver-
ing as before. He is not particular about the part of his
song which he makes his closing note. He will leav.e off
in the middle of a strain, when he seems in the height
of ecstasy, to pick up a spider or a fly. As the Wren
produces two broods in a season, his notes are prolonged

54 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

to a late period in the summer, and may be heard some-
times in the third week in August.

THE WINTER-WREN.

"We do not often meet with this bird near Boston in
summer. He is then a resident of the northern parts of
Maine and New Hampshire, and of the Green Mountain
range. In the autumn he migrates from the nortli and
may be occasionally seen in company with our other win-
ter birds. In our own latitude, if the cold season drives
him farther south, we meet him again early in the spring,
making his journey to his northern home. While he
remains with us we see him near the shelving banks of
rivers, creeping about old stumps of trees, which, half de-
cayed, furnish a frugal share of his dormant insect-food.
He is so little afraid of man that he will often leave his
native resorts, and may be seen, like our common House-
Wren, examining the wood-pile, creeping into the holes
of old stone-walls and about the foundations of out-houses.
Not having seen this bird except in winter, I am unac-
quainted with his song. Samuels describes it as very
melodious and delightful.

THE MARSH WREN.

I was once crossing by turnpike an extensive meadow
which was overgrown with reeds and rushes, when my
curiosity was excited by hearing, in a thicket on the
banks of a streamlet, a sound that would hardly admit of
being described. I could not tell whether it came from
an asthmatic bird or an aggravated frog. The sound was
unlike anything I had ever heard. I should have sup-
posed, however, if there were Mocking-Birds in our woods,
that one of them had concealed himself in the thicket and
was attempting to imitate the braying of an ass. I sat
down upon the railing of a rustic bridge that crossed the

BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 55

stream, and watched for a sight of the imp that must
be concealed there. In less than a minute there emerged
from it a Marsh- Wren, whisking and flitting about with
gestures as peculiar though not as awkward as his bur-
lesque song.

If I believed, as some writers affirm, that birds learn
their song from their parents, who carry them along
from one step to another as if they had a musical gamut
before them, I might have conjectured that this bird
had been taught by a frog, and that, despising his teacher,
he strove not to learn his reptile notes but to burlesque
them. As I was walking homeward, I could not but
reflect that Nature, who is sometimes personified as an old
dame, must have indulged her mirthfulness when she
created a bird with the voice of a reptile.

Dr. Brewer describes the nest of the Marsh- Wren as
nearly spherical, composed externally of coarse sedges
firmly interwoven, cemented with mud and clay, and im-
pervious to the weather. An orifice is left on one side
for entrance, having on the upper side a projecting edge
to protect it from rain. The inside is lined with soft
grass, feathers, and the cottony product of various plants.
It is commonly placed on a low bush a few feet from the
ground.

This species, like all the Wrens, has great activity and
industry, consumes immense quantities of small insects,
is very petulant in its manners, and manifests a superior
degree of intelligence and courage.

THE HAUNTS OF FLOWEES.

THERE is not a more interesting subject connected with
botany than that of the haunts of flowers. We may
by chance discover a rare and beautiful plant in a situa-
tion that would be the last to invite our attention. The
apparent unfitness of the place for aught but common
weeds may have preserved it from observation. I have
sometimes encountered by the roadside a species for
which I had long vainly traversed the woods. On the
borders of some of the less frequented roads in the coun-
try, the soil and the plants still remain in their primitive
condition. In such grounds we may find materials for
study for several weeks, without leaving the waysides.
Indeed, all those old roads which are not thoroughfares —
by-ways not travelled enough to destroy the grass be-
tween the ruts of wheels and the middle path made by
the feet of horses — are very propitious to the growth
of wild plants. The shrubbery on these old roadsides,
when it has not been disturbed for a number of years,
is far more beautiful than the finest imaginable hedge-
row. Here are several viburnums, two or three species
of cornel, the bayberry, the sweet fern, the azalea, the
rhodora, the small kalmia, and a crowd of whortleberry-
bushes, beside the wild rose and eglantine. The narrow
footpath through this wayside shrubbery has a magic
about it that makes it delightful to pass through it.
Under the shelter of this tangle-wood Nature calls out
the anemone, blue, white, and pedate violets, and in
damp places the erythronium, the Solomon's seal, and

THE HAUNTS OF FLOWERS. 57

the bellwort. When I see these native ornaments de-
stroyed for the improvement of the road, I feel like one
whose paternal estate has been cleared and graded and
measured out into auction-lots.

There are indications by which we may always identify
the haunts of certain species, if they have not been eradi-
cated. We know that fallow grounds are inhabited by
weeds, and that mean soils contain plants that seem by
their thrift to require a barren situation; but they are
like poor people, who live in mean huts because the
better houses are occupied by their superiors. These
plants would grow more luxuriantly in a good soil, if
they were not crowded out by those of more vigorous
habit. Every one is familiar with a species of rush
called wire grass, which is abundant in footpaths through
wet meadows. It is so tough that the feet of men and
animals, while they crush and destroy all other .plants that
come up there, leave this uninjured. This remarkable
habit has caused the belief that it thrives better from
being trampled under foot. The truth is, it will bear more
hard usage than other species, and is made conspicuous
by being left alone after its companions hav/e been trod-
den to death. The same may be observed of a species
of Polygonum, — the common "knot-grass" of our back
yards. A certain amount of trampling is favorable to its
growth by crushing out all its competitors.

Most of our naturalized plants inhabit those places
which have been once reduced to tillage and afterwards
restored to nature. Such are the sites of old gardens and
orchards, and the forsaken enclosures of some old dwell-
ing-house. The white Bethlehem-star is a tenant of
these deserted grounds, growing meekly under the protec-
tion of some moss-covered stone-wall or dilapidated shed,
fraternizing with the celandine, the sweet chervil, and
here and there a solitary narcissus. The euphorbia and

3*

58 THE HAUNTS OF FLOWERS.

houseleek prosper in similar places, growing freshly upon
ledges and heaps of stones, which have been carted by
the farmer into abrupt hollows, mixed with the soil and
weeds of the garden. In shady corners we find the colts-
foot, the gill, — a very pretty labiate, — and some of the
foreign mints. Spikenard and tansy delight in more
open places, along with certain other medicinal herbs
introduced by ancient simplers. These plants are seldom
found in woods or primitive pastures.

Wild plants of rare beauty abound in a recent clearing,
especially in a tract from which a growth of hard wood
has been felled, if afterwards the soil has remained undis-
turbed. In the deep woods the darkness will not permit
any sort of undergrowth except a few plants of peculiar
habit and constitution. But after the removal of the
wood, all kinds of indigenous plants, whose seeds have
been wafted there by the winds or carried there by the
birds, will revel in the clearing, until they are choked by
a new growth of trees and shrubs. Strawberries and sev-
eral species of brambles spring up there as if by magic,
and cover the stumps of the trees with their vines and
their racemes of black and scarlet fruit; and hundreds
of beautiful flowering plants astonish us by their pres-
ence, as if they were a new creation. We must look to
these clearings, and to those tracts in which the trees
have been destroyed by fire, more than to any others, for
the exact method of nature. Among the first plants
that would appear after the burning, beside the lilia-
ceous tribe, whose bulbs lie too deep in the soil to be
destroyed, are those with downy seeds, which are imme-
diately sowed there by the winds. One very conspicu-
ous and beautiful plant, the spiked willow herb, is so
abundant in any tract that has been burned, the next year
after the conflagration, that in the West and in the British
Provinces it has gained the name of fireweed.

THE HAUNTS OF FLOWERS. 59

But the paradise of the young botanist is a glade, or
open space in a wood, usually a level between two rocky
eminences, or a little alluvial meadow pervaded by a
small stream, open to the sun, and protected at the same
time from the winds by surrounding hills and woods. It
is surprising how soon the flowery tenants of one of these
glades will vanish after the removal of this bulwark of
trees. But with this protection, the loveliest flowers will
cluster there, like the singing-birds around a cottage and
its enclosures in the wilderness. Here they find a genial
soil and a natural conservatory, and abide there until
some accident destroys them. Nature selects these places
for her favorite garden-plots. In the centre she rears her
tender herbs and flowers, and her shrubbery in the bor-
ders, while the trees form a screen around the whole. I
have often seen one of these glades crimsoned all over
with flowers of the cymbidiuin and arethusa, with wild
roses in their borders, vying in splendor with a sumptu-
ous parterre. •

While strolling through a wood in one of those rustic
avenues which have been made by the farmer or the
woodman, we shall soon discover that this path is like-
wise a favorite resort for many species of wild-flowers.
Except the glade, there are but few places so bountifully
stored by nature with a starry profusion of bloom. The
cranesbill, the wood anemone, the cinquefoil, the yellow
Bethlehem-star, the houstonia, to say nothing of crowds
of violets, adorn the verdant sward of these woodpaths ;
and still beyond them, cherished by the sunshine that is
admitted into this opening, ginsengs, bellworts, the white
starlike trientalis, the trillium, and medeola thrive more
prosperously than in situations entirely wild and primi-
tive. It is pleasant to note how kindly Nature receives
these little disturbances which are made by the woodman,
and how many beautiful things will assemble there, to be

60 THE HAUNTS OF FLOWERS.

fostered by those conditions which accident, combined
with the rude operations of agriculture, alone can pro-
duce.

Leaving this avenue, we ascend the sloping ground,
and, passing through a tangled bed of lycopodiums, often
meeting with the remnants of a foot-path that is soon
obliterated in a mass of vegetation ; then wandering path-
less over ground made smooth by a brown matting of
pine leaves, beautifully pencilled over with the small
creeping vines and checkered foliage of the mitchella and
its scarlet berries, we come at last to a little rocky dell
full "of the greenery of mosses and ferns, and find our-
selves in the home of the columbines. Such a brilliant
assemblage reminds you of an aviary full of linnets and
goldfinches. The botanist does not consider the colum-
bine a rare prize. It is a well-known plant, thriving both
in the wood and outside of it ; but it is gregarious, and
selects for its habitation a sunny place in the woods,
upon a bed of rock covered with a thin crust of soil. The
plants take root on every rocky projection and in every
crevice, hanging like jewels from a green tapestry of vel-
vet moss.

As we leave this magic recess of flowers and pursue
our course under the pines, trampling noiselessly over the
brown, elastic sward, we soon discover the purple, inflated
blossoms of the pink lady's-slipper. These flowers are al-
ways considerably scattered, and never grace the open field.
Often in their company we observe the sweet pyrola,
bearing a long spike of white flowers that have the odor
of cinnamon. Less frequently we find in this scattered
assemblage some rare species of wood orchis and the sin-
gular coral plant. If we now trace the course of any
little streamlet to a wooded glen full of pale green bog-
moss, covering the ground with a deep mass of spongy
vegetation, there we may happily discover the rare and

THE HAUNTS OF FLOWERS. 61

beautiful white orchis, the nun of the woods, with flow-
ers resembling the pale face of a lady wearing a white
cap. This plant is found only in certain cloistered re-
treats, under the shade of trees. It is a true vestal, and
will not tarnish its purity by any connection with the
soil. It is cradled like an infant in the soft, green bog-
moss, and derives its sustenance from the pure air and
dews of heaven. Like the orchids of warm climates, it
is half parasitic, and requires certain conditions for its
growth which are rarely combined.

Flowers are usually abundant in pleasant situations.
They avoid cold and bleak exposures, the dark shade of
very dense woods, and wet places seldom visited by sun-
shine. Like birds, they love protection, and we are sure
to meet with many species wherever the songsters of
the forest are numerous. Birds and flowers require the
same fostering warmth, the same sunshine, and the same
fertility of soil to supply them with their food. When
we are traversing a deep forest, the silence of the situa-
tion is one of the most notable circumstances of our jour-
ney; but if we suddenly encounter a great variety of
flowers, our ears will at the same time be greeted by the
notes of some little thrush or sylvia. If I hear the veery,
a bird that loves to mingle his liquid notes 'with the sound
of some tuneful runlet, I know that I am approaching the
shady haunts of the trillium and the wood thalictrum.
If I hear the snipe feebly imitating the lark, as he soars
at twilight, and warbles his chirruping song far above my
head, I know that when he descends in his spiral course
he will alight upon grounds occupied by the Canadian
rhodora, the andromeda, and the wild strawberry plant.
But if the song of the robin is heard in the forest, I feel
sure that a cottage is near, with its orchard and cornfields,
or else that I am close to the end of the wood and am
about to emerge into the open plain.

62 THE HAUNTS OF FLOWERS.

A moor is seldom adorned with plants that would pros-
per in the uplands ; but if it be encompassed by a circle
of wooded hills, a gay assemblage of flowers will congre-
gate in its borders, where hill and plain are impercepti-
bly blended. We may always find a path made by cattle
all along the border. If we thread the course of this
path, we pass through bushes of moderate height, consist-
ing of whortleberries, clethra, and swamp honeysuckles,
and now and then enter a drier path, through beds of
sweet-fern, and occasional open spaces full of pedate
violets. The docile animals, — picturesque artists who
constructed this path, — while gazing upon the clover-
patches, will turn their large eyes placidly upon us, still
heeding their diligent occupation. We keep close to the
edge of the moor, not disregarding many common and
homely plants that lie in our way, till we discover the
object of our search, the sarracenia, or sidesaddle plant,
with its dark purple flowers, nodding like Epicureans
over their circle of leafy cups half filled with dew. This
is a genuine " pitcher plant," and is the only one of the
family that is not tropical. The water avens — con-
spicuous for its drooping chocolate-colored flowers — and
the golden senecio congregate in the same meadow, bend-
ing their plumes above the tall rushes and autumnal
asters not yet in flower.

Very early in the season, if we are near an oak
wood, standing on a slope with a southern exposure,
we enter it, and if fortune favors us, the liverwort will
meet our sight, pushing up the dry oak leaves that
formed its winter covering, and displaying its pale bluish
and purple flowers, deepening their hues as they ex-
pand. When they are fully opened, there are but few
sights so pleasant as these circular clusters of flowers, on
a ground of dry brown foliage, enlivened with hardly a
tuft of verdure, except the trilobate leaves of this inter-

THE HAUNTS OF FLOWERS. 63

esting plant. As oaks usually stand on a fertile soil,
there is a greater variety of species among their under-
growth than in almost any other wood. A grove of oaks,
after it has been thinned by the woodman so as to open
the grounds to the sun, becomes when left to nature a
rare repository of herbaceous plants. Yet there are cer-
tain curious species which are found almost exclusively in
pine woods. Such is the genus Monotropa, including
two species, the pine-sap and the bird's-nest, — plants
without leaves or hues, with stems resembling potato-
sprouts grown in a dark cellar. Outside of pine woods,
however, on their southern boundary, we may always look
for the earliest spring flowers, because no other wood
affords them so warm a protection.

In our imaginary tour we have visited only the most
common scenes of nature ; we have traced to their habi-
tats very few rare plants, and have yet hardly noticed the
flowers of autumn, — those luxuriant growers, many of
them half shrubby and branching like trees. Some of
these have no select haunts. The asters and golden-rods,
the most conspicuous of the hosts of autumn, are found
in almost every soil and situation; but they congregate
chiefly on the borders of woods and fields, and seem to
take special delight in arraying themselves by the sides
of roads recently laid out through a wet meadow. The
autumnal plants generally prosper only in the lowlands
which have not suffered from the summer droughts.
When botanizing at the close of the season, we must
avoid dry sandy places, and follow the windings of
narrow streams that glide through peat-meadows, and
traverse the sides of ditches, examining the convex em-
bankments of soil which have been thrown up by the
spade of the ditcher. On level moors we meet with occa-
sional rows of willows affectionately guarding the waters
of these artificial pools, where they were planted as senti-

'64, THE HAUNTS OF FLOWERS.

nels by the rustic laborer. The gentians, which have
always been admired, as much for the delicacy and beauty
of their flowers as for their hardy endurance of autumnal
frosts, are often strewn in these places, glowing like sap-
phires on the faded greensward of the closing season of
vegetation.

The great numbers of wild plants which are often as-
sembled in a single meadow seem to a poetical mind
something more than a result of the mere accidents of
nature. There is not a greater variety or diversity in the
thoughts that enter and pass through the mind than of
species among these herbs. Each has distinct features,
and some attractive form or color, or other remarkable
property peculiar to itself. How many different species
bend under our footsteps while we are crossing an ordi-
nary field ! How many thousands are constantly dis-
tilling odors into the atmosphere, which is oxygenated
by their foliage and purified and renovated by their vital
and chemical action ! There is not a single plant, how-
ever obscure, minute, or unattractive, that is not an
important agent of Nature in her vast and mysterious
economy.

There would be no end to our adventures, if we were
resolved to continue them until our observations were
exhausted. Hence the never- failing resources of the bot-
anist who is within an hour's walk of the forest. The
sports of hunting and fishing offer their temptations to a
greater number of young persons ; but they do not afford
continued pleasure to their votaries, like botanizing. The
hunter watches his dog and the angler his line ; but the
plant-hunter examines everything that bears a leaf or a
flower. His pursuit leads him into all the green recesses
of nature, — into sunny dells and shady arbors, over peb-
bly hills and plashy hollows, through mossy dingles and
wandering footpaths, into secret alcoves where the Hama-

THE HAUNTS OF FLOWERS. 65

dryads drape the rocks with ferns, and Naiads collect the
dews of morning and pour them into their oozy fountains
for the perfection of their verdure.

A ride over the roads of the same region is not so pleas-
ant as these intricate journeys of the botanist. He frater-
nizes with all the inhabitants of the wood, and with the la-
borers of the farms which he crosses, not heeding the cau-
tions to trespassers. He meets the rustic swairi at his
plough, and listens to his quaint discourse and his plati-
tudes about nature and mankind. He follows the devi-
ous paths of the ruffed grouse, and destroys the snares
which are set for its destruction. He listens to its muf-
fled drum while he cools his heated brow under a canopy
of maples overarched with woodbine, and picks the scar-
let berries that cluster on the green knolls at his feet. He
lives in harmony with all created things, and hears the
voices of the woods and music of the streams. The trees
spread their shade over him ; every element loads him
with its favors. Morning hails him with her earliest sal-
utation, and introduces him to her fairest hours and
sweetest gales. Noon tempts him into her silent wood-
land sanctuaries, and makes the hermit thrush his soli-
tary minstrel. Evening calls him out from his retreat, to
pursue another varied journey among the fairy realms of
vegetation, and ere she parts with him curtains the heav-
ens with splendor and prompts her choir 'of sylvan war-
blers to salute him with their vespers.

WATER SCENERY.

THERE is no single thing in nature that adds more
beauty to landscape than water. It is emblematical of
purity and tranquillity; it is suggestive of multitudes
of pleasant rural images, and, beside these moral ex-
pressions, it possesses a great deal of intrinsic beauty.
The mirrored surface of a lake or a stream, reflecting the
hues and forms of the clouds in the heavens, and of the
trees and shrubbery on its banks, is pleasing to the eye,
independently of any suggestion that may occur to a fan-
ciful mind. The eye requires to be practised, or rather
the mind must be educated in a certain manner, before it
can enjoy and appreciate moral beauty. But the beauty
of a smooth surface of water, of waves trembling in the
moonlight, of a spouting fountain, or a sparkling rill, is
obvious and attractive even to a child. In water have
color and form and motion intimately combined their
charms, assuming the loveliest tints in the dews of heaven
and the spray of the ocean, and every imaginable form
of beauty in the lake and its sinuosities, and the river in
its various windings through vale and mountain.

Water is not only beautiful in itself, but it is one of
the chief sources of pleasing variety in the expression
of landscape, whether we view it as spread out on the
silver bosom of a lake, the serpentine course of a river,
or by its outlines forming those endless changes that
delight the voyager by the sea-shore. Every one must
have observed, when riding through an unattractive
country, how it seems overspread with a sudden charm

WATER SCENERY. 67

when we come in sight of a lake or stream. What was
before monotonous is now agreeably varied ; what before
was spiritless is now animated and cheering. A similar
effect is produced by the sight of a little cottage in a des-
ert or uninhabited region, or in the midst of an unculti-
vated plain. The eye wanders about unsatisfied, until
it sees this human dwelling, when it rests contented, be-
cause it has found something to fix the attention and to
awaken a sympathetic interest. We are not always
aware how greatly the beauty of landscape is founded on
our habitual associations. At the sight of water we think
at once of the numerous delights, bounties, and luxuries
that flow from its beneficent streams; and perhaps
nothing in a prospect so instantaneously awakens the
idea of plenty and of the beneficence of nature. Water
is, therefore, the very picture of benevolence, without
which the face of the country would seem cold, ungen-
erous, and barren.

A feeling of seclusion is one of the agreeable emotions
connected with a ramble in the woods ; and some delight-
ful spots derive their principal attractions from their evi-
dent adaptedness to this security from observation. When
we are walking, either alone or in company, we do not
like to be met by others or to be observed by them. A
little sequestered spot, that seems to offer all this desira-
ble shelter from the eyes of the world, is always singu-
larly attractive. But those are the most eligible retreats
in which one might be secluded and at the same time
accommodated with a pleasant and extensive prospect.
To be able to look out upon the w^orld from a little nook,
while unobserved and not liable to be interrupted by
others, affords one an experience of the same emotion
with which we contemplate the raging of a storm from a
place of comfort and security.

Water is in a high degree favorable to the attainment

68 WATER SCENERY.

of these pleasant advantages. Let two parties be placed
at opposite points, with a small lake intervening, and
though full in sight of each other, they still feel secluded.
The pleasantness of their retreat, under these circum-
stances, is enlivened by the sight of the opposite party,
and they may be amused by observing the motions of
the other, and at the same time feel secure from intrusion.
But if there were only a meadow of equal width to
separate them, the secluded character of the situation
would be lost; as the parties are not only in sight,
but are liable to be interrupted by a visit from the oppo-
site one. A lake may in this way be the occasion of
many of those delightful retreats, attended with advan-
tages of prospect, which no other combination of scenes
could so well afford. The beauty of many of these situa-
tions depends greatly on their apparent adaptedness to
this kind of recreation and seclusion.

A river, especially of moderate width, is in many re-
spects more beautiful than a lake; and, more than any
other collection of water, suggests the idea of infinity
and of continued progression. I never look upon a clear
stream of narrow dimensions, without thinking of the
thousand beautiful scenes it must visit, in its blue course
through the hills and plains. What a life of perpetual
delight must be led by the gentle river goddess, as she is
wafted up and down the stream in her shallop of reeds !
Now coursing along under banks sprinkled over with
honeysuckles, while their fragrance follows the current
of the stream, to entice the bees and other insects to their
fragrant flower-cups; then passing through a pleasant
forest, where she is regaled by the terebinthine odor of
pines mingled with that of flowering lindens, whose
branches resound all day with the hum of insects and the
warbling of birds. Every green bank offers to her hand a
profusion of wild strawberries, and every rocky declivity

WATER SCENERY. 69

hangs its brambles over the stream, and tempts her with
delicate clusters of raspberries, and other delicious fruits.
How, if she takes pleasure in the happiness of human
beings, must she be charmed by witnessing the plenty
which is everywhere diffused by the crystal waters of her
own stream ; the countless farms rendered fertile and
productive through its agency; the numerous mill-seats
that derive their power from its falls and rapids, and
gather the industrious inhabitants in smiling hamlets
upon its banks ! A river, when pursuing its winding
course along the plain, alternately appearing and disap-
pearing among the hills and woods, suggests the idea
of a pleasant journey, and is peculiarly emblematical of
human progress. It always seems to me that it must
conduct one to some happier region, and that if I traced
it to its source, I should be led into the very temple of
the Naiads !

With the different forms of water are associated nearly
all the pleasant images of rural life. To one who is tired
of his busy employments in the city, a rural retreat is
like a cool breeze to the traveller in a sultry desert. A
little arbor, that overlooks a river, a lake, or an arm of
the sea, derives its charms almost wholly from the water,
which is at the same time the symbol of peace and plenty,
and the mirror of heaven. A hermitage by the side of a
stream affords a secret retreat, still more delightful from
its fancied association with pious seclusion from the
world. Every flower that looks up to us from the green,
mossy turf; every bird that warbles in the neighboring
copse ; and every insect that hums in the herbage at our
feet, has a soothing influence, that for a season dispels
every care and every feverish excitement. Then do we
feel that nature only has power to administer that solace
which is balm to the soul when one is vexed with care
and weary of men.

70 WATER SCENERY.

One of the sentiments often awakened by a water pros-
pect is that of sublimity. But this can only arise from
an extensive view of the ocean or of a cataract. Ordina-
rily, therefore, except by the sea-shore, we seldom behold
a sufficient expanse of water to affect us with this sen-
timent. Its influence is greater when a wide sea-view
comes suddenly upon the eye, after one has passed
through a succession of beautiful, quiet, and rather con-
fined scenes. Small lakes and rivers greatly enhance
the beauty of a pastoral landscape,^ because they afford
evidence of good pasturage and a plentiful supply of water
to the flocks and grazing herds. Painters, taking advan-
tage of this expression, often represent, in one of their
side views, the cattle standing up to their knees in a little
pond of water, while the green rushes and undefaced
shrubbery growing about them make manifest its clear-
ness and purity. Ocean scenery is not favorable to pas-
toral expression; but it enhances the beauty of sunrise,
and adds grandeur to the sublimity of a tempest.

Many writers have eulogized an ocean prospect as
beheld from a point where we can see no land. The
views presented by the ocean from different points on
the shore, which is broken and intersected by frequent
inlets of water, we can never cease to admire ; but I have
little sympathy with these lovers of boundless space.
The eye soon tires of gazing upon a scene that awakens
no emotion but that of infinity, and presents no point
as a resting-place for the imagination. To the sublimity
of an ocean voyage, with its mountainous waves and its
interminable azure, I prefer a boat excursion on a narrow
stream, where the trees on the opposite banks frequently
interlace their branches over the middle of the current,
and the plashing of the oar often startles the little twit-
tering sandpiper that is feeding upon the edge of the
stream. The sight of a small lake surrounded by woods,

WATER SCENERY. 71

and dotted all round its borders with full-blown water-
lilies, over whose broadspread leaves the little plover
glides, without impressing a ripple on the glossy brink,
gives me more pleasure than I could derive from any
view of the ocean, bounded only by the horizon.

Water needs the accompaniment of field and wood to
form a picture that is agreeable to the eye. Without
such adjuncts, it is like the sky when it has no clouds,
and is void of all pleasing suggestions. The pleasure of
angling on the banks of a river or a lake is greatly mag-
nified by the agreeable combination of wood and water
scenery that surrounds us. The beauty of an island is
like that of a lake ; and it is hard to say which of the
two affects the spectator with the most delight, though
I am inclined to believe that the majority would decide
in favor of the island. The island, especially if there be
a little cottage upon it, is suggestive of a multitude of
pleasing fancies connected with rural life and retirement.
In this case, we think not so much of the difficulty of
gaining access to town, or even of coming on shore, as of
the peaceful seclusion it seems calculated to afford. The
lake suggests no such ideas ; it is chiefly attractive by its
own beautiful sheen of crystal water, by its association
with boat excursions on serene afternoons or moonlight
evenings, and with rural pleasures connected with the
scenes on its shore.

APEIL.

DEAR to the poet and to the lover of nature is the month
of April, when she first timidly plants her footsteps upon
the dank meadow and the mossy hillside, clothing the
dark brown sods with tufts of greenery, waking the early
birds, and cherishing the tender field-flowers. Her hands
are ever busy, hanging purple fringes upon the elm and
golden tassels upon the willow bough, and weaving for
the maple a vesture of crimson. She brings life to the
frozen streams, verdure to the seared meadows, and music
to the woods, which have heard nothing for months save
the solemn moaning of their own boughs and the echoes of
the woodman's axe from an adjoining fell. We welcome
April as the comforter of our weariness after long con-
finement, as the bearer of pleasures which her bounty
only can offer, as a sweet maiden entering the door of
our prison with hands full of budding flowers and breath
scented with violets.

A gladness and hopefulness attend us on the return of
spring which are unfelt at other seasons, and produce
a sensation like that of the renewal of youth. We are
certainly more hopeful at this time than in the autumn,
and we look back upon the lapse of the three winter months
with a less painful sense of the loss of so much of our
allotted period of life than upon the lapse of the three
summer months. Though the flight of any season carries
us equally onward in our mortal progress, we cannot
avoid the feeling that the lapse of winter is our gain
as that of summer was our loss. And surely, of these

APRIL. 73

two reflections, the one that deceives is better than the
one that utters the truth; and though we are several
months older than we were in the autumn, we may thank
Heaven for the delusion that makes us feel younger.

Spring, the true season of hopefulness and action, is
unfavorable to thought. So many delightful objects are
constantly inviting us to pleasure, that we are tempted to
neglect our serious pursuits, and we feel too much exhila-
ration for confinement or study. It is not while sur-
rounded by pleasures of any kind that we are most capable
of reflecting upon them or describing their influence ; for
the act of thinking upon them requires a suspension of our
enjoyments. Hence, in winter we can most easily discourse
upon the charms of spring and summer, when the task
becomes a pleasant occupation, by reviving the scenes of
past delights blended with a foretaste of joys that are to
come. But when the rising flowers, the perfumed breezes,
and the music of the animated tenants of the streams,
woods, and orchards, are all inviting us to come forth and
partake of the pleasures they proffer, it is wearisome to
sit down apart from all these delights to the compara-
tively dull task of describing them.

As childhood is not always happy, and as youth is lia-
ble to the sorrows and afflictions of later life, the spring
is not always cheerful, and the vernal skies are sometimes
blackened with wintry tempests^ and the earth bound in
ice and frost. Even in April the little flowers that are
just peeping out from their winter coverts are often
greeted by snow, and spring's "ethereal mildness" is
exchanged for harsh winds and cloudy skies. In vain do
the crocus, the snowdrop, and the yellow narcissus appear
in the gardens, or the blue violet arid the saxifrage span-
gle the southern slopes of the hills, — the north-wind is
not tempered by their beauty nor beguiled by the songs
of the early birds.

74 APRIL.

April — the morning of the year, as March was its twi-
light, — that uncertain time when the clouds seem like
exiled wanderers over the blue field of light, hurrying in
disorganized cohorts to some place of rest or dissolution —
daily flatters us with hopes which she seems reluctant to
fulfil. But every invisible agent of nature is silently
weaving a drapery of verdure to spread around the foot-
steps of the more lovely month that is soon to arrive. We
see the beginnings of this work of resurrection in thou-
sands of small tufted rings of herbage scattered over the
fields, and daily multiplying, until every knoll is crowned
with blue, white, and crimson flowers that will join to
gladden the heyday of spring.

When at length the south- wind calls together his ver-
nal messengers, and leads them forth in the sunshine to
their work of gladness, the frosty conqueror resigns his
sceptre, and beauty springs up in the place of desolation.
The bee rebuilds his honeyed masonry, the swelling buds
redden in the maples, and every spray of the forest and
orchard is brightened with a peculiar gloss that gives
character to the vernal tinting of the woods. The ices
that have bound the earth for half the year are dissolved ;
the mountain snows are spread out in fertilizing lakes
upon the plains, and the redwing pipes his garrulous
notes over the abiding-place of the trillium and the meadow
cowslip. The lowlands, .so magnificent in autumn, when
glowing with a profusion of asters and golden-rods, are
now whitened with this sheet of glistening waters, put
into constant agitation by multitudes of frogs tumbling
about in the shallows while engaged in their croaking
frolics.

April is the month of brilliant skies constantly shad-
owed by dark, rapidly moving clouds, of brown meadows
and plashy foot-paths. The barren hills are velveted with
moss of a perfect greenness, delicately shaded with a

APKIL. 75

profusion of glossy purple stems, like so many hairs, termi-
nated with the peculiar flower of the plant ; and long stripes
of verdure mark the progress of the new-born rivulets, as
they pursue their irregular course down the hillside into
the valleys. But the damp grounds, frequently almost im-
passable from standing water, are interspersed with little
dry knolls covered with mosses and lycopodiums, where
the early flowers of spring delight to nestle, embosomed
in their soft verdure. Upon these evergreen mounds the
fringed polygala spreads a beautiful hue of crimson;
and while gathering its flowers, we discover, here and
there, a delicate wood-anemone, with its mild eyes not
yet open to the light of day. But so few flowers are
abroad that the bee when it comes forth in quest of
honey must feel like one who is lost and wandering in
space. It can revel only in gardens where the sweet-
scented flowers of another clime spread abroad a perfume
that is but a false signal of the weather of its adopted
climate.

The odors that perfume the air in the latter part of this
month are chiefly exhaled from the unfolding buds of the
flowering trees and shrubs, and from pine woods. The
balm of Gilead and other poplars, while the scales are
dropping from their hibernacles, to loose the young leaves
and flowers from their confinement, afford the most grateful
of odors, and are a part of the peculiar incense of spring.
But there are exhalations from the soil in April, when
the ploughman is turning his furrows, that afford an
agreeable sensation of freshness, almost like fragrance,
resembling the scent of the cool breezes, which, wafted
over beds of dulses and sea-weeds, when the tide is low,
often rise up suddenly in the heat of summer.

As April advances, the familiar bluebirds are busy
among the hollows of old trees, where they rear their
young secure from depredation. Multitudes of them, seen

76 APRIL.

usually in pairs and seldom in flocks, are distributed over
the orchards, responding to one another in their few plain-
tive, but cheerful, notes ; and their fine azure plumage is
beautifully conspicuous as they flit among the branches
of the trees. The voice of the robin resounds in all famil-
iar places, and the song of the linnet is heard in the
groves which have lately echoed but with the screaming
of the jay and the cawing of the raven. Young lambs,
but lately ushered into life, may be seen with various
antic motions, trying the use of their limbs, that seem to
run wild with them before they have hardly ascertained
their powers; and parties of little children, some with
baskets, employed in gathering salads, others engaged in
picking the scarlet fruit of the checkerberry, will often
pause from their occupations with delight to watch the
frolics of these happy creatures.

The small beetles that whirl about on the surface of
still waters have commenced their gambols anew, and
fishes are again seen darting about in the streams. A few
butterflies, companions of the crocus and the violet, are
flitting in irregular courses over the plains ; the spider is
hanging by his invisible thread from the twigs of the
orchard trees, and insects are swarming in sunny places.
The leaves of the last autumn, disinterred from the snow,
are once more rustling to the winds and to the leaping
motions of the squirrel. Small tortoises are basking in
the sunshine upon the logs that extend into the pool ;
and as we draw near we see their glistening armor, as
with awkward haste they plunge into the water. The
ices which had accumulated around the sea-shore have
disappeared, and the little fishes that congregate near the
edges of the salt-water creeks make a tremulous motion
of the water, as upon our sudden approach they dart away
from the shallows into the deeper sea.

The sun has sunk below the horizon. The wind is still,

APRIL. 77

and the countless lakes that cover the meadows reflect
from their mirrored surfaces an image of every cloud that
floats above them. The bright-eyed evening star now
shines alone. The lowing of cattle is heard only at inter-
vals from the farmyards, and the occasional sound of dis-
tant bells is borne softly in the hush of day's decline.
The birds are silent in the woods, save now and then a
solitary one, greeted perhaps by a lingering sunbeam re-
flected from a radiant cloud, will sing a few twittering
notes of gladness. But nature is not silent. The notes
of myriads of little piping musicians rise in a delightfully
swelling chorus, from every lake and stream, now louden-
ing with an increased multitude of voices, then dying
away into a momentary silence. These sounds are the
charm of an April evening ; and in my early days I lis-
tened to them with more pleasure than to the sweetest
strains of music, as prophetic of the reviving beauties of
nature. And now, when the first few piping notes fall
upon my ear, my mind is greeted by a vision of dearly
remembered joys that crowd vividly upon the memory.
These tender recollections, blended with the hopes and
anticipations of spring, serve with peculiar force to tran-
quillize the mind and render it cheerful and satisfied with
the world.

THE PLUMAGE OF BIEDS.

THE colors and forms of the plumage of birds are gen-
erally regarded as mere accidents, unattended with any
advantages in their economy. I cannot believe, however,
that they are not in some way, which we cannot fully
understand, indispensable to their existence as a species.
Let me then endeavor to discover, if possible, the design
of Nature in spreading such a variety of tints upon the
plumage of birds, and to learn the advantages they derive
from these native ornaments. Do they affect the vision
of birds with the sensation of beauty, and serve to attract
together individuals of the same species ? Or are they
designed also to protect them from the keen sight of their
enemies, while flitting among the blossoms of the trees ?
It is probable that each of these purposes is subserved by
this provision of Natura She has clothed individuals
of the same species and the same sex with uniformity,
that they may readily identify their own kindred, and has
given them an innate susceptibility to derive pleasure from
those colors that predominate in the plumage of their own
species. She has likewise distinguished the small birds
that live on trees by beautiful colors, while those in gen-
eral that run upon the ground are marked by neutral
tints, that the former may be less easily observed among
the blossoms of the trees, and that the latter may be less
conspicuous while sitting or running upon the ground.

It is well known that the males of many species are
more beautifully and brilliantly decorated than the fe-
males, and that the singing-birds in general have less

PLUMAGE OF BIRDS. 79

beauty of color than the unmusical species. As an ex-
planation of this fact we must consider that the singing-
birds are more humble in their habitats than others.
The brightly colored birds chiefly frequent the forests and
lofty trees. Such are the woodpecker, the troupial, and
many species of tropical birds. The northern temper-
ate latitudes are the region of the grasses, which afford
sustenance to a large proportion of the singing-birds — the
finches and buntings — of that part of the world. Some
of the finches are high-colored, but these usually build in
trees, like the purple finch and the goldfinch. But the
sparrows and the larks, that build in a bush or on the
ground, are plainly dressed. The thrushes, which are
equally plain in their dress, build in low bushes, and take
their food chiefly from the ground. Indeed, it might
be practicable to distinguish among a variety of strange
birds the species that live and nestle in trees by their
brighter plumage.

In our own latitude the species that frequent the
shrubbery are of a brown or olive-brown of different
shades. They are dressed in colors that blend with the
general tints of the ground and herbage while they are
seeking their food or sitting upon their nests. Birds,
however, do not differ much in the colors of the hidden
parts of their plumage. Beneath they are almost uni-
versally of grayish or whitish tints, so that, while sitting
on a branch, the reptiles lurking for them may not, when
looking upward, distinguish them from the hues of the
clouds and the sky and the grayish undersurface of the
leaves of trees. Water-birds are generally gray all over,
except a tinge of blue in their plumage above. Ducks,
however, are many of them variegated with green and
other colors that harmonize with the weeds and plants
of the shore upon which they feed.

Nature works on the same plan in guarding insects

80 PLUMAGE OF BIRDS.

and reptiles from the sight of their foes. Thus, the toad
is colored like the soil of the garden, while the colors of
the common frog that lives among the green rushes and
aquatic mosses are green, and the tree-frog is of a mottled
gray, like the outer bark of old trees. Grasshoppers are
generally greenish; but there is a species found among
the gray lichens 011 our rocky hills which is the color of
the surface of these rocks.

Among the singing-birds of this country which are
remarkable for their brilliant colors are the golden oriole,
the scarlet tanager, and the American goldfinch. All
these species build their nests in trees, and seldom run
on the ground. The goldfinch feeds upon the seeds of
compound flowers, which are mostly yellow. His plu-
mage of gold and olive allows him to escape the sight
of an enemy while picking seeds from the disk of a sun-
flower or from a cluster of goldenrods.

But why are the females plainly dressed and the males
alone adorned with brilliant colors ? It may be answered,
that, as the female performs the duties of incubation, if
she were brightly colored like the male, she would be
more readily descried by a bird of prey while sitting on
her nest. The male, on the contrary, while hunting
among the blossoms and foliage of trees for his insect
food, is not so readily distinguished from the flowers, for
in temperate latitudes the breeding season is the time
when the trees are in blossom. After the young are
reared and the flowers have faded, several species dis-
pense with their brilliant colors and assume the plain
hues of the female.

We must consider, however, that the beautiful colors
of the plumage of the male birds serve to render them
more conspicuous objects of attraction to the females.
Hence, in the early part of the year, just before the time
of courtship arrives, Nature has provided that the plumage

PLUMAGE OF BIRDS. 81

of various kinds of birds should suffer a metamorphosis.
Thus the bobolink exchanges his winter garment of yel-
lowish-brown for one of brilliant straw-color and black ;
and the red-winged blackbird casts off his tawny suit
for one of glossy jet, with epaulettes of scarlet. What
are the useful ends subserved by this mysterious pro-
vision of Nature ? She clothes them with beauty and
endows them with song at a period when their success
as lovers depends greatly on the multitude and power of
their attractions. Among the beautiful species their suc-
cess is in proportion to the splendor of their plumage;
and among the warblers, to the charms of their voice.
Beauty and song are the means Nature has furnished
them, whereby they may render themselves, I will not
say agreeable, but attractive. I do not suppose a beau-
tiful male bird is preferred to a plain one of the same
species ; but his beauty causes him to be sooner discov-
ered by an unmated female.

It is easy to explain, therefore, on the principle of com-
pensation, why handsome birds in general are endowed
with inferior musical powers. They are able to accom-
plish by their beauty of plumage what the plainer species
do by their songs. It may be observed .that the hand-
some birds, when engaged in courtship, place themselves
in attitudes which are calculated to display the full beauty
of their plumage; while the songsters under the same
circumstances pour forth an unusual strain of melody.
The hues of the brightly colored male birds may be a
means of assisting their young in identifying them after
they have left their nest. They hear, for example, the loud
call-note of the golden robin, and immediately they recog-
nize him by his colors, when, if plainly dressed, they might
not discover him. As soon as they behold him they com-
mence their chirping and are greeted by the old bird.

There is one numerous tribe of birds that run upon

4* P

82 PLUMAGE OF BIRDS.

the ground, whose males, except those of a few species,
are very brilliantly decorated. This is the gallinaceous
family, which are an exception to my remark that the
handsome birds inhabit trees. But it is only the larger
species or genera of this family, such as the pheasant, the
turkey, the peacock, the curassow, and the common fowl,
whose males are thus gorgeously arrayed. Their colors are
evidently intended for their protection in a peculiar way.
All the males of these species are endowed with a pro-
pensity to ruffle and expand their feathers whenever they
are threatened with attack. The boldest animal would
be frightened by the sudden expansion of the brilliant
plumage of the peacock, and the loud vibrations of his
tail-feathers when he places himself in this strange at-
titude. A gorgeous spectacle suddenly presented, and so
different from anything that is commonly seen, would
overawe even the king of beasts. Similar effects in a
weaker degree would be produced by the ruffled plumage
of the turkey or the pheasant. It is worthy of remark,
that in proportion to the brilliancy of the colors is the
strength of the impression made upon the sight of the
creature that threatens them. The tendency of wild ani-
mals to be frightened by such causes is shown by the
terror produced in them by the sudden opening of an
umbrella. But these brilliant plumes are confined to the
larger species of the tribe. Quails, partridges, and grouse
are generally colored like the ground, being of a speckled
or brownish hue, and are distinguished with difficulty
when sitting or standing among the berry-bushes or
gleaning their repast in the cornfield. Too small to
defend themselves so well as the larger species, their
colors are adapted to protect them by concealment, and
not by dazzling and alarming their foes.

BIEDS OF THE GAEDEN AND OECHAED.
III.

THE ROBIN.

OUR American birds have not been celebrated in classic
song. They are hardly well known even to our own peo-
ple, and have not in general been exalted by praise above
their real merits. We read, both in prose and verse, of the
European Lark, the Linnet, and the Nightingale, and the
English Eobin Eedbreast has been immortalized in song.
But the American Eobin is a bird of very different- habits.
Not much has been written about him as a songster, and
he enjoys but little celebrity. He has never been puffed
and overpraised, and though universally admired, the many
who admire him are fearful all the while lest they are
mistaken in their judgment and waste their admiration
upon an object that is unworthy of it, — one whose true
merits fall short of their own estimate. It is the same
want of self-reliance affecting the generality of minds
which often causes every man publicly to praise what
each one privately condemns, thus creating a spurious
public opinion.

I shall not ask pardon of those critics who are always
canting about musical " power," and who would probably
deny this gift to the Eobin, because he cannot gobble like
a turkey or squall like a cat, and because with his charm-
ing strains he does not mingle all sorts of discords and
incongruous sounds, for assigning the Eobin a very
high rank as a singing-bird. Let them say, in the cant
of modern criticism, that his performances cannot be

84 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

great because they are faultless. It is enough for me that
his mellow notes, heard at the earliest flush of dawn, in
the busy hour of noon, or in the stillness of evening, come
to the ear in a stream of unqualified melody, as if he had
learned to sing from the beautiful Dryad who taught the
Lark and the Nightingale. The Eobin is surpassed by
some other birds in certain qualities of song. The Mock-
ing-Bird has more " power," the Eed Thrush more vari-
ety, the Bobolink more animation; but there is no bird
that has fewer faults than the Kobin, or that would be
more esteemed as a constant companion, — a vocalist for
all hours, whose strains never tire and never offend.

There are thousands who admire the Mocking-Bird,
because, after pouring forth a long-continued medley of
disagreeable and ridiculous sounds, or a series of two or
three notes, repeated more than a hundred times in unin-
terrupted and monotonous succession, he concludes with
a single delightfully modulated strain. He often brings
his tiresome extravaganzas to a magnificent climax of
melody, and as often concludes an inimitable chant with
a most contemptible bathos. But the notes of the Eobin
are all melodious, all delightful, loud without vociferation,
mellow without monotony, fervent without ecstasy, and
combining more of sweetness of tone, plaintiveness, cheer-
fulness, and propriety of utterance than the notes of any
other bird.

The Eobin is the Philomel of morning twilight in New
England and in all the northeastern States of this conti-
nent. If his sweet notes were wanting, the mornings
would be like a landscape without the rose, or a summer-
evening sky without tints. He is the chief performer in
the delightful anthem that welcomes the rising day. Of
others the best are but accompaniments of more or less
importance. Eemove the Eobin from this woodland or-
chestra, and it would be left without a soprano. Over all

BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 85

the northern parts of this continent, wherever there are
human settlements, the Eobins are numerous and familiar.
There is not an orchard in New England, or in the Brit-
ish Provinces, that is not enlivened by several of these
musicians. When we consider the millions thus distrib-
uted over this broad country, we can imagine the sublim-
ity of that chorus which from the middle of April until
the last of July daily ascends to heaven from the voices
of these birds, not one male of which is silent from the
earliest dawn until sunrise.

The Eobin, when reared in confinement, is one of the
most affectionate and interesting of birds. A neighbor
and relative of mine kept one twenty years. He would
leave his cage frequently, hop about the house and gar-
den and return. He not only repeated his original
notes, but several strains of artificial music. Though not
prone to imitation, the Eobin may be taught to imitate
the notes of other birds. I heard a tamed Eobin in Ten-
nessee whistle " Over the "Water to Charlie," without miss-
ing a note. Indeed, this bird is so tractable in his dispo-
sition and so intelligent, that I believe he might be taught
to sing any simple melody.

But why should we set any value on • his power of
learning artificial music ? Even if he should perform like
a flautist, it would not enhance his value as a minstrel of
the grove. "We are concerned with the singing-birds only
as they are in a state of nature and in their native fields
and woods. It is the simplicity of their songs that con-
stitutes their principal charm; and if the different war-
blers were so changed in their nature as to relinquish
their wild notes and sing only tunes, we should listen to
them with as much indifference as to the whistling of
boys on the road.

86 BIBDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

THE BALTIMORE ORIOLE.

About the middle of May, as soon as the cherry-trees
are in blossom, and when the oak and the maple are be-
ginning to unfold their plaited leaves, the loud and ani-
mated notes of the Golden Eobin are first heard in New
England. I have never known a bird of this species to
arrive before that period. They seem to be governed by
the supply of their insect-food, which probably becomes
abundant at the same time with the flowering of the
orchards. On their arrival they may be observed dili-
gently hunting among the branches and foliage of the
trees, making a particular examination of the blossoms for
the flies and beetles that are lodged in them.

While the Oriole is thus employed in search of food,
which he obtains almost exclusively from trees, he fre-
quently utters his, brief but loud and melodious notes.
Of this species, the males arrive a few days before the
females, and at first utter only a few call-notes, which
on the arrival of their mates are lengthened into a song.
This seldom consists of more than five or six notes, though
the strain is sometimes immediately repeated. Almost
all remarkable singing-birds give themselves up entirely
to song on their musical occasions, and pay no regard to
other demands upon their time until they have concluded.
But the Golden Eobin never relaxes from his industry,
nor remains stationed upon the branch of a tree for the
sole purpose of singing. He sings, like an industrious
maid-of-all-work, only while employed in his sylvan oc-
cupations.

The Baltimore Oriole is said to inhabit North America
from Canada to Mexico ; but the species are most abundant
in the northeastern parts of the continent, and a greater
number of them breed in the New England States than
either south or west of this section. They are also more

BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 87

numerous in villages and in the suburbs of cities than in
the wilder regions where there is less tillage. Their pe-
culiar manner of protecting their nests by hanging them
from the spray of a tall elm or other lofty tree enables
them to rear their young in security, even when sur-
rounded by the dwellings of men. The only animals that
are able to reach their nests are the smaller squirrels,
which have been known to descend the long slender
branches that sustain the nest, and to devour the eggs.
This depredation I have never witnessed ; but have seen
the red squirrel descend in this manner upon the spray
of an elm, and seize the chrysalis of a certain insect
which was rolled up in a leaf.

The lively motions and general activity of the Golden
Eobin, no less than his song, render him interesting and
attractive. He is remarkable for his vivacity, and his
bright colors make all his movements conspicuous. His
plumage needs no description, since every one is familiar
with it, as its hues are seen like flashes of fire among
the green foliage. Associated with these motions are his
notes of anger and complaint, which have a peculiar vi-
bratory sound, somewhat harsh, but not unmusical.

The Golden Eobin is said to possess considerable power
of musical imitation ; but it may be observed that in all
his attempts he gives the notes of those birds only whose
voice resembles his own. Thus he often repeats the song
of the Virginia Eedbird. This I do not consider an imi-
tation, but a mere change of his own melody in a slight
degree. The few notes of his own song he utters fre-
quently, and with great force and a fine modulation.
Sometimes for several days he confines himself to a sin-
gle strain, and then for about the same length of time
he will adopt another. Sometimes he extends his few
brief notes into a lengthened melody, and sings as in an
ecstasy, like birds of the Finch tribe. Occasionally also

88 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

he sings on the wing, not while hovering over one spot,
but while flying from one tree to another. Such musical
paroxysms are rare in his case, and seem to be caused by
some momentary exultation.

The Golden Eobin rears but one brood of young in
New England, and his cheerful notes are discontinued
soon after they have left their nest. The song of the
old bird seems, after this event, hardly necessary as a
call-note to the offspring, who keep up an incessant chirp-
ing from the moment of leaving their nest until they
are able to accompany their parents to the woods. They
probably retire to the forest for security, and vary their
subsistence by searching for insects that occupy a wilder
locality. It is remarkable that after an absence and
silence of two or three weeks from the flight of their
young the Golden Eobins suddenly make their appearance
once again for a few days, uttering the same merry notes
with which they announced their arrival in May. But
this renewal of their song is not continued many days.
We seldom see them after the middle of August. They
leave for their winter quarters early in autumn.

te-hoo, tee-hoo, te - oo, te-hoo, te-hoo, t - 1 - 1 - 1, tee-hoo, te - oo.

THE MEADOW-LARK.

This bird is no longer, as formerly, a Lark. Originally
an Alauda, he has since been an Oriolus, an Icterus, a
Cacicus, and a Sturnus. He has shuffled off all his for-
mer identities, and is now a Sturnella magna. I will not
enter into a calculation of the metamorphoses he may yet
undergo. By the magic charm of some inventor of another
new nomenclature ; by the ingenuity of some Kant in

BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 89

Natural History, — if this science be doomed ever to suf-
fer such a curse, when, by the use of new names for every
thought of the human mind, we shall all be reduced to a
sudden ignorance of everything we once knew, and ren-
dered incapable of talking or writing without constant
reference to a new dictionary of terms, — the Meadow-
Lark may yet be discovered to be no bird at all, but a
mere myth of the meadows.

The Meadow-Lark, though not the " Messenger of
Morn" that "calls up the tuneful nations," and though
perhaps not properly classed among our singing-birds, has
a peculiar lisping note which is very agreeable, and not
unlike some of the strains in the song of the English
Wood-Lark, as I have heard them from a caged bird. Its
notes are heard soon after those of the Eobin, the earliest
messenger of morn among our singing-birds. They are
shrill, drawling, and plaintive, sometimes reminding rne
of the less musical notes of the Redwing and sometimes
of the more musical and feeble song of the Green War-
bler. Nuttall very aptly describes its notes by the sylla-
bles et-see-dee-ah, each one drawled out to a considerable
length. These are repeated at all hours of the day ; in-
deed, they are almost incessant, for hardly a minute
passes when, if a pair of the birds are located in an ad-
joining field, you may not hear them. It is the constant
repetition of their song that has led gunners to the dis-
covery of the birds, which, if they had been silent, might
have escaped notice.

That numerous class of men who would be more en-
raptured at the sight of " four-and-twenty blackbirds
baked in a pie " than at the sound of their notes, though
they equalled those of the Nightingale, — men who never
look upon a bird save with the eyes and disposition of a
prowling cat, and who display their knowledge of the
feathered race chiefly at the gun-shops, — martial heroes

90 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

among innocent songsters, — have not overlooked a bird so
large and plump as the Meadow-Lark. Vain is its lisp-
ing and plaintive song ; vain is the beauty displayed in
its hovering and graceful flight, in its variegated plumage
and its interesting ways ! All these things serve but to
render its species the more conspicuous mark for gunners,
who have hunted them so incessantly that they are now
as shy as the persecuted Crow, and as elusive a mark for
the sportsman as a Loon.

Samuels says that "usually one bird of a flock is
perched on a tree or a fence-post as a sentinel, and the
moment a gunner approaches, the bird gives his alarm,"
when all the flock take wing. The Meadow-Lark is vari-
egated above with different shades of yellow and brown ;
beneath, a lighter brown speckled with black. Its flight
is very graceful, though not vigorous. The motions of its
wings are rapid and intermittent, the slight pauses in
their vibratory motions giving them a character quite
unique.

THE CEDAR-BIRD.

Little bird, that watchest the season of mellow fruits,
and makest thy appearance like a guest who comes only
on feast-days, and, like a truant urchin, takest the fair
products of the garden without leave of the owner, saying
not even a grace over thy meals like the Preacher, but
silently taking thy fill, and then leaving without even a
song of thankfulness, — still I will welcome thee to the
festival of Nature, both for thy comely presence and thy
cheerful and friendly habit with thy fellows.

The Cedar-Bird is not a songster. It seldom utters
any note save the lisp that may always be heard when it
is within sight. Dr. Brewer, who kept a wounded one in
a cage, mentions that " beside its low, lisping call, this
bird had a regular, faint attempt at a song of several low

BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 91

notes, uttered in so low a tone that it would be almost
inaudible, even at a short distance. It became perfectly
contented in confinement, and appeared fond of such
members of the family as noticed it." He says of this
species as proof of their devotion to one another and their
offspring : " Once when one had been taken in a net
spread over strawberries, its mate refused to leave it,
suffered itself to be taken by the hand in its anxiety to
free its mate, and, when set at liberty, would not leave
until its mate had also been released and permitted to go
with it."

According to Nuttall, during the mating season, they
are always caressing each other like Turtle Doves. There
is a manifestation of mutual fondness between these
social birds. A friend assured him that he had seen one
among a row of them seize an insect and offer it to its
next neighbor, who passed it to the next, each politely
declining the offer, until it had passed backwards and for-
wards several times.

The Cedar-Bird is not exclusively frugivorous. In the
spring and early summer, before the berries are ripe, it
feeds wholly upon insects and their larvae. As a compen-
sation for the mischief done by the bird .and its fellows
among the fruit-trees, they destroy vast numbers of can-
ker-worms, taking them when they are very small and
nestled in the flower-cup of the apple-tree. The ex-
cessive multiplication of the canker-worm seems a di-
rect consequence of the proportional diminution of this
and a few other valuable though mischievous species.
Those cultivators who would gladly extirpate the boys
as well as the birds, taking care to save boys enough to
kill the birds, might, instead of persecuting the Cedar-Bird,
find it more profitable in the end to pay a tax for its pres-
ervation.

This bird is very fond of the juniper. Its usual

92 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

abode is among the junipers. From these, when rambling
in the woods, you will often start a flock ; for they are
easily alarmed on account of the pertinacity with which
they have been hunted. It is seldom we see one bird of
this species, without at least six or eight more in its com-
pany. Their habit of assembling in small flocks renders
them more liable to be extirpated ; for those who would
grudge a charge of powder and shot for the flesh of a sin-
gle bird are delighted to shoot into a flock, when perhaps
six or eight little tender birds will fall to the ground.

The Cedar-Bird is remarkable for the elegance of its
shape ; and though the colors of its plumage are not brill-
iant, they are exceedingly fine and delicate. Its general
color above is a reddish- brown, slightly tinged with olive ;
somewhat brighter on the breast, dark in the throat, tail
tipped with yellow, forehead with a black line over the
eyes, and little scarlet beads upon the outer wing-feathers,
resembling dots of red sealing- wax.

THE INDIGO-BIRD.

Some of the earliest nests I discovered in my boyhood
were those of the Indigo-Bird, of which, for several suc-
cessive years, there were two or three in a grove of young
locust-trees near the building where I attended school.
Hence I have always associated this bird with the locust-
tree. Every one admires the beauty of the Indigo-Bird, —
its plumage of dark-blue, with green reflections when in
a certain light. Its color is not that of the Bluebird ;
but more nearly resembles a piece of indigo, being
almost a blue-black. Though it never comes very
near our windows, it does not appear to be shy, and it
prefers the trees of our gardens and enclosures to those
of the forest. When the breeding season is over, the old
birds probably retire to the woods ; for, after the young
have taken flight, they are seldom seen.

BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 93

I think Mr. Nuttall is incorrect in his description of
the Indigo-Bird's song. It certainly has not that variety
and pathos which he ascribes to it. The song is rather
a lively see-saw without expressing even animation. It
ought not to be considered plaintive. His notes are
sharp, not unlike those parts of the Canary's song which
are disagreeable. I allude to the sip, sip, sip, sip, which
the Canary intersperses with his more musical and roll-
ing notes. The whole song of the Indigo-Bird is but
a repetition of the sip, sip, of the Canary, modified by the
addition of another note, like sip-see, sip-see, sip-see, sip-
see, repeated four or five times very moderately, with a
few unimportant intervening notes. Neither has the song
of the Indigo-Bird so much rapidity as Nuttall ascribes to
it. His notes, though not slow, are but little more rapid
than those of the Eobin. He has the merit, however, of
being one of the few of our birds that sing persistently at
noonday.

THE SUMMER YELLOW-BIRD.

There is no common feature in our New England
domestic landscape more remarkable than the frequent
rows of willows which have at different times been
planted by the sides of roads where they pass over wet
meadows. The air is never sweeter, not even in a grove
of lindens, than the vernal breezes that are constantly
playing among the willows, when they are hung with
golden aments, and swarming with bees and butterflies.
Here, flitting among the soft foliage of these trees after
the middle of May, you will never fail to meet the little
Summer Yellow-Bird, whose plumage is so near the color
of the willow-blossoms that they almost conceal it from
observation.

The Summer Yellow-Bird is one of that incomparable
tribe of warblers, comprehended under the general name

94 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD.

of sylvians, that frequents familiar places. His plumage
is not a bright yellow, but faintly streaked with olive on
the back and wings. He feeds entirely on insects, and is
frequently seen in gardens among the cherry-trees and
currant-bushes in search of them. The birds of this
species are not shy ; and I have observed the same con-
fiding docility in other small birds which are not perse-
cuted. The note of the male is remarkable only for its
sweetness. It is too brief and shrill to attract attention,
except by giving notice of the cheerful presence of the
bird. He is so familiar as frequently to come up close
to our windows when a tree is near, peeping in upon us
as if to watch our motions.

There is nothing in his general habits to render him
conspicuous ; and little is said about him, because he
is quiet and unobtrusive. But were his whole species
banished from our land, he would be missed as we should
miss the little cinqfoil from our green hillsides, which it
sprinkles with its modest and familiar flowers, though it
attracts no admiration. The Summer Yellow-Bird, like
this little flower, dwells sweetly among the willows and
cherry-trees, seen by all, and loved for its unpretending
beauty, its cheerful note, and its innocent habits.

Dr. Brewer mentions the Summer Yellow-Bird as one
of the few species that refuses to hatch the egg of the
Cowbird. If this bird should drop one of its eggs into
her nest, she builds up the walls and then covers the spu-
rious egg with a thick coating of fresh materials. He
mentions one remarkable case that happened in his own
garden. The Yellow-Bird had already built a new nest
over one Cowbird's egg. Another was deposited in the new
nest, and she built over that. She had finally made a
nest with three stories, the last one containing only the
Yellow-Bird's eggs. This fact and others of a similar
kind, related by ornithologists, indicate an unusual share

BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 95

of intelligence in this species. Dr. Brewer also mentions
an anecdote related to him by a friend. A pair of Yellow-
Birds had built their nest in a low bush, and filled it
with eggs, when a storm partly overturned it. They
abandoned it and built another in the same bush, arid the
female laid her eggs and sat upon them. " The narrator
then restored the first nest to an upright position and
securely fastened it." The male bird immediately sat
upon the eggs in this nest, while the female sat upon the
other. In this way each one hatched, fed, and reared its
separate family.

THE FIELD AKD THE GARDEN.

IT must have been observed by every careful student
of nature that our walks in the field and in the garden
are not attended by the same sensations. Indeed, they
always remind me of prose arid verse, the one marked by
uniformity, the other by variety. The words and images
of prose are more ample and free, those of verse more
select and condensed. We look for assorted profusion in
the garden, for scattered multiplicity in the field. We
can sustain our interest a longer time when rambling over
the fields of prose ; but the luxury of a few moments is
greater when traversing the garden- walks of a short poem.
We see more beauty, more splendor, more that gratifies
the sense, in the garden ; we discover more of the pictu-
resque, more sublimity, more that excites the imagination,
in the field. But the dreary monotony and artificial
grandeur of a widely extended landscape garden must be
as tiresome as a long poem; its serpentine paths, rus-
tic devices, and shallow imitations of nature's wildness
failing in their intentions, as the affected ruggedness and
hobbling of the verse and the frequent episodes of a long
poem are but a mockery of the freedom of prose.

People who have been confined a great part of their
life to the town know very little of flowers, except as
the ornaments of a garden, and have admired them
chiefly as objects of art. Florists' flowers are generally
deprived of some of their specific characters : stamens are
transformed into petals, as in roses ; wheel-shaped flowers
in the margin take the place of bell-shaped flowers in the

THE FIELD AND THE GARDEN. 97

centre, as in the snowball ; or the florets of the disk are
furnished with petals, as in the dahlia, and become in
each case a " double flower." By this transformation they
are rendered more valuable for bouquets and floral exhi-
bitions, and are more admirable as ornaments of the par-
terre. They have become more marketable, but less poet-
ical ; they are more the delight of the flower-girl, but
they are prized in a less degree by the botanist and the
poet, who prefer the objects of nature unsophisticated
by art.

The field-flowers are praised by the poet Campbell,
because they waft him to bygone summers, to birchen
glades and Highland mountains, to the shores of lakes
and their little islands ; because they are associated with
the notes of birds and the voices of streams. While ad-
mitting that they are eclipsed by the flowers of the garden,
he gives these wildings of nature his preference, because
they are allied with more pleasant memories and affec-
tions. He would cherish them that they may enliven his
declining years with the sensations of youth, and hopes
they may grow upon his tomb. The simple flowers of the
garden, however, which have not been greatly modified
by culture and retain their original characters, claim no
less attention than we bestow upon the flowers of the
field. The most ancient and common of these have
acquired the greatest share of our affection, because they
were our earliest friends. Such are the primrose, the
pansy, the narcissus, the tulip, the lily of the valley, —
perfectly primitive in its character, — and above all, the
white lily and the rose. "We have become acquainted
with these flowers, not only from our early intercourse
with them in the garden, but from the frequent allusions
to them in the poetry of all ages, and in Holy "Writ. But
they are not the favorites of florists. Fashion, who always
impudently interferes with our tastes and our pleasures,

5 o

98 THE FIELD AND THE GARDEN.

has not failed to intermeddle with the flower-garden, and
has often stamped a false value upon certain flowers of
inferior beauty compared with others of a more simple
habit and deportment. We who have not been compelled
to wear the yoke of this tyranny will continue to admire
those which have been sanctified to our imagination by
the poets of nature.

Many of our common garden-flowers are closely .inter-
woven with the fabric of English literature ; and the fre-
quent mention of them by the early poets, who treated
them more in detail than their successors, has invested
them with charms which are derived from their descrip-
tions and the imagery that accompanies them. Others
are commended to us by the memories of childhood, and
by their frequency in the gardens of rustic cottages in the
country. Such are the marigold, the larkspur, the morn-
ing-glory, the iris, the crocus, and the snowdrop. How
vividly are the early scenes and events of our life called
up by these simple flowers, and how greatly do they con-
tribute to the cheerfulness and sacredness of the grounds
they occupy ! Coming generations will be affected with
less" emotion by these particular flowers, because their
childhood will make friendships with others that have
taken their places. But I am persuaded that the intro-
duction of such multitudinous species in our gardens is
fatal to the poetic interest that might be felt in a smaller
number. A few flowrers take a stronger hold of our affec-
tions and our imaginations than a multitude. Thus peo-
ple who live in retirement, with a small circle of friends,
are more devoutly attached to them than others who have
very many, whom they constantly meet in the social in-
tercourse of fashion.

I will confess that I am not an admirer of floral exhi-
bitions. I am offended when I see flowers degraded to
a level with ribbons, laces, and jewelry, and prized accord-

THE FIELD AND THE GARDEN. 99

ing to some property that is appreciable only by a con-
noisseur. I am aware that such exhibitions are attended
with certain public advantages, and contribute an inno-
cent amusement to the inhabitants of towns and cities.
But I should be more interested in looking over the dried
specimens of some rustic botanist in the country than in
viewing the most splejidid assortment of show-flowers ;
and feel more respect for the zeal of a true lover of na-
ture, who traverses the continent in quest of an unknown
species, than for the ambition of a florist, who experi-
ments half his lifetime to add one new tint to a dahlia.

I was invited some time since by an old lady of my
acquaintance to visit her garden and see her flowers, of
which she had gathered together a miscellaneous assem-
blage that reminded me of those we sometimes meet in a
little opening in the woods. She was one who valued
plants as the works of nature, not as the toys of ambi-
tion, and who held them all sacred as gifts of Providence.
Every species was highly prized by her, and she had col-
lected all such as her means enabled her to obtain, and
planted them in her garden. This little enclosure I found
to be stored with many plants which have been naturalized
on our soil, and from time immemorial have been known
and loved by the inhabitants both of England and Amer-
ica. Many of these were common in our gardens thirty
years ago. Among them were several cordial and medi-
cinal herbs, such as wormwood, balm, horehound, south-
ernwood, basil, and thyme, growing side by side with
pinks, jasmines, and primulus. She expatiated on the
uses of these and the beauties of those ; but the principal
objects of her admiration were some noble sunflowers,
that maintained a sort of kingly presence among the in-
habitants of her garden.

Not being affected by any prejudice against sunflowers,
I sympathized with her admiration, and praised them

100 THE FIELD AND THE GARDEN.

heartily without saying a word more than I felt. They
were dotted about her grounds with great irregularity, not
because the old lady had any of the prevailing affectation
for what is termed picturesque arrangement, but wherever
a seed had come up, there she allowed it to grow without
molestation. There was an air of rustic cheerfulness about
these sunflowers that captivated my sight, and made me
at the time a true convert to the views of my entertainer.
This celebrated flower, which was dedicated to the sun,
because it was made in the image of that deity, — the
flower which was produced by the transformation of
Clyde, and, still retaining her passion, is supposed to
turn itself constantly toward his beams, — had found a mod-
ern admirer in my hostess. Though its colors are neither
various nor beautiful, there is a halo of divinity in the
border of petals surrounding the disk of the flower, and
a look that reminds me of those charitable and honest
people who live to do good. We shall perceive this anal-
ogy when we consider that the sunflower possesses many
economical properties, and that, after the beauty of its
prime is faded, it scatters abroad its seeds, and supplies a
repast for many famishing birds. The good dame appre-
ciated these frugal habits in her sunflowers, and fed her
poultry in the autumn with their seeds.

While commenting on the beauties of the various occu-
pants of her garden, she made an apology for the weeds
which had overgrown and concealed many of her favorite
flowers ; her duties as a housekeeper had not left her time
enough to be a good supervisor of her plants. I remarked
that weeds are an important addition to a flower-garden ;
that they cause it to resemble the wilds of Nature, who
is not careful to destroy weeds, but seems as desirous to
protect them as the most beautiful lilies or daisies. It is
pleasant when strolling in a garden to feel as if we were
making discoveries, by gaining perhaps the first sight of a

THE FIELD AND THE GARDEN. 101

little blossom half hidden by some overtopping weed.
She did not quite comprehend my philosophy, and thought
it preferable that the beauties of the garden should be the
most conspicuous objects. I replied that many of her
weeds were as beautiful as her flowers ; that the Eoman
wormwood, for example, generally despised, was nothing
less than the Ambrosia, which was served with nectar at
the feasts of the gods ; it is like a tree in its manner of
branching, and bears a leaf like that of a fern, — the
proudest of all plants in the structure of its foliage.

On our way through the garden-path a large burdock
in an angle of the fence obtruded itself upon our sight,
covered with a splendid array of purple globular flowers.
The burdock, she said, was allowed to occupy this obscure
nook for the benefit of its seeds, which, if made into a tea,
are a valuable remedy for weak nerves; and she often
steeped its roots with certain aromatic herbs, to add a tonic
bitter to her " diet drink." I added that it was once highly
prized as a medicinal herb, and that, setting aside the
beauty of its flowers, I should cherish this particular one
for the protection it afforded to a little creeping plant
then luxuriating in its shade. This little creeper was
the gill ; a very pretty labiate, displaying its blue and
purple flowers in whorls, and the stem with anthers that
meet and form a cross, and adorned with heart-shaped
leaves very neatly corrugated. This plant had gained
my admiration very early in life, among the weeds in
my own garden, and on account of its delicate beauty I
could not treat it as an outcast.

Among other curiosities of her garden, included in the
denomination of weeds, was a delicate euphorbia, a flat
spreading plant, lying so close upon the ground that it could
hardly be touched by the foot that was placed upon it.
It grew in the garden walk, forming circular patches, and
covered with minute round leaves, having a purple spot

102 THE FIELD AND THE GARDEN.

in their centre, and bearing in their axils a little white
flower. This plant had not attracted her attention, and
she seemed pleased at having made so rare a discovery
among her weeds. On the other hand, she had not failed
to observe a beautiful sandwort, one of the most delicate
of nature's productions, with a profusion of small pink
flowers upon stalks and leaves as fine as moss. This had
planted itself on a rude terrace near the walls of her
cottage, where the sandy soil would not permit the growth
of more luxuriant plants that would overshadow and de-
stroy it. She seemed to admire this little weed as much as
her sunflowers, and had taken notice of the fine hues of
its corolla, its branching stems, and its leaves terminating
in fine bristles. Before we separated I remarked that her
weeds required no apology, for after all they were not so
numerous as to hold any more than their rightful share
of the soil. I confessed that in the neglected parts of her
garden I had obtained as much satisfaction as if it were
a proud parterre ; that there might be an excess of beauty
and elegance in a garden as well as in a dwelling-house.
My visit had been an exceedingly pleasant one to me;
and I cared no more to see a garden where everything
is kept in as nice a trim as the bald pate of a China-
man, than to look at the pictures in a barber's shop.

I soon afterwards entered the grounds of an amateur
florist, who showed me a fine array of the most recently
imported florists' flowers. He discoursed eloquently on
the superiority of certain improved dahlias, compared
with other similar varieties that might seem identical to
one who is not a connoisseur. He was particularly
pleased with some beds of hollyhocks that displayed a
great variety of colors and shades, which he had combined
so as to produce a beautiful harmonic effect that reminded
me of the colors of the rainbow. I could not help saying
that I admired the splendor of this exhibition, and the

THE FIELD AND THE GARDEN. 103

ingenuity required for its arrangement; but I did not
praise it sufficiently to gratify his ambition, and he ex-
pressed his surprise at my want of enthusiasm. I soon
perceived that he was, in the most approved sense, a man
of taste and of " aesthetic culture " ; that he had a keen
eye for any improvement in a flower as manifested in a
new combination of hues or rare development of form,
and great skill in the arrangement of his borders. More
than all, he was so much of a scientific botanist that I
was instructed by his discourse no less than I had been
delighted by my interview with his humble neighbor.

He alluded to my visit in the old lady's garden, and
spoke in a comical humor of her sunflowers and her admi-
ration of them. I replied that whole nations had wor-
shipped the sun ; and why should not our pious friend
worship the sunflower, which is typical of that luminary ?
This religion of hers was a proof of her admiration of
greatness, in which she resembled the rest of the world.
The public has never ceased to admire big trees and mam-
moth squashes; and a great sunflower seems to me as
worthy of our idolatry as a great water-lily. I confessed
that I could join heartily iii.the respect she paid even to
her burdocks, that bear a profusion of flowers, consisting
of little globular beads of the most exquisite finish, with
tufts of rose-colored fringe, each one a gem fit to adorn
the bosom of a sylph. These plants are also of a giant
size, with a leaf as large as that of a fan-palm. I added
that I felt a homely regard for flowers, not in proportion
as they were' " far-fetched and dear-bought," but as they
are adapted to certain important ends connected with our
happiness, independent of our ambition. I left him in a
state of surprise at my avowal of so many heresies which
he thought disproved my sincerity. But I am not able
to perceive the superiority of his taste compared with
that of my female friend. I cannot understand why mere

104 THE FIELD AND THE GARDEN.

splendor is a thing to be admired, or simplicity a thing to
be ridiculed. A true painter sees more to delight him in
a laborer's cottage guarded by an old apple-tree, than in
a palace surrounded by works of sculpture and shaded by
cedars of Lebanon.

There is an inclination among men to carry their social
prejudices into their observations of nature, to make price
a criterion of beauty as well as of value, and to qualify
their admiration of both scenes and flowers by their ideas
of the expense which has been laid out upon them. This is
the way to annihilate everything sacred and poetical in
the character of flowers and landscape, and to degrade
nature below art, or, rather, I should say, below fashion.
The simple-hearted woman who cherishes with fondness
a lilac-tree that bore flowers for her when she was a girl,
manifests a sentiment that is entitled to respect, and her
affection for it is a genuine theme for poetry. He who
despises her attachment because her lilac-tree is out of
date as a thing of fashion, and has lost its value in the
flower-market, is himself the proper subject of satire. Let
us save these fair objects of the field and the garden from
being appraised like millinery goods !

MAY.

THE spring in New England does not, like the same
season in high northern latitudes, awake suddenly into
verdure out of the bosom of the snows. It lingers along
for more than two months from its commencement, like
that long twilight of purple and crimson that leads up
the mornings in summer. It is a pleasant, though some-
times weary prolongation of the season of hopes and
promises, frequently interrupted by short periods of win-
try gloom. The constant lingering delay of nature in
the opening of the flowers and the leafing of the trees
affords us something like an extension of the dayspring of
life and its joyful anticipations. As we ramble through
rustic paths and narrow lanes and over meadows still
dank and sere, the very tardiness with which the little
starry blossoms peep out of its darkness, and with which
the wreath of verdure is slowly drawn over the plains,
gives us opportunity to watch them' and become ac-
quainted with their beauty, before they are lost in the
crowd that will soon appear.

Our ideas of May, being derived, in part, from the
descriptions of English poets and rural authors, abound
in many pleasant fallacies. There are no seas of waving
grass and bending grain in the May of New England.
Nature is not yet clothed in the fulness of her beauty;
but in many respects she is lovelier than she will ever be
in the future. Her very imperfections are charming, in-
asmuch as they are the budding of perfection, and afford
us the agreeable sentiment of beauty joined with that of

106 MAY.

progression. It is this thought that renders a young girl
more lovely and interesting with her unfinished graces
than when she has attained the completion of her charms.
The bud, if not more beautiful, is more poetical than the
flower, as hope is more delightful than fruition.

The ever-changing aspects of the woods are sources of
continual pleasure to the observer of nature, and have in
all ages afforded themes for the poet and subjects for the
painter. Of all these phases the one that is presented to
the eye in May is by far the most delightful, on account
of the infinite variety of tints and shades in the budding
and expanding leaves and blossoms, and the poetic rela-
tions of their appearance at this time to the agreeable
sentiment of progression. The unfolding leaves and
ripening hues of the landscape require no forced effort of
ingenuity to make apparent their analogy to the period of
youth and season of anticipation ; neither are the fading
tints of autumn any less suggestive of life's decline.
There are not many, however, who would not prefer the
lightness of heart that is produced by these emblems of
progression, and these signals of the reviving year, to the
more poetic sentiment of melancholy inspired by the
scenes of autumn.

It is pleasant at this time to watch the progress of
vegetation, from the earliest greenness of the meadow,
and the first sprouting of the herbs, unfolding of the
leaves, and opening of the buds, until every herb, tree,
and flower has expanded and brightened into the full
radiance of summer. While the earth displays only a few
occasional stripes of verdure along the borders of the shal-
low pools and rivulets, and on the hillsides, where they
are watered by oozing fountains just beneath the surface,
we may observe the beautiful drapery of the tasselled
trees and shrubs, varying in color from a light yellow to
a dark orange or brown, and robing the landscape in a

MAY. 107

flowery splendor that forms a striking contrast with the
general nakedness of the plain. As the hues of this dra-
pery fade by the withering of the catkins, the leaf-buds
of the trees gradually cast off their scaly coverings, in
which the infant bud has been cradled during the winter ;
and the tender fan-shaped leaves, in plaited folds of differ-
ent hues, come forth in millions, and yield to the forest a
golden and ruddy splendor, like the tints of the clouds
that curtain the summer horizon.

There is an indefinable beauty in the infinitely varied
hues of the foliage at this time, yet they are far from
being the most attractive spectacle of the season. While
the trees are unfolding their leaves, the earth is daily
becoming greener with every nightfall of dew, and thou-
sands of flowers awake into life with every morning sun.
At first a few violets appear on the hillsides, increasing
daily in numbers and brightness, until they are more nu-
merous than the stars of heaven ; then a single dandelion,
which is the harbinger of millions in less than a week.
All these gradually multiply and bring along in their rear
a countless troop of anemones, saxifrages, geraniums, but-
tercups, and columbines, until the landscape is draped
with the universal wreath of spring, i ^

May opens with a. few blossoms of the coltsfoot, the
liverwort, the buckbean, and the wood-anemone, and a
multitude of blue violets of a humble species, such as we
see upon the grassy mounds in our old country grave-
yards, are scattered over the southern slopes of the pas-
tures. After May-day, every morning sun is greeted by
a fresh troop of these little fairy visitants, until every
nook sparkles with them, and every pathway is embroi-
dered with them. At an early period the green pastures
are so full of dandelions and buttercups that they seem
to be smiling upon us from every knoll. Children are
always delighted with these flowers, and our eyes, as they

108 MAY.

wander over the village outskirts, will rest upon hundreds
of young children, on a sunny afternoon, who have left
their active sports to gather them and weave them into
garlands, or use them as talismans with which they have
associated many interesting conceits. Soon after this
the fields appear in the fulness of their glory. Wild
geraniums in the borders of the woods and copses, white
and yellow violets, ginsengs, bell worts, silverweeds, and
cinquefoils bring up the rear in the procession of May.
Durino- all this time the flowers of the houstonia, which

O

have been very aptly chosen as the symbols of innocence,
beginning in the latter part of April with a few scanty
blossoms, grow every day more and more abundant, until
their myriads resemble a thin but interminable wreath
of snowflakes, distributed over the hills and pastures.

If we now look upon the forest, we shall observe a
manifest connection between the tints of the half-devel-
oped spring foliage and those observed in the decline of
the year. The leaves of nearly all the trees and shrubs
that are brightly colored in autumn present a similar
variety of tints in their plaited foliage in May. It is
these different tendencies of all the various species that
afford the woods their principal charm during this month. '
It seems, indeed, to be the design of nature to foreshow,
in the infancy of the leaves, some of those habits that
mark both their maturity and their decline, by giving
them a faint shade of the colors that distinguish them in
the autumn.

Though we cannot find in May those brilliant colors
among the leaves of the forest-trees which are the crown-
ing glory of autumn, yet the present month is more abun-
dant in contrasts than any other period, and these increase
in beauty and variety until about the first of June. In
early May, set apart from the general nakedness of the
woods, may be seen here and there a clump or a row of

MAY. 109

willows full of bright yellow aments, maples with buds,
blossoms, and foliage of crimson, and interspersed among
them junipers, hemlocks, and other evergreens, that stand
out from their assemblages like natives of another clime.
As the month advances, while these contrasts remain, new
ones are daily appearing as one tree after another conies
into flower, each exhibiting a tint peculiar not only to
the species, but often to the individual and the situation,
until hardly two trees in the whole wood are quite alike
in color.

As the foliage ripens, the different shades of green be-
come more thoroughly blended into a single uniform tint.
But ere the process is completed the fruit-trees open their
blossoms and bring a new spectacle of contrasts into view.
Peach-trees, with their pale crimson flowers, that appear
before the leaves, and stand in flaming rows along the
fences, like burning bushes ; pear-trees, with corols per-
fectly white, internally fringed with brown anthers, like
long dark eyelashes, that give them almost the counte-
nance of life ; cherry-trees, with their white flowers en-
veloped in tufts of foliage, occupied by the oriole and the
linnet ; and apple-trees, with flowers of every shade be-
tween a bright crimson or purple and a pure white, — all
come forth one after another to welcome the birthday
of June.

During the last week in May, were you to stand on an
eminence that commands an extensive view of the coun-
try* you would be persuaded that the prospect is far more
magnificent than at midsummer. At this time you look
not upon individuals but upon groups. Before you lies
an ample meadow, nearly destitute of trees save a few
elms standing in equal majesty and beauty, combining in
their forms the gracefulness of the palm with the grandeur
of the oak; here and there a clump of pines, and long
rows of birches, willows, and alders bordering the streams

110 MAY.

that glide along the valley, and displaying every shade
of green in their foliage. In all parts of the prospect,
separated by square fields of tillage of lighter and darker
verdure, according to the nature of their crops, you behold
numerous orchards, — some, on the hillside, receiving the
direct beams of the sun ; others, on level ground, exhibiting
their shady rows with their flowers just in that state of
advancement that serves to show the budding trees, which
are red and purple, in beautiful opposition to the full-
blown trees, which are white. Such spectacles of flower-
ing orchards are seen in all parts of the country, as far as
the eye can reach along the thinly inhabited roadsides
and farms.

The air at this time is scented with every variety of
perfumes, and every new path in our rambling brings us
into a new atmosphere as well as a new prospect. It is
during the prevalence of a still south-wind that the herbs
and flowers exhale their most agreeable odors. Plants
generate more fragrance in a warm air ; and if the wind
is still and moist, the odors, as they escape, are not so
widely dissipated, being retained near the ground by mix-
ing with the dampness of* the atmosphere. Hence the
time when the breath of flowers is sweetest is during
a calm, when the weather is rather sultry, and while
the sunbeams are tinged with a purple and ruddy glow
by shining through an almost invisible haze. A blind
man might then determine, by the perfumes of the air,
as he was led over the country, whether he was in
meadow or upland, and distinguish the character of the
vegetation.

Now let the dweller in the city who, though abounding
in riches, sighs for that contentment which his wealth
has not procured, come forth from the dust and confine-
ment of the town and pay a short visit to Nature in the
country. Let him come in the afternoon, when the de-

MAY. Ill

clining sun casts a beautiful sheen upon the tender leaves
of the forest, and while thousands of birds are chanting,
in full chorus, from an overflow of those delightful sensa-
tions that fill the hearts of all creatures who worship
Nature in her own temples and do obedience to her be-
neficent laws. I would lead him to a commanding view
of this lovely prospect, that he may gaze awhile upon
those scenes which he has so often admired on the
canvas of the painter, displayed here in all their living
beauty. "While the gales are wafting to his senses the
fragrance of the surrounding groves and orchards, and the
notes of the birds are echoing all around in harmonious
confusion, I would point out to him the neat little cot-
tages which are dotted about like palaces of content in
all parts of the landscape. I would direct his attention
to the happy laborers in the field, and the neatly dressed,
smiling, ruddy, and playful children in their green and
flowery enclosures and before the open doors of the cot-
tages. I would then ask him if he is still ignorant of the
cause of his own unhappiness, or of the abundant sources
of enjoyment which Nature freely offers for the participa-
tion of all her creatures.

THE ANTHEM OF MOKN.

NATURE, for the delight of waking eyes, has arrayed
the morning heavens in the loveliest hues of beauty.
Fearing to dazzle by an excess of light, she first an-
nounces day by a faint and glimmering twilight, then
sheds a purple tint over the brows of the rising morn,
and infuses a transparent ruddiness throughout the at-
mosphere. As daylight widens, successive groups of
mottled and rosy-bosomed clouds assemble on the gilded
sphere, and, crowned with wreaths of fickle rainbows,
spread a mirrored flush over hill, grove, and lake, and
every village spire is burnished with their splendor. At
length, through crimsoned vapors, we behold the sun's
broad disk, rising with a countenance so serene that every
eye may view him ere he arrays himself in his meridian
brightness. Not many people who live in towns are
aware of the pleasure attending a ramble near the woods
and orchards at daybreak in the early part of summer.
The drowsiness we feel on rising from our beds is grad-
ually dispelled by the clear and healthful breezes of
early day, and we soon experience an unusual amount
of vigor and elasticity. Nature has so ordered her
bounties and her blessings as to cause the hour which
is consecrated to health to be attended with the greatest
number of charms for all the senses; and to make all
hearts enamored of the morning, she has environed it
with everything, in heaven and on earth, that is delight-
ful to the eye or to the ear, or capable of inspiring some
agreeable sentiment.

THE ANTHEM OF MORN. 113

During the night the stillness of all things is the cir-
cumstance that most powerfully attracts our notice, ren-
dering us peculiarly sensitive to every accidental sound
that meets the ear. In the morning, at this time of year,
011 the contrary, we are overwhelmed by the vocal and
multitudinous chorus of the feathered tribe. If you
would hear the commencement of this grand anthem of
nature, you must rise at the very first appearance of
dawn, before the twilight has formed a complete semicir-
cle above the eastern porch of heaven. The first note that
proceeds from the little warbling host is the shrill chirp
of the hair-bird, — occasionally vocal at all hours on a
warm summer night. This strain, which is a continued
trilling sound, is repeated with diminishing intervals,
until it becomes almost incessant. But ere the hair-bird
has uttered many notes a single robin begins to warble
from a neighboring orchard, soon followed by others, in-
creasing in numbers until, by the time the eastern sky
is flushed with crimson, every male robin in the country
round is singing with fervor.

It would be difficult to note the exact order in which
the different birds successively begin their parts in this
performance; but the bluebird, whose song is only a
short mellow warble, is heard nearly at the same time
with the robin, and the song-sparrow joins them soon after
with his brief but finely modulated strain. The different
species follow rapidly, one after another, in the chorus,
until the whole welkin rings with their matin hymn of
gladness. I have often wondered that the almost simul-
taneous utterance of so many different notes should pro-
duce no discords, and that they should result in such
complete harmony. In this multitudinous confusion of
voices, no two notes are confounded, and none has suf-
ficient duration to grate harshly with a dissimilar sound.
Though each performer sings only a few strains and then

H

114 THE ANTHEM OF MORN.

makes a pause, the whole multitude succeed one another
with such rapidity that we hear an uninterrupted flow
of music until the broad light of day invites them to
other employments.

When there is just light enough to distinguish the birds,
we may observe, here and there, a single swallow perched
on the roof of a barn or shed, repeating two twittering notes
incessantly, with a quick turn and a hop at every note
he utters. It would seem to be the design of the bird
to attract the attention of his mate, and this motion
seems to be made to assist her in discovering his position.
As soon as the light has tempted him to fly abroad,
this twittering strain is uttered more like a continued
song, as he flits rapidly through the air. But at this later
moment the purple martins have commenced their more
melodious chattering, so loudly as to attract for a while
the most of our attention. There is not a sound in nature
so cheering and animating as the song of the purple mar-
tin, and none so well calculated to drive away melancholy.
Though not one of the earliest voices to be heard, the
chorus is perceptibly more loud and effective when this
bird has united with the choir.

When the flush of morning has brightened into vermil-
ion, and the place from which the sun is soon to emerge
has attained a dazzling brilliancy, the robins are already
less tuneful. They are now becoming busy in collecting
food for* their morning repast, and one by one they leave
the trees, and may be seen hopping upon the tilled
ground, in quest of the worms and insects that have crept
out during the night from their subterranean retreats.
But as the robins grow silent, the bobolinks begin their
vocal revelries; and to a fanciful mind it might seem
that the robins had gradually resigned their part in
the performance to the bobolinks, not one of which is
heard until some of the former have concluded their

THE ANTHEM OF MORN. 115

songs. The little hair-bird still continues his almost
incessant chirping, the first to begin and the last to
quit the performance. Though the voice of this bird is
not very sweetly modulated, it blends harmoniously with
the notes of other birds, and greatly increases the charm-
ing effect of the combination.

It would be tedious to name all the birds that take
part in this chorus; but we must not omit the pewee,
with his melancholy ditty, occasionally heard like a short
minor strain in an oratorio ; nor the oriole, who is really
one of the chief performers, and who, as his bright plu-
mage flashes upon the sight, warbles forth a few notes so
clear and mellow as to be heard above every other sound.
Adding a pleasing variety to all this harmony, the lisping
notes of the meadow-lark, uttered in a shrill tone, and
with a peculiarly pensive modulation, are plainly audible,
with short rests between each repetition.

There is a little brown sparrow, resembling the hair-
bird, save a general tint of russet in his plumage, that
may be heard distinctly among the warbling host. He
is rarely seen in cultivated grounds, but frequents the
wild pastures, and is the bird that warbles so sweetly
at midsummer, when the whortleberries are ripe, and the
fields are beautifully spangled with red lilies. There is
no confusion in the notes of his song, which consists of
one syllable rapidly repeated, but increasing in rapidity
and rising to a higher key towards the conclusion. He
sometimes prolongs his strain, when his notes are ob-
served to rise and fall in succession. These plaintive and
expressive notes are very loud and constantly uttered,
during the hour that precedes the rising of the sun. A
dozen warblers of this species, singing in concert, and
distributed in different parts of the field, form, perhaps,
the most delightful part of the woodland oratorio to which
we have listened.

116 THE ANTHEM OF MORN.

As the woods are the residence of a tribe of musicians
that differ from those we hear in the open fields and
orchards, we must spend a morning in each of these situ-
ations, to obtain a hearing of all the songsters of daybreak.
For this reason I have said nothing of the thrushes, that
sing chiefly in the woods and solitary pastures, and are
commonly more musical in the early evening than in the
morning. I have confined my remarks chiefly to those
birds that frequent the orchards and gardens, and dwell
familiarly near the habitations of men.

At sunrise hardly a robin can be heard in the whole
neighborhood, and the character of the performance has
completely changed during the last half-hour. The first
part was more melodious and tranquillizing, the last is
more brilliant and animating. The grass-finches, the
vireos, the wrens, and the linnets have joined their voices
to the chorus, and the bobolinks are loudest in their song.
But the notes of birds in general are not so incessant as
before sunrise. One by one they discontinue their lays, un-
til at high noon the bobolink and the warbling flycatcher
are almost the only vocalists to be heard in the fields.

Among the agreeable accompaniments of a summer
morning walk are the odors from the woods, the herbage,
and the flowers. At no other hour of the day is the
atmosphere so fragrant with their emanations. The blos-
soms of almost every species of plant are just unfolding
their petals, after the sleep of night, and their various
offerings of incense are now poured out at the ruddy shrine
of morning. The objects of sight and sound are generally
the most expressive in a description of nature, because
seeing and hearing are the intellectual senses. But the
perfumes that abound in different situations are hardly
less suggestive than sights and sounds. Let a person
who has always been familiar with green fields and bab-
bling brooks, and who has suddenly become blind, be led

THE ANTHEM OF MORN. 117

out under the open sky, and how would the various per-
fumes from vegetation suggest to him all the individual
scenes and objects that have been imprinted on his
memory !

There is a peculiar feeling of hope and cheerfulness
that attends a summer morning walk, and spreads its
happy influence over all the rest of the day. The pleas-
ant stillness, apart from the stirring population; the
amber glow of heaven that beams from underneath
successive arches of crimson and vermilion, constantly
widening and brightening into the full glory of sunrise ;
the melodious concert of warblers from every bush and
tree, constantly changing its character by the silence of
the first performers and the joining of new voices, — all
conspire to render the brief period from dawn to sunrise
a consecrated hour, and to sanctify it to every one's
memory. I am inclined to attribute the healthfulness
of early rising to these circumstances rather than to the
doubtful salubrity of the dewy atmosphere of morn.
The exercise of the senses while watching the beautiful
gradations of colors, through which the rising luminary
passes ere his full form appears in sight, is attended with
emotions like those which might be supposed to attend
us at the actual opening of the gates of Paradise. We
return home after this ramble warmed by new love for
the beautiful objects of nature, and with all our feelings
so harmonized by the sweet influences of morn as to
find increased delight in the performance of our duties
and the exercise of our affections.

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AOT) FOREST.

HE who has always lived in the city or its suburbs,
who has seldom visited the interior except for purposes
of trade, and whose walks have not often extended be-
yond those roads which are bordered on each side by
shops and dwelling-houses, may never have heard some
of our most remarkable songsters. These are the birds
of the pasture and forest, those shy, melodious warblers
who sing only in the ancient haunts of the Dryads.
These birds have not multiplied like the familiar birds in
the same proportion with the increase of human popula-
tion and the extension of agriculture. Though they do not
shun mankind, they keep aloof from villages, living chiefly
in the deep wood or on the edge of the forest and in the
bushy pasture.

There is a peculiar wildness in the songs of this class
of birds that awakens a delightful mood of mind, similar
to that which is excited by reading the figurative lyrics
of a romantic age. This feeling is undoubtedly, to a cer-
tain extent, the effect of association. Having always heard
their notes in wild and wooded places, they never fail to
bring this kind of scenery vividly before the imagination,
and their voices are like the sounds of mountain streams.
It is certain that the notes of the solitary birds do not
affect us like those of the Robin and the Linnet; and
their influence is the same, whether it be attributable
to some intrinsic quality or to association, which is in-
deed the source of some of the most delightful emotions
of the human soul.

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 119

Nature has made all her scenes and the sights and
sounds that accompany them more lovely by causing
them to be respectively suggestive of a peculiar class of
sensations. The birds of the pasture and forest are not
frequent enough in cultivated places to be associated with
our homes and our gardens. Nature has confined certain
species of birds and animals to particular localities, and
thereby gives a poetic or picturesque attraction to their
features. There are certain flowers that cannot be culti-
vated in a garden, as if they were designed for the exclu-
sive adornment of those secluded arbors which the spade
and the plough have never profaned. Here flowers grow
which are too holy for culture, and birds sing whose
voices were never heard in the cage of the voluptuary,
and whose tones inspire us with a sense of freedom known
only to those who often retire from the world to live in
religious communion with nature.

THE SWAMP- SPARROW.

There is a little Sparrow whose notes I often hear
about the shores of unfrequented ponds, and from their
untrodden islets covered with button-bush -and sweet gale,
and never in any other situations. The sound of his
voice always enhances the sensation of rude solitude with
which I look upon this primitive scenery. We often see
him perched upon the branch of a dead tree that stands
in the water, a few rods from the shore, apparently watch-
ing our angling operations from his leafless perch, where
he sings so sweetly that the very desolation of the scene
borrows a charm from his voice that renders every object
delightful.

This little solitary warbler is the Swamp-Sparrow.
He bears some resemblance to the Song-Sparrow, but he is
without that bird's charming variety of modulation. His

120 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST.

notes have a peculiar liquid tone, and sometimes resemble
the rapid dropping of water by the single drop into a
wooden cistern which is half full. They may be com-
pared to the trilling of the Hair-Bird, a kindred species,
less rapidly uttered, and upon a lower key. If their
notes are not plaintive, as Nuttall considered them, they
produce very vividly a sensation of solitude, that tempts
you to listen long and patiently, as to a sweet strain in
some rude ballad music.

THE WOOD-SPARROW.

When the flowers of early summer are .gone, and the
graceful neottia is seen in the meadows, extending its spi-
ral clusters among the nodding grasses ; when the purple
orchis is glowing in the wet grounds, and the roadsides
are gleaming with the yellow blossoms of the hypericum,
the merry voice of the Bobolink has ceased and many
other familiar birds have become silent. At this time,
if we stroll away from the farm and the orchard into more
retired and wooded haunts, we may hear at all hours
and at frequent intervals the pensive and melodious
notes of the Wood-Sparrow, who sings as if he were de-
lighted at being left almost alone to warble and complain
to the benevolent deities of the grove. He who in his
youth has made frequent visits to these pleasant and sol-
itary places, among the thousands of beautiful and sweet-
scented flowers that spring up among the various spicy
and fruit-bearing shrubs that unite to form a genuine
whortleberry-pasture, — he only knows the unspeakable
delights which are awakened by the sweet, simple notes
of this little warbler.

The Wood-Sparrow is somewhat smaller than a Canary,
with a pale chestnut-colored crown, above of a brownish
hue, and dusky-white beneath. Though he does not seem

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 121

to be a shy bird, I have never seen him in our gardens.
The inmates of solitary cottages alone are privileged to
hear his notes from their windows. He loves the plains
and the hillsides which are half covered with a primitive
growth of young pines, junipers, cornels, and whortleberry-
bushes, and lives upon the seeds of grasses and wild let-
tuce, with occasional repasts of insects and fruits. His
notes are mellow and plaintive, and, though often pro-
longed to a considerable length, seldom consist of more
than one strain. He begins slowly and emphatically, as
if repeating the syllable de, de, de, de, any number of
times, increasing in rapidity, and at the same time sliding
upward, by almost imperceptible gradations, about one or
two tones on the musical scale.

WOOD-SPARROW'S SONG.

de de de de de de de de de d

In the latter part of June, when this bird is most mu-
sical, he occasionally varies his song, by uttering a few
chirps after the first strain, like the Canary, then recom-
mencing it, and repeating it thus perhaps three or four
times. I once heard a Canary that repeated this reit-
erated song of the Wood-Sparrow, and it seemed to me to
surpass any notes I had ever heard before from this sweet
little domesticated songster.

THE GROUND-ROBIN OR CHEWINK.

"While listening to the notes of the Wood-Sparrow, we
are constantly saluted by the agreeable, though less musi-
cal, notes of the Ground-Eobin, an amusing little bird
that confines himself chiefly to the edges of woods. This
bird is elegantly spotted with white, red, and black, the

6

122

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST.

female being of a bright bay color where the male is red.
Every rambler knows him, not only by his plumage and
his peculiar note, but also by his singular habit of lurking
among the bushes, appearing and disappearing like a
squirrel, and watching all our movements. It is with
difficulty that a gunner can obtain a good aim at him, so
rapidly does he change his position among the leaves and
branches. In these motions he resembles the Wren.
When he perceives that we are observing him he pauses
in his song, and utters that peculiar note of complaint
from which he has derived the name Chewink. The
sound is more like chewee, accenting the second syllable.

The Chewink is a very constant singer during four
months of the year, from the first of May. He is untir-
ing in his lays, seldom resting for any considerable time
from morn to night, being never weary in rain or in sun-
shine, or at noonday in the hottest weather of the season.
His song consists of two long notes, the first about a third
above the second, and the last part made up of several
rapidly uttered liquid notes, about one tone below the
first note.

SOXG OF THE CHEWINK.

There is an expression of great cheerfulness in these
notes, though they are not delivered with much enthusi-
asm. But music, like poetry, must be somewhat plaintive
in its character to take strong hold of the feelings. I
have never known any person to be affected by these
notes as many are by those of the Wood-Sparrow. While
employed in singing, the Chewink is usually perched on
the lower branch of a tree, near the edge of a wood, or on
the summit of a tall bush. He is a true forest bird, and

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 123

builds his nest upon the ground in the thickets that con-
ceal the boundaries of the wood.

The note of the Chewink and his general appearance
and habits are well adapted to render him conspicuous,
and to cause him to be known and remembered, while the
Wood-Sparrow and the Veery might remain unobserved.
Our birds are like our " men of genius." As in the lit-
erary world there is a description of mental qualities
which, though of a high order, must be pointed out by an
observing few before the multitude can appreciate them,
so the sweetest songsters of the wood are unknown to
the mass of the community, while many ordinary per-
formers, whose talents are conspicuous, are universally
known and admired.

THE REDSTART AND SPECKLED CREEPER.

As we advance into the wood, if it be midday, or before
the decline of the sun, the notes of two small birds will be
sure to attract our attention. The notes of the two are very
similar and as slender and fine as the chirp of a grass-
hopper, being distinguished from it only by a different
and more pleasing modulation. These birds are the Eed-
start and the Speckled Creeper. The first is the more
rarely seen. It is a bird of the deep forest, and shuns
observation by hiding itself in some of the obscure parts
of the wood. Samuels, however, has known a nest of the
Eedstart to be built and the young reared in a garden, and
other authors consider the bird more familiar than shy.
In general markings, that is, as we view the bird without
particular examination, the Eedstart is like the Chewink,
though not more than half its size. It lives entirely on
insects, darting out upon them from its perch like a fly-
catcher, and searching the foliage for them like a sylvian.
Its song is similar to that of the Summer Yellow-Bird, so

124 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST.

common in our gardens among the fruit-trees, but more
shrill and feeble. The Creeper's note does not differ
from it more than the notes of different individuals of
the same species.

The Speckled Creeper takes its name from its habit
of creeping like a Woodpecker round the branches of
trees, feeding upon the insects and larvae that are lodged
in the crevices of the bark. It often leaves the wood
and diligently manoeuvres among the trees in our gar-
dens and enclosures. The constant activity of the birds
of this species affords proof of the myriads of insects that
must be destroyed by them in the course of one season,
and which, if not kept in check by these and other small
birds, would, by their multiplication, render the earth
uninhabitable by man.

THE OVEN-BIRD.

While listening to the slender notes of these little syl-
vians, hardly audible amidst the din of grasshoppers, the
rustling of leaves, and the sighing of winds among the
tall oaken boughs, suddenly the space resounds with a
loud, shrill song, like the sharpest notes of the Canary.
The little warbler that startles us with this vociferous
note is the Golden-crowned Thrush or Oven-Bird. This
bird is confined almost exclusively to the woods, and is
particularly partial to noonday, when he sings. There is
no melody in his lay. He begins rather moderately, in-
creasing in loudness as he proceeds, until his note seems
to fill the whole wood. He might be supposed to utter
the words / see, I see, I see, I see, emphasizing the first
word, and repeating the two five or six times, growing
louder and louder with each repetition. There is not a
bird in the wood that equals this little piper in the energy
with which he delivers his brief communication. His

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 125

notes are associated with summer noondays in the deep
woods, and when bursting upon the ear in the silence of
noon, they disperse all melancholy thoughts as if by en-
chantment.

Samuels says he has listened to the song of this bird
at all hours of the night, in the mating and incubating
season. The bird seems to soar into the air, and to sincr

' O

while hovering in a slow descent. He has noticed the
same habit in the Maryland Yellow-Throat. Dr. Brewer
says the Oven-Bird " has two very distinct songs, each in
its way remarkable." I have noticed that many species
of birds are addicted occasionally to a kind of soliloquiz-
ing ; warbling in a low tone, not very audibly and appar-
ently for their own amusement. It is seldom that these
soliloquizing notes bear any resemblance to the usual
song of the bird ; and I have heard them from the Chicka-
dee and other birds that have no song.

The oven-shaped nest of this bird has always been an
object of curiosity. It is placed upon the ground under
a knoll of moss, or a tuft of weeds and bushes, and is neatly
woven of long grass and fibrous roots. It is covered with
a roof of the same materials, and a round opening is made
at the side for entrance. The nest is so ingeniously cov-
ered with grass and assimilated to the surface around it,
that it is not easily discovered. But it is said that the
Cowbird is able to find it, and uses it as a depository for
its eggs.

THE GREEN WARBLER.

Those who are accustomed to rambling in the forest
may have observed that pine woods are remarkable for
certain collections of mosses which have cushioned a pro-
jecting rock or the decayed stump of a tree. When
weary with heat and exercise, it is delightful to sit down
upon one of these green velveted couches and take note

126 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST.

of the objects immediately around us. We are then pre-
pared to hear the least sound that pervades our retreat.
Some of the sweetest notes ever uttered in the wood are
distinctly heard only at such times; for when we are
passing over the rustling leaves, the noise made by our
progress interferes with the perfect recognition of all
delicate sounds. It was when thus reclining, after half
a day's search for flowers, under the grateful shade of .a
pine-tree, now watching the white clouds that sent a
brighter daybeam into those dark recesses as they passed
luminously overhead ; then noting the peculiar mapping
of the ground underneath the wood, diversified with mosses
in swelling knolls, little islets of fern, and parterres of
ginsengs and Solomon's-seals, I was first greeted by the
pensive note of the Green Warbler, as he seemed to utter
in supplicating tones, very slowly modulated, Hear me,
St. Theresa ! This strain, as I have observed many times
since, is at certain hours repeated constantly for ten
minutes at a time; and it is one of those melodious
sounds that seem to belong exclusively to solitude.

Though these notes of the Green Warbler may be
familiar to all who are accustomed to strolling in the
wood, the bird is known to but few persons. Some
birds of this species are constant residents during summer
in the woods of Eastern Massachusetts, but the greater
number retire farther north in the breeding season. Nut-
tall remarks of the Green Warbler : " His simple, rather
drawling, and somewhat plaintive song, uttered, at short
intervals, resembles the syllables te, de, deritsea, pro-
nounced pretty loud arid slow, the tones proceeding from
high to low. In the intervals, he was particularly busied
in catching small cynips and other kinds of flies, keeping
up a smart snapping of his bill, almost similar to the
noise made by knocking pebbles together."

There is a plaintive expression in this musical suppli-

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 127

cation that is apparent to all who hear it, no less than if
the bird were truly offering prayers to some tutelary deity.
It is difficult to determine why a certain combination
of sounds should affect one with an emotion of sadness,
while another, under the same circumstances, produces
a feeling of joy. This is a part of the philosophy of
music which has not been explained.

SONG OF THE GREEN WARBLER.

•0-

Hear me,

THE MARYLAND YELLOW-THROAT.

As we leave the forest and emerge into the open pas-
ture, we hear a greater number of birds than in the dark-
ness of the wood. More sounds are awake of every
description, not only those of a busy neighboring popu-
lation, but of domestic birds and quadrupeds. On the
outside of the wood, if the ground be half covered with
wild shrubs, you will hear often repeated the lively song
of the Maryland Yellow-Throat. Like the -Summer Yel-
low-Bird, he is frequently seen among the willows ; but he
is less familiar, and seldom visits the garden or pleasure-
ground. The angler is startled by his notes on the rushy
borders of a pond, and the botanist listens to them while
peeping into some woodland hollow or bushy ravine.
Even the woodcutter is delighted with his song, when,
sitting upon a new-fallen tree, he hears the little bird
from a near cornel-bush, saying, / see, I see you, I see, I
see you, I see, I see you. These notes are not unlike those
of the Brigadier, and are both lively and agreeable.

In its plumage the Yellow-Throat is very attractive.
It is of a bright olive-color above, with a yellow throat

128 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST.

and breast, and a black band extending from the nostrils
over the eye. The black band and the yellow throat, are
the marks by which the bird is readily identified. From
its habits of perching low, frequenting the undergrowth
near the edge of the wood, building upon the ground, and
seldom visiting the higher branches of trees, it has ob-
tained the name of Ground Warbler.

THE SCARLET TANAGER.

"When I was about seven years of age I first saw the
Scarlet Tanager, lying dead in a heap of birds which had
been shot by two Spaniards, who were my father's private
pupils. The fine plumage of this bird soon attracted my
attention. But it was long before I could feel reconciled
to this slaughter, though delighted with the opportunity
of examining the different birds in the heap. Since that
time I have often found the Scarlet Tanager in the game-
bags of young sportsmen ; but I have seldom seen in the
woods more than two or three birds of this species in any
one season.

Low grounds and oaken woods are the Tanager's favor-
ite habitats. It nestles in the deep forest, and builds a
loosely constructed nest of soft grass and slender brush,
forming a shallow basket which is lodged upon some hor-
izontal bough of oak or pine. This bird, however, dis-
plays no skill as a basket-maker, hardly surpassing even
the Turtle-Dove as an architect. The eggs are speckled
on a ground of dull pea-green. The male Tanager sings
with considerable power a sort of interrupted song, modu-
lated a little after the manner of the Thrush. Samuels
kept one confined six months in a cage, and in a week
after its capture it submitted quietly to its confinement,
and became tuneful. He compares its song to that of the
Eobin, mixed with some ventriloquial notes. We hear this
bird in the deep wood more frequently than outside of it.

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 129

THE FLICKER.

We are all familiar with the notes of this Woodpecker,
that resemble the call-notes of the common Robin, but
they are louder and more prolonged. Audubon compares
them to the sounds of laughter when heard at a distance.
According to the same writer the males woo the females
very much after the manner of our common Doves. They
build in holes in trees, but you never see them climbing a
tree like other Woodpeckers. They take their food chiefly
from the ground, and devour great quantities of ants.

The Flicker, though not attractive when seen at a dis-
tance, is found to have very beautiful plumage on exami-
nation. On the back and wings it is chiefly of a light
brown, with black bands on the wing-feathers, giving
them a kind of speckled appearance ; a scarlet crescent
on the back of the head, and a similar shaped black patch
on the throat. The under surface of the wings is of a
golden yellow. Hence it is sometimes called the Golden-
winged Woodpecker. Samuels relates that if the eggs,
which are of a pure white, be removed from the nest
while the bird is laying, she will continue to lay like a
common hen. He has known this experiment to be tried
until the bird had laid eighteen or twenty eggs, though
her usual number is but six.

THE ROSE-BREASTED GROSBEAK.

We must pass out of the woods again, where we can
bask in the sunshine, and obtain a view of fields and
farms, to hear the voice of the Rose-breasted Grosbeak.
This bird was not an acquaintance of my early years.
Certain changes of climate or soil, either here or in its
former habitats, have caused it to be a regular sojourner in
New England for twenty years past, and the species arrive
every year in increased numbers. Formerly their residence

6* i

130 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST.

was chiefly confined to the Middle States. Now we may
see them frequently every summer, but not in familiar
places or in those which are very solitary. I have seen
them many times in Medford woods, and in those near
Fresh Pond in Cambridge, and in Essex County.

The first time I heard the note of the Grosbeak I mis-
took it for the song of the Golden Eobin, prolonged,
varied, and improved in an unusual degree. I soon, how-
ever, discovered the bird, and thought his lively manners,
no less than his brilliant notes, were like those of the
Golden Eobin. His song is greatly superior to that of the
Eedbird or Cardinal Grosbeak, which is only a repetition
of two or three sweet notes, like che-hoo, cke-hoo, che-hoo,
rapidly delivered, the last note of each two about a third
lower than the first. In the South he is joined by the
Mocking-Bird, which all day tiresomely repeats these
notes of the Cardinal.

The Eose-breasted Grosbeak is classed among our noc-
turnal songsters by those who are familiar with its habits.
Samuels has heard it frequently in the night, and says of
its song that it is " a sweet warble with various emphatic
passages, and sometimes a plaintive strain exceedingly
tender and affecting." This description seems to me very
beautiful and accurate. Mr. S. P. Fowler thinks this bird
is not heard so frequently by night as by day, though it
often sings in the light of the moon. The moon, indeed,
seems to be the source of inspiration to all nocturnal
songsters. Though I once mistook the song of this Gros-
beak for that of the Golden Eobin, lately I have thought
it "more like the native song of the Mocking-Bird, and
not inferior to it in any respect. He utters but few
plaintive notes. They are mostly cheerful, melodious,
and exhilarating. They are modulated somewhat like
those of the Purple Finch, delivered more loudly and with
a great deal more precision.

FLOWEKS AS EMBLEMS.

THE custom of emblemizing flowers, which has pre-
vailed among all nations, springs from a native passion
of the human mind. To the fancy they are persons,
objects of friendship and love, having the semblance of
our virtues and affections. If we speak of them with
passionate regard, it is because we thus personify them
and clothe them with human and even divine qualities.
The virtues we admire in the characters of our friends we
are delighted to behold symbolized in flowers. Hence
those representing modesty, humility, delicacy, and purity
are our favorites, while we seldom long admire the gaudy
and showy flowers. We prize them in proportion as
they are suggestive of some pleasing moral sentiment.
Hence a white flower/which is without beauty of color,
often gains more of our admiration than another similar
one of beautiful tints.

Wordsworth habitually views the minor works of na-
ture through this moral coloring, and loves to speak the
praises of the common and simple garden flowers. Like
a true poet, he sees in them more to awaken pleasant and
salutary thoughts than in those which are prized at floral
exhibitions. He has woven many delightful emblematic
images with flowers, and through them has conveyed im-
portant sentiments of a moral and religious kind. He
considers the daisy, which is scattered widely in England
over every field and near every footpath, and which is
also cultivated at cottage-windows in many different
countries, as a " pilgrim of nature," whose home is every-

132 FLOWERS AS EMBLEMS.

where. He thinks there abides with this little plant
some concord with humanity; and that those who are
easily depressed may learn a lesson from it. It will
teach them by its cheerful example how to find a shelter
in every climate and under all conditions of adversity,
engaging the affections of all no less by its modest beauty
than by its capacity of living and thriving, and remain-
ing bright and cheerful under all circumstances of culture
or neglect.

He also praises, in another poem, the small celandine.
He greets it as the prophet of spring and its attractions ;
and speaks of the thrifty cottager who stirs seldom out of
doors, and who is charmed with the sight of this humble
flower by reason of its happy augury of the year. He
commends it for its kindly and unassuming disposition.
Careless of its neighborhood, we see its pleasant face in
wood and meadow, in the rustic lane and in the stately
avenue, on the princely domain and in the meanest place
upon the highway. It is pleased and contented in all
situations, and the poet glows in his description of its
unpretending virtues. He rebukes the gaudy flowers that
will be seen whether we would see them or not, and con-
siders them as exemplifying the pride of worldlings ; and
again he extols the virtues of the small celandine.

In another poem he compares the ambitious, who, with-
out more than ordinary talents or merit, aspire to some
lofty station, to a tuft of fern on the summit of a high
rock. It is a miserable thing, " dry, withered, light, and
yellow," that endeavors to soar with the tempest and ex-
pose itself to observation ; but all its importance belongs
to its position. We wonder how it came there, and how
it is able to keep its place, while plants of superior quali-
ties would be unable to transport themselves thither ; and
if by accident they should arrive at such a height, they
could not sustain it. The fern by its meanness accorri-

FLOWERS AS EMBLEMS. 133

plishes what, if it possessed a nobler nature, would be im-
possible. Thus, he continues, mean men, never doubting
their own merit or capacity, and unscrupulous of the
means they use to elevate themselves or to keep their
place, rise to eminences which men of genius and integ-
rity could not attain, because they scorn the actions that
would insure them success.

The rose, in all ages, has been regarded as the emblem
of beauty and virtue, having in addition to its visual at-
tractions a fragrance that always endures. The Hebrew
and classical writers have associated this flower with cer-
tain divine qualities which are held up for our love and
reverence. The lily is no less celebrated, being frequently
mentioned in Holy Writ to adorn a parable or to improve
the force of some poetic image. Among all nations it
is a chosen symbol of meekness and modesty, and it is
more frequently celebrated in lyric poetry than any other
flower, because it is the semblance, in the highest degree,
of those qualities which are favorite themes of the poets.
Its paleness is typical of delicacy, while its drooping habit
renders it a true emblem of sorrow. It is the metaphori-
cal image of the meek and passive virtues, while the per-
fume it sends abroad may be compared to the influence
of a good man's life.

I have said nothing of the language of flowers, which
seems in general to have only a slight foundation in na-
ture. It is rather the result of an agreement to use cer-
tain flowers to signify certain words or ideas arbitrarily
applied to them. It is indeed but an agreeable form of
writing by cipher. In some cases this language is founded
on a legend or a poetic fable, in others on the emblematic
characters of the flowers. Thus, the violet signifies mod-
esty, because its colors are soft, and the flower seems to
hide itself from observation. In like manner the sensi-
tive plant is expressive of purity, because it shrinks from

134 FLOWERS AS EMBLEMS,

the touch ; and the balsam of impatience, because its cap-
sules snap in the hand that is put forth to gather them.
Let us not deride the harmless amusements that spring
from this philological use of flowers, nor despise the inge-
nuity that invented them. A bouquet that conveys an
affectionate message from a young lover to his mistress
possesses a charm in her sight which genius could hardly
express in the finest verses.

Flowers serve a more needful purpose in the economy
of nature than we are prone to imagine ; and they pro-
duce more effect on the dullest minds than many even of
the most susceptible would acknowledge. But it is not
an uncommon habit, especially among the ignorant, to
ridicule the study of flowers and those who are devoted
to it. On the other hand, they do not despise the occu-
pation of the florist, because it brings him money. Others
consider botany a trifling pursuit, worthy the attention only
of persons of effeminate habits ; but I have never been able
to learn that these objectors are contemners of any of those
fashionable habits which are confessedly enervating and
destructive of mental and physical power. Nothing can
enervate that actively employs the mind and exercises
the body at the same time, as may be said of the out-
door study of botany and that of any other branch of
natural history. They are the most invigorating of all
intellectual pursuits. Nor is the study of flowers the less
worthy of attention, though we admit that it exercises
the imagination and fancy more than it stores the mind
with knowledge. The same charge may be brought against
the pursuit of any of the fine arts.

The botanist, however, does not study flowers merely
as beautiful objects. As a scientific observer, he finds in
them the exponents of the laws of vegetation, which can
be understood only by the keenest perceptions. Hence
the fact that among botanists may be named some of the

FLOWERS AS EMBLEMS. 135

greatest men who have lived. As a moral and poetic
observer, he discerns in flowers, not mere gems sparkling
on the bosom of Nature, but so many living beings, look-
ing up to him from the greensward, and down upon him
from the trees and cliffs, and inspiring him with a feeling of
sympathy with all the visible world. What can be more
worthy of study than this beautiful assemblage of living
things, whose relations to each other and to men and ani-
mals unfold a thousand singular mysteries, whose forms
and colors produce the most delicate conceptions of art,
and whose metaphorical characters have rendered them
the very poetry of nature ! Eeligion and virtue, science,
painting, and poetry, all have their readings in these
brilliant pets of the florist and toys of children. The
stars of heaven do not convey to our minds a more vivid
conception of the mysteries of the universe than the flow-
ers that sparkle in the same countless numbers on the
earth.

Let us imagine that the earth had been created without
flowers ; that the greensward was sprinkled with no vio-
lets in the opening of the year, and that May flung around
her footsteps neither daisies nor cowslips ; that summer
called out no blossoms upon the trees, and that autumn
bound with his ripened sheaves neither asters nor golden-
rods, and looked through his frosty eyelids upon neither
gentians nor euphrasia ! Let us imagine that the dews
cherished nothing fairer than the green foliage of herbs
and trees, and that the light of morning, which now un-
folds the splendor of millions of tinted corols, sparkled
only in the crystal dewdrops ; that the butterfly looked
in vain for its counterpart among the plants that no\v
offer it their allurements, and that the bee was not one
of the living forms of nature, because the fields produced
no flowers for its sustenance ! Who would not feel that
some unknown blessing wras denied us ? Who would not

136 FLOWERS AS EMBLEMS.

believe that there was some imperfection in the order of
nature ?

What fanciful image of happiness is not associated
with flowers, — the delight of infant ramblers in the sun-
shine of May ; the reward of their searchings in the mead-
ows among brambles and ferns ; infantile honors and dec-
orations for the brows of childhood; the types of their
budding affections and the materials for their cheerful
devices ; the ornaments of young May-queens and the joy
of their attendants ; the fair objects of their quest in
the sunny borders of fragrant woods ; the pride of their
simple ambition when woven into garlands of love !
How blank would the earth be to childhood without
flowers ! How destitute the fields of beauty and nature
of poetry !

But Nature, who set light in heaven to beam with
every imaginable hue, has not made us sensitive to beauty
without bestowing upon the earth those forms which,
like the letters of a book, convey to the mind an infinity
of delightful thoughts and conceptions. Hence flowers
are made to spring up in wood and dell, by solitary
streams, in moss-grown recesses, near every path that
glides through the meadow, and in every green lane that
wanders through the forest; and Nature has given them
an endless variety of forms, colors, and deportment, that
by their different expressions they may awaken every
agreeable passion of the soul. There is no place where
their light is not to be seen. The inhabitant of the South
beholds them in trees looking down upon him like the
birds ; the man of the North sees them embossed in ver-
dure, under the protection of trees and rocks. Insects
sip from their honey-cups the nectar of their subsistence,
during a life as ephemeral as that of the blossom they
plunder ; and the summer gales rejoice in their sweets,
with which they have laden their wings. Morning greets

FLO WEES AS EMBLEMS. 137

them when she wakes, and sees them spread out their
petals to the light of the sun, all glowing with beauty
when the dews that sleep nightly in their bosoms steal
silently back to heaven ; and every day is relieved of its
weariness by the -myriads that brighten when it approach-
es, and sweeten with their fragrance the transitory visits
of each fleeting hour.

Where is the mind so impassive that it is not animated
by the presence of flowers and made hopeful by their
gayety ? Where is the eye that does not see them, and
note their comeliness, and wish that they might never
droop or decay ? Where is the lover that does not view
them as partaking of his own passion, and looking fair
for the sake of her for whom they seem to be created ?
The young bride, when garlanded with their wreaths,
feels that the virtues that should reside in her heart have
shed their grace upon her through these fair symbols ; and
mourners, when they see them clustering round the tomb
of a departed friend, worship them as lights of heaven,
foreshowing in their sleep and resuscitation the soul's
immortality !

PICTUKESQUE ANIMALS.

IT may be observed that in pictures, when a certain
effect is required, an animal is often introduced whose
character and habits correspond with the scenery, or the
sentiment to be awakened. A scene in nature without
some such accompaniment often fails in producing any
emotion in the mind. A heron standing on the borders
of a solitary mere, a kingfisher sitting on the leafless
branch of a tree that extends over the tide, a woodpecker
climbing the denuded branch of an oak, yield to the re-
spective scenes in which they are represented a life and
a character which could not be so well expressed with-
out them. A few cows grazing on a grassy slope, a dog
reposing at the doorstep of a cottage, or a cat quietly
slumbering inside of the window, are each suggestive of
pleasant images of rural life, and add greatly to the inter-
est of the scene. The majority of animals require to be
viewed in connection with certain other objects to acquire
a picturesque expression ; but there are others which are
endowed with this quality in a remarkable degree, and
need only to be seen in any situation to awaken a certain
agreeable train of images.

Among birds the owl is often represented in engrav-
ings, when it is designed to impart to the scene a char-
acter of desolation. We often see this bird accompanying
a picture of ruins or of a deserted house, and in poetry
he is introduced to awaken certain peculiar trains of
thought. Thus the poet Gray, when he would add a des-
olate expression to his description of evening, speaks of

PICTURESQUE ANIMALS. 139

the owl as complaining to the moon of such as molest his
ancient solitary reign. The allusion to his nocturnal
habits and to his solitary dominions brings still more
vividly to mind those qualities with which the image of
the bird is associated. His appropriate habitations are
the ruined tower, the ancient belfry, or the hollow of an
old tree. In all such places the figure of the owl is
deeply suggestive of those fancies which are awakened
by the sight of ancient dilapidated buildings, crumbling
walls, and old houses supposed to be the residence of
wicked spirits which are permitted to visit the earth.

It is on account of these dreary and poetic associations
that the owl is so truly picturesque. He is often seen, in
paintings and engravings, perched on an old gateway, or
on one of the bars of an old fence, whose posts, leaning
obliquely, show that they have been heaved by the frosts
of many winters. In certain situations our slumbers are
sometimes disturbed by the peculiar hooting of this bird,
that awakens in the mind the gloomy horrors of midnight.
His nocturnal and solitary habits, the -unearthly tones
and modulation of his voice, his practice of frequenting
rude and desolate places and haunted houses, have caused
his image to be intimately connected with mystery and
gloomy forebodings of evil. The very stillness of his
flight yields a sort of mysterious character to the bird ;
all these circumstances, combined with his fabled repu-
tation for wisdom, and his demure and solemn expression
of countenance, have conspired to render the owl one of
the most picturesque of all living creatures.

The bat is another creature, in some respects, of simi-
lar habits and reputation. Like the owl, it naturally
seeks, for its retreat during the day, those unfrequented
places where it is not liable to be disturbed, and has
acquired a character and expression in harmony with the
scenes it frequents. But it is remarkable that while the

140 PICTURESQUE ANIMALS.

owl has obtained an emblematical character for wisdom,
the bat is regarded as the emblem of guilt. He is repre-
sented as shunning the broad eye of day, and as flying
out on leathern wing, when the dusky shades of evening
may serve to hide him from detection. The sight of the
bat, however, is far from awakening in our minds the idea
of guilt; but his image is strongly suggestive of the
pleasant serenity of evening, as the butterfly reminds us
of summer fields and flowers. Our ideas of the bat are
somewhat grotesque ; and when, after the graceful swal-
low has retired to rest, we observe his irregular and zigzag
flight, we are unavoidably reminded of his peculiar hid-
eous formation, from which the idea of making him an
emblem gf guilt probably originated. It would, seem as
if he hid himself during the day, lest his relationship
to a race of beings now almost banished from the earth
might be discovered. His emblematical character does
not prevent his forming an interesting feature in a rural
scene. Hence in pictorial representations of evening we
see the last rays of the sun streaming upward in beauti-
ful radiations from behind a hill, while the bat is flitting
about an old house in a rude and rather quiet landscape.
All animals are picturesque which are consecrated to
poetry. In English descriptive poetry the lark is as
familiar to us as the rose that clambers around the cot-
tage door. The unrivalled brilliancy of his song, which,
by description, is impressed' on our minds with a vivid-
ness almost like that of memory, and its continuance
after he has soared to an immense height in the air, cause
him to be allied in our minds with the sublimity of
heaven and with the beauty and splendor of morning.
I never had an opportunity to witness the flight of the
skylark ; but I have always imagined that the sentiment
of sublimity must greatly enhance the pleasure with
which we gaze upon his flight and listen to his notes.

PICTURESQUE ANIMALS. 141

The very minuteness of an object soaring to such a sub-
lime elevation gives us an idea of some almost super-
natural power, and his delightful song would seem to be
derived from heaven, whither he takes his flight while
giving utterance to it. We have no skylarks in America ;
but our common snipes, during the month of May, are
addicted to this habit of soaring, as I have remarked in
another essay, for a few hours after sunset. I have often
watched them in former times, and when witnessing their
spiral flight upwards to a great elevation, and listening to
their distinct but monotonous warbling after they have
arrived at the summit of their ascent, I have been con-
scious of an emotion of sublimity from a spectacle which
might be supposed too trivial to produce any such effect.
The picturesque character of the lark is apparent only
when he is represented in his soaring flight. There is
nothing peculiar in the appearance of this bird as in that
of the owl. The sight of him aloft in the heavens is
necessary, therefore, to suggest the idea of his habits and
to make his true character apparent to the mind.

Among the animals mentioned by certain writers as
possessing in an eminent degree those qualities which
appertain to the picturesque, is the ass. - This point in
his character is attributed very erroneously to his shaggy
and uncouth appearance. It may assist in heightening
the expression of the animal ; but there are various ro-
mantic and poetical ideas associated with his figure, to
which this quality is mainly attributable. If it were
owing to his rude and rough exterior, the baboon and
the hyena would be as picturesque as the ass. No such
ideas, however, are associated with these animals. 'The
ass derives much of this character from his connection
with the incidents of romance and history. He is the
beast of burden most frequently mentioned in the Old
Testament, in the Fables of ^Esop, and in the writings

142 PICTURESQUE ANIMALS.

of Oriental travellers. As Dugald Stewart has observed,
we associate him with the old patriarchs in their jour-
neys to new lands ; and we have often seen him forming
an important figure in old paintings and engravings.
It is not his shaggy coat and uncouth appearance that
yield him his picturesque character, so much as the in-
teresting scenes and adventures with which his figure is
associated.

The same remarks may be applied with equal propriety
to the goat. He is the animal of mountain scenery, and
the sight of him brings to mind a variety of romantic in-
cidents connected with such landscape. He is often rep-
resented as standing on precipitous heights and browsing
upon dangerous declivities. He is, in fact, one of the dumb
heroes of dangerous adventure. With the inhabitants of
mountainous countries, as among the Alps and the High-
lands of Scotland, the goat is the domesticated animal
that supplies them with milk. The hardiness and activity
of the goat, his frequent introduction into pictures of
Alpine scenery, and his habit of finding sustenance in
wild regions and fastnesses where no other animal could
live, combine to render his image strongly suggestive of
rusticity and the simple habits of mountaineers.

It is common to regard the uncouthness of the appear-
ance of these animals as the quality from which they derive
their picturesque expression. It is much more probable
that, on account of the absence of beauty of color, smooth-
ness, and symmetry, the imagination is left more entirely
to the influence of the poetic and traditional images
connected with these animals. In this way it may be
explained why rudeness is, to a certain extent, a nega-
tive picturesque quality, because it leaves the imagina-
tion entirely to the suggestions of the scene ; whereas, if
it were very beautiful, the mind would be more agreeably
occupied in surveying its intrinsic beauties than in dwell-

PICTURESQUE ANIMALS. 143

ing upon its more poetical relations to certain other ideas
and objects.

Why is the horse not a picturesque animal, it may be
asked, but on account of the sleekness of his appearance ?
I am persuaded that his sleekness stands in the way of
this expression, only so far as it causes him to be asso-
ciated with fashion and the pomp and pride of wealth.
Hence, it must be allowed that the only horses that have
this quality are shaggy ponies and cart-horses. This
proves only that their rough exterior is the indication of
the rusticity of their habits, not that it is an intrinsic
quality of the picturesque, which has indeed no intrinsic
properties, like beauty, but is founded on association.
Were the case reversed, and were animals to become
sleek when engaged in rustic employments, and rough
and hairy when fed and combed and pampered by wealthy
and lordly masters, in that case the smoothest animals
would be the most picturesque. The squirrel, which is a
sleek and graceful animal, is, in spite of these qualities,
more picturesque than the rough and rusty looking rat.
In this instance the principle is reversed, because the
smoothness and gracefulness of the squirrel are associated
with his interesting habits of playfulness and agility,
while running about from branch to branch among his
native groves. On the contrary, the smooth and symmet-
rical horse cannot, by any pictorial accompaniments, be
made so expressive as the rough and homely ass.

I have just alluded to the squirrel as one of the most
picturesque of the smaller animals ; but it is worthy of
notice that it must be represented in its native habitats to
possess this character in full force. Though a squirrel in
a cage is a beautiful object, especially when turning his
revolving grate by the rapid motions of his feet, yet a
picture of one in that situation would have none of that
suggestiveness of poetical and agreeable fancies that ren-

144 PICTURESQUE ANIMALS.

ders a scene picturesque. In a representation of a little
cottage in the woods nothing could add more to its pleas-
ing pastoral expression than the figure of a squirrel run-
ning along on a stone-wall or on the branch of an old tree.
The sight awakens all those poetical images which are
associated with life in the fields: Place the squirrel in a
cage, and it reminds us only of the town, and. expresses
nothing that is agreeable to a poetic fancy. Every wild
animal must appear to be enjoying its freedom, or the
representation of it would fail in giving delight. The
same is true of the human race. While persons of the
laboring classes add to the interesting character of a scene
in nature, a single figure, male or female, in fashionable
apparel, destroys the whole effect. Hence, almost all the
representations of picnics fail in awakening any poetic
emotions.

A shepherd, when properly represented with his crook,
which is his staff of office, and surrounded by the animals
of his charge, his faithful dog, the rustic cottage, the
sheepfold, and the general rude scenery of nature, is always
picturesque. But his appearance must be entirely that of
a shepherd, without any of the ways or the gear of a man
of the town. I have seen a picture of two young shep-
herds in the mountains, in which the characteristic qualities
of the scene are entirely destroyed by a certain genteel or
finical air and expression observed in their countenance
and attitudes. Instead of rustic shepherds we see two
young men, each with a crook, sitting and reclining upon
a rock. They are very neatly dressed, and look as if they
were young sprigs of the nobility, who had gone into the
mountains for a few days, merely to play shepherd ; so
nicely is their hair arranged, that the longitudinal parting
is distinctly seen, caused by the smoothing away of the
hair on each side of the head. The expression of their faces
corresponds with the rest of their appearance ; one, in

PICTURESQUE ANIMALS. 145

particular, having that look of conscious self-satisfaction
which we often observe in a silly ibp of the town. The
very manner in which he leans his head upon his thumb
and fingers betrays his concern lest he should spoil the
arrangement of his hair. How strange that the painter
of this piece should not have seen that all these little
trifles completely ruined the picturesque character of his
painting !

One of the most interesting engravings I have seen
represents a peasant-girl, in the neat and simple attire of
her own humble station in life, in the act of bearing a
pitcher of water which she has just dipped from a rustic
well. How easily might the designer have ruined the
whole expression of this piece, either by making the well
an elegant and fanciful structure or by making the damsel
a fine lady in her silks and laces. The sight of a picnic
party assembled together in the woods and pastures is
always pleasing ; but, as I have already intimated, it fails
in interest when represented on canvas, because, with
all the fine images connected with it, it savors of the
vanity of fashionable or rather of town life. After wit-
nessing one of these scenes, while journeying leisurely in
a chaise on a pleasant day in October, I chanced to see
a group of little country girls, in the simplest apparel,
gathering nuts under a tree. What a crowd of pleasant
recollections of the past was immediately awakened by
the sight ! " There," exclaimed my companion, " is a scene
for a painter. Such^ a little group in a picture would
afford us inexpressible delight. Yet, were I to join either
party, I should prefer to be one of the other company at
the picnic." " For the very plain reason," I replied, " that
in the latter company you would expect to find some in-
telligent persons who would be interesting companions.
But this is not what we look for in a picture, which
pleases in proportion to the simplicity of its characters."

146 PICTURESQUE ANIMALS.

These remarks might be indefinitely extended; but
each new example would serve only to repeat the illus-
tration of the same principle. In no other engravings
do we see the picturesque more clearly exemplified than
in the vignettes which are found in books published early
in the last century. Since luxury has extended into the
circle of the middle and industrious classes, the simplicity
of their habits has been destroyed, and artists, when draw-
ing their designs from the manners of these classes, have
failed in producing pictures equal in poetic expression to
those which were made one hundred years ago. It is
apparent, for example, that the ancient straw beehive,
surrounded by its swarm, formerly introduced into vign-
ettes as emblematical of industry, is decidedly picturesque ;
while the modern patent structures, constructed for pur-
poses of economy, would, in fanciful engravings, excite
ideas no more poetical than we should find in a modern
revolving churn. Modern customs and improvements
are rapidly sweeping away from the face of the earth
everything that is 'poetic or picturesque. It may be urged,
however, that the sum of human happiness has been pro-
portionally increased. This I am inclined to doubt ; and
to maintain, on the contrary, that just in proportion as
we depart from the simple habits of the early era of civ-
ilization, do we create wants that cannot be gratified, and
lose those tastes which are most promotive of happiness
and in harmony with the designs of nature and of provi-
dence.

JUNE.

ALREADY do we feel the influence of a more genial
sky; a maturer verdure gleams from every part of the
landscape, and a prouder assemblage of wild-flowers re-
minds us of the arrival of summer. The balmy south-
west reigns the undisturbed monarch of the weather ; the
chill breezes rest quietly upon the serene bosom of the
deep ; and the ocean, as tranquil as the blue canopy of
heaven, yields itself to the warm influence of the sum-
mer sun, as if it were conscious of the blessing of his
beams. The sun rides, like a proud conqueror, over three
quarters of the heavens, and, as if delighted with his
victory over the darkness, smiles with unwonted com-
placency upon the beautiful things which are rejoicing
in his presence. Twilight refuses to leave the brows of
night," and her morning and evening rays meet and blend
together at midnight beneath the polar sphere. She
twines her celestial rosy wreaths around the bosoms of
the clouds, that rival in beauty the terrestrial garlands of
summer. The earth and the sky seem to emulate each
other in their attempts to beautify the temples of nature
and of the Deity ; and while the one hangs out her dra-
pery of silver and vermilion over the sapphirine arches
of the firmament, the other spangles the green plains
and mountains with living gems of every hue, and crowns
the whole landscape with lilies and roses.

The mornings and evenings have acquired a delightful
temperature, that invites us to rise prematurely from our
repose, to enjoy the greater luxury of the balmy breezes.

148 JUNE.

The dews hang heavily upon the herbage, and the white
frosts have gone away to join the procession of the chill
autumnal nights. The little modest spring flowers are
half hidden beneath the prouder foliage of the flowers of
summer; the violets can hardly look upon us from un-
der the broad leaves of the fern ; and the anemones, like
some little unpretending beauty in the midst of a glitter-
ing crowd, are scarcely observed as they are fast fading
beneath the shade of the tall shrubbery. The voice of the
early song-sparrow and the tender warbling of the blue-
bird are but faintly audible amidst the chorus of louder
musicians ; the myriads of piping creatures are silent in the
wet places, and the tree-frogs, having taken up their song,
make a constant melodious croaking, after nightfall, from
the wooded swamps. The summer birds have all arrived ;
their warbling resounds from every nook and dell ; thou-
sands of their nests are concealed in every grove and
orchard, among the branches of the trees, or on the ground
beneath a tuft. of shrubbery; egg-shells, of various hues,
are cast out of their nests, and the callow young lie in the
open air, exposed to the tender mercies of the genial
month of June.

The season of anticipation has passed away ; the early
month of fruition has come; the hopes of our vernal
morning have ripened into realities; we no longer look
into the future for our enjoyments, but we revel at length
in all those pleasures from which we expected to derive
a perfect satisfaction. The month of June is emblemati-
cal of the period of life that immediately succeeds the
departure of youth, when all our sources of enjoyment
are most abundant, and our capacity for higher pleasure
has attained maturity, and when the only circumstance
that damps our feelings is the absence of that lightness
of heart arising from a hopeful looking forward to the
future. Our manhood and our summer have arrived,

JUNE. . 149

but our youth and our spring have gone by ; and though
we have the enjoyment of all we anticipated, yet with
the fruition hope begins to languish, for in the present
exists the fulness of our joys. The flowery treasures,
foretokened by the first blue violet, are blooming around
us ; the melodious concert, to which the little song-spar-
row warbled a sweet prelude in March, is now swelling
from a full band of songsters, and the sweet summer
climate that was harbored by an occasional south- wind
has arrived. But there is sadness in fruition. With all
these voluptuous gales and woodland minstrelsies, we
cannot help wishing for a renewal of those feelings with
which we greeted the first early flower and listened to
the song of the earliest returning bird.

Nature has thus nearly equalized our happiness in
every season. When our actual joys are least abundant,
fancy is near at hand, to supply us with the visions of
those pleasures of which we cannot enjoy the substance ;
filling our souls in spring with the hope of the future,
comforting us in autumn with the memory of the past,
and amusing us in winter with a tranquil retrospection
of the whole year and the pleasant watching for the
dawn of another spring.

A total change has taken place in the aspect of the
woods since the middle of the last month. The light,
yellowish green of the willows and thorns, the purple
of the sumach, and the various hues of other sprouting
foliage have ripened into a dark uniform verdure. The
grass, as it waves in the meadows, gleams like the bil-
lows of the ocean ; and the glossy surfaces of the ripe
leaves of the trees, as they tremble in the wind, glitter
like millions of imperfect mirrors in the light of the sun.
The petals of the fading blossoms are flying in all direc-
tions, as they are scattered by the fluttering gales, and
cover, like flakes of snow, the surface of the orchards.

150 JUNE.

The flowers of innumerable forest-trees are in a state of
maturity, and the yellow dust from their flower-cups,
scattered widely over the earth, may be seen after
showers, covering the edges of the beds of dried water-
pools, in yellow circular streaks.

The pines and other coniferous trees are in flower dur-
ing this month ; and the golden hues of their blossoms
contrast beautifully with the deep verdure of their foliage.
These trees, like others, shed their leaves in autumn ; but
it is the foliage of the preceding year that falls, leaving
that of the last summer still upon the trees. This foliage
is very slowly perishable, and covers the earth where it
falls, during all the year, with that brown, smooth, and
fra'grant carpet, which is characteristic of a pine wood.
Among the flowers which are conspicuous on this brown
matted foliage is the purple lady's-slipper, whose inflated
blossoms often burst upon the sight of the rambler, as if
they had risen up by enchantment. In similar haunts
the trientalis, unrivalled in the peculiar delicacy of its
flowers, that issue from a single whorl of pointed leaves,
supported upon a tall and slender footstalk, never fails
to attract the attention of the botanist and the lover of
nature.

Our gardens, during the first of this month, exhibit few
exotics more beautiful than the Canadian rhodora, an in-
digenous shrub, which is at this time in full flower in the
wild pastures. It is from two to five feet in height, and
its brilliant purple flowers, unrivalled in delicacy, appear
on the extremities of the branches, when the leaves are
just beginning to unfold. It is rendered singularly attrac-
tive by the contrast between its purple hues, of peculiar
resplendency, and the whiteness of the flowers of almost
all other shrubs, at this season. This plant, by its flower-
ing, marks the commencement of summer, and may be
considered an apt symbol of the brilliant month of June.

JUNE. 151

June is the month of the arethusas, — those charming
flowers of the peat-meadows, — belonging to a tribe that
is too delicate for cultivation. Like the beautiful birds
of the forest, they were created for Nature's own temples ;
and the divinities of the wood, under whose invisible
protection they thrive, will not permit them to join with
the multitude that grace the parterre. The cymbidium,
of a similar habit, the queen of the meadows, with larger
flowers and more numerous clusters; the crimson orchis,
that springs up by the river-sides, among the myrtle-like
foliage of the cranberry and the nodding panicles of
the quaking-grass, like a spire of living flame ; and the
still more rare and delicate white orchis, that, hidden in
deep mossy dells in the woods, seldom feels the direct light
of the sun, — are all alike consecrated to solitude and to
Nature, as if they were designed to cheer the hearts of her
humble votaries with the sight of a thing of beauty that
has not been appropriated for the exclusive adornment of
the garden and the palace.

The rambler may already perceive a difference in the
characters of the flowers of this month and of the last.
In May the prominent colors were white and the lighter
shades of purple and lilac, in which the 'latter were but
faintly blended. In June the purple shades predominate
in the flowers, except those of the shrubs, which are
mostly white. The scarlet hues are seldom seen until
after midsummer. The yellows seem to be confined to
no particular season, being conspicuous in the dandelion,
ranunculus, and coltsfoot of spring; in the potentilla,
the senecio, and the loosestrife of summer; and in the
sunflower, golden-rod, and many other tribes of autumn.
Blue is slightly sprinkled through all the seasons.

One of the most charming appearances of the present
month, to one who is accustomed to the minute obser-
vation of Nature's works, is the flowering of the grasses.

152 JUNE,

Though this extensive tribe of plants is remarkable in
no instances for the brilliancy of its flowers, yet there
are few that exhibit more beauty in their aggregations ;
some rearing their flowers in a compact head, like the
herd's-grass and the foxtail ; others spreading them out
in an erect panicle, like a tree, as the orchard-grass and
the common redtop; others appearing with a bristling
head, like wheat and barley; and a countless variety
of species, with nodding panicles, like the oat and the
quaking-grass. The greater number of the gramineous
plants are in flower at the present time, and there are
no other species, save the flowerless plants, which afford
more attractions to those who examine nature with the
discriminating eye of science.

He who is accustomed to rambling is now keenly sen-
sible of that community of property in nature, of which
he cannot be deprived. The air of heaven belongs equal-
ly to all, and cannot be monopolized; but the land is
apportioned into tracts belonging to different owners, and
the many perhaps do not own a rood. Yet to a certain
extent, and in a very important sense, the earth, the
trees, the flowers, and the landscape are common prop-
erty. He who owns a fine garden possesses but little
advantage over him who is without one. We are all
free in this country to roam over the wide fields and
pastures ; we can eat of the fruits of the earth, and
feast our eyes on the beauties of nature, as well as the
owner of the largest domain. A man is not poor who,
while he obtains the comforts of life, is thus capable of
enjoying the blessings of nature. His property is not
circumscribed by fences and boundary lines. All the
earth is his garden, — cultivated without expense and
enjoyed without anxiety. He partakes of these bounties
which cannot be confined to a legal possessor, and which
Providence, as a compensation to those who are worn with

JUNE. 153

toil or harassed with eare, spreads out to gladden them
with renewed hopes and to warm their hearts with grati-
tude and benevolence.

June is, of all months of the year, the most delightful
period of woodland minstrelsy. With the early birds
that still continue their warbling, the summer birds have
joined their louder and more melodious strains. Early
in the morning, when the purple light of dawn first
awakens us from sleep, and while the red rays that
fringe the eastern arches of the sky with a beautiful trem-
ulous motion are fast brightening into a more dazzling
radiance, we hear from the feathered tribe the commence-
ment of their general hymn of gladness. There is first
an occasional twittering, then a single performance from
some early waker, then a gradual joining of new voices,
until at length there is a full chorus of song. Every few
minutes some new voice joins in the concert, as if aroused
by the beginners and excited by emulation, until thou-
sands of melodious voices seem to be calling us out from
sleep to the enjoyment of life and liberty.

After the sun has risen nearly to meridian height, the
greater number of the birds that helped to swell the an-
them of morn discontinue their songs, and a comparative
silence prevails during the heat of the day. The vireo,
however, warbles incessantly, at all hours of daylight,
from the lofty tree-tops in the heart of the villages ; the
oriole is still piping at intervals among the blossoms of
the fruit-trees ; and the merry bobolink never tires during
the heat of the day, while singing and chattering, as in
ecstasy, above and around the sitting-place of his wedded
mate. At the hour of the sun's decline the birds renew
their songs ; but the more familiar species that linger
about our orchards and gardens are far less musical at
sunset than at sunrise. I suppose they may be annoyed
by the presence of men, who are more accustomed to be

7*

154 JUNE.

out at a late hour in the evening than at an early hour
in the morning.

The hour preceding dusk in the evening, however, is
the time when the thrushes, the most musical of birds,
are loudest in their song. Several different species of this
tribe of musicians, at a late hour, are almost the sole per-
formers. The catbird, with a strain somewhat similar to
that of the robin, less melodious, but more varied and
quaint in its expression, is then warbling in those places
where the orchards and the wildwood meet and are
blended together. The red-thrush, a bird still more re-
tired in its habits, takes his station upon a tree that stands
apart from the wood, and there pours forth his loud and
varied song, which may be heard above every other note.
A little deeper in the woods, near the borders of streams,
the veeries, the last to become silent, may be heard re-
sponding to one another, with their trilled and exquisite
notes, unsurpassed in melody and expression, from the
sun's early decline until the purple of twilight has nearly
departed. During all this time and the greater part of
the day, in the solemn depths of the forest, where almost
all other singing-birds are strangers, resounds the distinct,
peculiar, and almost unearthly warbling of the hermit-
thrush,. who recites his different strains with such long
pauses and with such a varied modulation that they might
be mistaken for the notes of several different birds.

At nightfall, though the air is no longer resonant with
song, our ears are greeted with a variety of pleasing and
romantic sounds. In the still darkness, apart from the
village hum, may be heard the frequent fluttering of the
wings of night birds, when the general silence permits
their musical vibrations to resound distinctly from differ-
ent distances, during their short, mysterious flights. These
sounds, to which I used to listen with ravishment in my
early days, are more suggestive than music, and always

JUNE. 155

come to my remembrance, as one of the delightful things
connected with a summer evening in the country. At
the same time, in my rambles after sunset, I have often
paused to hear the responsive chirping of the snipes, in
the open plains, during their season of courtship ; and to
watch their occasional whirling flight, as with whistling
wings they soar like the lark into the skies, to meet and
warble together, above the darkness that envelops the
earth. With the same whirling flight, they soon descend
to the ground, and commence anew their responsive
chirping. These alternate visits to the earth and the
sky are continued for several hours. There is nothing
very musical in the chirping of these birds ; and their
warbling in the heavens, when they have reached the
summit of their ascent, is only a somewhat monotonous
succession of sounds. But when, at this later time of
life, I chance to hear a repetition of their notes, the whole
bright page of youthful adventure is placed vividly before
my mind. It is only at such times that we feel the full
influence of certain sounds of nature in hallowing the
period of manhood with a recollection of early pleasures
and a renewal of those feelings that come upon the soul
like a fresh breeze and the sound of gurgling waters to
the weary and thirsty traveller.

The evenings are now so delightful that it seems like
imprisonment to remain within doors. Odors, sights, and
sounds are at present so grateful and tranquillizing in their
effects upon the mind, and so suggestive of all the bright
period of youth, that they cannot be regarded as the mere
pleasures of sense. The sweet emanations from beds of
ripening strawberries, from plats of pinks and violets,
from groves of flowering linden-trees, full of myriads of
humming insects, from meadows odoriferous with clover
and sweet-scented grasses, all wafted in succession with
every little shifting of the wind, breathe upon us an

156 JUNE.

endless variety of fragrance. Then the perfect velvety
softness of the evening air ; the various melodies that come
from every nook, tree, rock, dell, and fountain ; the notes
of birds, the chirping of insects, the hum of bees, the
rustling of aspen leaves, the bubbling of fountains, the
dashing of waves and waterfalls, and the many beautiful
things that greet our vision from earth, sea, and sky, —
all unite, as it were, to yield to mortals who hope for
immortality a foretaste of the unspeakable joys of para-
dise.

PLEA FOE THE BIEDS.

IN the beginning, according to the testimony of the
" Wisdom of Solomon," all things were ordered in meas-
ure, numher, and weight. The universe was balanced
according to a law of harmony no less wise than beau-
tiful. There was no deficiency in one part or superfluity
in another. As time was divided into seasons and days
and years, the material world was arranged in such a
manner that there should be a mutual dependence of one
kingdom upon another. Nothing was created without a
purpose, and all living things were supplied with such
instincts and appetites as would lead them to assist in
the great work of progression. The kingdoms of nature
must ever remain thus perfectly adjusted, except for the
interference of man. He alone, of all living creatures,
has power to turn the operations of nature out of their
proper course. He alone is able to transform her hills
into fortifications and to degrade her rivers to commercial
servitude. Yet, while he is thus employed in revolu-
tionizing the surface of the earth, he might still work
in harmony with nature's designs, and end in making it
more beautiful and more bountiful than in its pristine
condition.

In the wilderness we find a certain adjustment of the
various tribes of plants, birds, insects, and quadrupeds,
differing widely from that which prevails over a large
extent of cultivated territory. In the latter, new tribes
of plants are introduced by art, and nature, working in
harmony with man, introduces corresponding tribes of

158 PLEA FOB THE BIRDS.

insects, birds, and quadrupeds. Man may with impunity
make a change of the vegetable productions, if he but al-
lows a certain freedom to Nature in her efforts to supply
the balance which he has disturbed. While man is em-
ployed in restocking the earth with trees and vegetables,
Nature endeavors to preserve her harmony by a new sup-
ply of birds and insects. A superabundance of either
might be fatal to certain tribes of plants. I believe the
insect races to be as needful in the order of creation as any
other part of Nature's works. The same may be said of
that innumerable host of plants denominated weeds. But
while man is endeavoring to keep down superfluities, he
may, by working blindly, cause the very evil he designs
to prevent. It is not easy to check the multiplication of
weeds and insects. These, in spite of all direct efforts to
check them, will increase beyond their just mean. This
calamity would not happen if we took pains to preserve
the feathered tribes, which are the natural checks to the
multiplication of insects and weeds. Birds are easily
destroyed : some species, indeed, are already nearly exter-
minated ; and all are kept down to such a limit as to
bear no just proportion to the quantity of insects that
supply them with food.

Although birds are great favorites with man, there are
no animals, if we except the vermin that infest our dwell-
ings, that suffer such unremitted persecution. They are
everywhere destroyed, either for the table or for the
pleasure of the chase. As soon as a boy can shoulder a
gun, he goes out, day after day, in his warfare of exter-
mination against the feathered race. He spares the
birds at no season and in no situation. While thus
employed, he is encouraged by older persons, as if he
were ridding the earth of a pest. Thus do men promote
the destruction of one of the blessed gifts of Nature.

If there be proof that any race of animals was ere-

PLEA FOR THE BIRDS. 159

ated for the particular benefit of mankind, this may cer-
tainly be said of birds. Men in general are not apt to
consider how greatly the sum of human happiness is in-
creased by certain circumstances of which they take but
little note. There are not many who are in the habit of
going out of their way or pausing often from their labors
to hear the song of a bird or to examine the beauty of a
flower. Yet the most indifferent would soon experience
a painful emotion of solitude, were the feathered race to
be suddenly annihilated, or were vegetation to be deprived
of everything but its leaves and fruit. Though we may
be accustomed to regard these things as insignificant tri-
fles, we are all agreeably affected by them. Let him
who thinks he despises a bird or a flower be suddenly
cast ashore upon some desert island, and after a lonely
residence there for a season, let one of our familiar birds
greet him with a few of its old accustomed notes, or a
little flower peep out upon him with the same look which
has often greeted him by the wayside in his own coun-
try, and how gladly would he confess their influence upon
his mind !

But there is a great deal of affectation of indifference
toward these objects that is not real. : Children are
delighted with birds and flowers ; women, who have in
general more culture than men, are no less delighted
with them. It is a common weakness of men who are
ambitious to seem above everything that pleases women
and children to affect to despise the singing of a bird and
the beauty of a flower. But even those who affect this
indifference are not wholly deaf or blind. They are merely
ignorant of the influence upon their own minds of some
of the chief sources of our pleasures.

It is not entirely on account of their song, their beauty,
and their interesting habits, that we set so high a value
upon the feathered tribes. They are important in the

160 PLEA FOR THE BIRDS.

general economy of Nature, without which the operation
of her laws would be disturbed, and the parts in the
general harmony would be incomplete. As the annihila-
tion of a planet would produce disturbance in the motions
of the spheres, and throw the celestial worlds out of their
balance, so would the destruction of any species of birds
create confusion among terrestrial things. Birds are the
chief and almost the only instruments employed by Na-
ture for checking the multiplication of insects which other-
wise would spread devastation over the whole earth. They
are always busy in their great work, emigrating from
place to place, as the changes of the seasons cut off their
supplies in one country and raise them up in another.
Some, like the swallow tribe, seize them on the wing,
sailing along the air with the velocity of the winds, and
preserving it from any excess of the minute species of
atmospheric insects. Others, like the creepers and wood-
peckers, penetrate into the wood and bark of trees, and
dislodge the larvse before they emerge into the open air.
Beside these birds that do their work by day, there are
others, like the whippoorwill tribe, that keep their watch
by night, and check the multiplication of moths, beetles,
and other nocturnal insects.

Man alone, as I have before remarked, can seriously
disturb the operations of Nature. It is he who turns the
rivers from their courses, and makes the little gurgling
streams tributary to the sluggish canal. He destroys
the forests, and exterminates the birds after depriving
them of their homes. But the insects, whose extreme
minuteness renders them unassailable by his weapons,
he cannot destroy, and Nature allows them to multiply
and become a scourge to him, as if in just retribution
for his cruelty to the feathered races who are his bene-
factors.

In the native wilderness, where man has not interfered

PLEA FOR THE BIRDS. 161

with the harmonious operations of Nature, the insects are
kept down to a point at which their numbers are not
sufficient to commit any perceptible ravages. The birds,
their natural destroyers, are allowed to live, and their
numbers keep pace with the insects they devour. In cul-
tivated tracts, on the contrary, a different state of things
exists. Man has destroyed the forests, and raised up
gardens and orchards in their place. The wild pasture
has become arable meadow, and the whortleberry grounds
have been changed into cornfields. New races of beetles
and other insects, which are attached to the cultivated
vegetables, increase and multiply in the same proportion.
If man would permit, the birds that feed upon these in-
sects would keep pace with their increase, and prevent
the damage they cause to vegetation. But, too avaricious
to allow the birds to live, lest they should plunder fruit
enough to pay them the wages for their useful labors, he
destroys the exterminator of vermin, and thus, to save a
little of his fruit from the birds, he 'sacrifices his orchards
to the insects.

If any species of birds were exterminated, those tribes
of insects which are their natural food would become
exceedingly abundant. Inasmuch as the atmosphere, if
the swallows were to become extinct, would be rendered
unfit for respiration, by an increased multitude of gnats
and smaller insects; so, were the sparrow tribes to be-
come extinct, vegetation would immediately suffer from
an increase of caterpillars, curculios, and other pests of
our orchards. We may say the same of other insects
with relation to other birds. It is therefore plainly for
the interest of the farmer and the horticulturist to use all
means for the preservation of birds of every species.
There is no danger likely to arise from their excessive
multiplication. The number of each species cannot ex-
ceed that limit beyond which they could not be supplied

162 PLEA FOR THE BIRDS.

with their proper and natural food. Up to this limit, if
they were preserved, our crops would be effectually se-
cured from the ravages of insects. The country would
probably support double the present number of every
species of birds, which are kept down below their proper
limits by accident, by the gun of the sportsman, and by
the mischievous cruelty of boys.

Most of the smaller kinds of birds have a disposition
to congregate around our villages. We seldom find a
robin or a sparrow, during breeding-time, in the deep
forest. The same may be said of the insects that serve
them for food. There are certain tribes that chiefly fre-
quent the wild woods ; these are the prey of woodpeckers
and their kindred species. There are others which are
abundant chiefly in our orchards and gardens ; these are
the prey of bluebirds, sparrows, wrens, and other common
and familiar birds.

Man has the power to diminish the multitudes of in-
sects that desolate the forests and destroy his harvests ;
but this can be effected only by preserving the birds, and
Nature has endowed them with an instinct that leads
them to congregate about his habitations, as if she de-
signed them to protect him from the scourge of noxious
vermin, and to charm his ears by the melody of their
songs. Hence every tract which is inhabited by man is
furnished with its native singing-bird, and man is endowed
with a sensibility that renders the harmony of sounds
necessary to his happiness. The warbling of birds is in-
timately associated with everything that is beautiful in
nature. It is allied with the dawn of morning, the sultry
quiet of noon, and the pleasant hush of evening. There
is not a cottage in the wilderness whose inmates do not
look upon the birds as the chief instruments of Nature to
inspire them with contentment in their solitude. With-
out their merry voices, the silence of the groves, unbroken

PLEA FOR THE BIRDS. 163

save by the moaning of the winds, would be oppressive ;
the fields would lose half their cheerfulness, and the for-
est would seem the very abode of melancholy. Then let
our arms, designed only for self-defence, no longer spread
destruction over the plains ; let the sound. of musketry no
longer blend its discord with the voices of the birds, that
they may gather about our habitations with confidence,
and find in man, for whose pleasure they sing and for
whose benefit they toil, a friend and a protector.

BIEDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOEEST.
II.

THE HERMIT-THRUSH.

THE bird whose song I describe in this essay has
always seemed to me to be the smallest of the Thrushes.
But as I have never killed any bird for the purpose
of learning its specific characters, I am liable to be mis-
taken in many points of identification. It has been
my habit from my earliest years, whenever I heard a
note that was new and striking, to watch day after day,
until I discovered the songster, and, having always had
excellent sight, I have never used a telescope. The bird
whose notes I describe below, when I have seen it upon
a tree or upon the ground, has seemed to conform more
nearly to the description given in books of the Hermit-
Thrush, both in size and color, than to that given of the
Wood-Thrush.

The notes of this bird are not startling or readily dis-
tinguished. Some dull ears might not hear them, unless
their attention was directed to the sounds. They are
loud, liquid, and sonorous, and they fail to attract atten-
tion only on account of the long pauses between the dif-
ferent strains. We must link all these strains together
to enjoy the full pleasure they are capable of affording,
though any single one alone would entitle the bird to
considerable reputation as a songster. He also sings as
much at broad noonday as at any other time, differing in
this respect from the Yeery, who prefers the twilight of
morn and even. In another important respect he differs

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 165

from the Veery, which is seldom heard except in swamps,
while the Hermit almost invariably occupies high and dry
woods.

The Hermit-Thrush delights in a shady retreat ; he is
indeed a true anchorite ; he is evidently inspired by soli-
tude, and sings no less in gloomy weather than in sun-
shine. Yet I think he is no lover of twilight, though
pleased with the darkness of shady woods ; for at the
time when the Veery is most musical, he is generally
silent. He is remarkable, also, for prolonging his musical
season to near the end of summer. Late in August, when
other birds have become silent, he is almost the only
songster in the wood.

The song of the Hermit consists of several different
strains, or bars, as they would be called in the gamut. I
have not determined the exact number, but I am confident
there are seven or eight, many of them remarkable for the
clearness of their intonations. After each strain he makes
a full pause, perhaps not more than three or four seconds,
and the listener must be very attentive, or he will lose
many of the notes. I think the effect of this sylvan mu-
sic is somewhat diminished by the pauses or rests. It
may be said, however, that during each pause our suscep-
tibility is increased, and we are thus prepared to be more
deeply affected by the next notes. Some of these are
full and sonorous, like the sound of a fife ; others lisping,
and somewhat like the chink made by shaking a few thin
metallic plates in your hand. This lisping strain always
conies regularly in its course. I can imagine that if all
these different strains were warbled continuously, they
would not be equalled by the song of any bird with which
I am acquainted.

Some parts of Nuttall's description of the song of the
Hermit, if it be identical with the species called by him
the Song-Thrush, are incorrect. It is not true that his

166 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST.

different strains or those of the Wood-Thrush "finally
blend together in impressive and soothing harmony, be-
coming more mellow and sweet at every repetition."
Any one strain never follows another, without a full
pause between them. I think Nuttall has described the
song of the Veery, mistaking it for a part of that of the
Song-Thrush. One of the enunciations which he attrib-
utes to the Song-Thrush is equally remarkable and cor-
rect. I allude to "the sound of'ai-ro-ee, peculiarly liquid,
and followed by a trill." The song invariably begins
with a clear fife sound, as too, too, tillere illere, rising
from the first about three musical tones to the second,
and making the third and fourth words rather sharp and
shrill. We seldom, however, hear more than one low
note in a strain, as too, tillere illere ; afterwards, beginning
with the low note too, follows the sound of ai-ro-ee, like
the notes of the common chord. The fourth bar is a lisp-
ing strain resembling the sounds made by shaking thin
metallic plates in the hand ; the fifth, a trilling like the
notes of the Veery, — tillillil, tillillil, tillillil There are
several other bars consisting of a slight variation of
some one of those I have described. I have not been
able to determine the order in which the several strains
succeed one another. I feel confident, however, that the
bird never repeats any one strain, save after two or three
others have intervened.

The Wood-Thrush is a larger bird than the Hermit,
more common in our woods, having a similar song, con-
taining fewer strains, delivered with less precision and
moderation, and with shorter intervals between the high
and the low notes. In their general habits the two spe-
cies differ very slightly.

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 167

THE VEERY, OR WILSON'S THRUSH.

The Veeiy is perceptibly larger than the Hermit, and is
marked in a similar manner, save that the back has more
of an olive tinge. He arrives early in May, and is first
heard to sing during some part of the second week of that
month. He is not one of our familiar birds ; and unless
we live in close proximity to a wood that is haunted by a
stream, we seldom hear his voice from our doors and win-
dows. He sings neither in the orchard nor the garden.
He shuns the town, and reserves his wild notes for those
who live in cottages by the woodside. All who have
once become familiar with his song await his arrival with
impatience, and take note of his silence in midsummer
with regret. Though his song has not the compass and
variety of that of the Hermit, it is more continuous and
delivered with more fervor. Until this little bird arrives,
I feel as an audience do at a concert before the chief
singer appears, while the other performers are vainly en-
deavoring to soothe them by their inferior attempts.

The Veery is more shy than any other important singing-
bird except the Hermit. His haunts are solitary woods,
usually in the vicinity of a pond or a stream. Here,
especially after sunset, he warbles his few brilliant but
plaintive strains with a peculiar cadence, and fills the
whole forest with music. It seems as if the echoes were
delighted with his notes, and took pleasure in passing
them round with multiplied reverberations. I am confi-
dent that this little warbler refrains from singing when
others are vocal, from the pleasure he feels in listening
either to his own notes or to the melodious responses
which others of his own kindred repeat in different parts
of the wood. Hence, he ' chooses the dusk of evening
for his tuneful hour, when the little chirping birds are
silent, that their voices may not interrupt his chant.

168 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST.

At this hour, during a period of nine or ten weeks, he
charms the evening with his strains, and often prolongs
them in still weather until after dusk, and whispers them
sweetly into the ear of Night.

His song, though loud for so small a bird, is modulated
with such a sweet and flowing cadence that it comes to
the ear like a strain from some elfin source. It seems
at first to be wanting in variety. I formerly thought
so, while at the same time I was puzzled to account for
its enchanting effect on the mind of the listener. The
same remark may be applied to the human voice. I
suppose I am not the only person who can remember
certain female voices, which, with limited compass and
execution, do, by a peculiar native modulation, combined
with great simplicity, affect the listener with emotions
such as no prima donna could produce. Having never
heard the Nightingale, I can draw no comparison between
that bird and the Veery. But neither the Mocking-Bird,
nor any other bird in our woods, utters a single strain to
be compared in sweetness and expression to the five bars
of the simple song of the Veery.

Were we to attempt to perform these notes upon a
musical instrument, we should fail from the difficulty of
imitating their peculiar .trilling and the liquid ventrilo-
quial sounds at the end of each strain. The whole is
warbled in such a manner as to produce on the ear the
effect of harmony, and to combine in a remarkable degree
the two different qualities of brilliancy and plaintiveness.
The former effect is produced by the first notes of each
strain, which are sudden and on a high key ; the second
by the graceful chromatic slide to the termination, which
is inimitable and exceedingly solemn. I have sometimes
imagined that a part of the delightful influence of these
notes might be ascribed to the cloistered recesses in which
they are delivered. But I have occasionally heard them

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 169

while the bird was singing from a tree near the heart of
a village, when they were equally delightful and impres-
sive.

In my early days, when I was at school, I lived near
a grove that was vocal with these Thrushes. It was there
I learned to love their song more than any other sound
in nature, and above the finest strains of artificial music.
Since then I have seldom failed to make frequent visits
to their habitats, to listen to their notes, which cause full
half the pleasure I derive from a summer evening ramble.

Dr. Brewer does not so highly estimate the song of the
Veery, but Mr. Ridgway differs from him. " To his ear,"
says Dr. Brewer, " there was a solemn harmony and a
beautiful expression which combined to make the song
of this bird surpass that of all the other American Wood-
Thrushes." I have found the nests of this species very
near the ground, also upon a mound of grass and sticks,
and on a bush. Their eggs are of a greenish-blue.

THE CATBIRD.

Pond of solitude, but not averse to the proximity of
human dwellings, if the primitiveness of some of the
adjacent wood remains ; avoiding the deep forest and the
open pastures, and selecting for his habitat the edge of a
wooded swamp, or a fragment of forest near the low
grounds of a cultivated field, the Catbird may be seen
whisking among the thickets, often uttering his complain-
ing mew, like the cry of a kitten. Still, though attached
to these wet and retired situations, he is often very famil-
iar, and is not silenced by our presence, like the Veery.
His nest of dry sticks is sometimes woven into a currant-
bush in a garden that adjoins a swamp, and his quaint
notes may be heard, as if totally unmindful of the near-
ness of his human foe. The Catbird is not an invet-

8

170 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST.

erate singer. He seldom makes music his sole employ-
ment ; though at any hour of the day, from dawn till
evening twilight, he may occasionally be heard singing
and complaining.

Though I have been all my life familiar with the notes
and manners of the Catbird, I have not been able to
discover that in his native woods he is a mocker. He
seems to me to have a definite song, unlike that of any
other songster, except the Eed-Thrush. It is not made
up from the notes of other birds, but is as unique and
original as the song of the Eobin or the Linnet. In the
song of any bird we may detect occasional strains that
resemble those of some other species ; but the Catbird
gives no more of these imitations than we might rea-
sonably regard as accidental. The truth is, that the
Thrushes, though delightful songsters, have inferior pow-
ers of execution, and cannot equal the Finches in learn-
ing and performing the notes of other birds. Even the
Mocking-Bird, compared with many other species, is a
very imperfect imitator of any notes which are rapid
and difficult of execution. He cannot give the song of
the Canary ; yet I have heard a caged Bobolink do this
to perfection.

The modulation of the Catbird's song is somewhat
similar to that of the Eed-Thrush, and I have found it
sometimes difficult to determine, from the. first few notes,
whether I was listening to the one or the other; but after
a moment I detected one of those quaint utterances that
distinguish the notes of the Catbird. I am confident that
no man would mistake this song for that of any other
species except the Eed-Thrush ; and in this case his mis-
take would soon be corrected by longer listening. The
Eed-Thrush has a louder and fuller intonation, more notes
that resemble speech, or that may be likened to it, and
some fine guttural tones which the other never utters.

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 171

I repeat that I have not any proof, from my own obser-
vation, that the Catbird is a mocker. Dr. Brewer says,
on the other hand, that it is a very good imitator of sim-
ple notes and strains. He has heard it give excellent
imitations of the whistling of the Quail, the clucking of a
Hen, the notes of the Pewee, and those of the Ground-
Bobin, repeating them with such exactness as to deceive
the birds that were imitated. He has known the Catbird
call off a brood of young chickens, to the great annoy-
ance of the old hen.

The Catbird is said to be very amusing when confined
in a cage. A former neighbor of mine, who has reared
many birds of this species in a cage, informed me that
when tamed they sing better than in their native woods.
He taught them not only to imitate the notes of other
birds, but to sing tunes. This is an important fact ; but
we must confess that the wild birds and the wild-flowers'
are more interesting in their native haunts than in avi-
aries or conservatories. Though I have no sensibility
that would prevent my depriving a bird of its freedom by
placing it in a comfortable prison, where it would suffer
neither in mind nor body, I should not keep one in a
cage for my own amusement, caring but little to watch
its ways except in a state of freedom.

The mewing note of the Catbird, from which his name
was derived, has been the occasion of many misfortunes
to his species, causing them to share that contempt which
is so generally felt towards the feline race ; and that con-
tempt has been followed by persecution. The Catbird
has always been proscribed by the New England farmers,
who from the first settlement of the country have enter-
tained a prejudice against the most useful of our birds,
which are also the most mischievous. Even the Robin has
been frequently in danger of proscription. The horticul-
turists, who seem to consider their cherries and strawber-

172 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST.

ries and favorite insipid pears of more importance than
the whole agricultural crop of the States, have made sev-
eral efforts to obtain an edict of outlawry against him.
These repeated onslaughts have induced the friends of the
Eobin to examine his claims to protection, and the result
of their investigations is demonstrative proof that it is
one of the most useful birds in existence. The Catbird
and all the Thrushes are similar to the Eobin in their
habits of feeding, but are not sufficiently numerous to
equal it in the extent of their services.

THE RED-THRUSH.

After we have grown tired of threading our way through
the half-inundated wood-paths in a swamp of red-maple
and northern cypress, where there is twilight at broad
noonday, and where the only sounds we hear are the
occasional sweet notes of the Veery, now and then a few
quaint utterances from the Catbird, and the cawing of
Crows, high up in the cedars, we emerge into the upland
under the bright beams of noonday. The region into
which we enter is an open pasture of hill and dale, more
than half covered with wild shrubbery, and displaying
an occasional clump of trees. There, perched upon the
middle branch of some tall tree, the Eed-Thrush, the
rhapsodist of the woods, may be heard pouring forth his
loud and varied song, often continuing it without cessation
for half an hour. His notes do not, like those of the
Finches and many other birds, have a beginning, a middle,
a turn, and a close, as if they were singing the words of a
measured hymn. The notes of the Eed-Thrush are more
like a voluntary for the organ, in which, though there is a
frequent repetition of certain strains, the close of the per-
formance comes not after a measured number of notes.

The Eed-Thrush has many habits similar to those of

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 17.3

the Catbird, but he is not partial to low grounds. He
prefers the dry hill and upland, and those places which
are half cleared, and seems averse to deep woods. Still,
though less of a hermit than the Catbird, he is also
less familiar. He dislikes the proximity of dwelling-
houses, and courts the solitude of open fields and dry
hills distant from the town. This bird probably owes
its shyness and timidity to the desperation with which
the species have been hunted by men who are unwilling
that the birds shall take any pay for the services they
perform ; and who, to save a dozen cherries from a bird,
would sacrifice the tree to mischievous insects. Modern
civilized society bears the besom of a devastation greater
than the world has yet seen, and when it has completed
its work, and destroyed every bird and animal that is
capable of doing any service to agriculture, man will
perish too, and the whole earth become a combined
Sahara and wilderness of Mount Auburns.

The Bed-Thrush builds in a low bush, or more fre-
quently upon the ground under a bush. I think he sings
at some distance from his nest, selecting for his musical
moments the branch of a tree that projects over a rustic
roadside. As the roadside supplies a greater abundance
of larvae than the wild pastures, it may be that after hav-
ing taken his repast, he perches near the place where he
obtained it. He is not partial to any certain hour for
singing, but is most musical in fine and bright weather.
I can always hear him where he dwells in the vocal
season, morning, noon, and evening. When employed
in song, he makes it his exclusive occupation, and sings,
though moderately, with uninterrupted fervor. In this
respect he is distinguished above almost all other species.
I have observed, however, that if he be disturbed while
singing, he immediately becomes silent and may not
renew his song under an hour.

174 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST.

The Eed-Thrush is considered by many persons the
finest songster in the New England forest. Nuttall says
" he is inferior only to the Mocking-Bird in musical tal-
ent." I doubt his inferiority except as a mocker. He is
superior to the Mocking-Bird in variety, and is surpassed
by him only in the sweeter intonations of some of his
notes. But no person grows tired of listening to the Eed-
Thrush, who constantly varies his notes, while the Mock-
ing-Bird tires us with his repetitions, which are often
continued to a ludicrous extreme. Perhaps I might give
the palm to the Mocking-Bird, were it not for his detesta-
ble habit of imitation. But when this habit is considered,
I do, without hesitation, place the Red-Thrush above him
as a songster, and above every other bird with whose
notes I am acquainted. If I were listening to a melo-
dramatic performance, in which all were perfect singers
and actors, I should prefer the prima donna to the clown,
even if the clown occasionally gave a good imitation of
her voice.

When we are in a thoughtful mood, the song of the
Veery surpasses all others, in tranquillizing the mind and
yielding something like enchantment to our thoughts. At
other times, when strolling in a whortleberry pasture, it
seems to me that nothing can exceed the simple melody
of the Wood-Sparrow. But without claiming for the
Eed-Thrush, in any remarkable degree, the plaintiveness
that distinguishes these pensive warblers, his song in the
open field has a charm for all ears, and can be appreciated
by the dullest of minds. Without singing badly he
pleases the millions. He is vocal at all hours of the day,
and when thus employed, devotes himself entirely to song
with evident enthusiasm.

It would be difficult, either by word or by musical nota-
tion, to give to one who has not heard the song of the
Eed-Thrush a correct idea of it. This bird is not a rapid

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 175

singer. His performance is a sort of recitative, often re-
sembling spoken words rather than musical notes, many
of which are short and guttural. He seldom whistles
clearly, like the Eobin, but he produces a charming vari-
ety of tone and modulation. Some of his notes are
delivered rapidly, but every strain is followed by a mo-
mentary pause, resembling the discourse of a man who
speaks fast, but hesitates after every few words. He is
rapid, but not voluble.

An ingenious shoemaker, named Wallace, whom I knew
in my early days, and who, like many others of his craft
when they worked alone or in small companies in their
own shops, and not by platoons as in a steam factory, was
a close observer of nature and mankind, gave me the
following words as those repeated by the Eed-Thrush:
"Look up, look up, — Glory to God, glory to God, —
Hallelujah, Amen, Videlicet."

Thoreau, in one of his quaint descriptions, gives an off-
hand sketch of the bird, which I will quote : " Near at
hand, upon the topmost spray of a birch, sings the Brown-
Thrasher, or Eed Mavis, as some love to call him, — all
the morning glad of your society (or rather I should say
of your lands), that would find out another farmer's field
if yours were not here. While you are planting the seed,
he cries, ' Drop it, drop it, — cover it up, cover it up, —
pull it up, pull it up, pull it up/ "

The Eed-Thrush is most musical in the early part of
the season, or in the month succeeding his arrival about the
middle of May ; the Veery is most vocal in June, and the
Song-Thrush in July. The Catbird begins early and
sings late, and fills out with his quaint notes the re-
mainder of the singing season, after the others, save the
Song-Thrush, have become silent.

THE FLOWEELESS PLANTS.

As a tribe of vegetable curiosities, pleasantly associated
with cool grots, damp shady woods, rocks rising in the
midst of the forest, with the edges of fountains, the roofs
of old houses, and the trunks and decayed branches of
trees, may be named the flowerless plants. Few persons
know the extent of their advantages in the economy of
vegetation ; still less are they aware how greatly they
contribute to the beauty of some of the most beautiful
places in nature, affording tints for the delicate shading
of many a native landscape, and an embossment for the
display of some of the fairest flowers of the field. The
violet and the anemone, that peep out upon us in the
opening of spring, have a livelier glow and animation
when embosomed in their green beds of moss; and
the arethusa blushes more beautifully by the side of the
stream when overshadowed by the broad pennons of the
umbrageous fern. The old tree with its mosses wears a
look of freshness in its decay, the bald rock loses its
baldness with its crown of lichens and ferns, and every
barren spot in the pasture or by the wayside is enlivened
and variegated by the carpet of flowerless plants, that
spread their green gloss and many-colored fringes over
the surface of the soil.

Mosses enter into all our ideas of picturesque ruins ;
for they alone are evidence that the ruins are the work
of time. An artificial ruin can have no such accompani-
ment until time has hallowed it by veiling its surface
with these memorials. They join with the ivy in adorn-

THE FLOWERLESS PLANTS. 177

ing the relics of ancient grandeur, and spread over the
perishable works of art the symbols of a beauty that en-
dureth forever. While they are allied to ruins, and re-
mind us of age and decay, they are themselves glowing
in the freshness of youth, and cover the places they oc-
cupy with a perpetual verdure. They cluster around the
decayed objects of nature and art, and are themselves the
nurseries of many a little flower that depends on them for
sustenance and protection. Though they bear no flowers
upon their stems, they delight in cherishing in their
soft velvet knolls the wood-anemone, the houstonia, the
cypripedium, and the white orchis, — the nun of the
meadows, — whose roots are imbedded among the fibres
of the peat-mosses, and derive support from the moisture
that is accumulated around them. Nature has provided
them as a shield to many delicate plants, which, em-
bowered in their capillary foliage, are enabled to sustain
the heat of summer and the cold of winter, and re-
main secure from the browsing herds.

Winter, which is a time of sleep with the higher vegeta-
ble tribes, is a season of activity with many of the flower-
less plants. There are certain species of mosses and lichens
that vegetate under the snow, and but few of the mosses
are at all injuriously affected by the action of frost. By
this power of living and growing in winter, they are fitted
to act as protectors to other plants from the vicissitudes
of winter weather, and by their close texture they prevent
the washing away of the soil from the declivities into the
valleys. They answer the double purpose of catching the
floating particles of dust and retaining them about their
roots, and of preventing any waste from the places they
occupy. Finding in them the same protection which is
afforded by the snow, or by the matting of straw provided
by the gardener, there are many plants that vegetate un-
der their surface, secure from the alternate action of freez-

8* L

178 THE FLOWERLESS PLANTS.

ing and thawing in winter, and of drought in summer.
Hence certain plants blossom more luxuriantly in a bed
of mosses than in the unoccupied soil.

The mosses are seldom found in cultivated lands. As
they grow entirely on the shallow surface, the labors of
the tiller of the soil are fatal to them. They delight in
old woods, in moist barren pastures, in solitary moorlands,
and in all unfrequented places. In those situations they
remain fresh and beautiful, while they prepare for the
higher vegetable tribes many a barren spot, that must
otherwise remain forever without its plant. They are,
therefore, the pioneers of vegetable life ; and Nature, when
she selects an uncongenial tract to be made productive
of fruits or flowers, covers the surface with a close tex-
ture of moss, and variegates it with lichens, before she
strews the seeds, of the higher plants to vegetate among
their roots. The wise husbandman, who, by a careful rota-
tion of crops, causes his land to be constantly productive,
is but an humble imitator of Nature's great principle of
action.

The mosses have never been made objects of extensive
cultivation by our florists. Every rambler in the wild
wood knows their value and their beauty, which seem to
have been overlooked by the cultivator. They undoubt-
edly possess qualities that might be rendered valuable for
purposes of artificial embellishment. There is no tree
with foliage of so perfect a green tint as that of the moss
-which covers the roofs of very old buildings. The mossy
knolls in damp woods are peculiarly attractive on ac-
count of their verdure, and the fine velvety softness of
their pleasantly rounded surface. Though the mosses
produce no flowers, the little germs that grow on the ex-
tremities of their hair-like stems are perfect jewels. With
them, however, it is the stem that exhibits the most beau-
ty of hues, varying from a deep yellow to a clear and

THE FLOWERLESS PLANTS. 179

lively claret or crimson, while the termination is green or
brown. I have nothing to say of the physiology of their
propagation. I treat of mosses only as they are beautiful
objects of sight, and useful agents in unfolding and dis-
tributing the bounties of Nature. This tribe furnishes no
sustenance to man or to any other animal. Those eatable
plants which are called by the name of mosses are either
lichens or sea-weeds. Nature, who, with a provident hand,
renders many of her productions capable of supplying a
manifold purpose in her economy, has limited the agency
of the mosses to a few simple and beautiful services.
They perform, under her invisible guidance, for the field
and the forest, what is done by the painter and the
embosser for the works of the builder of temples and
palaces.

The ferns have fewer picturesque attractions than the
mosses ; but like the latter, they are allied with the prim-
itive wilds of nature, with gloomy swamps, which they
clothe with verdure, and with rocky precipices, on whose
shelvy sides they are distributed like the tiles on the roof
of a house. They resemble mosses in their dissimilarity to
common vegetable forms ; and their broad wing-like leaves
or fronds are the conspicuous ornaments of wet woods and
solitary pastures which are unvisited by the plough. By
their singular appearance we are reminded of the primi-
tive forms of vegetation on the earth's surface, and of the
luxuriant productions of the tropics.

The ferns are for the most part a coarse tribe of plants,
having more beauty in their forms than in their texture.
In temperate latitudes it is only their leaf or frond that
is conspicuous, their stems being either prostrate or sub-
terranean. Yet in some of the species nothing can be
more beautiful than the ramifications of their fronds. In
their arrangements we may observe a perfect harmony
and regularity, without the formality that marks the com-

180 THE FLOWERLESS PLANTS.

pound leaves of other plants. Herein Nature affords an
example of a compound assemblage of parts, in a pleas-
ing uniformity that far exceeds the most ingenious de-
vices of art. Apparently similar arrangements are seen
in the leaves of the poison hemlock, the milfoil, and the
Eoman wormwood; but their formality is not so beau-
tifully blended with variety as that of the compound-
leaved ferns.

In tropical countries some of the ferns are woody plants,
attaining the size of trees, rising with a branchless trunk
over fifty feet in height, and then spreading out their
leaves like a palm-tree. Hence they are singularly at-
tractive objects to the traveller from the North, by the
sight of which he seems to be carried back to the early
ages of the world, before the human race had a foothold
upon the earth. .Here we know them only as an inferior
tribe in relation to size, the tallest seldom exceeding two
or three feet in height. Everything in their appearance
is singular, from the time when they first push up their
purple and yellow scrolls above the surface of the soil,
covered with a sort of downy plumage, to the time when
their leaves are spread out like an eagle's wings, and their
long spikes of russet flowers, if they may be so called,
stand erect above the weeds and grasses, forming a beau-
tiful contrast with the pure summer greenness of all other
vegetation.

There are few plants that exceed in beauty and delicacy
of structure the common maiden-hair. The main stem is
of a glossy jet, and divided into two principal branches,
that produce in their turn several other branches from
their upper side, resembling a compound pinnate leaf
without its formality. In woods in the western part of
this State is a remarkable fern called the walking leaf.
It derives its name from a singular habit of striking root
at the extremities of the fronds, giving origin to new

THE FLOWERLESS PLANTS. 181

plants, and travelling along in this manner from one point
to another. There is only one climbing fern among our
native plants. Equally beautiful and rare, it is found
only in a few localities all the way from Massachusetts to
the West Indies. Unlike other ferns in its twining habit,
it has also palmate leaves, with five lobes, and bears its
fruit in a panicle, like the osmunda. But we need not
search out the rare ferns for specimens of elegance or
beauty. The common polypody, with its minutely divid-
ed leaves, covers the sides of steep wooded hills and rocky
precipices, and adorns with a beautiful evergreen verdure
their barren slopes, otherwise destitute of attractions. The
ferns and the mosses are peculiarly the ornaments of
waste and desert places, clothing with their verdure desert
plains and rough declivities.

I have always attached a romantic interest to the sea-
weeds, whose forms remind me of the haunts of the
Nereids, of the mysterious chambers of the ocean, and
of all that is interesting among the deep inlets of the sea.
Though flowerless, they are unsurpassed in the delicate
arrangement of their branches, and the variety of colors
they display. We see them only when broken off from
the rocks on which they grew, and washed upon the shore,
where they lie, after a storm, like flowers scattered upon
the greensward by the scythe of the mower. When
branching out in the perfection of their forms, underneath
the clear briny tide, they are unsurpassed by few plants
in elegance. The artist has taken advantage of their pe-
culiar branching forms and their delicate hues, and weaves
them into chaplets of many beautiful designs.

The sea-weeds seem to be allied to the lichens, and are
considered by some botanists as the same plants modified
by growing under water, and tinted by the iodine and
bromine which they imbibe from the sea.

The lichens are the lowest tribe in the scale of vegeta-

182 THE FLOWERLESS PLANTS.

tion. They make their appearance on naked rocks, and
clothe them with a sort of fringe, holding fast on the rock
for security, and deriving their chief sustenance from the
atmosphere and particles of dust wafted on the winds
and lodged at their roots. They have properly, however,
no roots, neither have they leaves or stern ; yet they are
almost infinitely varied in their forms, hues, and ramifi-
cations. They grow in all places which are exposed -to
air and moisture, on the surface of rocks, old walls, fences,
posts, and on branches of trees. Some of the species are
foliaceous, resembling leaves without branches or any dis-
tinct or regular outline, and they are found mostly on
rocks. Others are erect and ramified like trees and shrubs,
but without anything that represents foliage. Such is
that common gray lichen that covers our barren hills,
which is a perfect hygrometer^ crumbling under the feet
in dry weather, and yielding to the step like velvet,
whenever the air contains moisture. In similar places,
and growing along with it, is found one of the hepatic
mosses that produces those little tubercles — the fructifi-
cation of the plant — resembling dots of sealing-wax,
eagerly sought by artists who manufacture designs in
moss. But the most beautiful lichens are those which
are pendent from trees, consisting of branching threads,
of an ash-green color, and bearing little circular shields
at their extremities. These lichens give character to
moist woods and low cedar-swamps, where they hang
like funereal drapery from the boughs and deepen the
gloom of their solitudes.

Lichens, though inhabiting all parts of the earth, are
particularly luxuriant in cold climates, thriving in extreme
polar latitudes, where not another plant can live. Nature
seems to have designed them as an instrument for prepar-
ing every barren spot with the means of sustaining the
more valuable plants. Not only do they cause a gradual

THE FLOWERLESS PLANTS. 183

accumulation of soil by their decay, but they actually
feed upon the rocks by means of oxalic acid that exudes
from their substance. By this process the surface of the
solid rock is changed into a soil fitted for the nutrition of
plants. After the lichens have perished, the mosses and
ferns take root in the soil that is furnished by their decay.
One vegetable tribe after another grows to perfection and
perishes, but to give place to its more noble successor,
until a sufficient quantity of soil is accumulated for the
growth of a forest of trees. In such order may the whole
earth ha,ve been gradually covered with plants, by the
perishing of one tribe after another, leaving its substance
for the support of a superior tribe, until the work of crea-
tion was completed.

Among the grotesque productions of nature, the fungi,
or mushroom tribe, ought undoubtedly to be named as
the most remarkable, attaining the whole of their growth
in the space of a few days, and sometimes of a few hours.
They are simple in their parts, like what riiay be supposed
to have been the earliest productions of nature. They
have no leaves or flowers or branches. They will grow
and continue in health without light, requiring nothing
but air and moisture above their roots. Though so low
in the scale of vegetation, they are not without elegance
of form and beauty of color, and are remembered in
connection with dark pine woods, .where, forming a sort
of companionship with the monotropas, they are particu-
larly luxuriant. Neither are they deficient in poetical
interest, as these plants are the cause of those fairy rings
that attract attention by their mysterious growth in cir-
cles on the greensward in the pastures.

The mushrooms vary extremely in their forms and
sizes. Some are as slender as the finest mosses, tinted
with gold and scarlet, and almost transparent. Others
resemble a parasol, with their upper surface of a brilliant

184 THE FLOWERLESS PLANTS.

straw-color, dotted with purple, and their under surface
of rose or lilac. They seem to riot in all sorts of beauti-
ful and peculiar shapes and combinations. But the greater
number are remarkable only for their grotesque forms, as
if intended as a burlesque upon the other productions of
the earth. Almost every tree, after its decay, gives origin
to a particular species of mushroom. They are often seen
as small as pins, with little heads resembling red and yel-
low beads, growing like a forest under the moist protec-
tion of some broad-leaved shrubbery. Over the surface
of all accumulations of decayed vegetable matter they are
seen spreading out their umbrellas and lifting up their
heads, often springing up suddenly, as if by enchantment.
But they are short-lived, and soon perish if the light of
the sun is admitted into their shady haunts.

Thus far have I endeavored to call attention to the
flowerless plants, not designing to treat of them in a sci-
entific manner. I have said nothing, therefore, of the
characese and t'he equisetums, lest I make useless repe-
titions of remarks which are necessarily of a general char-
acter. Whoever will take pains to examine these plants
will discover an inexhaustible variety in their forms, their
modes of growth, and their fructification. Hence those
botanists who have given particular attention to this class
of vegetation have been noted for the enthusiasm with
which they pursued their researches. I have never been
initiated into the mysteries of their life, growth, and
continuance. I treat of them only as they serve to add
beauty to a little nook in the garden, to a dripping rock,
or to a solitary dell in the wildwood. The more we study
them, the more are we charmed with their singularity
and elegance.

Thus, over all her productions has Nature spread the
charms of beautiful forms and tints, from the humblest
mushroom that grows upon the decayed stump of a tree,

THE FLOWEKLESS PLANTS. 185

or the lichen that hangs in drapery from its living
branches, to the lofty tree itself that rears its head among
the clouds. It is not in all cases those objects which are
most attractive to a superficial observation that furnish
the most delight to a scrutinizing mind. The greatest
beauties of Nature, are hidden from vulgar sight, as if pur-
posely reserved to reward the efforts of those who, with
minds devoted to truth, pursue their researches in the
great temple of science.

DEOUGHT.

IT. is an interesting employment to watch the progress
of a drought from its commencement, and to witness the
efforts of nature to resist its effects and to guard the
tender plants from injury. By carefully noting all its
phenomena, we may arrive at a knowledge of its causes,
which are undoubtedly, in one way or another, connected
with the clearing of the forests, and we may learn the
means by which we may secure our crops from its rav-
ages, by certain appliances or particular modes of tillage.
The drought that visited us in the summer and autumn
of 1854, on account of its extraordinary severity and du-
ration, afforded a study for the observer of nature, such as
but few generations can witness ; and it has led to much
speculation concerning the means which may be used to
save the country from the frequent recurrence of such an
evil. I am but a speculative and superficial observer of
these phenomena, having entered only the vestibule of the
temple of science. From this I endeavor to take as wide
a view as possible of Nature and her works, humbly seek-
ing every opportunity to gain access to the inner temple,
from whose windows I may behold a wider prospect, and
trace the relations of things which seem now to have no
mutual dependence. Many important laws are discov-
ered by correctly noting superficial appearances ; and if
we trace the connections between all the phenomena that
attend one of these periods of drought, we may acquire
many points of information that would be valuable both
to science and agriculture.

DROUGHT. 187

The first symptoms of drought are manifest in the wilt-
ing of the grasses, and other rough-leaved and fibrous-
rooted plants. Of all perennials, the grasses are the least
able to bear continued heat and drought ; hence the almost
entire absence of this tribe of the vegetable kingdom in
the tropics, and their scarcity in all latitudes below the
temperate zone. Almost at the same time with the grasses
the tender annuals begin to wilt and droop in the gar-
dens. Among our common weeds, the Roman wormwood,
the goosefoot, the mustard, and the wild radish feel its
effects at an early period. Their leaves become drawn
up, they gradually lose their verdure and freshness, and
do not increase in growth. Of the annuals, those suffer
the least which have a succulent leaf and stem, like the
portulacca and the sedum. All the rough-leaved species,
like the aster and the hibiscus, are among the first plants
that suffer and perish.

As the drought proceeds, the grass fields in the uplands,
where the soil is thin and meagre, become dry and yel-
low ; and the clover, the whiteweed, and the saxifrage are
made conspicuous by their green tufts, which retain their
verdure after the grasses are completely seared. At the
same time the foliage of young trees loses its lustre,
and is often partially tinted by premature ripeness and
decay. The unripened fruits drop constantly from the
trees, and the new foliage that is put forth is pale, as if it
had suffered from a deficiency of light. The fruits of the
season ripen before they have attained their fulness ; the
whortleberries are withered and» dried like pepper, and
their foliage is rolled up and crisp. The air contains no
moisture, and the hygrometrical lichens upon the rocks
and hills are crusty, and break and crumble under our
feet, even after sunset.

The lowlands begin to suffer after the uplands seem
to be past redemption. Rivers have shrunk to rivulets,

188 DROUGHT.

and widespread lakes to drear morasses, encircled "by a
blackened margin, which is exposed by the receding of
the waters. Shallow ponds are completely dried, and the
fishes are dead and stiffened in the marl which has been
baked in the sun. The aquatic plants lift up their long,
blackened stems out of the mud, showing the former
height of the water, that has sunken away from them.
We look round in vain for the usual wild-flowers of the
season ; they remain blighted and stationary in their
growth, and refuse to put forth their blossoms. The
whole landscape wears the aspect of a desert ; for even
the dews have fled, and the evening air is dry and sultry.

The sallow hues of autumn rest upon the brows of sum-
mer, like the paleness and wrinkles of age upon a crew
that are perishing with starvation and thirst. We find
no wet places in the meadows, and even the brooksides
can hardly be traced by their greener vegetation. The
forest-trees at last begin to suffer ; and on the wooded
hill- tops we see here arid there a group of trees completely
browned or blackened in their foliage, some being dead, and
others having gone into a state of premature hibernation.
The animals suffer no less than the vegetables on which
they are dependent. The birds are languid and restless,
and do not sing with their accustomed spirit. The squir-
rels make longer journeys in search of their food, and the
hare finds it difficult to obtain sustenance from the dried
and tasteless herbs and clover. The chirping insects are
dumb and motionless for the want of food ; for every ten-
der herb is sear and dry? and multitudes of creatures are
hourly perishing with famine.

At this time man watches anxiously for the weather-
signs, looking often up to heaven for some kind assur-
ances of relief; but there is no truth in any of the usual
omens. The tree-toads from the neighboring orchard —
the weather's faithful augurs — by an occasional feeble

DROUGHT. 189

croaking give false promises of change. The western
clouds diminish as they rise ; for the fountains of heaven
are dried up, and cannot supply them with moisture. The
black and threatening clouds that before sunset darken
the horizon with the signs of approaching rain are deceit-
ful, and false is every beautiful signal which is hung out
amid the splendors of declining day. There is no truth
in any sign that appears in the heavens or on the earth.

The arrangements of the clouds do not differ essentially
from such as appear in ordinary seasons ; but the hue of
the heavens is less brilliant, and the tints of yellow and
bronze predominate over those of crimson and vermilion.
The clouds invariably dissolve soon after sunset, like the
steam from boiling water in a clear atmosphere. This
dissolution is one of the unfailing accompaniments of
drought in all seasons. While the sun is up, there is
sufficient evaporation to produce clouds, which continue
to increase as long as this moisture is raised by the
sun's heat, because the dry region of air above does not
absorb them so rapidly as they are produced from below.
At the sun's decline all evaporation from the earth and
the water ceases. The superfluous moisture of the lower
strata of the atmosphere is then precipitated to the earth
in the form of dew, and the clouds, which were formed in
the daytime, are rapidly absorbed into the dry atmospheric
region above them. This process is carried on, day after
day, until the whole atmosphere has become saturated,
after which rain must soon follow. The first symptoms
of this saturation are the continuance of the clouds with-
out any diminution of their bulk after sunset.

The majority of observers have probably witnessed this
process of evaporation of the clouds during a dry spell, in
the afternoon, — a phenomenon which undoubtedly con-
tributed to give rise to the old saying that " all signs fail
in a dry time." The clouds darken and gather together

190 DROUGHT.

as usual before a thunder-shower. They rise slowly, and
sometimes, though but seldom, a slight rumbling of thun-
der may be heard at a distance. As they ascend above the
horizon, their substance becomes perceptibly thinner and
more transparent : the fragments that are broken off from
their summits dissolve into air, and the clouds will have
entirely disappeared before they have risen twenty degrees
into the heavens. Not unfrequently a cloud continues to
ascend during the prevalence of a strong wind that bears
it along so rapidly as to give it no time to dissolve. As
we watch its progress with gladness and expectation, we
soon observe beneath its dark mass a gleam as bright as
gold. The trees and herbs are bent by a brisk and sud-
den gale ; a storm of dust conceals the landscape from
sight ; a few heavy drops, amidst the din of the elements,
splash on the dusty streets, and all is over.

The weather during a period of drought in summer is
always even and warm. Any sudden or extreme changes
of temperature must necessarily produce rain. Hence
fair and serene days are the usual accompaniments of
drought. But vegetation is so greatly seared and de-
prived of its verdure, and all animated things are so list-
less and silent, that there is but little pleasure in a prospect,
except of the ocean and the heavens. It is then delight-
ful to witness the movements of the water-birds, that
seem not to share the afflictions of other creatures ; and
it is refreshing to observe the luxuriance of the marine
plants, and to feel the damp and invigorating influence
of the- sea-breezes that come laden with moisture, and
afford a pleasing anticipation of the blessing that must
erelong spring from this great reservoir of waters and
ultimate source of all the terrestrial gifts of Nature.

JULY.

THE month of balmy breezes and interminable ver-
dure has given place to one of parching heat and sun-
shine, which has seared the verdant brows of the hills,
and driven away the vernal flowers that crowned their
summits. They have fled from the uplands to escape
the heat and drought, and have sought shelter in wet
places or under the damp shade of woods. Many of the
rivulets that gave animation to the prospect in the spring
are now marked only by a narrow channel, filled with a
luxuriant growth of herbs, that follow its winding course
along the plain ; and the shallow pools that watered the
early cowslips are turne(J into meads of waving herbage.
Millions of bright flowers are nodding their heads over the
tall grass, but we scarcely heed them, for they seem like
the haughty usurpers of the reign of the meeker flowers
of spring. The cattle have taken shelter- under the trees
to escape the hot beams of the sun, and many may be
seen standing in pools or the margins of ponds for refresh-
ment and protection from insects. All animated nature
is indulging a languid repose, and the feeble gales hardly
shake the leaves of aspen-trees as they pass by them,
faint and exhausted with the sultry heats of July.

As June was the month of music and flowers, July is
the harvest month of the early fruits; and, though the
poet might prefer the former, the present offers the most
attractions to the epicure. Strawberries, that gem the
meads, and raspberry-bushes that embroider the stone-
walls and fences, hang out their ripe, red clusters of berries

192 JULY.

where the wild-rose and the elder-flower scent the air with
their fragrance. The rocks and precipices, so lately crowned
with flowers, are festooned with thimbleberries, that spring
out in tufts from the mossy crevices half covered with
green, umbrageous ferns. There is no spot so barren that
it is not covered with something that is beautiful to the
sight or grateful to the sense. The little pearly flowers
that hung in profusion from the low blueberry-bushes,
whose beauty and fragrance we so lately admired, are
transformed into azure fruits, that rival the flowers in
elegance. Nature would convert us all into epicures by
changing into agreeable fruits those beautiful things we
contemplated so lately with a tender sentiment allied to
that of love. Summer is surely the season of epicurism,
as spring is that of the luxury of sentiment. Nature has
now bountifully provided for every sense. The trees that
afford a pleasant shade are surrounded with an under-
growth of fruitful shrubs, and the winds that fan the brow
are laden with odors gathered from beds of roses, azaleas,
and honeysuckles. Goldfinches and humming-birds peep
down upon us, as they flit among the branches of the
trees, and butterflies settle upon the flowers and charm
our eyes with their gorgeous colors. In the pastures the
red lilies have appeared, and young children who go out
into the fields, to gather these 'simple luxuries, after filling
their baskets with fruit, crown their arms with bouquets
of lilies, laurels, and honeysuckles, rejoicing over their
beauty during the happiest, as it is the most simple and
natural, period of their lives.

There is not a more agreeable recreation at the present
season than a boat-excursion upon a wood-skirted pond,
when its alluvial borders are brightly spangled with water-
lilies, and the air is full of delicate incense from their
sweet-scented flowers. The plover may be seen gliding
with nimble feet upon the broad leaves that float on

JULY. 193

the surface of the waters, so lightly as hardly to impress
a dimple on the glossy sheen ; and multitudes of fishes
are gambolling among their long stems in the clear depths
below. Among the fragrant white lilies are interspersed
the more curious though less delicate flowers of the yel-
low lily ; and in clusters here and there upon the shore,
where the turf is dank and tremulous, the purple sarrace-
nias bow their heads over lands that have never felt the
plough. The alders and birches cast a beautiful shade
upon the mirrored border of the lake, the birds are sing-
ing melodiously among their branches, and clusters of
ripe raspberries overhang the banks as we sail along their
shelvy sides.

But we listen in vain on our rural excursions for the
songs of multitudes of birds that were tuneful a few
weeks since. The chattering bobolink, merriest bird of
June, has become silent ; he will soon doff his black coat
and yellow epaulettes, and put on the russet garb of win-
ter. His voice is heard no more in concert with the gen-
eral anthem of Nature. He has become silent with all
his merry kindred, and, instead of the lively notes poured
out so merrily for the space of two months, we hear only
a plaintive chirping, as the birds wander about the fields
in scattered parties, no longer employed in the cares of
wedded life. But there are several of our warblers that
still remain tuneful. The little wood-sparrow sings more
loudly than ever, the vireo and wren still enliven the
gardens, and the hermit-thrush daily utters his liquid
strains from his deep sylvan retreat upon the wooded
hills.

In the place of the birds myriads of chirping insects
pour forth during the heat of the day a continual din of
merry voices. Day by day are they stringing their harps
anew, and leading out a fresh host of musicians, making-
ready to gladden the autumn with the fulness of their

194 JULY.

songs. At intervals during the hottest of the weather,
we hear the peculiar spinning notes of the harvest-fly, a
species of locust, beginning low and with a gradual swell,
increasing in loudness for a few seconds, then slowly
dying away into silence. To my mind these sounds are
vivid remembrancers of the pleasures and languishment
of noonday, of cool shades apart from sultry heats, of re-
pose beneath embowering canopies of willows, or grate-
ful repasts of fruits in the summer orchard.

The season of haymaking has arrived, the mowers are
busy in their occupation, and the whetting of the scythe
blends harmoniously with the sounds of animated nature.
The air is filled with the fragrance of new-mown hay,
the dying incense-offering of the troops of flowers that
perish beneath the fatal scythe. Many are the delightful
remembrances connected with haymaking to those who
have spent their youth in the country. In moderate sum-
mer weather there is no more delightful occupation. Every
toil is pleasant that leads us into green fields and fills the
mind with the cheerfulness of all living things.

But summer, with all its delightful occasions of joy and
rejoicing, is in one respect the most melancholy season of
the year. We are now the constant witnesses of some
regretful change in the aspect of nature, reminding us of
the fate of all things and the transitoriness of existence.
Every morning sun looks down upon the graves of whole
tribes of flowers that were but yesterday the pride and
glory of the fields. Day by day as I pursue my walks,
while rejoicing at the discovery of some new and beauti-
ful visitant of the meads, I am suddenly affected with
sorrow upon looking around in vain for the little com-
panion of my former excursions, now drooping arid faded
and breathing its last breath of fragrance into the air.

I am then reminded of early friends who are no longer
with the living ; who were cut down, one by one, like the

JULY. 195

flowers, leaving their places to be supplied with new
friends, perhaps equally lovely and worthy of our affec-
tions, but whose even greater loveliness and worth will
never comfort us for the loss of those who have departed.
Like flowers, they smiled upon us for a brief season, and,
like flowers, they perished after remaining with us but
to teach us how to love and how "to mourn. The birds
likewise sojourn with us only long enough to remind us
of the joy of their presence and to afford us an occasion
of sorrow when they leave us. We have hardly grown
familiar with their songs ere they become silent and pre-
pare for their annual migration. They are like those
agreeable companions among our friends who are ever
roaming about the world on errands of duty or pleasure,
and who only divide with us that pleasant intercourse
which they share with other friendly circles in different
parts of the earth.

It is now midsummer. Already do we perceive the
lengthening of the nights and the shortening of the sun's
diurnal orbit. We are reminded by the first observation
of this change that summer is rapidly passing away ; and
we think upon it with a painful sense of the mutability
of the seasons. But let us not lament that Nature has
ordained these alternations ; for though there is no change
that does not bring with it some lingering sorrows over
the past, yet may it not be that these vicissitudes are the
true sources of that happiness which we attribute only to
the immediate causes of pleasure ? Every month, while
it sadly reminds us of the departed joys and beauties of
the last, brings with it a recompense in bounties and bless-
ings which the preceding month could not afford. While
rejoicing, therefore, amid the voluptuous delights of sum-
mer, we will not regret that we cannot live forever among
enervating luxuries. With the aid of temperance and
virtue, all seasons as they come may be made equal

196 JULY.

sources of enjoyment. And may it not be that life it-
self is but a season in the revolving year of eternity, the
vernal season of our immortality, that leads not round
and round in a circle, but onward, in an everlasting
progression, to greater goodness and greater bliss, un-
til the virtues we now cherish have ripened into eternal
felicity ?

PEOTECTION OF BIEDS.

THE presence of birds as companions of a home in the
country is desirable to all, next to woods, flowers, green
fields, and pleasant prospects. Without birds, the land-
scape, if not wanting in beauty, would lack something
which is necessary to the happiness of all men who are
above a savage or a boor. Indeed, it is highly probable
that Nature owes more to the lively motions, songs, and
chattering of the feathered race for the benign effects of
her charms, than to any other single accompaniment of
natural scenery. They are so intimately associated with
all that is delightful in field and forest, with our early
walks in the morning, our rest at noonday, and our med-
itations at sunset, with the trees that spread their branches
over our heads, and the lively verdure at our feet, that it
is difficult to think of one apart from the others. Through
the voices of birds Nature may be said to speak to us, and
without them she would be a dumb companion whose
beauty would hardly be felt.

Both from our regard for their utility to agriculture
and for their pleasant companionship with man, we have
thousands of motives for protecting the birds. Very little
attention has been paid to this subject. A few laws have
been made for their preservation ; but they have seldom
been enforced. I believe the farmer would promote his
own thrift by extending a watchful care over all fami-
lies of birds, but the smaller species are the most useful
and delightful. It seems as if Nature had given them
beauty of plumage and endowed them with song, that

198 PROTECTION OF BIRDS.

man by their attractions might be induced to preserve a
race of creatures so valuable to his interest.

There are two ways of preserving the birds : we may
avoid destroying them, and we may promote the growth
of certain trees, shrubs, and plants that afford them shelter
and subsistence. The familiar birds that live in our gar-
dens and orchards will multiply in proportion as the forests
are cleared and the land devoted to tillage, if the clearing
does not amount to baldness. To this class belong many
of our sparrows, the robin, the bobolink, — indeed, all our
familiar species. The solitary birds that inhabit the pas-
ture and forest would probably be exterminated by the
same operations that would increase the number of rob-
ins and sparrows. It is no less necessary to keep the
birds for the preservation of the forests than to keep
the forests for the preservation of the birds.

To insure the protection of all species, there must be
a certain proportion of thicket and wildwood. The little
wood-sparrow seldom frequents our villages, unless they
are closely surrounded by woods. Yet this bird lives
and breeds in the open field. He frequents the pastures
which are overgrown with wild shrubbery and its accom-
paniment of vines, mosses, and ferns. He is always found
in the whortleberry field, and probably makes an occasional
repast on its fruits in their season. He builds his nest
on the ground or on a mossy knoll protected by a thicket.
All birds are attached to grounds which are covered with
particular kinds of plants and shrubbery that sustain their
favorite insect food. If we destroy this kind of vegetation,
we drive away the species that are chiefly attached to
it from our vicinity, to seek their natural habitats. We
may thus account for the silence that pervades the local-
ity of many admired country-seats ; for with regard to
the wants of our familiar birds it is often that trimming
and cultivation are carried to a pernicious extreme.

PROTECTION OF BIRDS. 199

There will be no danger for many years to come that
our lands will be so thoroughly stripped of their native
growth of herbs, trees, and shrubs as to leave the birds
without their natural shelter in some places. The danger
that awaits them is that they may be driven out of par-
ticular localities, and the inhabitants thereby deprived
of the presence of many interesting songsters. Wher-
ever the native species are abundant, we find a consid-
erable proportion of cultivated land, numerous orchards,
extensive fields of grass and grain, interspersed with frag-
ments of forest or wildwood, well provided with water-
courses. Where these conditions are present, the famil-
iar birds will be numerous if they are not destroyed. If
these cultivated lands lie in the vicinity of pastures
abounding in thickets and wild shrubbery, fragments of
wood and their indigenous undergrowth, we may then hear
occasionally the notes of the solitary birds, many of which
are superior in song. Wild shrubbery and its carpet of
vines and mosses form the conditions that are necessary
for the preservation of these less familiar species.

The shrubs that bear fruit are the most useful to the
birds, especially as they are infested by more insects than
other kinds. The vaccinium, the viburnum, the cornel,
the elder, the celastrus, and the small cherries are abun-
dant where there is a goodly number of the less famil-
iar birds. If we clear our woods of their undergrowth
and convert them into parks, we do in the same propor-
tion diminish the numbers of many species. No such
clearing as this is favorable to any of the feathered race.
But the clearing and cultivation of the land outside of the
woods, if it be done rudely, leaving bushes on all barren
knolls and elevations, is beneficial to all kinds of birds by
increasing the quantity of insect food in the soil. A nice
man at the head of a farm would do more to prevent the
multiplication of birds, than a dozen striplings with their

200 PROTECTION OF BIRDS.

guns. The removal of this miscellaneous undergrowth
and border shrubbery would as effectually banish the red-
thrush, the catbird, and the smaller thrushes, as we should
extirpate the squirrels by destroying all the nut-bearing
trees and shrubs.

A smooth-shaven green is delightful to the eye at all
times ; but lawn is a luxury that is obtained at the ex-
pense of the familiar birds that nestle upon the ground.
The song-sparrows build their nests in the most fre-
quented places, if they are not liable to be disturbed. Not
a rod from our dwelling-house these little birds may have
their nests, if the right conditions are there. They are
often built on the side of a mound overrun by blackberry-
vines and wild rose-bushes. He who would entice them
to breed in his enclosures must not, for the preservation
of a foolish kind of neatness, eradicate the native shrubs
and vines as useless weeds.

Clipped hedge-rows, which have been recommended
as nurseries of birds, are checks to their multiplication.
A hedge-row cannot be " properly " maintained without
keeping the soil about its roots clear of grass and wild
herbage, which are needful to the birds. It is only a
neglected hedge-row that is useful to them, or a sponta-
neous growth of bushes and briers, such as constitutes
one of the picturesque attractions of a New England
stone-wall. We seldom see one that is not covered on
each side with roses, brambles, spirea, viburnum, and
other native vines and shrubs, so that in some of our open
fields the stone-walls, with their accompaniments, are the
most attractive objects in the landscape. Along their bor-
ders Nature calls out, in their season, the anemone, the
violet, the cranesbill, the bellwort, the convolvulus, and
many other flowers of exceeding beauty, while the rest
of the field is devoted to tillage.

The " nice man " who undertakes farming will grudge

PROTECTION OF BIRDS. 201

Nature this narrow strip on each side of his fences, though
she never fails to cover it with beauty. He considers it
an offence against neatness and order to allow Nature these
simple privileges, and employs his hired men to keep
down every plant that dares to peep out from the fence-
border without a license from the owner. Such a mis-
cellaneous hedge-row would constitute a perfect aviary
of singing-birds, and the benefits they would confer upon
the farmer by ridding his lands of noxious insects would
amply compensate him for the space left unimproved.
Then might we hear the notes of the wood-thrush and
the red-mavis in the very centre of our villages, and
hundreds of small birds of different species would cheer
us by their songs where at present only a solitary indi-
vidual is to be heard.

From the earliest times it has been customary to en-
courage the multiplication of swallows by the erection of
bird-houses in gardens and enclosures. Even the Indians
furnished a hospitable retreat for the purple martin by
fixing hollow gourds and calabashes upon the branches of
trees near their cabins. It is generally believed that this
active little bird is capable of driving away hawks and
crows from its vicinity by repeated annoyances. The
custom of supplying martins with a shelter has of late
grown into disuse. The wren and the bluebird may be
encouraged by similar accommodations. But as these
two species are not social in their habits of building, like
the martin, a separate box must be supplied for each
pair of birds. The wren is an indefatigable destroyer of
insects and one of the most interesting of our familiar
songsters. The bluebird, which is not less familiar, is
delighted with the hollow branch of an old tree in an
orchard, but is equally well satisfied with a box.

BIEDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST.
III.

THE CUCKOO.

OUR native Cuckoos have not the free-love instinct of
the European Cuckoo; and Daines Barrington would
have been delighted to quote their good parental habits
as an argument in his special plea for the European bird,
whom he considered the victim of slander. The Cow-
bird is our Cuckoo in the moral acceptation of the term.
The American Cuckoo is attached to its offspring in a
remarkable degree, and rears them with all the fidelity
of the most devoted parents; In my boyhood, the two
severest fights I had with birds on approaching their -nests
were once when I examined the nest of a Bluejay, and
again when I examined one belonging to a Cuckoo. The
young Cuckoos were equally savage when I attempted to
handle them. Yet this bird bears the reputation of cow-
ardice.

It is remarkable that the American Cuckoo, though a
faithful and devoted parent, should have certain peculiar
habits connected with laying and hatching, that bear
some evidence that the European and American species
have a common derivation. The habit of the European
bird of dropping its eggs into other birds' nests is proba-
bly connected with continued laying, extended to a greater
length of time than with other birds. The same fertil-
ity has been observed in the American Cuckoos. Mr.
Audubon mentions the peculiar habit of these birds of
laying fresh eggs and hatching them successively. Thus

iii'

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 203

it would seem that the last-laid eggs were hatched by
the involuntary brooding of the young which had not
left the nest. Dr. Brewer has "repeatedly found in a
nest three young and two eggs, one of the latter nearly
fresh, one with the embryo half developed, while of the
young birds, one would be just out of the shell, one half
fledged, and one just ready to fly. Subsequent obser-
vations in successive seasons led to the conviction that
both the Yellow-billed and the Black-billed Cuckoo share
in these peculiarities, and that it is a general but not
universal practice."

Dr. Brewer mentions an interesting fact that evinces
the strong attachment of the Cuckoo to its offspring.
Speaking of the Black-billed Cuckoo, he says : " Both
parents are assiduous in the duties of incubation and in
supplying food to each other and their offspring. In one
instance where the female had been shot by a thoughtless
boy, as she flew from the nest, the male bird successfully
devoted himself to the solitary duty of rearing the brood
of five. At the time of the death of the female, the nest
contained two eggs and three young birds. The writer
was present when the bird was shot, and was unable to
interfere in season to prevent it. Returning to the spot
not long afterwards, he found the widowed male sitting
upon the nest, and so unwilling to leave it as almost to
permit himself to be captured by the hand. His fidelity
and his entreaties were not disregarded. This nest, eggs,
and young were left undisturbed ; and as they were visited
from time to time, the young nestlings were found to
thrive under his vigilant care. The eggs were hatched
out, and in time the whole five were reared in safety."

The Cuckoo is an early visitor. His voice is often
heard before the first of May, proclaiming that " the spring
is coming in," like his congener in England, who has
always been regarded as the harbinger of that season.

204 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST.

His note is not strictly musical, yet we all listen to the
first sound of his voice with as much pleasure as to that
of the Bluebird or Song-Sparrow. I have not met a per-
son who was not delighted to hear it. It may be called,
figuratively, one of the picturesque sounds in Nature, re-
minding us of the resurrection of the long-hidden charms
of the season. The Cuckoo is swift in his flight, which
resembles that of a Dove so much that I have often mis-
taken them. In plumage and general shape this bird is
like the Ked-Thrush, with some mixture of olive.

THE COWBIRD.

Young nest-hunters, who are persistent in their enter-
prises, and who pursue their occupation partly from ra-
tional curiosity and not from mere wantonness, are often
surprised on finding in the nest of some small bird a sin-
gle egg larger than others in the same nest. In my own
days of academic truancy, I found this superfluous egg
most frequently in Sparrows' nests. It was not until I
had made a large collection of eggs that I discovered the
parentage of the odd ones. These eggs were generally
speckled ; but I occasionally found a large bluish egg
among others of the same color, and supposed they must
contain two yolks, save that birds in a wild state seldom
produce such monstrosities. Can it be that the Ameri-
can Cuckoo occasionally follows the instincts of his Euro-
pean congener ? In each case I considered the spurious
eggs as lawful plunder, since they were an imposition
practised upon the owner of the nest either by some
unknown bird or by the Cowbird, a member of a family
which are too aristocratic to rear their own offspring.
But as a politician of the speculative class I feel a
peculiar interest in the Cowbird, as affording me an op-
portunity of understanding the system of free love, as
exemplified in the habits of this species.

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 205

The Cowbird has no song. Nature seldom furnishes
any creature with an instinct which would be of no ser-
vice to the species. What occasion has the Cowbird for
a song, — a bird that neither wooes nor marries, — a bird
that would not sing lullabies to its own young; that
cares no more for one female than for another, and whose
indifference is perfectly reciprocated ? As well might a
poet write Petrarchian sonnets who was never in love ; or
a practical plodder write amatory songs, who asks the
members of a church whom he shall marry. There is
nothing romantic in this bird's character. His love is a
mere gravitation. Nature, despising his habits, has not
even arrayed him in attractive plumage ; for why should
he have beauty when his whole species are without the
sentiment that could appreciate it ? The Cowbirds are
the free-love party among the feathered tribes, — the
party also of communism, who would leave their off-
spring in others' hands, that they may have leisure for
aesthetic culture.

" This species," says Dr. Brewer, " is at all times grega-
rious and polygamous, never mating and never exhibiting
any signs of either conjugal or parental affection. Like
the Cuckoos of Europe, our Cow-Blackbird never con-
structs a nest of her own, and never hatches out or at-
tempts to rear her own offspring, but imposes her eggs
upon other birds ; and most of them, either unconscious
of the imposition or unable to rid themselves of the alien,
sit upon and hatch the stranger, and in so doing virtually
destroy their own offspring ; for the eggs of the Cowbird
are the first hatched, usually two days before the others.
The nursling is much larger in size, filling up a large
portion of the nest, and is insatiable in appetite, always
clamoring to be fed, and receiving by far the larger share
of the food brought to her nest ; its foster companions,
either starved or stifled, soon die, and their dead bodies are

206 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST.

removed, it is supposed, by the parents. They are never
found near the nest, as they would be if the young Cow-
Blackbird expelled them as does the Cuckoo ; indeed, Mr.
Nuttall has seen parent birds removing the dead young
to a distance from the nest and there dropping them."

THE REDWING-BLACKBIRD.

In early spring no sounds attract so much attention as
the unmusical notes of the Eed wing- Blackbird coming
to our ears from every wooded meadow. A sort of chip-
chip churee, mixed with many other confused and some gut-
tural sounds, forms this remarkable chorus, which seems to
be a universal chattering, hardly to be considered a song.
Most of the notes are sharp, and in none could I ever
detect anything like musical intonation. Sometimes they
seem to chant in concert with the little piping frogs,
though the sounds made by the latter are by far the most
musical. Indeed, the Redwing-Blackbird never sings,
though we frequently hear from a solitary individual the
sound of chip-churee.

This bird, as well as the Cowbird, is a free-lover,
though the females have not yet declared their rights,
and their communistic prejudices are not sufficient to
cause them to refuse to rear and educate their offspring.
In early April assemblages of Redwings, perched upon
trees standing in wet grounds, constantly chatter in mer-
ry riot, while the bright scarlet epauletted males strive
to recommend themselves by music, like some awk-
ward youth who serenades his mistress with a jewsharp.
These notes seem to spring from a fulness of joy upon
returning to their native swamps. The Redwings un-
doubtedly mate, though there is plainly no jealousy
among them. Like the Otaheitans, a flock of birds has
a flock of wives, the true wife being recognized above

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 207

the others only while rearing their young. In this
respect they differ from the gallinaceous birds, who reso-
lutely demand exclusive possession of all the females and
establish their right by might. They fight until the con-
queror is left to be the sultan of the flock.

The nests of the Eedwing are always suspended upon a
bush or a tuft of reeds in a half-inundated meadow. I have
frequently found them in a button-bush, surrounded by
water ; but they are also suspended from the perpendicular
stalks of cat-tails, which encircle the nests, bound to them
by the" leaves of the same plant or any other fibrous
material which is near at hand. The Eedwing displays
almost as much dexterity as the Baltimore Oriole in the
construction of its nest, which is always firmly woven so
that it is not easily detached from its position. It rears
but one brood in a season. The eggs have a whitish
ground tinged slightly with blue, and mottled with dark
purple blotches irregularly distributed. The Redwings
are resolute defenders of their nest and young, both par-
ents manifesting equal anxiety and courage.

Like all our most useful birds, the Eedwings are very
mischievous, consuming Indian corn while it is in the
milk, and thus doing an incalculable amount of damage,
especially at the South, where the species assemble in
countless flocks. Alexander Wilson has seen them so
numerous in Virginia during the month of January, as to
resemble an immense black cloud. When they settled
upon a meadow their united voices made a sound which,
heard at a distance, was sublime ; and when they all rose
together upon the wing, the noise was like distant thun-
der. He took particular notice of the glitter of their
epaulets, flashing from thousands of wings from this vast
assemblage. At the North they are seldom numerous
enough to do any extensive damage, and they are such in-
defatigable hunters of all those grubs that are concealed

208 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST.

beneath the surface of the ground, that they probably
compensate in this way for all the mischief they perform.

THE PURPLE GRACKLE.

High up in the pines or firs that constitute a grove
outside of any of our villages, in the latter part of April,
small flocks of Purple Grackles may be seen gathered
together like Kooks, and making the whole neighborhood
resound with their garrulity. They are not very shy
birds, seeming hardly conscious of the enmity with which
they are regarded by the villagers near whose habitations
they congregate. They become every year more numer-
ous and familiar, their numbers increasing with the ex-
tension of the area of tillage. In no way is the truth of
the Malthusian theory more clearly proved or more plainly
illustrated than in the habits of certain species of birds.
They will increase in spite of our persistent efforts to
exterminate them, unless we cut down our woods and
thickets to deprive them of -a shelter and a home. A
single model farmer or landscape-gardener may do more
in the way of their extermination, by keeping his grounds
nice, and clear of undergrowth, than twenty mischievous
boys with guns or a dozen avaricious farmers with their
nets. Birds that, like the Eobin and the Grackle, consume
all sorts of insects they can find upon the ground, will
increase with their supply of insect food. If we wish to
stop their multiplication, we must bury every fertilizer six
feet deep.

The Grackles are intelligent birds, and, though ap-
parently not very shy, they are wise enough to build
their nests in the tops of tall trees which are difficult of
access, choosing an evergreen for this purpose, that they
may be more safely concealed. These birds have been
known to build sometimes in the hollows of trees ; like-

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 209

wise inside of the spire of a church and in martin-houses.
Indeed, Mr. S. P. Fowler thinks that as human population
increases, the Grackles are gradually assuming the habits
of the English Eooks. Like the Eook, they are naturally
gregarious, and as the area of agriculture is expanded, and
woods afford birds less protection than formerly, they are
disposed to seek artificial shelter in the vicinity of towns,
that they may feed upon insect food, which in these local-
ities is very abundant.

The Purple Grackle has, upon examination, very beau-
tiful plumage; for its black feathers are full of various
tints, changeable, according as the light falls upon them,
into violet, purple, blue, and green. We see, however,
nearly all the same varying shades in the plumage of the
common Cock, when it is black. They are said to con-
sume so much corn as to seriously injure the crop wher-
ever they exist in large numbers. Still they are so use-
ful as to deserve not only protection, but encouragement,
and groves in which they can nestle without disturbance
should be saved for them.

Like the Eedwing, they assemble in large flocks in the
Southern States. According to Wilson, the magnitude of
their assemblages can hardly be described. In Virginia
he witnessed one of these myriad flocks settled on the
banks of the Eoanoke. When they arose at his approach,
the noise of their wings was like distant thunder, and
they completely hid from sight the fields over which they
passed by the blackness of their multitudinous flocks.
He thought the assemblage might contain hundreds of
thousands. The depredations of such immense flocks
upon the Indian-corn crop must be incalculable, since
they are known to attack it in all stages of its growth,
beginning as soon as it is planted.

In New England they remain only during the breeding-
season, when it is a well-established fact that their whole

210 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST.

diet consists of worms and insects. Good observers who
have watched them here testify to the truth of this asser-
tion. They do, in fact, consume but* little corn or grain at
any season, save when they cannot find a sufficient supply
of insect food. When associated in such vast flocks as
described by Wilson, they are necessarily granivorous.

THE QUAIL.

I have not yet seen any good reason for denying that
the Quail is a Quail ; nor can I understand why, in the
new classifications of birds, the marks that formerly char-
acterized species are now used to characterize genera. Let
us pursue the same philosophical rule to its final results,
and we shall arrive at the discovery that the different
varieties of the common fowl constitute so many genera,
and that the black and the white and the Seebright Ban-
tams, for example, are species of the genus Galliparvus.
But the Quail, whether it be itself or another bird, is
now a rare inhabitant of New England. Thousands of its
species were destroyed by the deep snows of the winter
of 1856-57, and again by the cold winter of 1867-68.
Indeed, every winter destroys great numbers of them.
And as the Quail does not migrate, and never wanders
any great distance from its birthplace, I cannot under-
stand why its species could ever have been numerous
iso far north as the New England States, unless the vast
numbers rendered it impossible for any accident of Nature
to destroy so many that there should not be multitudes
left. But since the white man came, the gun, the snare,
and the winters united have nearly extirpated the whole
race.

For many years past I have seldom heard the musical
voice of the Quail. Seldom is the haymaker in these
days reminded of the approach of showers by his procla-

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 211

mation of " More wet " from some adjoining fence. Not
that the few that remain are no longer prophets, but they
have become timid from the persecutions they have suf-
fered, and have ceased to prophesy in the vicinity of the
farm. Neither does the Quail any longer make known
his presence to his mate by saying in musical tones,
" Here 's Bob White." He knows too well that this would
lead to his discovery and death. Man, too short-sighted
to understand his own selfish advantage in protecting the
bird, and too avaricious to let pass the opportunity of buy-
ing a feast with a few cheap charges of powder and shot,
will give him no peace.

A female Quail, leading her little brood under the shel-
ter of pines to escape the notice of those who have intruded
into her presence, is one of the most interesting sights in
animated nature. The rapidity with which the young
make their escape to some hiding-place in the grass or
among the bushes, and the anxiety displayed by the moth-
er, cannot fail to awaken our sympathy. If we sit still
in ambush and watch for them, the mother, no longer
aware of our presence, gives her cheerful call-note, when
they all suddenly reappear and follow her, as chickens
follow the hen. Their timidity and their expertness in
wending their way through the thicket and then out on
the open land, and their nimble motions as they forage in
the pasture for grubs and insects, are an ample reward to
any sympathetic observer for long and patient watching.

The destruction of this useful and interesting species
by our winter snows is a public calamity ; arid nothing,
it seems to me, can mitigate the evil save the building of
artificial shelters, strewing around them some sort of grain
to prevent their wandering far away from them. Our
farmers have not sufficiently considered the advantages
they might derive from this semi-domestication of the
Quail and some other species that winter with us. Even

212 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST.

if this protection were offered them only that their sur-
plus might be used to grace our tables, it would be found
a profitable enterprise.

THE RUFFED GROUSE.

In May, if we were to wander into an extensive wood
which is not a swamp, at a sufficient distance from any
village tavern, we should probably hear the drumming
of the Partridge. This peculiar sound is heard early
in the morning and late in the evening, becoming more
frequent and persistent as the breeding-season advances.
It is made by the male, and is unlike any other sound I
ever heard. I cannot compare it to the rumbling of distant
thunder, as some do, because the sounds of thunder are
irregular, while the strokes of the Partridge's wings are
perfectly timed, and increase in rapidity as they decrease
in loudness, until they die away in a .faint, fluttering
vibration.

I think those observers are mistaken who believe this
drumming to be made by striking or flapping his wings
against his sides or against the log where he is stand-
ing. Samuels says : " The bird resorts to a fallen trunk
of a tree or log, and while strutting like a male Turkey,
beats his wings against his sides and the log with con-
siderable force. It commences very slowly, and after a
few strokes gradually increases in velocity, and ter-
minates with a rolling beat very similar to the roll of
a drum." Dr. Brewer describes the sound as produced
in the same manner, and this seems to be the universal
opinion. On the contrary, the bird produces this sound
by striking the shoulders of his wings together over his
back, as the common Cock frequently does before he
crows, and as the male Pigeon does when after dalliance
with his mate he flies out exultingly a short distance from

BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 213

his perch. It is very difficult to obtain sight of the bird
while he is drumming, and then we cannot venture
near enough to see his motions very distinctly. But
whenever I have gained sight of one in the act of drum-
ming, he seemed to me to elevate his wings and strike
them together over his back, increasing the rapidity of
these strokes, until the last was nothing more than the
sound produced upon the air by the rapid vibration of the
feathers of his wings and tail. A similar vibrating sound
is made by the Turkey with his tail-feathers when strut-
ting about the yard among the females.

It seems very improbable that the Grouse has sufficient
power to make so much sound by flapping the concave
surface of his wings against his downy sides. Birds can-
not move their wings with so much force in this direction
as in the opposite one ; and so long as some uncertainty
exists about it, it is the wisest course tq reason from anal-
ogy, and to conclude that the Partridge makes this sound
as similar ones are made by certain domestic birds.
Many of our farmers believe that this bird stands on a
log and makes the drumming sound by striking the shoul-
ders of his wings against the log. Some think the log
must therefore be hollow. But instances' are well known
where a bird has selected a rock for his drumming-place,
when the same sound is produced.

As the napping of the wings of the common Cock pre-
vious to crowing is a mode of expressing defiance, the
same may be said of the drumming of the Partridge, who
before and after his drumming struts about in the most
amusing way, placing himself in many graceful attitudes.
All these actions are a part of the ceremony of courtship.
They always, therefore, excite the jealousy of other males,
who, if sufficiently bold, will immediately attack the
drummer. The conqueror draws in his train the greater
part of the females, and becomes their favorite.

SIMPLES AND SIMPLEES.

WHEN chemistry had become elevated to an equal rank
with the other exact sciences, physicians, who in the
days of alchemy and astrology had dealt almost exclu-
sively in simples, discarded from their practice the greater
part of the herbs of the old pharmacopoeias, and used in
the place of them the more certain and efficacious prepa-
rations of the laboratory. The metals, in the various
forms of oxides, carbonates, chlorides, sulphurets, and
other chemical compositions, were proved to be more
decided and commensurable in their action upon the
human system than roots and herbs. Chemistry took
the place of botany to a great extent in the healing art,
and caused a gradual division of the practice and the
dispensation of medicine. The apothecary assumed the
department of preparing and compounding the drugs used
by the physician ; and as the medical faculty dropped the
general use of simples, the dispensation of them naturally
fell into the hands of certain individuals of the female
sex. They became the conservators of ancient medical
notions that science had rejected, and gradually intro-
duced a sort of domestic practice which is not yet entirely
discontinued.

They were, indeed, the traditional followers of the prac-
tice of the early physicians, when they were simplers and
astrologers, and administered to the wants of those people
who believed the herbs of the field to be the only safe
remedies for disease. Their botanical knowledge was
confined to the mere identification of plants, and to cer-

SIMPLES AND SIMPLERS. 215

tain ancient classifications of medical herbs made on a
somewhat arbitrary principle, and dictated by a love of
formal arrangement that distinguished the learned of the
Middle Ages. They knew the " Four Great Carminative
Hot Seeds, and the Four Lesser Hot Seeds ; the Four
Cold Seeds, and the Four Lesser Cold Seeds ; the Five
Opening Eoots, and the Five Lesser Opening Roots ; the
Five Emollient Herbs; the Five Capillary Herbs; the
Four Sudorific Woods ; the Four Cordial Flowers ; the
Four Carminative Flowers, and the Four Resolvent
Meals." Here was a botanical arrangement of plants
precisely like that of the Five Orders of Architecture.
Though extremely artificial, it was founded on the real
or supposed properties of the plants included in it. Its
formality suited the taste and assisted the memory of
the simplers. They could understand it, and they were
proud of their knowledge, because they derived from it
an important consideration in their own village.

There was no danger in trusting one's health to the
judgment and mercy of these honest women. They were
not guilty, like our modern inventors of patent medicines,
of furnishing a powerful drug disguised in a decoction of
some popular herb. Their teas, syrups, and fomentations,
their lotions, quilts, diet-drinks, and electuaries, were
made from the herbs which were specified among their
ingredients, and were safe even when injudiciously ap-
plied. They dealt in no dangerous remedies ; some were
only cordial beverages, some were mild emetics, tonics,
and refrigerants, and very many of them were entirely
inert, but like an amulet soothing to the mind. In the
days of our grandmothers, almost every garden contained
the herbs of their simple dispensatory ; and every neigh-
borhood was graced by a goodly number of housewives
who were versed in all details of the administration of
them. In these old gardens were mints of every sort,

216 SIMPLES AND SIMPLERS.

basil, rosemary, fennel, tansy, spikenard, blessed thistle,
and saffron. No garden was considered properly furnished
if it were wanting in any of the herbs that might be
required by the sick of the neighborhood. Flowers culti-
vated for their beauty were also the occupants of these
gardens; roses, in particular, which were as needful in
their dispensation as the chief of the cordial herbs.

The mints were held in great esteem by these charita-
ble dames. They paid special attention to spearmint, —
regarded as the mint of mints, — the smell of. which was
believed to " corroborate the brain and increase and pre-
serve the memory," and it was venerated like one of the
holy herbs. Hardly less value was affixed to the basil,
once considered a " royal plant," on account of its ex-
cellent properties. It is remarkable that in the time of
the ancient Eomans the basil was believed to possess the
power of breeding serpents. Hence, when they sowed
the seeds of this plant they bestowed curses upon it, that
it might be dispossessed of its nefarious properties by their
maledictions. This notion did not descend to the English
people. By them and by our simplers it was cherished
for its sweet smell, which was " good for the heart and
the head " ; also for its " seed that cureth the infirmities
of the heart, and taketh away sorrowfulness which com-
eth of melancholy, and maketh a man merry and glad."
The sweet-marjoram, which still retains its popularity as
a savory herb,, was famous in these old gardens, and then
known as the celebrated " Dittany of Crete." At present
it is not used as a medicine in any form ; but the simplers
believed it to be efficacious in restoring the sense of smell
when it was lost, and it was noted for its vulnerary
powers.

Many of the herbs of their dispensatory were formerly
dedicated to the Virgin or to some worshipful saint, and
were considered holy. Probably in some cases their sup-

SIMPLES AND SIMPLERS. 217

posed medical virtues were deduced from their sanctity ; in
other cases their real virtues may have caused them to be
religiously consecrated. It does not appear that sectarian
prejudice raised any distrust in their Protestant minds
of the merits of a plant which had derived its sanctity
from Boman-Catholic usages. Among the early Eomans
plants were supposed to derive their virtues from some
rural deity to whom they were dedicated ; and the cura-
tive powers of mineral waters were attributed to the
nymph who presided over the spring; and those who
drank at the fountain worshipped the beautiful goddess
from whose divine qualities its virtues emanated. When
the heathen world was converted to the religion of Christ,
these superstitions changed their character, but were not
cast aside. Holy wells and fountains still retained the
veneration of men ; but their virtues were ascribed to
saints, and not to water-nymphs.

A savor of romance still adheres to many of the holy
plants, derived from the incidents that led to their conse-
cration. The costmary, an Italian plant not uncommon
in our gardens, having a very agreeable aromatic odor and
some peculiar balsamic properties, was, on account of the
purity of its fragrance, dedicated to the Virgin. In its
sensible qualities it unites the balm and the tansy. The
blessed thistle, another of the holy herbs, is one of those
plants that may be compared to certain good people whose
virtues are all of a passive sort, and who are chiefly re-
markable for the odor of sanctity that distinguishes them.
Some other herbs have won their reputation from their
supposed identity with certain plants mentioned in Scrip-
ture. There are likewise holy shrubs, as the waybread and
the wayfaring-tree, — names highly suggestive and roman-
tic. Others, like the witch-elm and the witch-hazel, are
associated with divination and magic. In Great Britain,
where the habits of the people are still under traditional
10

218 - SIMPLES AND SIMPLERS.

influences in a much greater degree than those of the
same classes in this country, a profound respect is still
paid to the holy herbs ; and bands of simplers — believ-
ers in the panaceas of the field and garden — still con-
tinue their avocation and are in popular repute in many
old English towns.

During the infancy of modern science, when theology
was mingled with all the exercises of the mind, and when
it was believed that everything was created for man's
especial use, all plants were supposed, as a doctrine of
religious faith, to contain some qualities, discovered or
undiscovered, which were intended by Providence for the
sustenance, protection, and clothing of man, or for the
cure of his diseases. The flowerless plants, now known
to be without any curative properties, were then exten-
sively used in medicine, from the pious supposition that,
as they are useless for food or for employment in practical
arts, they must be intended by Divine Providence for
medicines. In that romantic era, pillows were filled with
the substance of a kind of moss which was supposed to
be useful for procuring sleep. The family of mosses from
which this substance was obtained, in accordance with
the use made of it, received from the early botanists the
name of hypnum, from a Greek word that signifies
"sleep." This was afterwards combined with other pro-
ducts, such as poppy leaves, wormwood, the petals of the
peony, and the flowers of hops, and used for similar pur-
poses in the form of quilts. These substances were placed
between two pieces of cotton or linen, and quilted into a
cap to be worn on the head for the headache. They were
made also in other forms, to be laid upon any part affected
with inflammation or nervous pains.

The doctrine of signatures, believed by the whole
Christian world in the Middle Ages, was a theory of
religious philosophy, and shows the intimate connection

SIMPLES AND SIMPLERS. 219

existing in that era between theology and medicine. Ac-
cording to this theory every natural substance that pos-
sesses any curative power indicates by its external
appearance the diseases for which it is a remedy. The
partisans of this doctrine affirmed that, since man is the
lord of creation, all creatures are designed for his use;
and that therefore their properties must be designated by
such a character as every one can understand. Hence
turmeric, or Indian saffron, which has a brilliant yellow
color, indicates thereby its power of curing the jaundice.
By the same rule poppies were believed to be a cure for
diseases of the head, because both their seeds and flowers
form u head. A beautiful flower called euphrasia, or eye-
bright, resembling a dandelion, with a dark, velvety centre,
was used for diseases of the eye, because this dark round
centre bears a likeness to the pupil of the eye. In this doc-
trine we find an anticipation of the homoeopathic theory of
" like cures like." Nettle-tea in England still continues
to be a popular remedy for nettle-rash.

The flowers of saffron, of a bright scarlet color, which
are administered in the form of tea for scarlet-fever and
other eruptive diseases, derived all their reputation from
the homoeopathic doctrine of signatures, expressed in
the words similia similibus curantur. Hence likewise the
celebrated botanical cure of hot-drops administered in
fevers, on the supposition that a hot disease requires a
hot remedy ; and the ancient notion that the hair of a
mad dog will cure the disease caused by his bite. These
analogies have been indefinitely extended. The blood-
root is another of the signature plants. Its clusters of
delicate white flowers appear in April in damp shady
places. It avoids the deep woods and seeks the protec-
tion of clumps of trees near a brookside, where the soil
is deep, and the situation defended by a natural wall or
embankment. Its tuberous root is full of red sap resem-

220 SIMPLES AND SIMPLERS.

bling blood. Hence it was considered the natural remedy
for all blood diseases. It is seldom used in modern legit-
imate practice. The liverwort (Hepatica triloba), a beau-
tiful early flowering anemone, not uncommon in our
woods, was used as a cure for liver complaints, from the
resemblance of its leaf, which is lobed, to the folds of
the liver, and of its mottled hues of green and purple
to the outward colors of the liver. This plant is still in
use by our modern simplers.

In the use of the five capillary herbs we trace the in-
fluence of the doctrine of signatures. All these herbs
were ferns : the hartstongue, black, white, and golden
maidenhair, and spleenwort. These plants, when they
first appear above the ground, are covered with hairy
down. This appearance caused them to be credited with
efficacy in improving the growth of the hair, hence named
capillary herbs. There are three distinct species of maid-
enhair in this catalogue, — the black, white, and golden,
representing the colors of the human hair in childhood,
manhood, and old age. The stems of these beautiful ferns
are also nearly as slender as hairs ; another signification
of their proper medical use, according to this religious
doctrine of the Middle Ages.

The fern called Lunaria, or moonwort, was held in
great estimation, from a peculiar crescent shape of the
pinnae of its fronds, as a cure for lunacy and all diseases
of a periodical character, especially -for intermittent fevers.
This crescent shape won it some astrological repute ; and
in order to preserve its virtues, it was to be gathered with
a sacred observance of days. The moonwort was collected
at the time of the full moon, and by the light of it, or its
powers would be of no avail. Astrology was intimately
blended with the practice of medicine in the Middle
Ages, no less than theology, and many an herb was sup-
posed to derive its healing powers from some tutelary

SIMPLES AND SIMPLERS. 221

planet. The most of the herbs in use by the ancient
simplers were mere cordials. There were others of an
entirely inert character that became famous from certain
marvellous powers attributed to them by astrology. One
of the most remarkable of these was the blue vervain, a
conspicuous plant in fallow grounds and by-ways, flower-
ing in August. So great was the reputation of this plant
as a cure, that it bore the name of " simpler's joy," though
now excluded as worthless from all standard pharmaco-
poeias. The vervain was tied with a yard of satin rib-
bon around the neck, where it was to remain until the
patient was cured. It was to be gathered at the rising of
the dog-star, when neither the sun nor the moon shone,
and with the left hand only. When thus collected it
would vanquish fevers and other distempers, was an anti-
dote to the bite of serpents, and a charm to conciliate
friends after estrangement.

The healing virtues of many other herbs were ascribed
to the planet under whose ascendency they were to be
collected, and not to any intrinsic properties belonging
to them. It was this belief in planetary influences that
gave rise to the custom among physicians of prefixing
to their recipes a symbol of the planet under whose light
the ingredients were to be collected. A mistake in attend-
ing to the planetary hour would render these substances
entirely inert. This fact may account for the vast num-
ber of inert remedies which have been popular in all ages.
There was hardly a plant in medicinal use that was not
believed to be under the auspices of some planet, and
which must be gathered in strict accordance with the pre-
scriptions of medical astrology.

In medical history nothing is more remarkable than
the pertinacity with which mankind, through hundreds of
ages, will cling to a supposed remedy, after it has been
repeatedly tried and condemned as worthless by physi-

222 . SIMPLES AND SIMPLERS.

cians. Men hug their medical notions in as close an
embrace as the doctrines of their religious faith, and exer-
cise their reason in regard to the one no more than in
regard to the other. Indeed, the ancient union of prophet
and physician in one profession caused medicine and
religion to be intimately associated in the minds of the
people. Hence the sanctity of an herb, caused by its
consecration in certain religious ceremonies, was often
considered better proof of its efficacy in the cure of dis-
eases than any practical experience of its virtues. The
remedial reputation of precious stones had a religious
origin. They were supposed, on account of their purity
and splendor, to be the residence of good spirits, and con-
sequently useful as amulets to expel disease. These fol-
lies of human reason have not been wholly confined to
the ignorant. The celebrated John Wesley, being worn
down ' by excessive apostolic labors, visits the country,
and after a few months' rustication is greatly relieved.
He records this fact in his journal as the triumph of
" sulphur and supplication " over his infirmities, and
attributes his cure to daily prayers and a plaster of egg
and brimstone, rather than to Dr. Fothergill's prescription
of " country air, rest, milk diet, and horse exercise."

I am a believer in medicines and in medical science ;
and though quackery is a fated appendage of the healing
art, as swindling and counterfeiting are the inevitable
accompaniments of trade, and though it continues to cause
great destruction of life, the loss of life would be still
greater if medicines were entirely unknown and unem-
ployed. But, as if intended as a safeguard to the danger-
ous arts of quacks, Providence has benevolently supplied
the fields with thousands of innocuous herbs, and merci-
fully endowed mankind with faith in their remedial power,
that they may amuse themselves, when sick, with harm-
less decoctions containing the semblance of physic in the

SIMPLES AND SIMPLERS. 223

guise of a cordial beverage. Many an honest person who
was too ignorant to believe in medicine as a science —
considering it but a supernatural gift bestowed exclusively
upon the uneducated — has been saved from the malprac-
tice of some charlatan by his faith in whiteweed and
marigold, or in some equally harmless herb gathered at
the rising of Sirius or under the waning light of the
moon.

But there was no charlatanry among these charitable
dames who brought balm to the sick, and dispensed their
healing gifts without price. Some jealousy would occa-
sionally arise between them and the learned faculty, from
their interference in each other's jurisdiction ; but they
were seldom placed in direct antagonism. The balm,
the mint, and the sage, brought to the patient by the con-
siderate nurse, were often favorable accompaniments to
the medicines presented by the physician. The simplers
made the study of plants more of a utilitarian exercise
than our present students, who admire flowers as beauti-
ful objects, and study them as connected with taste and
poetry. The modern student learns their technical char-
acters, and examines their different parts as aids to the
understanding of science. He pays but little regard to
their medical virtues, which in most cases are but a part
of the romance of their history. The experiments made
and repeated, for the purpose of ascertaining the virtues
of plants, thousands of times during several centuries,
have enlightened the physician concerning their qualities,
which are now very well understood. The simplers, how-
ever, supposed almost every plant to possess some quality
designed for the sanitary welfare of the human race.
Some old legend was associated with one, and some holy
tradition with another, each pointing to the medical and
magical virtues attributed to the plant and to certain ben-
efits to be derived from it.

224 SIMPLES AND SIMPLERS.

The herbalists among the early emigrants of Great
Britain must have been greatly bewildered, when they
went out into our .American forests to seek the wild plants
of their own native isle, and occasional unhappy acci-
dents arose from false identification. When they discov-
ered a plant that resembled any well-known English herb,
they speedily declared the identity of the two, founding
their judgment chiefly on the sensible qualities of the
plants. It was by experiments of this class of botanists
that the virtues of many of our indigenous herbs were
determined. Not a few of our plants, however, owe their
medical reputation to Indian traditions.

Among the recollections of my early life is that of the
annual appearance of the herb-women, — vestiges of the
ancient class of simplers, — who earned a livelihood, in
part, by gathering and carrying to market herbs, roots,
and flowers, to be used chiefly in the preparation of " diet-
drink," a kind of small-beer, of which the bitter and
aromatic herbs were the principal ingredients. In these
packages were strips of white-pine bark, which in its
dried state gives out the flavor of nutmegs, — slightly bitter
and fragrant. The pitch-pine was also plundered of its
recent shoots, before they were hardened into wood, and
tied up with sweet-fern and the spicy leaves of the bay-
berry, and the root of sassafras. The umbelled pyrola, or
rheumatism-weed, — a plant that bears several whorls of
bright evergreen leaves, surmounted with an umbel of
beautiful nodding flowers of purple and white, — also the
yarrow and the roots of the yellow dock, were 'favorite
ingredients, combined with the aromatic leaves of the
checkerberry and St. John's wort. These careful dames,
in the latter part of summer, employed themselves in col-
lecting cordial herbs for winter's needs.

The herbs formerly gathered by the simplers are now
cultivated in gardens devoted to this special purpose, be-

SIMPLES AND SIMPLERS. 225

longing chiefly to the Shakers. All the romance attend-
ing the occupation is destroyed by this change. The
herbs are now pressed into cakes and sold in the apothe-
cary's shops.

I have never opened a package in which the slender,
cordlike roots of the Aralia nudicaulis were wanting. The
roots of the aralia closely resemble those of the true sar-
saparilla, not only in their cordlike shape, but in their
entire want of any medical virtue. It is remarkable that
this entirely inert and tasteless root should be the only in-
gredient that is never omitted, and proves that any plant
in use among popular remedies maintains its repute in
proportion as it is destitute of medical properties of any
kind. The same habits prevail among the semicivilized
nations. The ginseng, for example, which is as inert as
so much white paper, is regarded in China as a medicine
that will cure all diseases. Tons of the roots of this plant
are annually imported into that country. The ginseng is
the popular panacea among the Celestials, and is held by
them in the same estimation as sarsaparilla by the Ameri-
cans. People will sometimes take efficacious remedies,
when prescribed by their physicians ; but no substance is
mentioned in history which has acquired and maintained
general popularity for any number of years, if it possessed
any medical virtue at all. All curative drugs are unsafe,
and if combined in a popular nostrum, soon excite mis-
trust, on account of accidents that happen from its mal-
administration. Many a patient, however, has been cured
by mercury disguised by his physician in a preparation of
sarsaparilla, without suspecting the cause of his cure.

A love of the marvellous also increases the popular
faith in inert remedies. This innate propensity of the
human mind formerly obtained gratification in mythologi-
cal and magical superstitions. At present it finds more
delight in mere abstractions that take no definite shape.
10* o

226 SIMPLES AND SIMPLERS.

In the early ages the supposed marvellous effects of ni-
hility were attributed to some planet, deity, or saint. Now
they are equally credited, but referred abstractly to some
hidden and mysterious power of nature. All the laws of
nature are inexplicable; but nothing satisfies the general
craving for the wonderful, unless it be impossible. It is
not considered marvellous that a few grains of a poison-
ous substance should cause death, or that a smaller quan-
tity of it should cure disease ; but if it should be affirmed
that an infinitesimal quantity of the juice of a plant
whose juices can be swallowed by the pint without any
effects upon the system, will cure disease, the assertion
gratifies the popular appetite for the marvellous, and is
believed.

It must be confessed that these old superstitions have
spread the charm of romance over a great part of the
vegetable kingdom. From these poetic illusions origi-
nated the ancient floral games and the use of plants in
the ceremonies of religion, which is the great fountain of
pure romance. The supernatural dangers that seemed to
attend botanizing excursions of old enveloped all the wood
in the charm of mystery. The mandrake was a plant
whose destruction would be a forewarning of death to the
person who should injure it. But as the mandrake was
ibelieved to possess some excellent properties for purifying
the blood, which were indicated by its red sap, it was very
desirable to be obtained as a medicine. An expedient
was therefore adopted by the people to obtain possession
of the plant, without implicating themselves. Its roots
were fastened by a cord to some animal, usually a dog,
who was compelled by whipping to pull them up from
the earth. The dog was afterwards supposed to die, as a
punishment for his involuntary act.

In these days we admire the peony as a splendid flower,
and cultivate it in our gardens for its beauty. But the

SIMPLES AND SIMPLERS. 227

ancients imputed supernatural virtues to its roots ; and
as no medical property could be discovered in them, they
were naturally supposed to be intended for a charm. Dr.
Darwin writes, that even in his time bits of the dried roots
of the peony were rubbed smooth and tied round the
necks of children, to hasten the growth of their teeth.
They were sold at the shops under the name of " ano-
dyne necklaces." An ancient physician highly commends
this necklace of the peony-root- for the cure of epilepsy.

In the days of the Pythian oracles, when the priestess
who delivered them was made drunk with an infusion of
laurel-leaves before she prophesied, the sacred regard for
the laurel in the popular mind must have equalled the
reverence of the modern devotee for the shrine of the Vir-
gin. The use of this decoction in the temple of Apollo,
who was the god of music, poetry, and the arts, probably
gave the laurel-tree its reputation as a crown for men of
genius, and still later as a general crown of honor. The
laurel, which is a dangerous narcotic, was never much
employed as a medical remedy ; and when it ceased to be
used in the temples for purposes of divination, it was
adopted as an evergreen for the brows of poets and heroes.
But the age of romance has departed with the age of my-
thology, and the reverence that now attaches to these
ancient superstitions is but the lingering twilight of a
beauty that has passed away forever.

ANGLING.

I HAVE often thought that the practice of angling was
so intimately connected with the prospect of green fields
and the smell of fresh meadows, that the general fondness
for the sport originated in a great measure in our love
of nature. I am so far, therefore, from considering the
angler a model of patience, as Dr. Franklin regarded him,
that I would rather look upon him as a sort of indolent
devotee of nature, who prefers the voluptuous quiet of
this sedentary sport to the more active habits of the gun-
ner, the hotanist, or the geologist. There are individuals,
undoubtedly, who delight in angling from the love of
the sport itself. Such are our inveterate fishers around
the wharves and harbors, and who are generally better
acquainted with the respective flavors of the different
species of the finny tribe than with fishes as subjects
of natural history. But the majority of anglers will be
found to be genuine lovers of nature, and, like old Izaak
Walton, as familiar with the plants that are growing at
their feet, as with the little shining inhabitants of the
lake and stream.

I am not of that sect of sentimentalists who would con-
demn angling on account of its cruelty. The pangs suf-
fered by a little fish while expiring on the green bank
are but momentary, and probably not to be compared
with those of a bird when first taken from his native
haunts and shut up in a cage. Fishes are but feebly
endowed with the sense of feeling or touch, and have a
brain so small as hardly to afford them a very definite

ANGLING. 229

consciousness. They have the senses of sight, of hearing,
of smell, and of taste ; for without these they could not
provide for their own wants. They possess a very low
form of intelligence and sensibility, and may be severely
cut without showing signs of feeling. If we wound a
bird, he may lead a life of pain and misery for many
weeks. He is a creature of warm blood, endowed with
intelligence and a capacity for grief. He is regarded as
the companion and benefactor of man, and as having cer-
tain inalienable rights, — such as the enjoyment of life
and liberty, and the means of obtaining a livelihood.
But fishes, the voracious devourers of their own young,
which they cannot recognize and do not protect, are plain-
ly incapable of mental suffering, and may be taken in
unlimited quantities without danger of causing an incon-
venient scarcity. Hence, though all living creatures are
more or less endowed with a power of feeling pleasure
and pain, and have a certain right to the enjoyment of
life, I regard the destruction of a fish in the same light as
the killing of a fly or the trampling on a worm. I would
not needlessly destroy an insect or set foot upon a worm ;
but I believe the united sufferings of a thousand fishes in
the agonies of death would not equal the pangs suffered
by one little child with a burnt finger.

There is no other sport so well adapted to the habits
of a thoughtful man as that of angling, leading him out
at noonday, under the shade of trees, or in the evening
by the glassy stream, on whose mirrored surface he may
view the surrounding hills and woods, while watching
for the dimpling movements of the water that indicate
the nibbling of the fishes. There can be no more delight-
ful recreation in serene summer weather, when the heat
of the atmosphere will not permit one to engage in more
active toil or amusement. And there is no end to the
pleasing fancies in which one may indulge the mind,

230 ANGLING.

while listening to the varied notes of the birds, that always
frequent the borders of streams and lakes, or watching
the motions of some little animal that will occasionally
peep out upon one while occupied in his quiet amuse-
ment.

When we are seeking pleasure, it is not necessarily
the prominent object of pursuit that is the source of the
principal enjoyment we experience. Our object may be
an errand of business in itself disagreeable, and our pleas-
ures may spring from our adventures and observations
during the time occupied in the performance of the errand.
A walk is seldom interesting, however pleasant the scen-
ery and other objects on the road, if we are sauntering
without any particular aim. But if we have gone out to
accomplish a certain purpose, which is of sufficient impor-
tance to keep up our resolution to proceed, many a scene
on the road may be productive of a high degree of pleas-
ure. Thus it seems to me that in angling the pleasure
of the pursuit is, in almost all cases, derived from collat-
eral circumstances, though the latter would be nothing
without the purpose before us of taking our finny game.

The pleasure of angling consists in having some agree-
able'purpose to occupy the mind while indulging in the
voluptuous sensations that attend us when surrounded
by the charming accompaniments of green fields, fragrant
woods, and pleasant prospects. To sit beside a stream
for half a day, under the spreading branches of an oak,
would be but a dull amusement for the most enthusiastic
lover of nature, if he had no purpose in view except to en-
joy the mere sensations derived from surrounding objects.
But let him throw a hook and bait into the stream, with
the intention of taking a few fishes to grace his table ;
and however insignificant their value, it is sufficient to
furnish a motive for watching a float for many hours. The
expectations which are thus aroused, and the agreeable

ANGLING. 231

exercise of the attention and the ingenuity, with the addi-
tional pleasure derived from the varied scenery, the fresh
odors of vegetation, and the many cheerful sounds from
animated nature, unite in rendering it one of the most
interesting of employments.

Though I have never been a skilful or inveterate angler,
the review of my angling excursions always brings be-
fore me some of my most pleasing recollections. The
stillness of the occupation prepares the mind to receive
impressions from adjacent scenes with singular vivid-
ness. The sight of the little fishes, as they are darting
about among the long stems of the water-lilies, is then as
pleasant to us as to a child. \^e watch every minute
object with close attention, though it be but the little
water-beetles as they whirl about on the surface near the
shore, or the minute blossoms of the potamogeton that
lift up their heads above the glassy wave. The lighting
of a butterfly on the blue spikes of the pickerel-weed, or
the humming of a dragon-fly, as he pursues his micro-
scopic prey among the tall sedges and pond-weeds, never
fails to attract our notice while engaged in our day-dream-
ing occupation.

While watching tKe float as it sails gently about with
the wind, occasionally dimpling the surface of the water,
we do not confine our attention to this alone. Not a
bubble on the glossy sheen of the lake or the flitting
shadow of a cloud as it passes over the sky escapes our
notice. Everything that moves, — everything that can
be seen or heard excites our curiosity as in the still dark-
ness of night. When the fishes are inactive, as they often
are during the heat of the day, we have little to do except
to watch and observe the scenes and objects around us.
At such times our attention is frequently attracted to
something that hitherto might have been unobserved ;
and the squirrel that sits watching us from the bough

232 ANGLING.

of a neighboring tree, the little bird that is busy weaving
stems, at no great distance, into the fork of a hazel-bush,
and the sober cattle that have waded up to their knees
into the shallow water, are all observed and studied with
delight.

But the amusement of angling is not associated with
sedentary observations alone ; it is also connected with
many interesting excursions in quest of more lucky fish-
ing-ground. How often has it led us into delightful
explorations of the woody boundaries of ponds, carrying
us into seemingly impenetrable thickets, and causing the
sudden discovery of some beautiful or curious plant, hith-
erto unknown to us, or introduced us to some new and
rare species of bird or quadruped. It was on one of these
rambles, by its musical and melancholy cooings, that I
first discovered the wicker-nest of the" turtledove, with
its solitary egg, in the branches of a slender white-pine.
On one of these occasions, also, I encountered for the first
time the drooping fragrant flower of the Linnsea borealis,
that exquisite production of northern climes, which is
aptly named for the great Swedish botanist.

But the exercise alone, with the continual excitement
of the curiosity, is sufficient to give interest to these ex-
cursions. Now we are led into green wood-paths, through
fragrant bushes, some laden with flowers and others with
fruit ; now half bewildered by their intricacies, and then
suddenly stumbling into a romantic view of the water and
the surrounding scenery. Soon we pass into a deep dell,
forming the bed of a stream, which has given rise to a
multitude of rare and curious plants, and rouse the varie-
gated summer duck from a solitary pool, embosomed in
the thicket ; finally, having arrived at an open pasture, a
flock of sheep, startled at our approach, scamper off with
resounding feet to a distant elevation. Then do we think
with peculiar delight upon the pleasures of rural life,

ANGLING. 233

and regret that necessity which is ever leading us away
from the abodes of peace and happiness. After perform-
ing a tour around the pond, we return perhaps to our
original fishing-ground, pleased with the simple adven-
tures we have encountered, and prepared to commence
anew our patient toil.

As the decline of day begins to be apparent, the fishes
are more active in their nibbling, and there is a more gen-
eral stir among all the creatures of the field and wood.
The thrushes are more musical in the neighboring thicket,
and the yellow-throat comes within a few yards of us,
and sings upon the branch of an alder-bush, as if he was
.pleased with our company. The frogs begin to be more
loquacious, and our attention is attracted by different
objects from those we observed at noonday or in the
morning. A tortoise now and then protrudes its beak
and eyes above the smooth sheen of the water, a little fish
leaps out and makes a sudden plash, or a solitary snipe,
with twittering notes, pursues its graceful flight along the
shore.

At this time our lack as fishermen is usually the most
propitious. The fishes that seem averse to the warm
rays of the sun come out of deep water, as day declines,
and look out . for their prey, and are more active in nib-
bling the bait. After this time, in the space of half
an hour, we often take fishes enough to make amends for
any previous bad luck. Presently the float grows dim to
the sight, the dew is perceptible on the grass, and the
evening star, as it shines through the semicircle of light
that surrounds the place where the sun went down,
reminds us of home.

We prepare for our return, and for a change of scene
and rest from our weariness ; and home is never so de-
lightful as it seems after one of these excursions. There
is a luxury in our rest from toil which has been wearying

234 ANGLING.

but not exhausting; and the pleasures of social inter-
course with our domestic circle are also greatly enhanced
by a half- day's solitude. We partake of the bounties of
our own table with a zest that proves it to be the design
of Nature that man should toil for his subsistence if
he means to enjoy the good things of her bounty. Thus
terminates an amusement that brings us nearer to nature
while we are engaged in it, that leads to pleasant obser-
vations and tranquil musings, while it prepares the mind
to feel a renewed pleasure, when, wearied but not ex-
hausted, we seek rest in the bosom of our family.

AUGUST.

THE plains and uplands are green with a second growth
of vegetation, and nature is rapidly repairing the devas-
tation committed by the scythe of the mower. But the
work of the haymaker is not completed. He is still
swinging his scythe among the tall sedge-grasses in the
lowlands ; and the ill-fated flowers of August may be
seen lying upon the greensward among the prostrate
herbage. The work of the reapers is also begun, and
the sheaves of wheat and rye display their wavy rows
to gladden and bless the husbandman. Flocks of quails,
reared since the opening of the spring flowers, are dili-
gent among the fields, after the reapers have left their
tasks. They may be seen slyly and silently creeping
along the ground, and now and then lifting their timid
heads as if jealous of our approach. The loud whistling
of the guardian of the flock, perched at a short distance
upon a wall, may also be heard, and as we saunter care-
lessly along the field-path, a brood of partridges, rising
suddenly almost from under our feet, will often astound
our ears with their loud whirring flight.

Since the fading of the roses, the birds have generally
become silent, as if the presence of these flowers were
necessary to inspire them with song. They have grown
timid and have forsaken their usual habits, no longer
warbling at the season's feast or rejoicing in the heyday
of love. They fly no longer in pairs, but assemble in
flocks, which may be seen rising and settling over differ-
ent parts of the landscape. Some species are irregularly

236 AUGUST.

scattered, while others gather into multitudinous flocks,
and seem to be enjoying a long holiday of festivities,
while preparing to leave their native fields. Their songs,
lasting only during the period of love, are discontinued
since it is past, and their young are no longer awaiting
their care. On every new excursion into the fields I
perceive the sudden absence of some important woodland
melodist. During the interval between midsummer and
early autumn one voice after another drops away, until
the little song-sparrow is left again to warble alone in the
fields and gardens, where he sang the earliest hymn of
rejoicing over the departure of winter.

Since the birds have become silent, they have lost their
pleasant familiarity with man, and have acquired an
unwonted shyness. The warblers that were wont to sing
on the boughs just over our heads, or at a short distance
from our path, now keep at a timid distance, chirping
with a complaining voice, and flee at our approach, before
we are near enough to observe their altered plumage.
The plovers have come forth from the places where they
reared their young and congregate in large flocks upon
the marshes ; and as we stroll along the sea-shore, we are
often agreeably startled by the sudden twittering flight
of these graceful birds, aroused from their haunts by our
unexpected intrusion.

It is now almost impossible for the rambler to pene-
trate some of his old accustomed paths in the lowlands,
so thickly are they interwoven with vines and trailing
herbs. Several species of cleavers with their slender
prickly branches form a close network among the ferns
and rushes ; and the smilax and blackberry vines weave
an almost impenetrable thicket in our ancient pathway.
The fences are festooned with the blue flowers of the
woody nightshade and the more graceful -plants of the
glycine are twining among the faded flowers of the elder

AUGUST. 237

and viburnum. The lowlands were never more delightful
than at the present time, affording many a pleasant arbor
beneath the shrubbery, where the waters have dried away
and left the greensward as sweetly scented as a bower
of honeysuckles. In these places are we tempted to
linger for refreshment on summer noondays, — bowers
where it is delightful to repose beneath the shade of slen-
der birches whose tremulous foliage seems to whisper to
us some pleasant messages of peace. All around us .the
convolvulus has trailed its delicate vines, and hung out
its pink and striped bell-flowers; and the clematis has
formed an umbrageous trellis-work over the tops of the
trees. Its white clustering blossoms spread themselves
out in triumph above the clambering grape-vines, form-
ing deep shades which the sun cannot penetrate, over-
hanging and overarching the green paths that lead through
the lowland thickets.

When the pale orchis of the meads is dead, and the red
lily stands divested of its crown ; when the arethusa no
longer bends its head over the stream, and the later vio-
lets are weeping incense over the faded remnants of their
lovely tribe, then I know that the glory of summer has
departed, and I look not until the coming of the asters
and the goldenrods to see the fields again robed in beauty.
The meeker flowers have perished since the singing-birds
have discontinued their songs, and the last rose of summer
may be seen in solitary and melancholy beauty, — the
lively emblem of the sure decline of all the beautiful ob-
jects of this life, the lovely symbol of beauty's frailty and
its transientness. When the last rose is gone, I look
around with sadness upon its late familiar haunts ; I feel
that summer's beauty now is past, and sad mementos
rise where'er I tread.

It is my delight to seek these last-born of the roses,
and to my sight they are more beautiful than any that

238 AUGUST.

preceded them, as if Nature, like a partial mother, had
lavished her best gifts upon these her youngest children.
The bushes that support them are overtopped by other
plants, that seem to feel an envious delight in concealing
them from observation, but they cannot blot them from
our memory, nor be admired as we admire them. The
clethra with its white odoriferous flowers, and the button-
bush with its elegant globular heads, strive vainly to equal
them in fragrance or beauty. The proud and scornful
thistle rears its head close by their side, and seems to
mock at the fragility of these lovely flowers ; but the wild
briar, though its roses have faded, still gives out its undy-
ing perfume, as if the essence of the withered flowers
lingered about their former leafy habitation, like spirits
about the places they loved in their lifetime.

In the latter part of the month we begin to mark the
approaching footsteps of autumn. Twilight is chill, and
we perceive the greater length of the nights and evening's
earlier dew. The morning sun is later in the heavens,
and sooner tints the fleecy clouds of evening. The bright
verdure of the trees has faded to a more dusky green ;
and here and there in different parts of the woods may be
found a sere and yellow leaf, like the white hairs that are
interspersed among the dark-brown tresses of manhood,
that indicate the sure advance of hoary years. The fields
of ripe and yellow grain gleam through the open places in
the woods, making a pleasant contrast with their green-
ness, displaying in the same instant the signs of a cheer-
ful harvest and the melancholy decay of vegetation.
The swallows assemble their little hosts upon the roofs
and fences, preparing for their annual migration, and all
things announce the speedy decline of summer.

Already do I hear at nightfall the chirping of the
cicadas, whose notes are at the same time the harvest
hyrnn of nature and a dirge over the departure of flowers.

AUGUST. 239

"When the evenings are perceptibly lengthened and the
air partakes of the exhilarating freshness of autumn,
these happy insects commence their anthems of gladness ;
and their monotonous but agreeable melody is in swe^et
unison with the general serenity of nature. These voices
come from myriads of cheerful hearts, but there is a plain-
tiveness in their modulation that calls up the memory of
the past and turns' our thoughts inwardly upon almost
forgotten joys and sorrows. How different are our emo-
tions from those awakened by the notes of the piping
frogs that hail the opening of spring ! All these sounds,
though not designed particularly for our benefit, are
adapted by nature to harmonize agreeably with our feel-
ings, and there is a soothing and lulling influence in the
song of the cicadas that softens into tranquillity the mel-
ancholy it inspires and tempers all our sadness into pleas-
ure.

We no longer perceive that peculiar charm of spring
vegetation, that comes from the health and freshness
of every growing thing ; and we associate the flowers of
August with the dry, withered, and dying plants that
everywhere surround them. In June everything in the
aspect of nature is harmonious ; all is greenness and glad-
ness, and nothing appears in company with the flowers to
disfigure their charms or to affect the sight with dis-
pleasure. But August presents a motley spectacle of
rank and inelegant weeds, that overshadow the flowers;
and the beauty of the fields is often hidden by the with-
ered vegetation of the last month. This appearance, how-
ever, is chiefly obvious in those places which have been
disturbed by cultivation. In the wilds Nature always
preserves the harmony of her seasons. Every herb and
flower appears at proper time ; and when one species has
attained maturity it gives place to its rightful successors
without any confusion, all rising and declining like the

240 AUGUST.

heavenly hosts of night, and clothing the face of the land-
scape in perpetual bloom and verdure. Seldom do we
behold a parterre that equals in beauty those half-wild
spots where, after a partial clearing of the forest, Nature
has been left to herself a sufficient time to recover from
the effects of art and to rear those plants which are best
fitted for the soil and the season.

Let the lover of flowers and landscapes who would
learn to gather round his dwelling all those rural beauties
that will meet and blend in harmony receive his lesson
from Nature in her own wilds. Let him look upon her
countenance before it has been disfigured by a barbarous
art, to acquire his ideas of beauty and propriety, and he
will never mar her features by adding gems that do not
harmonize with their native expression, plucked from
the bosom of a foreign clime. Then, although he may
not sit under the shade of the palm or the myrtle, or
roam among sweet-scented orange-groves, in the climate
of northern fruits and northern flowers, he needs no for-
eign trees or shrubbery to decorate his grounds or to
adapt them to his pleasures. In a forest of his own
native pines he may find an arbor in summer and a
shelter in winter as odoriferous as a grove of cinnamon
and myrtle ; and the fruits of his own orchards will yield
him a repast more savory than the products of the
Indies.

FORAGING HABITS OF BIKDS.

THE different habits of foraging that distinguish the
several tribes and species of birds deserve attention as
indicating a similar difference in the character of their
aliment. Birds, for example, that take their food chiefly
from the surface of the ground forage in a different man-
ner from others that collect it from under the surface.
Swallows catch all their food while on the wing, and give
proof by this habit that they take only winged insects ;
but their manners differ essentially from those of the
fly-catchers, that do not take their prey on the wing, but
seize it as it passes by their perch. Eobins and black-
birds gather their fare entirely from the ground, but their
ways while seeking it differ exceedingly. Their respec-
tive habits of foraging are adapted to the successful
pursuit of the worms and insects that constitute their
principal diet. Though both species are consumers of
all kinds of insects, they have their preferences, which
are the chief objects of their pursuit. It is necessary to
study their different habits of foraging to understand the
principle which I have endeavored to inculcate, that each
species performs certain services in the economy of nature,
which cannot le so well accomplished by any other species ;
and that it is necessary for this end to preserve all in
such proportions as would spontaneously exist if the
whole feathered race were unmolested and left to their
own natural chances of living and multiplying.

The sylvians are the most interesting of foragers
among the smaller birds, and are remarkable for their
11 p

242 FORAGING HABITS OF BIRDS.

diligence in hunting their prey. They have a peculiar
way of examining the foliage and blossoms rather than
the surface of the branches, and their motions are very
conspicuous upon the outer parts of the trees near the
extremity of the spray. The golden robin hunts his prey
like the sylvians, though he is not one of them, and his
motions are more rapid and energetic than theirs.

The wren, the creeper, and the chickadee seek their
food while creeping round the branches, and take less of
it from the foliage than the sylvians or the flycatchers.
They seldom pause in their circuitous course, proceeding
usually from the junctions of the branches to their ex-
tremities, hopping from spray to spray, and then passing
to another tree. The sylvians appear to examine the
leaves and blossoms, while the creepers and tomtits exam-
ine the bark of the tree. Hence the former do not pro-
long their stay with us after the fall of the leaf, while the
other species are seen after the trees are entirely denuded.
We may infer, therefore, that the sylvians feed chiefly
upon beetles and other winged insects that devour the
leaves of trees, while the creepers and tomtits take more
insects in embryo, which during autumn and winter are
half concealed in the bark of trees.

The habits of the flycatchers differ from those of any
of the species above named. Let us take the pewee as
•an example. He sits on a twig almost without motion,
fbut with a frequent sideling of the head, indicating his
watchfulness. He does not seem so diligent as the sylvi-
ans, because he waits for his prey to come to him, and
seeks for it only by carefully awaiting its approach.
That he is not idle is shown by his frequent flitting out
in an irregular circuit, and immediately returning to his
perch with a captured insect. These salient flights are
very numerous, and he often turns a somerset in the act
of capturing his prey. He seldom misses his aim, and

FORAGING HABITS OF BIRDS. 243

probably collects from ten to fifteen insects of an appre-
ciable size every minute. As he lives entirely upon them,
and in summer gathers them for his offspring, this is no
extravagant estimate.

The pewee, however, does not catch all his prey while
it is flying, but he is usually on the wing when he takes it.
If he finds a moth or a beetle upon a leaf or a branch, he
seizes it while he is poised in the air. A sylvian would
creep along the branch, and when near enough extend his
neck forward to take it. The vireos, forming an interme-
diate genus between the sylvians and the true flycatchers,
partake of the habits of each. Some of them are remark-
able for a sort of intermittent singing while hunting for
their food. The preacher, indeed, seems to make war-
bling his principal employment. He is never, apparently,
very diligent or earnest, and often stops during his desul-
tory exhortations, to seize a passing insect, and then re-
sumes his song.

Woodpeckers reside chiefly in the forest, of which they
are the natural guardians ; and as the food of their choice
is nearly as abundant in winter as in summer, they are
not generally migratory. Hence the operations of these
birds are incessant throughout the year. As their food is
not anywhere very abundant, like that of some of the
granivorous birds, woodpeckers never forage in flocks.
The more they scatter themselves the better their fare.
The woodpeckers bear the same relation to other birds that
take their food from trees, as snipes and woodcocks bear
to thrushes and quails. They bore into the wood as the
snipe bores into the earth, while thrushes and quails seek
the insects that crawl on the surface of the ground.

There are several families of birds that take only a
small part of their food from trees, and the remainder
from the soil or the greensward. Such are all the galli-
naceous kinds, larks, blackbirds, and thrushes. It has

244 FORAGING HABITS OF BIRDS.

been said that the skylark was never known to perch
upon a tree. These families are the guardians of the
soil. The thrushes do not refuse an insect or a grub
that is crawling upon a tree, but they forage chiefly upon
the surface of the ground. In the feeding habits of
the thrushes, their apparent want of diligence attracts
frequent attention ; but this appearance is delusive.
The common robin will exemplify their usual manner,
though he carries it to an extreme. When he is hunt-
ing his food he is usually seen hopping in a listless man-
ner about the field. Sometimes a dozen robins or more
may occupy one enclosure, but they are always widely
separated. Observe one of them and you will see him
standing still, with his bill inclined upward, and looking
about him with seeming unconcern ; soon he makes two
or three hops, and then stands a few more seconds with
his bill turned upward, apparently idle. Presently he
darts suddenly a few yards from his -standing-place, and
may be seen pecking vigorously upon the ground. If you
were near him you would see him pulling out a cutworm,
seldom an earthworm, or devouring a nest of insects
which are gathered in a cluster.

Blackbirds, though they also gather all their food from
the ground, seem to be more industrious. Blackbirds of
all species walk. They do not hop like the robin. They
seldom hold up their heads, but march along with their
bills turned downward, as if entirely devoted to their
task. They never seem to be idle, except when a flock
of them are making a garrulous noise upon a tree. If a
blackbird looks upward, it is only by a sudden movement ;
he does not stop. After watching a blackbird and a robin
ten minutes in the same field, any one would suppose
that the blackbird had collected twice as much food as
the robin during that time. But this is not true. The
difference in their apparent industry is caused partly by

FORAGING HABITS OF BIRDS. 245

the character of their food. The robin is entirely insec-
tivorous, while the omnivorous blackbird hunts the soil
for everything that is nutritious, and picks up small seeds
that require a close examination of the ground.

The robin is probably endowed with a greater reach of
sight than the blackbird, and while hopping about with
his head erect, his vision comprehends a wider space.
Many a time have I been astonished at the rapidity with
which one of these idle robins would collect cutworms
during a dry spell when they could not be very abun-
dant, sometimes bringing two at a time in her bill and
carrying them to her young. The robin not only watches
for a sight of his prey, but also for the marks upon vege-
tation that denote the place of its concealment. He
must possess an extraordinary share of this sagacious in-
stinct ; for the thousands of cutworms destroyed by him
could not be discovered except by these indications and
when they crawl out at twilight. The robin is therefore
one of the earliest as well as the latest feeders among all
our birds in the morning and evening.

The foraging habits of the different species of domestic
poultry are worthy of remark as illustrating some of the
differences observed in the manners of wild birds. Place
a brood of ducks in a field during grasshopper-time, and
they generally pursue one course, marching in a body
over the field with great regularity. A brood of chickens,
on the contrary, will scatter, occasionally reassembling,
but never keeping close together, unless they are follow-
ing a hen. Turkeys scatter themselves less than chickens,
but do not equal ducks in the regularity of their move-
ments. Pigeons settle down upon a field in a compact
flock, and then radiate in all directions. They pursue
no regular march, like ducks.

A very interesting class of foragers are those that feed
in compact assemblages. This habit renders the snow-

246 FORAGING HABITS OF BIRDS.

buntings exceedingly attractive. Their food is not dis-
tributed in separate morsels like that of robins and wood-
peckers. It consists of the seeds of grasses and of com-
posite plants, which are often scattered very evenly over
a wide surface. When, therefore, a flock of fifty or more
settle down in a field, each one fares as well as if he
were alone, during the short time they remain on the
spot. Insect-feeders find it for the most part profita-
ble to scatter and keep separate, because their food is
sparsely .distributed. This is not true of the birds that
frequent the salt-marshes that are overflowed by the
tide. Their aliment consists of insects and worms which
are evenly scattered and abundant. Hence sandpipers
and some other species forage in flocks, though they live
exclusively upon an animal diet.

The swallow tribes are the guardians of the atmosphere,
that would otherwise swarm with fatal quantities of mi-
nute insects. Their foraging habits are observed by all,
and are well known. Woodpeckers, creepers, and chicka-
dees are the guardians of the timber of the forest ; sylvians
and flycatchers, of the foliage. Blackbirds, thrushes, crows,
and larks are the protectors of the surface of the soil ;
snipes and woodcocks, of the soil under the surface. Each
family has its respective duties to perform in the economy
of nature ; and man must beware lest he disturb this
equilibrium by reducing the numbers of any species below
the supply of insects which is afforded them.

It is curious to note the assiduity with which insects
are hunted in all stages of their existence. In their larva
state, those that lurk inside of the wood and bark are
taken by woodpeckers, and those under the soil by
snipes and woodcocks. Insects, when the larva has as-
sumed the form of moths, beetles, and flies, are attacked
by flycatchers and sylvians and other small birds that
take their food by day, and by small owls and whippoor-

FORAGING HABITS OF BIRDS. 247

wills by night. It matters not in what stage of its ex-
istence the insect is destroyed; it is still demonstrable
that these minute creatures cannot be kept in check
unless they are attacked in all stages. Birds are their
only effectual destroyers. Man cannot check their mul-
tiplication or their ravages by artificial means. He
cannot even protect his garden. Their destructive and
infinite multiplication can be prevented only by Nature's
own agents, which she has created with this power. A
million of ichneumons would not do the work of a
dozen birds.

BIEDS OF THE AIR

ALL birds that take their food while on the wing, and
seldom or not much in any other way, may be arbitrarily
designated as Birds of the Air, whether their prey in-
habit the air, like the insects taken by the Swallows and
Flycatchers, or the cup of a flower, like those taken by
the Humming-Bird. Of these the Swallows, including
the Martin and the Swift, are the most conspicuous and
most numerous in this part of the world. These birds
have large wings, fly very swiftly, and without a great
deal of apparent motion of their wings. It could hardly
be explained on mechanical principles how they are able
to pass through the air with such rapidity. While watch-
ing them on the wing, it seems as if they were never
weary ; but Daines Barrington says the Swallow makes
frequent pauses for rest while engaged in the pursuit of
insects.

THE BARN-SWALLOW.

This is the species with which the inhabitants of New
England are best acquainted. But they are every year
becoming fewer, and this diminution of their numbers is
attributed by Mr. S. P. Fowler to our modern tight barns.
Though they often build under the eaves of houses and
in sheds, they find in these places but limited accommo-
dations, compared with the old-fashioned barns that were
formerly scattered over the whole country. There are
now hundreds only where thirty years ago there were

BIRDS OF THE AIR. 249

thousands, all swarming with these lively birds, who
built their nests on the horizontal beams that supported
the barn roof. The birds left us when they were de-
prived of their tenements, while the Cliff-Swallow, that
builds under the eaves of barns and houses and under
projecting cliffs of rocks, has increased, feeding upon the
larger quantity of insects consequent upon the absence
of the Barn-Swallow.

This species is of a social habit ; fond of building and
breeding, as it were, in small communities. An old-
fashioned barn has been known to contain as many as
two dozen nests. They are constructed of materials simi-
lar to those of a Eobin's nest ; but the Swallow adds to
the lining of grass a few feathers, which the Robin does
not use. Dr. Brewer alludes to a custom among the Barn-
Swallows of building " an extra platform against, but dis-
tinct from the nest itself, designed as a roosting-place for
the parents, used by one during incubation at night or
when not engaged in procuring food, and by both when
the young are large enough to occupy the whole nest."
The eggs of the Barn-Swallow are nearly white, with a
fine sprinkling of purple. Two broods .are reared in a
season. When the bird appears to have a third brood I
think it must have happened from the accidental destruc-
tion of the second brood of eggs.

THE CLIFF-SWALLOW.

The Cliff-Swallow is the species that has apparently
filled the vacancy made by the diminished numbers of the
Barn- Swallow. It is a smaller bird and more whitish
underneath. The nests of this species are placed under
the eaves of houses, sometimes extending nearly across
the whole side of a roof, resembling in some degree a
long row of hornets' nests. The nest is of a roundish
11*

250 BIRDS OF THE AIR.

shape ; the body of it is plastered to the wood ; the en-
trance is the neck, slightly covered for protection from
rain. They are made of clay and mud without intermix-
ture of other substances. They are lined with grass and
feathers.

This species was at .the early settlement of the country
so rare, in this part of the continent, that it escaped the
notice of some of the earliest observers of the habits of
our birds. It was not known even to Alexander Wilson.
It seems to have been observed and described in Maine
before it was well known in any of the other States. Dr.
Brewer says of this species : " I first observed a large col-
ony of them in Attleborough (Mass.) in 1842. Its size
indicated the existence of these birds in that place for
several years. The same year they also appeared in Bos-
ton, Hingham, and in other places in the neighborhood."
The notes of this Swallow are not so agreeable as those
of the Barn-Swallow and other species.

THE WOOD-SWALLOW.

The White-bellied Swallow is known in the British
Provinces by the name of " Wood-Swallow." This will be
regarded a very appropriate designation, when we consider
the continuance of the primitive habits of this bird of
building in hollow trees. Samuels has seen great num-
bers of the nests of this species in the woods of Maine,
near the northern lakes, built in hollow trees, some of
them standing in water. In an area of about ten rods he
counted fifty nests. He says this species is the most
common of the Swallows in that region. The nests are
formed entirely of grass and feathers without any mud,
for which there is no necessity. The eggs are pure
white.

This species has superseded the Purple Martin in many

BIKDS OF THE AIR. 251

parts of New England, as the Cliff-Swallow has super-
seded the Barn-Swallow. They are pretty generally dis-
tributed over the whole continent, though, notwithstand-
ing the primitive habits that still adhere to a great part
of their numbers, they are most numerous in cities and
their suburbs, attracted probably by the vast multitudes
of small flies, which are more abundant than in the woods.
The Cliff-Swallow breeds as far as the Arctic Seas.

.THE SAND-MARTIN.

This is not the least interesting of the family of Swal-
lows. The swarming multitudes that often assemble in
one vicinity, their constant motions while going in and
out their holes in the sand-bank, and sailing about on
rapid wing in quest of their microscopic prey, and their
lively notes render them objects of frequent attention.
Of all the Swallows the Sand-Martins afford the most
amusement for small boys in the vicinity, who employ
themselves in digging out their nests, which are some-
times less than two feet under the surface. The diffi-
culty is in finding the exact spot where the excavation
should be made. Large multitudes of them formerly
assembled every year and made their holes in the high
sand-bluffs that surround the Beverly coast. I have count-
ed over fifty holes in one large and high bank.

" The work of preparation," says Dr. Brewer, " they
perform with their closed bill, swaying the body round
on the feet, beginning at the centre and working out-
wards. This long and often winding gallery gradually
expands into a small spherical apartment, on the floor of
which they form a rude nest of straw and feathers. The
time occupied in making these excavations varies greatly
with the nature of the soil, from four or five days to
twice that number."

252 BIRDS OF THE AIR,

THE PURPLE MARTIN.

It is seldom in these days we hear the sweet hilarious
notes of the Purple Martin in Eastern Massachusetts.
From some not very accountable cause the species have
left many of their former habitations, and we are no
longer pleasantly roused from our sleep by their sportive
garrulity near our dwellings. The absence of these birds
is a truly sorrowful bereavement. When I visit the
places where I formerly heard them and note their ab-
sence, I feel as I do when strolling over some old familiar
ground upon which every scene has been changed, where
wood has become open space, old houses are removed
and replaced by new, and strangers occupy the homes of
the old inhabitants.

We no longer see any large assemblages of Purple
Martins in Eastern Massachusetts; and in almost all
parts of New England, where they were formerly the most
common of our birds, their numbers are greatly dimin-
ished. Why, it may be asked, have they so generally left
these parts, especially the vicinity of Boston ? May it
not be that the Wood- Swallows, which have multiplied in
the same ratio as the Purple Martins have decreased, have
been the cause of their disappearance ? They breed in
the boxes formerly used by the Martins, who, upon their
later arrival, finding them preoccupied by the Wood-Swal-
low, and failing to obtain other accommodations, fly away
to another vicinity. In a contest for a box the Purple
Martin would be the victor, but would prefer seeking a
habitation elsewhere to making an attempt to dislodge
birds which had already built their nests there.

The Purple Martin is the largest of the American Swal-
lows, with plumage of a bluish-black intermingled with
purple and violet. In beauty it is not surpassed by any
of the species. It seems to have no fear of man, who

BIRDS OF THE AIR. 253

from immemorial time has protected it. The aboriginal
inhabitants set hollowed gourds upon the trees to draw
the Martins to their huts. And when the white man
came, he provided them with a meeting-house, consider-
ing it a fitting structure for their musical congregations.

The Purple Martin utters a series of notes which are
so varied and continued as to deserve to be called a song.
This song has attracted less attention from those who
have described the habits of our birds than it merits.
In my early days I have listened for hours to the peculiar
notes of the Purple Martin, in which a variety of chatter-
ing and chuckling is combined with a low guttural trill,
resembling certain parts of the song of the Bed-Thrush.
The Martin, however, does not give himself up to song.
His notes are heard chiefly while on the wing ; but they
are almost incessant. He is constantly in motion, and
his song seems to me one of the most animated and
cheerful sounds uttered by any American bird except
the Bobolink.

The flight of the Purple Martin and his peculiar ways
render him exceedingly interesting and amusing. Sur-
passed by no bird in swiftness, there is none that equals
him in the beauty of his movements on the wing, uniting
grace and vivacity in a remarkable degree. Often skim-
ming the surface of ponds, or swiftly gliding along a pub-
lic road a few feet from the ground, then soaring above
the height of the lower clouds, he sails about with but
little motion of the wings, till he is out of sight. These
flights seem to be made for his own amusement ; for it
cannot be supposed that he finds the larger insects that
constitute his prey at so great a height.

The boldness displayed by the Purple Martin in driving
Hawks and Crows from his neighborhood accounts for the
respect in which he was held by the Indians, who were
great admirers of courage. " So well known," says Wil-

254 BIRDS OF THE AIR.

son, " is this to the lower birds and to the domestic poul-
try, that as soon as they hear the Martin's voice engaged
in fight, all is alarm and consternation." The Martin is
often victor in contests with the Kingbird, perhaps when
one is tired of the contest another takes his place with
fresh vigor, so that the Kingbird is finally driven away
and conquered.

THE CHIMNEY-SWALLOW.

The Chimney-Swallow attracts general attention on
account of its practice of building its nest in the un-
used flue of a chimney. In village and town this fam-
ily of birds are very abundant, some deserted chimney
being always appropriated for the rearing of their young.
It is remarkable that their desertion of their original
breeding-places and their present selection of chimneys
should be so universal. Though they are known at the
present time to build, as formerly, in hollow trees, they
do so only in forests very distant from town or village.
It cannot be said that they are fond of the companion-
ship of man. The small flies that constitute their food
are probably more numerous in towns than in forests.
Hence the birds for convenience resort to the chimney
rather than the hollow tree, which is farther from their
supplies of food.

The Chimney-Swallow is the smallest of our American
species, and is partially nocturnal in its habits, being
most active during morn and early twilight. Its nests
are nicely woven with sticks, fastened to the chimney
with a glutinous saliva. Says Samuels : " About sunset,
great multitudes of these birds are out, and the num-
bers of insects they destroy must be immense. Every-
where they may be seen ; awaj^ up in the blue sky, as
far as the eye can reach, they are coursing in wide-

BIRDS OF THE AIR. 255

extended circles, chasing each other in sport, and even
caressing and feeding their mates while on the wing. A
little lower they are speeding over the tops of trees,
gleaning the insects that have just left the foliage ; over
the surface of the lake or river they fly so low, in the
pursuit of aquatic insects that their wings often touch
the water. Everywhere are they busy."

THE KINGBIRD OR BEE-MAKTIN.

The true Flycatchers take all their food while it is
flying in the air, though they do not sail round, like a
Swallow, to catch it. They are commonly seated quietly
on their perch, and seize it by sallying out a few yards,
and then returning. If we watch the ways either of the
Kingbird or the Pewee, we shall observe this peculiar
habit of all the Flycatchers. One of the most common
of our birds, well known by his lively manners, his shrill
notes, and twittering flight ; always apparently idle, sit-
ting on the branch of a tree as if he were a sentinel of
the field, is the Kingbird. From this branch you may
observe his frequent sallies when darting upon his prey.
You may often see him pursuing a Hawk or a Crow, and
annoying it by repeated attacks, always made in the
rear of his victim. His usual custom is to rise a little
above the object of his harassment, and then swoop down
in such a manner that the bird cannot turn upon him.
I have frequently seen him rise almost out of sight
when engaged in such encounters. His victim constantly
endeavors to rise above his pursuer, while the Kingbird by
his activity as invariably balks him. I could never deter-
mine which of the two was the first to tire. But the King-
bird may probably be relieved by another of his species
who may take his place. This pugnacious habit is said
to continue only during the breeding-season.

256 BIRDS OF THE AIR.

It is amusing to watch his movements when flying.
He sails rapidly along the air with but little motion of
his outspread wings, save the vibrations of his extended
feathers, all the time screaming with a sharp and rapid
twitter. You observe this habit of the bird at short dis-
tances from the ground, when pursuing an insect. Upon
seizing it he returns immediately to his post. He is
watching all the while for the larger insects. He will
not quit his perch, upon a fence, the branch of a tree,
or a mullein-stalk, to catch small flies. He leaves all
minute insects to the Swallows and small Flycatchers.
The farmers complain of him as a bee-eater, whence the
name of Bee-Martin which is often applied to him.
Some observers say he discriminates between the differ-
ent kinds of bees, selecting only the drones for his re-
past. But among the offences charged against him, he
is never accused of stealing grain or fruit. Hence he is
seldom molested, and enjoys great security compared
with many other equally useful birds.

The Kingbird has not much beauty of plumage ; but he
is so neatly marked with black and white, with a bluish
color above, and a white band at the extremity of his dark
tail-feathers, and he displays his form and plumage so
gracefully in his vibrating flights, that he cannot escape
notice. The crest, containing a vermilion centre, is
hardly discernible, save when the bird is excited, when
it is slightly elevated. The Kingbird more frequently
builds in an orchard than in a wood, an open cultivated
place being more productive of those insects which afford
him subsistence.

THE PEWEE.

If we stroll at any hour of the day in summer and
sit under a rustic bridge for coolness or shelter, while

BIRDS OF THE AIR. 257

watching the stream and listening to its flow, we may
hear the plaintive cry of the Pewee, a common but re-
tiring bird, whose note is familiar to all. He seems to
court solitude, though he has no apparent fear in the
presence of man ; and his singular note harmonizes with
the gloominess of his retreat. He sits for the most part
in the shade, catching his insect prey without any noise,
but after seizing it, resuming his station. This movement
is performed in the most graceful manner ; and he often
turns a somerset or appears to do so, if the insect at first
evades his pursuit. All this is done in silence, for he is
110 singer. The only sound he utters beside his lament
is an occasional clicking chirp. All the day, after short
intervals, with a plaintive cadence he modulates the
syllables pe-wee. As the male and the female can hardly
be distinguished, I have not been able to determine
whether this sound is uttered by both sexes or by the
male only.

So plainly expressive of sadness is this remarkable
note, that it is difficult to believe the little creature
that utters it can be free from sorrow. Certainly he has
no congeniality with the sprightly Bobolink. Why is it
that two simple sounds in succession can produce an
effect on the mind as intense as a solemn strain of arti-
ficial music and excite the imagination like the words of
poesy ? I never listen to the note of the Pewee without
imagining that something is expressed by it that is be-
yond our ken ; that it sounds in unison with some one
of those infinite chords of intelligence and emotion, which
in our dreamy moments bring us undefinable sensations
of beauty and mystery and sorrow. Perhaps with the
rest of his species, the Pewee represents the fragment
of a superior race which, according to the metempsy-
chosis, have fallen from their original high position
among exalted beings; and this melancholy note is

Q

258 BIRDS OF THE AIR.

but the partial utterance of sorrow that still lingers in
their breasts after the occasion of it is forgotten !

Though a retiring bird, the Pewee is very generally
known on account of his remarkable note, which is heard
often in our gardens as well as in his peculiar habitats.
Like the Cliff-Swallow, he builds his nest under a shelter-
ing roof or rock, and it is often fixed upon a beam or plank
under a bridge. There are no prejudices in the community
against this species. They are not destroyed on any occa-
sion. By the most ordinary observer they cannot be sus-
pected of doing mischief in the garden. I should remark
in this place, that the Flycatchers and Swallows and a
few other species that enjoy immunity in our land, though
multiplied to infinity, would perform only those offices
which are assigned them by nature. It is a vain hope
that while employed in exterminating any species of small
birds their places can be supplied and their services per-
formed by other species which are allowed to multiply
to excess. The Swallow and the Pewee, with all their
multitudinous families, will not perform the work of the
Eobin or the Woodpecker, nor can all these together do
the work of the Sylvians.

WOOD-PEWEE.

We seldom ramble in a deep wood without hearing the
feeble and plaintive note of the Wood-Pewee, — a bird
that does not leave the forest, and is therefore less known
than the larger species that builds under bridges and the
eaves of old houses. The Wood-Pewee places its shallow
nest upon some large branch of a tree without any protec-
tion above it, and it is chiefly concealed by the resem-
blance of its materials to the mosses and lichens on the
bough. Its habits, except its attachment to the soli-
tude of the wood, differ but little from those of the com-

BIRDS OF THE AIR. 259

mon Pewee. It seems likewise to have the same cheer-
ful manners. The minor notes of the two Pewees serve,
more than any others equally simple, to harmonize the
anthem of Nature.

THE HUMMING-BIRD.

The Humming-Birds, of which it is said there are more
than four hundred species, are among the most exquisite
of all animated beings. They unite the beauty and deli-
cacy of a beautiful insect with the organization and
intelligence of a creature of flesh and blood. Of all
the feathered tribe, none will compare with them in
the minuteness of their size. The splendor, variety, and
changeableness of their hues are no less admirable than
their diminutiveness. The colors of the rainbow do not
surpass those of many of the species either in beauty or
variety. A brilliant metallic lustre greatly enhances all
this splendor. The variability of their hues, which is also
observed in many other birds, is in the Humming-Birds
almost unaccountable. Says Dr. Brewer : " The sides of
the fibres of each, feather are of a different color from the
surface, and change as seen in a front or an oblique direc-
tion ; and, while living, these birds by their movements
can cause their feathers to change very suddenly to
different hues. Thus the Selasphorus rufus can change in
a twinkling the vivid fire color of its expanded throat to
a light green ; and the species known as the Mexican
Star, changes from a light crimson to an equally brilliant
blue."

Yet with all their beauty of color, what is most attrac-
tive about them is their flight. When a Humming-Bird
is flying, so rapid are the motions of its wings that it
seems like the body of a bird suspended in a circle of
radiating sunbeams, or like one in the midst of a globe

260 BIRDS OF THE AIK.

of down, like that which surrounds the receptacle of a
ripened dandelion flower. When we watch the flight of
a short- winged bird like the Quail, the radiations formed
by the rapid motions of its wings make only a semicircle.
In the Humming-Bird they form a complete circle of
luminous rays. This flight, which resembles that of cer-
tain insects, is the more remarkable on account of the
extraordinary length of its wings, which would lead us to
infer that they would be incapable of such rapid motion
by the muscular force of so small a body. The wings of
those moths and beetles which have a similar movement
bear no proportion to the length of the Humming-Bird's
wing, compared with the size of the body of the insect and
of the bird. It is the rapid vibration of the wings, pro-
ducing a sound like the spinning of a top, that has given
to this family of birds the name by which they are desig-
nated.

"While hovering before a flower, this hum is plainly
audible ; but when the bird darts off to another place the
tone produced by these vibrations is plainly raised to a
higher key, as it spins like an arrow through the air.
Dr. Brewer, alluding to the Swiss philosopher Saussure,
says : "On the first visit of this naturalist to a savanna in
the island of Jamaica, he noticed what he at first took to
be a brilliant green insect, of rapid flight, approaching
him by successive alternations of movements and pauses,
and rapidly gliding among and over the network of inter-
lacing shrubs. He was surprised by the extraordinary
dexterity with which it avoided the movements of his
net, and yet more astonished to find, when he had cap-
tured it, that he had taken a bird and not an insect."

The largest known Humming-Bird is about the size of
the Chimney-Swallow ; and so great is the disparity in
the size of the different species, that when confined in a
cage, and the perch "has been occupied by the great

BIRDS OF THE AIR. 261

Blue-throated Humming-Bird, the diminutive Mexican
Star has settled on the long beak of the former, and re-
mained perched on it some minutes without its offering
to resist the insult." Some of the species are so small
that if they flew by night they might be swallowed alive
by one of the smaller Owls as easily as a beetle.

The Humming-Bird was formerly supposed to feed
entirely on the nectar of the flowers it was seen so con-
stantly to visit. It is now well ascertained that its chief
subsistence is made up of small insects which it takes
from the flower. But the ancient opinion was not en-
tirely a fallacy, since a portion of the nectar of the flower
is taken with the insects, and supplies to the Humming-
Bird that kind of nourishment which the larger insec-
tivorous birds derive from fruit. Dr. Brewer says " the
young birds feed by putting their own bills down the
throats of their parents, sucking probably a prepared
sustenance of nectar and fragments of insects." The
bird uses his tongue both for capturing insects and for
sucking the drops of dew and nectarine juices contained
in the flower.

Notwithstanding the small size of the whole tribe of
Humming-Birds, they are notoriously the most courageous
and combative birds in existence. Their sharp bills, their
rapid flight, the electric quickness of their manoeuvres,
render them so dangerous that no bird whom parties of
them choose to attack can escape unharmed.

I once discovered a nest of the Humming-Bird in my
own garden, upon the horizontal bough of an old apple-
tree. It was placed near the end of the bough, about
five feet from the ground. It was built, as all writers
have described other nests of Humming-Birds, of ferns
and mosses, with lichens glued together, perhaps from
being collected while they were damp. It contained two
eggs about the size of a pea-bean.

SWALLOWS: THEIR HIBERNATION.

THERE is not much that is interesting to be said of
swallows, which are not singing-birds, and .do not by
their aerial flights attract attention, as if they were seen
creeping on the branches of trees, and associated with
their flowers. We watch with admiration their rapid
movements through the air, their horizontal flight along
the surface of some still water, and are charmed with
their twittering when assembled round their nests.
There was, once a lively controversy in relation to the
manner in which swallows pass the winter. The opin-
ion of naturalists in Sweden and in the North of Eu-
rope, among whom we may name Linnaeus and Kalm,
was that swallows buried themselves in water under
the freezing-line, or slept in the crevices of rocks. This
theory has been discarded by modern naturalists, who
have authentic accounts of flocks of swallows which
have settled upon the masts and sails of ships when on
their passage to or from the countries where they pass
the winter. Still, the mystery is- not cleared up.

White of Selborne mentions a week in March that
was attended by very hot weather, when many species
of insects came forth, and many house-swallows appeared.
On the immediate succession of severe cold weather, the
swallows disappeared and were seen no more until April.
He mentions another instance recorded in his journal, of
the reappearance of swallows after a month's absence, on
the 4th of November, just for one day, which was remark-
ably warm, playing about at their leisure, as if they were

SWALLOWS : THEIR HIBERNATION. 263

near their place of retreat. On the same day, more than
twenty house-martins appeared, which had retired with-
out exception on the 7th day of the October previous.
He adds that whenever the thermometer is above 50°,
the bat flits out during any autumn or winter month.
The author concludes that two whole species of swal-
lows, or at least a large proportion of them in Great
Britain, never leave the island, but r.emain torpid in some
place of retreat ; for he remarks, " We cannot suppose
that, after a month's absence, house-martins can return
from Southern regions, to appear for one morning in
November; or that house-swallows should leave the
districts of Africa, to enjoy in March the transient
summer of a couple of days."

Daines Barrington testifies that he has in many in-
stances known martins to reappear during warm days in
different parts of the winter, but he is not sure that he
has ever seen swallows at such times. He thinks, there-
fore, that martins conceal themselves in crevices of rocks,
from which on a warm day they can emerge ; but swal-
lows, -which are buried under water, cannot feel the influ-
ence of a short period of warm weather. The treatises
on Ornithology written in the northern parts 'of Europe
allude frequently, as if it were an established fact, to the
submersion of swallows during the winter. Peter Brown,
a Norwegian painter, informed Mr. Barrington that while
he was at school near Sheen, he and his comrades con-
stantly found swallows in numbers torpid under the ice
that covered bays, and that they would revive if placed
in a warm room. The author of a paper read before the
Academy of Upsal mentions the submersion of swallows
as a known fact in that part of the world. Among the
superstitions associated with this belief, Pantoffidan re-
lates that swallows before they sink under water sing the
Swallow Song, as it is called, and which everybody knows.

264 SWALLOWS: THEIR HIBERNATION.

A gentleman of science informed Mr. Barrington that
when he was fourteen years of age, a pond belonging to
his father, who was a vicar in Berkshire, was cleared out
in February. While the workmen were clearing it, he
picked up a cluster of three or four swallows that were
caked in the mud, and they revived and flew about when
carried to a warm room. Mr. Barrington records many
similar facts, for which I have no space. In one instance
swallows were taken out of a mass of solid ice, and were
brought to life by the application of heat.

He thinks swallows only are ever submerged in \vater
or mud, but that martins retire to fissures in rocks or to
some lurking-places in the ground. He mentions a boat-
man who had seen thousands of martins in the crevices
of a rock, and that they would revive when taken into a
warm room. Kalm also relates, in his " Travels in Amer-
ica," that they have been found torpid in holes and clefts
of rocks near Albany, New York. Mr. McKenzie, being
at Lord Stafford's in Yorkshire, near the end of October,
a conversation began about swallows crossing the seas.
This the game-keeper disbelieved, and said he would
carry any one to some neighboring coal-works, where he
was sure of finding them at that time. Some of the
servants attended him to the coal-pits, where several
martins were found in a torpid state, but would show
life when warmed.

Mr. Barrington concludes from all these facts that
martins appear occasionally throughout the winter, when
the weather is mild ; but he had heard no well-attested
cases of the reappearance of sand-martins during the
winter ; he cannot conjecture where they conceal them-
selves, but he is positive they do not winter in their
holes. He expresses his belief in the impossibility of
their making a journey across the seas to Africa, and
doubts the few recorded instances of their alighting on

SWALLOWS: THEIR HIBERNATION. 265

the masts of vessels on their journeys of migration. If
this theory of the migration of swallows be true, it must
be true of those in the northern and southern parts of
Asia. On the contrary, they hide themselves in the
banks of the Ganges, during the three so-called winter
months in that part of the world. Du Tertre mentions
that the few swallows seen in the Caribbee Isles are only
observed in summer, as in France. We are assured by
Dr. Pallas, that not only are there swallows in Eussia
and Siberia, but that on the banks of the Wolga, latitude
57°, they disappeared about the fourth of August. These
birds, according to the theory of migration, ought to have
been passing to the more southern parts of Asia. Yet it
has not been observed by any Asiatic traveller that they
have the same species of swallow, or that they are seen
in those parts during our winter.

As an objection to the theory of the torpidity of swal-
lows as their mode of hibernation, it is asked where and
when they moult, if not in regions south of Europe, as
they do not moult before their disappearance. This is an
objection that Mr. Barrington fails to answer. It is im-
possible, however, that their moulting can happen when
submerged in water or torpid in some concealed resort.
The functions of the animal economy would be unable to
supply a new plumage while the system is in this state.
I would suggest, if the theory of their torpidity were
proved, that they may drop their feathers one by one,
during all their active season of flight, as human hair is
shed. Still, I cannot but think it more probable that
swallows leave their northern habitats very early in the
season, that they may arrive at their winter-quarters just
before the season of moulting; and that the cause of
their remaining undiscovered during their residence in
the warm regions to which they resort is, that while
moulting they live upon the ground in shelters of thicket,

12

266 SWALLOWS: THEIR HIBERNATION.

not being able to fly, and subsist upon a diet which they
pick up from the ground.

But this does not explain the moulting of those swal-
lows and martins, few or many, which have been proved
to remain torpid in northern countries. Do these come
out in the spring only to die, or do they perish in their
winter retreats and never revive ? If they are destined
to perish here, why has Nature provided them with an
instinct which answers no purpose whatever in their
economy ? If this submersion is only a method of
suicide, why do they not perish immediately, instead
of lingering along during the whole winter to die at
the end of this season ? And if they do not perish at
this time, but awake and revive like bats and dormice,
the most important question is, not where and when they
moult, but why Nature has provided migration for a part
of each swallow family, and a torpid sleep under water,
and in crevices of rocks, for the remainder of the same
families. I cannot but conclude that there is yet the
greatest burden of proof remaining with those who main-
tain the theory of migration.

THE FLOWEES OF AUTUMK

THE student of Nature, who is accustomed to general
observation, cannot fail to have noticed the different
character of the flowers of spring, summer, and autumn.
Each season, as well as climate, has a description of
vegetation peculiar to itself; for as spring is not desti-
tute of fruits, neither is autumn of flowers, though they
have in general but little resemblance to one another.
Those of spring, as I have already remarked, are deli-
cate and herbaceous, pale in their tints, and fragrant in
their odors. The summer flowers are larger, more bril-
liant in their colors, and not so highly perfumed as those
of spring. Lastly, the flowers of autumn appear in un-
limited profusion, neither so brilliant as the former, nor
so delicate as the latter. They are produced on woody
stalks, often in crowded clusters, and nearly destitute of
fragrance. The differences in the general characteristics
of the flowers of different seasons are an interesting
theme of speculation ; and they represent, somewhat im-
perfectly, the flowers of the different latitudes.

But there are certain species, appearing late in the
autumn, that display the characters of the spring flow-
ers, like the neottia, the purple gerardia, and the hedge
hyssop.

The summer flowers are in their greatest splendor in
the latter part of June. The greater number of those
which commence their flowering in August are autum-
nal, and do not acquire their full maturity until Sep-
tember. The summer flowers are characterized by their

268 THE FLOWERS OF AUTUMN.

large size and brilliant colors, and combine the two quali-
ties of delicacy and splendor in a greater degree than
those of any other season. Such are the different species
of the beautiful orchis tribe, the cardinal-flower, the
cymbidium, the arethusas, and some of the wild lilies.
The majority of the flowering shrubs put out their blos-
soms in early summer, just after the blossoming of the
fruit-trees. These diminish in number as the summer
advances, and in autumn hardly one is to be found that
is not loaded with seeds or fruit. The flowering plants
of autumn, however, though not shrubs, are woody in
their texture, and many are, in fact, a kind of annual
shrubbery.

The summer flowers may be said to date their com-
mencement with the elegant Canadian rhodora, and to
end with the alder-leaved clethra, a flowering shrub very
common in our swamps, bearing long slender spikes of
white blossoms which have the odor of lilacs. During
this interval, the most beautiful flowering shrubs of our
climate unfold their blossoms. The rhodora is followed
in succession by the honeysuckles, the l%;almias, or false
laurels, the azaleas, the viburnums, and many others not
less important as ornaments of our native landscape.
The flowering of the alder-leaved clethra marks the de-
cline of summer. After this, the remainder of the month
of August is a period rather barren of wild-flowers. The
most of those which are peculiar to summer have faded,
and the autumnal tribes are still ripening their buds.
There seems to be a short suspension, during this month,
of the efforts of Nature, while she is preparing to unfold
the brilliant treasures of autumn.

The spring produces in the greatest abundance those
flowers that affect a northern latitude. As the season
advances we find more of those tribes which are peculiar
to warm climates. The roses and rosaceous flowers usu-

THE FLOWERS OF AUTUMN. 269

ally appear in the early summer weeks, and the flowers
of these genera are rare in tropical regions, being the
denizens chiefly of temperate latitudes. The papilio-
naceous flowers, of which the greater numbers of species
are found within the tropics, do not appear with us in
profusion until the latter part of summer. The prevail-
ing hues of the summer flowers are the different shades
of scarlet, crimson, and purple, which grow paler as the
days decrease in length and the temperature becomes
cooler. Thus the bulbous arethusa, that flowers in June,
is of a brilliant purple or crimson; while the adder's-
tongue arethusa, that appears a month later, is of a pale
lilac. Our native species of the brightest tints belong to
summer. Such are the scarlet lobelia, the narrow-leaved
kalmia, the red lily, and the swamp rose.

With August appears a kind of vegetation unlike any
that has preceded it. The compound flowers, a very
extensive tribe, begin to be conspicuous. These flowers
are characteristic of vegetation in the autumn, the greater
part of them coming to perfection during this season,
beginning with a few species in the month of August.
All these increase in beauty and variety until September
arrives, bearing superb garlands of asters, sunflowers, and
goldenrods, which, though exceeded in delicacy and bril-
liancy by the earlier flowers, are unsurpassed in splendor.
The season of the autumnal flowers may be dated as com-
mencing with the flowering of the trumpet- weed, or pur-
ple eupatorium. This is one of the most conspicuous
plants in our wet meadows during the early part of
September. It often grows perfectly straight to the
height of six feet, in a favorable soil, bearing at regular
distances around its cylindrical stem a whorl of leaves,
which by their peculiar curvature give the plant a fan-
cied resemblance to a trumpet. Soon after this appear
the yellow gerardias, bringing along with them countless

270 THE FLOWERS OF AUTUMN.

multitudes of asters, goldenrods, and autumnal dande-
lions, until the uplands are universally spangled with
them, and gleam with a profusion of blossoms unwit-
nessed at any other season.

The asters are the most remarkable of the flowers
of autumn, and are, in many respects, characteristic of
the season. Their stalks are woody; but they are not
shrubs, and their flowers are more delicate than brilliant.
The foreign asters which are cultivated in our gardens,
though exceeding the native species in the brilliancy
of their hues, are inferior to the latter in elegance of
growth, and in the delicate structure of their blossoms.
The prevailing color of the autumnal flowers is yellow;
yet there is not a single yellow aster among their whole
extensive tribe. Near the latter part of September the
fields are covered with asters of every shade, from the
deep blue of the cyaneus and the purple of the New
England aster, to the purest white. The walls and the
edges of the woods are bordered with long rows of gold-
enrods, and multitudes of gaudy flowers have usurped
the dominion of the roses, hiding the summer shrubbery
beneath their tall and spreading herbage.

Some flowers are interesting because they are rare ;
some because they are common and familiar; some at-
tract our attention because they are large, others because
they are small "We are in the habit of admiring oppo-
site qualities in very similar things. The pineweed, a
little plant that is abundant in September, is interesting
on account of its minuteness. We meet it in dry pas-
tures and on rustic roadsides, on a thin and sandy soil,
in company with the Trichostema, a very pretty annual
with numerous blue flowers, each having two long sta-
mens overarching the flower, so as to resemble Hue curls,
the common name of the species. The pineweed never
fails to attract attention by its multitudes of little star-

THE FLOWERS OF AUTUMN. 271

like flowers covering the plant like golden spangles.
When the .flower has perished it is succeeded by a dia-
mond-shaped red capsule, so that the plant is as pretty
with its red fruit as with its yellow flowers.

Almost simultaneously with the tinting of the forest-
trees comes forth the last beautiful visitant of our fields,
the blue-fringed gentian. This little flower marks the
decline of autumnal vegetation. .It begins to unfold
itself during the latter part of September, and may often
be found in the meadows after the November frosts have
seared the verdure of the fields, and changed the varie-
gated hues- of the forest into one monotonous tinge of
brown and purple.

When the woods are completely divested of their foli-
age, and the landscape wants nothing but snow to yield
it the aspect of winter, the hamamelis, or witch-hazel,
still retains its yellow blossoms, in defiance of the later
frosts. Nothing is lively around it but the evergreens,
and no plant puts forth its blossoms after this, unless
some flower of spring should peep out unseasonably from
under the protection of a sunny knoll. The evergreens
are now in all their beauty, and we search the fields
in vain for aught but the presages of winter.

SEPTEMBER

WE have hardly become familiar with summer ere
autumn arrives with its cool nights, its foggy mornings,
and its clear brilliant days. Yet the close of summer is
but the commencement of a variety of pleasant rural
occupations, of reaping and fruit-gathering, and the still
more exciting sports of the field. After this time we are
comparatively exempt from the extremes of temperature,
and we are free to ramble at any distance, without ex-
posure to sudden showers, that so often spring up in sum-
mer without warning us of their approach. Though the
spicy odors of June are no longer wafted upon the gales,
there is a clearness and freshness in the atmosphere more
agreeable than fragrance, giving buoyancy to the mind
and elasticity to the frame.

The various employments of the farmer are changed
into agreeable recreations ; and the anxious toils of plant-
ing and haymaking have given place to the less weari-
some and more exhilarating labors of the harvest. Beside
the pleasures of the sportsman, there are successions of
fruit-gatherings and rural excursions of various kinds,
from the beginning of this month to the end of the
next, that impart to the young many cheerful themes
for remembrance during the rest of their days. The
provident simpler may be seen upon the hills busily
employed in gathering medicinal plants for her own
humble dispensary. Close by her side are neatly bound
sheaves of thoroughwort, hardback, bear-berry, penny-
royal, and life-everlasting, which she benevolently pro-

SEPTEMBER. 273

vides for the supply of her neighborhood. And while
thus employed, she feels the reward of the just in the
pleasing contemplation of the good she may perform,
when winter comes with its fevers and colds.

There is no season when the landscape presents so
beautiful an appearance just before sunset, as during this
month. The grass has a singular velvety greenness, being
without any mixture of downy tassels and panicles of
seeds. For the present covering of the fields is chiefly
the second growth of vegetation, after the first has been
mowed by the farmer or cropped by the grazing herds.
The herbage displays little but the leaves, which have
been thickened in their growth and made green by the
early rains of autumn. When the atmosphere has its
usual autumnal clearness and the sun is just declining,
while his rays gleam horizontally over the fields, the
plain exhibits the most brilliant verdure, unlike that of
the earlier months. When this wide landscape of uni-
form greenness is viewed in opposition to the blue firma-
ment, it seems as if the earth arid the sky were vying
with each other in the untarnished loveliness of their
appropriate colors.

There is usually a serenity of the weather for the greater
part of September, unknown to the other autumn months.
Yet this is no time for inaction ; for the temperate cli-
mate, too pleasant for confinement, and too cool for indo-
lent repose, invites even the weary to ramble. Of all
the months, the climate of September is the most equable
and salubrious, and nearly the same temperature is waft-
ed from every quarter of the heavens. The sea-breezes
spring up from the ocean almost with the mildness of the
southwest, and the rude north-wind has been softened
into a delightful blandness by his tender dalliance with
summer.

One of the charms of the present month is the profusion

12* R

274 SEPTEMBER.

of bright-colored fruits that meet the eye on every side
in the deserted haunts of the flowers. The scarlet berries
of the nightshade, varied with their blossoms, hang like
clusters of rubies from the crevices in the stone- walls
through which the vines have made their clambering
tour. On each side of the fences the elder-trees in inter-
rupted rows are bending down with the weight of their
dark purple fruit, and the catbird may be seen busily
gathering them for his noonday repast. Above all, the
barberry-bushes scattered over the hills, some in irregu-
lar clumps, others following the lines of the stone-walls,
down narrow lanes and over sandy hills, with their long
slender branches fringed with delicate racemes of varie-
gated fruit, changing from a greenish white to a bright
scarlet, form hedge-rows as beautiful as art, without its
formality.

September is the counterpart of June, and displays the
transformation of the flowers of early summer into the
ripe and ruddy harvest. The wild-cherry trees are heav-
ily laden with their dark purple clusters, and flocks of
robins and wax wings are busy all the day in their merry
plunder among the branches. But in the fruits there is
less to be loved than in the flowers, to which imagination
is prone to assign some moral attributes. The various
fruits of the harvest we prize as good and bounteous gifts.
But flowers win our affections, like beings endowed with
life and thought; and when we notice their absence or
their departure we feel a painful sense of melancholy,
as when we bid adieu to living friends. With flowers
we associate the sweetness, the loveliness, and the dear
and bright remembrances of spring. Like human beings,
they have contributed to our moral enjoyments. But
there are no such ideas associated with the fruits, and
while the orchards are resplendent with their harvest,
they can never affect the mind like the sight of flowers.

SEPTEMBER. 275

The birds are almost silent ; now and then we hear
one piping a few broken strains, but he does not seem to
be pleased with his own song, and no one answers him
from his feathered comrades. Their season of departure
is near, and numerous cares distract the tuneful band.
The swallows- are no longer seen with twittering flight
skimming along the surface of the waters, or sailing aloft
in the air to warn the swain of coming showers. The
little busy wren, one of our latest warblers, is also silent,
and all are slowly leaving us one after another. It is a
pleasant occupation to watch their various movements,
their altered manners, and their unwonted shyness. They
sing no more, but twitter, chirrup, and complain, always
in motion, flying from tree to tree, and busy like those
preparing for a long journey.

But as the birds have become silent, the insect myri-
ads, having attained the maturity of their lives, are in
glad chorus with all their little harps. The fields are
covered with crickets and grasshoppers, and the whole
air resounds with their hissing melodies. This is the
honeymoon of their transient lifetime, and they are
merrily singing their conjugal ditties, while the autum-
nal frosts are rapidly approaching to put an end to their
pleasures and their lives. While chirping night and day
among the green herbage, they are but chanting the death-
notes of their own brief existence. The little merry mul-
titude, to whose myriad voices we are now listening with
delight, contains not one individual of those who were
chirping in their places a year ago. All that generation
has passed away, and ere another spring arrives, the present
multitudinous choir will have perished likewise, to yield
their places to new millions, which the next summer will
usher into life. But they take no thought of the morrow,
and like true Epicureans, while the frosts are gathering
around them, they sing and make merry until the cold

276 SEPTEMBER.

drives them into their retreats. One tribe after another
discontinues its song, until the hard frosts arrive, and
leave the woods lonely and silent, but for the screaming
of jays, the cawing of ravens, and the moaning of the
winds as they r>ass over the graves of the departed things
of summer.

BIEDS OF THE NIGHT.

NUMEROUS swarms of insects and many small quadru-
peds that require darkness for their security come abroad
only during the night or twilight. These creatures would
multiply almost without check, were it not that certain
birds, having the power of seeing in the dark, and being
partially blinded by daylight, are forced to seek their food
in the night. Many species of insects, not strictly noc-
turnal, — those in particular that pass their life chiefly in
the air, — are most active after dewfall. Hence the very
late hour at which certain species of Swallows retire to
rest, the period of sunset and early twilight affording
them a fuller repast than any other part of the day.
No sooner has the Swallow gone to rest than the Night-
Jar and Whippoorwill come forth to prey on the larger
kinds of aerial insects. The bat, an animal' of antediluvian
type, comes out a little earlier, and assists in lessening
these multitudinous swarms. The small Owls, though
they pursue the larger beetles and moths, direct their
efforts chiefly at the small quadrupeds that steal out in
the twilight to nibble the tender herbs and grasses. Thus,
the night, except the hours of total darkness, is with many
species of animals, though they pursue their objects with
great stillness and silence, a period of general activity.

The birds of the night may be classed under two
heads, including, beside the true nocturnal birds, that go
abroad in the night to seek their subsistence, those diur-
nal birds that continue their songs. There are other spe-
cies that are quiet both at noonday and midnight. Such

278 BIRDS OF THE NIGHT.

is the Chimney-Swallow. This bird employs the middle
of the day in sleep after excessive activity from the ear-
liest dawn. It is seen afterwards circling about at the
decline of day, and is sometimes abroad in fine weather
the greater part of the night, when the young require
almost unremitted exertions on the part of the old birds
to procure their subsistence.

The true nocturnal birds, of which the Owl and the
Whippoorwill are prominent examples, are distinguished
by a peculiar sensibility of the eye that enables them to
see clearly by twilight and in cloudy weather, while they
are dazzled by the broad light of day. Their organs of
hearing are proportionally delicate and acute. Their
wing-feathers have a peculiar downy softness, so that they
move through the air without the usual fluttering sounds
that attend the flight of other birds. Hence they are
able to steal unawares upon their prey, and to make their
predal excursions without disturbing the general silence
of the hour. This noiseless flight is remarkable in the
Owl, as may be observed if a tame one is confined in a
room, when we can perceive his motions only by our
sight. It is remarkable that this peculiar structure of the
wing-feathers does not exist in the Woodcock, which is a
nocturnal feeder. Nature makes no useless provisions for
her creatures. Hence this bird, that obtains its food by
digging into the ground and takes no part of it while on
the wing, has no need of such a contrivance. Neither
stillness nor stealth would assist him in digging for his
helpless prey.

THE OWL.

Among the nocturnal birds the most celebrated is the
Owl, of which there are many species, varying from the
size of an Eagle down to the Acadian, which is no larger

BIRDS OF THE NIGHT. 279

than a Robin. The resemblance of the Owl to the feline
race has been a frequent subject of remark. Like the
cat, he sees most clearly by twilight or the light of the
moon, seeks his prey in the night, and spends the greater
part of the day in sleep. This likeness is made stronger
by his earlike tufts of feathers, that correspond with the
ears of a quadruped ; by his large head ; his round, full,
and glaring eyes, set widely apart ; by the extreme con-
tractility of the pupil ; and by his peculiar habit of sur-
prising his victims by watchfulness and stealth. His
eyes are partially encircled by a disk of feathers, giving
a remarkably significant expression to his face. His
hooked bill, turned downwards so as to resemble the nose
in the human face, the general flatness of his features,
and his upright position produce a grave and intelligent
look. It was this expression that caused him to be
selected by the ancients as the emblem of wisdom and
to be consecrated to Minerva.

The Owl is remarkable for the acuteness of his hearing,
having a large ear-drum and being provided with an ap-
paratus by which he can exalt this faculty when he wishes
to listen with great attention. Hence, while he is noise-
less in his own motions, he is able to perceive the least
sound from the motion of any other object, and overtakes
his prey by coming upon it in silence and darkness. The
stillness of his flight adds mystery to his character, and
assists in making him an object of superstitious dread.
Aware of his defenceless condition in the bright daylight,
when his purblindness would prevent him from evading
the attacks of his enemies, he seeks some secure retreat
where he may pass the day unexposed to observation.

It is this necessity which has caused him to make his
abode in desolate and ruined buildings, in old towers
and belfries, and in the crevices of dilapidated walls. In
these places he hides from the sight of other birds, who

280 BIRDS OF THE NIGHT.

regard him as a common enemy, and who show him no
mercy when they have discovered him. Here also he
rears his offspring, and we associate his image with these
solitary haunts, as that of the Loon with our secluded
lakes. In thinly settled and wooded countries, he selects
the hollows of old trees and the clefts of rocks for his
retreats. All the smaller Owls, however, seem to multi-
ply with the increase of human population, subsisting
upon the minute animals that accumulate in outhouses,
orchards, and fallows.

When the Owl is discovered in his hiding-place, the
alarm is given, and there is a general excitement among
the small birds. They assemble in great numbers, and
with loud chattering assail and annoy him in various
ways, and soon drive him out of his retreat. The Jay,
commonly his first assailant, like a thief employed as a
thief-taker, attacks him with great zeal and animation.
The Chickadee, the Nuthatch, and the Bed-thrush peck
at his head and eyes, while other birds less bold fly round
him, and by their vociferation encourage his assailants
and increase the terror of their victim.

It is while sitting on the branch of a tree or on a fence
after his misfortune and escape that he is most frequently
.seen in the daytime. Here he has formed a subject for
painters, who have generally introduced him into their
pictures as he appears in one of -these open situations.
He is sometimes represented ensconced in his own select
retreat, apparently peeping out of his hiding-place and
only half concealed; and the discovery of him in such
lonely places has caused the supernatural horrors attached
to his image. His voice is supposed to bode misfortune,
and his spectral visits are regarded as the forerunners of
death. His occupancy of deserted houses and ruins has
invested him with a romantic character, while the poets,
by introducing him to deepen the force of their pathetic

BIRDS OF THE NIGHT. 281

or gloomy descriptions, have enlivened our associations
connected with his image ; and he deserves therefore in a
special degree to be classed among those animals which
we call picturesque.

Though the Owl was selected by the ancients as the
emblem of wisdom, the moderns have practically re-
nounced this idea, which had its foundation in the gravity
and not in the real character of the bird, which possesses
only the sly and sinister traits that mark the feline race.
A very different train of associations and a new series of
picturesque images are now suggested by the figure of the
Owl, who has been more correctly portrayed by modern
poetry than by ancient mythology. He is now univer-
sally regarded as the emblem of ruins and of desolation,
— true to his character and habits, which are intimately
allied with this description of scenery.

I will not enter into a speculation concerning the na-
ture and origin of those agreeable emotions which are so
generally produced by the sight of objects that suggest
ideas of ruins. It is happy for us that by the alchemy
of poetry we are able to turn some of our misfortunes
into sources of melancholy pleasure, after the poignancy
of grief has been assuaged by time. Nature has also
benevolently provided that many an object that is capa-
ble of communicating no direct pleasure to our senses
shall affect us agreeably through the medium of sentiment.
Thus, the image of the Owl awakens the sentiment of
ruin. ; and to this feeling of the human soul we may trace
the pleasure we derive from the sight of this bird in his
appropriate scenery. Two Doves upon the mossy branch
of a tree, in a wild and beautiful sylvan retreat, are the
pleasing emblems of love and constancy; but they are
not more suggestive of poetic fancies than an Owl sitting
upon an old gate-post near a deserted house.

I have alluded in another page to the faint sounds we

282 BIRDS OF THE NIGHT.

hear when the birds of night, on a still summer evening,
are flying over short distances in a neighboring wood.
There is a feeling of mystery awakened by these sounds
that exalts the pleasure we derive from the delightful in-
fluence of the hour and the season. But the emotions
thus produced are of a cheerful kind, slightly imbued
with sadness, and not equal in intensity to the effects of
the hardly perceptible sound occasioned by the flight of
the Owl as he glides by in the dusk of evening or in the
dim light of the moon. Similar in effect is the dismal
voice of this bird, which is harmonized with darkness,
and, though in some cases not unmusical, is tuned as it
were to the terrors of that hour when he makes secret
warfare upon the sleeping inhabitants of the wood.

THE ACADIAN OWL, OR SAW-WHETTER.

One of the most interesting of this family of birds is
the little Acadian Owl, whose note formerly excited
much curiosity. In the " Canadian Naturalist " an ac-
count is given of a rural excursion in April, when the
attention of the party was called, just after sunset, to a
peculiar sound heard in a cedar-swamp. It was compared
to the measured tinkling of a cowbell, or to regular
strokes upon a piece of iron quickly repeated. One of
the party, who could not describe the bird, remembered
that " during the months of April and May, and in the
former part of June, we frequently hear after nightfall
the sound just described. From its regularity it is
thought to resemble the whetting of a saw, and hence the
bird from which it proceeds is called the Saw-Whetter."

These singular sounds are the notes of the Acadian
Owl. They are like the sound produced by the filing of
a mill-saw, and are said to be the amatory note of the
male, being heard only during the season of incubation.

BIRDS OF THE NIGHT. 283

Mr. S. P. Fowler informed me by letter that " the Acadian
Owl has another note which we frequently hear in the
autumn after the breeding season is over. The parent
birds, then accompanied by their young, while hunting
their prey in the moonlight, utter a peculiar note resem-
bling a suppressed moan or low whistle. The little Aca-
dian, to avoid the annoyance of the birds he would meet
by day, and the blinding light of the sun, retires in the
morning, his feathers wet with dew and rumpled by the
hard struggles he has encountered in seizing his prey, to
the gloom of the forest or the thick swamp. There,
perched on a bough near the trunk of the tree, he sleeps
through a summer's day, the perfect picture of a used-up
little fellow, suffering the evil effects of a night's carouse."

THE SCREECH-OWL.

The Mottled Owl, or Screech-owl, is somewhat larger
than the Acadian, or Whetsaw, but not so familiar as the
Barn Owl of Europe, which he resembles. He builds in
the hollows of old trees and in deserted buildings, whither
he resorts in the daytime for repose and security. His
voice is heard most frequently in the latter part of sum-
mer, when the young owlets are abroad. They use their
cries for mutual salutation and recognition. The wailing
note of this Owl is singularly wild and not unmusical. It
is not properly a screech or a scream, like that of the hawk
or the peacock, but rather a sort of moaning melody, half
music and half bewailment. This plaintive strain is far
from disagreeable, though it has a cadence expressive of
dreariness and desolation. It might be performed on a
fife, beginning with D octave and running down by quar-
ter-tones to a third below, frequently repeating the notes
with occasional pauses for about one minute. The bird
does not slur his notes, but utters them with a sort of

284 BIRDS OF THE NIGHT.

tremulous staccato. The separate notes may be distinctly
perceived, though the intervals are hardly appreciable.

The generality of this family of birds cannot be regard-
ed as useful. They are only mischievous birds of prey,
and no more entitled to mercy or protection than the Fal-
cons, to which they are allied. All the little Owls, how-
ever, though guilty of destroying small birds, are service-
able in ridding our fields and premises of mischievous
animals. They destroy multitudes of large nocturnal
insects, flying above the summits of trees in pursuit of
them, while at other times their flight is low, when watch-
ing for mice and moles, that run upon the ground. It is
on account of its low flight that, the Owl is seldom seen
upon the wing. Bats, which are employed by Nature for
similar services, fall victims in large numbers to the Owls,
which are the principal means of checking their multi-
plication. *

An interesting family of nocturnal birds are the Moth-
hunters, of which in New England there are only two
species, the Whippoorwill and the Nighthawk. These
birds resemble the Owls in some of their habits ; but
in their structure, their mode of obtaining subsistence,
and in their general characters they resemble Swallows.
They are shy and solitary, take their food while on the
wing, abide chiefly in the deep woods, and come abroad
only at twilight or in cloudy weather. They remain, like
the Dove, permanently paired, lay their eggs on the bare
ground, and, when perched, sit upon the branch length-
wise, unlike other birds. They are remarkable for their
singular voices, and only one species — the Whippoor-
will — may be considered musical. They are inhabitants
of all parts of the world, but are particularly numerous
in the warmer regions of North and South America, where
the curiosity of the traveller is constantly excited by their
voices resembling human speech.

BIRDS OF THE NIGHT. 285

THE WHIPPOORWILL.

The Whippoorwill is well known to the inhabitants
of New England by his nocturnal song. This is heard
chiefly in wooded and retired situations, and is associated
with the solitude of the forest as well as the silence of
the night. The Whippoorwill is therefore emblematic
of the rudeness of primitive nature, and his voice re-
minds us of seclusion and retirement. Sometimes he
wanders away from the wood into the precincts of the
town, and sings near our dwelling-houses. Such an in-
cident was formerly the occasion of superstitious alarm,
and was regarded as an omen of evil to the inmates of
the dwelling. The cause of these irregular visits is
probably the accidental abundance of a particular kind
of insects which the bird has followed from the woods.

The Whippoorwill in this part of the country is first
heard in May, and continues vocal until the middle of
July. He begins to sing at dusk ; and we usually hear
his note soon after the Veery, the Philomel of our summer
evenings, has become silent. His song consists of three
notes, in a sort of polka-time, with a slight rest after the
first note in each bar, as given below : —

Whip poor will Whip poor will Whip poor will Whip.

I should remark that the bird begins his song with the
second syllable of his name, if ' we may suppose him to
utter the word, or I might say with the second note in
the bar. Some birds occasionally, though seldom, fall
short of these musical intervals, as they are written on the
scale, and an occasional cluck is heard when we are near
the singer. The notes of the Quail so clearly resemble

286 BIRDS OF THE NIGHT.

those of the Whippoorwill that I give them below, that
they may be compared.

= ===

I t:

Bob White More Wet.

So great is the similarity of the notes of these two birds,
that those of the Quail need only be repeated in succes-
sion without pause to be mistaken, if heard in the night,
for those of the Whippoorwill. They are uttered with a
similar intonation ; but the voice of the nocturnal bird is
more harsh, and his song consists of three notes instead
of two, and is pitched a few tones higher.

The song of the Whippoorwill, though wanting in mel-
lowness of tone, as may be perceived when we are near
him, is very agreeable except to a few, notwithstanding
the superstitions associated with it. Some persons are
not disposed to class the Whippoorwill among singing-
birds, regarding him as more vociferous than musical.
But it would be difficult to determine in what respect his
notes differ from the songs of other birds, except that they
approach more nearly to the precision of artificial music.
Yet it will be admitted that a considerable distance is
required to " lend enchantment " to the sound of his
voice. In some retired and solitary districts, the Whip-
poorwills are so numerous as to be annoying by their vo-
ciferations. But in those places where only a few individ-
uals are heard during the season, their music is a source
of great pleasure, and constitutes one of the principal
charms of the neighborhood.

I was witness of this some years ago, in one of my
botanical rambles in Essex County, which is for the most
part too open and cleared to suit the habits of these soli-
tary birds. On one of these excursions, after walking

BIRDS OF THE NIGHT. 287

several hours over a rather wild region I arrived at a
very romantic spot, consisting of an open level, com-
pletely surrounded by woods. Nature uses her ordinary
materials to form her most delightful landscapes, and
causes them to rise up as it were by magic when we least
expect them. Here I suddenly found myself encom-
passed by a charming amphitheatre of hills and woods,
and in a valley so beautiful that I could not have imag-
ined anything equal to it. A neat cottage stood with
only one other in this spot. It was entirely wanting
in any architectural decoration, which I am confident
would have dissolved the spell that made the whole
scene so attractive. It was occupied by a shoemaker,
whom I recognized as an old acquaintance and a worthy
man, who resided here with his wife and children, whose
mode of living was one of the few vestiges of ancient
simplicity. I asked them if they were contented while
living so far from the town. The wife of the cottager
replied that they suffered in the winter from their soli-
tude ; but in the warm season they preferred it to the
town, " for in this place we hear all the singing-birds
early and late, and the Whippoorwill . sings every night
during May and June." It was the usual habit of this
bird, they told me, to sing both in the morning and even-
ing twilight; but if the moon should rise late in the
evening after it had become silent, it would begin to
sing anew as if to welcome her rising. May the birds
continue to sing to this happy family, and may the voice
of the Whippoorwill never bode them any misfortune !

THE NIGHT-JAK.

The Night- Jar, or Nighthawk, is similar in many
points to the Whippoorwill. The two, indeed, were for-
merly considered identical ; but more careful investiga-

288 BIRDS OF THE NIGHT.

tion has proved them to be distinct species. I believe
that some extraordinary pedant has also demonstrated
that they belong to two distinct genera. Let us take heed
that science do not degenerate, like metaphysics, into a
mere vocabulary of distinctions which only the mind of
a, Hudibras can appreciate. The two birds, however, are
not identical The Nighthawk is a smaller bird, has no
song, and exhibits many of the ways of the Swallow.
He is marked by a white spot on his wings, which is very
apparent during his flight. He seems to take his prey
in a higher region of the atmosphere, being frequently
seen, at twilight and in cloudy weather, soaring above the
house-tops in quest of insects. The Whippoorwill finds
his subsistence chiefly near the ground, flitting about the
farmyard, the fences, and wood-piles, and taking an insect
from a branch of a tree, while poising himself on the
wing like a Humming-Bird. He is never seen circling
aloft like the Nighthawk.

The movements of the Nighthawk during his flight are
performed generally in circles, and are very picturesque.
The birds are usually seen in pairs at such times, but
occasionally there are numbers assembled together ; and
one might suppose they were engaged in a sort of aerial
dance, and that they were emulating each other in their
attempts at soaring to a great height. It is evident that
these evolutions proceed in part from the pleasure of
motion, but they are also a few of their ways during
courtship. While they are soaring and circling in the
air, they occasionally utter a shrill note which has been
likened to the word Piramidig, forming a name by which
the bird is sometimes called. Now and then they are
seen to dart with a rapid motion to take a passing insect.

While performing these circumvolutions, the male occa-
sionally dives perpendicularly downwards, through a con-
siderable space, uttering, as he makes a sudden turn

BIRDS OF THE NIGHT. 289

upwards at the bottom of his descent, a singular note
resembling the twang of a viol-string. This sound has
been supposed to be made by the action of the air as the
bird dives swiftly through it with open mouth. This is
proved to be an error by the fact that the European
species makes a similar sound while sitting on its perch.
Others think that this diving motion of the bird is de-
signed to intimidate those who seem to be approaching
his nest ; but the bird performs the same manoeuvre
when he has no nest to defend. This habit is peculiar
to the male, and it is probably one of those fantastic
motions which are noticed among the male Doves as arti-
fices to attract the attention of the female.

This twanging note, made during the precipitate de-
scent of the Nighthawk through the air, is one of the
picturesque sounds of Nature, and is heard most fre-
quently in the morning twilight, when the birds are col-
lecting their early repast of insects. If we should go
abroad before daylight or at the earliest dawn, we might
see them circling about, and hear their cry frequently
repeated. Suddenly this twanging sound excites our
attention, and if we were not acquainted with it or
with the habits of the bird, we should feel a sensation
of mystery, for there seems to be nothing like it in na-
ture. The sound produced by the European species is a
sort of drumming or whizzing note, like the hum of a
spinning-wheel. The male begins this performance about
dark, and continues it at intervals a great part of the
night. It is effected while the breast is inflated with
air, like that of a cooing Dove. The Nighthawk inflates
its breast in a similar manner, and utters a similar sound
when any one approaches the nest.

The habit of the Whippoorwill and Nighthawk of sit-
ting lengthwise and not crosswise on their perch has
excited some curiosity ; for it is well known that these

13 S

290 BIRDS OF THE NIGHT.

birds are capable of grasping a perch and sitting upon it.
On the contrary, they roost upon a large and nearly hori-
zontal branch in a longitudinal direction. The design
of nature in this instinct is to afford the bird that con-
cealment which is needful for its protection in the day-
time. When thus placed, he is entirely hidden from sight
below. The Owl is protected by another mode of con-
cealment. He sits very erect, near the bole of the tree,
and draws his tail-feathers right against the branch, so
that he can hardly be seen from below. The Nighthawk,
while reposing lengthwise upon his perch, would, if his
foe were looking down upon him, hardly be distinguished
when his mottled-brown plumage made no contrast in
color with the bark of the tree.

THE MOCKING-BIRD.

I will now turn my attention to those diurnal birds
that sing in the night as well as in the day, and are
classed under the general appellation of Nightingales.
These birds do not confine their singing to the night, like
the Whippoorwill, and are most vocal by twilight and
the light of the moon. Europe has several of these min-
strels of the night, beside the true Philomel of poetry
;and romance. In the United States the Mocking-Bird
•enjoys the greatest reputation ; but there are other birds
of more solitary habits and less known, among which
are the Eose-breasted Grosbeak and the Water-Thrush,
that sing in the night.

The Mocking-Bird is well known in the Middle and
Southern States, but seldom passes a season in New Eng-
land, except in the southern extremity, which seems to
be the limit of its northern residence. Probably like the
Grosbeak, which is constantly extending its range in
an eastern direction, the Mocking-Bird may be gradually

BIRDS OF THE NIGHT. 291

making progress northwardly; so that fifty years hence
each of these birds may be common in the New England
States. The Mocking-Bird is familiar in his habits, fre-
quenting gardens and orchards, and perching on the roofs
of houses when singing, like the common Eobin. Indeed,
this bird owes much of his popularity to his familiar and
amiable habits. Like the Robin, too, a bird that sings
at all hours except those of complete darkness, he is a
persevering songster, and seems to be inspired by living
in the vicinity of man. In his manners, however, he
bears more resemblance to the Red-Thrush, being dis-
tinguished by his vivacity and his courage in repelling
the attacks of his enemies.

The Mocking-Bird is celebrated throughout the world
for his musical powers; but it is difficult to ascertain
precisely the character and quality of his original notes.
Some naturalists affirm that he has no notes of his
own, but confines himself to imitations. That this is an
error, all persons who have listened to his native wild
notes can testify. I should say, from my own observa-
tions, not only that he has a distinct song, peculiarly his
own, but that his best imitations will bear no compari-
son with his native notes. His common habit during
the day is to utter frequently a single strain, hardly dis-
tinguishable from that of the Red- Bird, and similar to
that of the Baltimore Oriole. This seems to be his
amusement while busy with the affairs of his own house-
hold and providing for their wants. It is only when con-
fined in a cage that he is constant in his mimicry. In
his native woods, and especially at an early hour in the
morning, when he is not provoked to imitation by the
notes of other birds and animals, he sometimes pours out
his own wild notes with uninterrupted fervor. Yet I
have often listened vainly for hours to hear him utter
anything more than a few idle repetitions of monoto-

292 BIRDS OF THE NIGHT.

nous sounds, interspersed with some ludicrous variations.
Why he should discard his own delightful song to tease
the listener with all imaginable discords is not easily
explained.

Though his powers of mimicry are the cause of his
fame, his real merit is not based upon these. He would
be infinitely more valuable as a songster, if he were
incapable of imitating a single sound. I would add that
as an imitator of the songs of other birds he is very
imperfect, and has been greatly overrated by our orni-
thologists, who seem to vie with each other in their
exaggerations of his powers. He cannot utter correctly
the notes of the rapid singers. He is successful only
in his imitations of those birds whose notes are simple
and moderately delivered. Hence he gives good imita-
tions of the Robin. He is, indeed, more remarkable for
his indefatigable propensity than for his powers, in which
he is exceeded by some Parrots. Single sounds, from
whatever source they may come, — from birds, quadru-
peds, reptiles, or machines, — he delivers very accurately.
But I have heard numbers of Mocking-Birds in confine-
ment attempt to imitate the Canary without success.
There is a common saying that the Mocking-Bird will
die of chagrin if placed in a cage by the side of a caged
Bobolink, mortified because he cannot give utterance
to his rapid notes. If this would cause his death, he
would also die when confined near a Canary or with any
of the rapid-singing Finches. It is also an error to say
of his imitations, as writers assert, that they are im-
provements upon the originals. When he utters the
notes of the Bed-Bird, the Oriole, or the common Robin,
his imitations are perfect, but are no clearer or sweeter ;
and when he gives us the screaming of a Jay, the mew-
ing of a cat, or the creaking of a cart-wheel, he does not
change them into music.

BIRDS OF THE NIGHT. 293

As an original songster, estimated by the notes which
on rare occasions he pours out in a serious mood from his
own favorite spot and during his favorite hour, which
is the earliest dawn, the Mocking-Bird is probably un-
equalled by any American songster. His notes are loud,
varied, melodious, and of great compass. They may be
likened to those of the Eed-Thrush, more forcibly deliv-
ered, and having more flute-notes and fewer guttural
notes and sudden transitions. He also sings often on
the wing, and with fervor, while the other Thrushes sing
only from their perch. But his song has less variety than
that of. the Eed-Thrush, and falls short of it in some
other respects. The Eed-Thrush, however, has too little
persistence in his singing.

By other writers the Mocking-Bird is put forward as
superior to the Nightingale. This assumption might be
worthy of consideration, if the American bird were not
addicted to mimicry. This execrable habit renders him
unfit to be compared with the Nightingale, whose song
also resembles that of a Finch more than that of a
Thrush. His mocking habits almost annihilate his value
as a songster ; as the effect of a concert 'would be spoiled
if the players were constantly introducing, in the midst
of their serious music, snatches of vulgar and ridiculous
tunes and uncouth sounds.

TO THE MOCKING-BIRD.

-CAROLLING bird, that merrily night and day
Tellest thy raptures from the rustling spray,
And wakest the morning with thy varied lay,

Singing thy matins ; —

When we have come to hear thy sweet oblation
Of love and joyance from thy sylvan station,
Why in the place of musical cantation

Balk us with pratings ?

294 BIRDS OF THE NIGHT.

"We stroll by moonlight in the dusky forest

Where the tall cypress shields thee, fervent chorist !

And sit in haunts of echoes when thou pourest

Thy woodland solo.

Hark ! from the next green tree thy song commences ;
Music and discord join to mock the senses,
Repeated from the tree-tops and the fences,

From hill and hollow !

A hundred voices mingle with thy clamor ;
Bird, beast, and reptile take part in thy drama ;
Outspeak they all in turn without a stammer, —

Brisk Polyglot !

Voices of kill-deer, plover, duck, and dotterel ;
Notes, bubbling, hissing, mellow, sharp, and guttural,
Of catbird, cat, or cart-wheel, thou canst utter all,

And all untaught.

The raven's croak, the chirrup of the sparrow,
The jay's harsh note, the creaking of a barrow,
The hoot jof owls, all join the soul to harrow

And grate the ear.

We listen to thy quaint soliloquizing,
As if all creatures thou wert catechizing,
Tuning their voices, and their notes revising

From far and near.

Sweet bird, that surely lovest the "noise of folly,"
•Most musical, but never melancholy ;
Disturber of the hour that should be holy,

WTith sounds prodigious ; —
Fie on thee ! 0 thou feathered Paganini !
To use thy little pipes to squawk and whinny,
And emulate the hinge and spinning-jenny,

Making night hideous.

Provoking melodist ! why canst thou breathe us
No thrilling harmony, no charming pathos,
No cheerful song of love, without a bathos ?

The Furies take thee !

Blast thy obstreperous mirth, thy foolish chatter, —
Gag thee, exhaust thy breath, and stop thy clatter,
And change thee to a beast, thou senseless prater !

Naught else can check thee !

BIRDS OF THE NIGHT. 295

A lengthened pause ensues ; but hark again !
From the near woodland, stealing o'er the plain,
Comes forth a sweeter and a holier strain !

Listening delighted,

The gales breathe softly, as they bear along
The warbled treasure, the tumultuous throng
Of notes that swell accordant in the song,

As love is plighted.

The echoes, joyful, from their vocal cell,
Leap with the winged sounds o'er hill and dell,
With kindling fervor as the chimes they tell

To wakeful even :

They melt upon the ear ; they float away,
They rise, they sink, they hasten, they delay,
And hold the listener with bewitching sway,

Like sounds from heaven.

To all whose minds have received an ordinary amount
of cultivation there are few objects more interesting than
the remains of antiquity, — whether, like those of Greece
and Eome, they call up the history of the noblest works
of art and deeds of renown, and like those of Egypt,
carry back the mind to the age of primeval superstition,
or, like the ruins of the earth itself, they repeat the story
of the antediluvian periods, before the present races of
animals appeared. In our own country where these
relics of ancient times, excepting those of a geological
description, are almost unknown, the people in general
can hardly sympathize with' that love of ruins which is
almost a passion with some of the inhabitants of the Old
World. We have no ruined castles to remind us of an-
cient baronial splendor, and of the perils and heroism of
the feudal ages; no remains of gorgeous temples or tri-
umphal arches, to record the deeds of a past generation.
The ancient history of this continent lives chiefly in
tradition ; and the traveller who happens to discover
one of the few relics of ancient American architecture
seeks in vain for any record that will explain its character
or design.

Yet the absence of the ruins of antiquity may have a
tendency to render our people more alive to impressions
from those of a humble description and of recent ori-
gin which abound in all places. When strolling over
the scenes of our own land, who has not often stopped
to ponder over the ruins of some old dwelling-house, and

RUINS. 297

to bring before the mind the possible history of its in-
mates ? There we perceive the completion of a domestic
romance. A series of adventures has been there com-
menced, continued, and brought to an end. Imagination
is free to indulge itself in making up the history of the
human beings who have lived and died there, and of
the romantic adventures which have been connected with
it. We do not always endeavor to read this history ; but
there is a shadowy conception of something associated
with the old crumbling walls that would be striking and
romantic. To this pleasing occupation of the fancy may
undoubtedly be ascribed a portion of the interest always
excited by a view of a ruined or deserted house. A still
deeper effect is produced by the sight of a mouldering
temple or a ruined castle, which are allied with deeds
and events of greater magnitude.

I am disposed to attribute the pleasure arising from
the contemplation of ruins to an exalted affection of
the human soul, to a veneration of the past, and a
longing to recover the story of bygone ages. A ruin is
delightful as the scene of some old tradition, a specimen
of ancient art and magnificence, and as evidence of the
truth of history. Nothing, indeed, serves to place so
vividly before the mind the picture of any historic event
as the ivied and dilapidated walls of the building in which
it occurred. There is likewise an emotion of cheerful
melancholy which is awakened by viewing a pile of ruins,
an old house, or an old church, venerable with the mosses
of time and decay. There are other objects, scenes, and
situations that produce similar effects upon the mind,
such as a sight of the ocean when agitated by a tempest,
from a place of security. A beacon and a lighthouse
belong to the same class of objects ; and above all, a mon-
ument by the sea-shore, erected to commemorate some
remarkable shipwreck, awakens a train of melancholy

298 RUINS.

reflections nearly allied to the sentiment of ruins. But
it is not every scene of ruins that is capable of yielding-
pleasure to the beholder. There is nothing agreeable in
a view of the embers of a wide conflagration, except a
gratification of the curiosity. Such a spectacle brings
to the mind only the idea of dissolution and misfortune,
which is painful, and there is nothing connected with it
to awaken any counteracting sentiment. On the other
hand, every mind is agreeably affected by the sight of an
old house, no longer the habitation of man, serving only
as the day retreat of the owl and the fancied residence
of beings of the invisible world. There is a propensity
among men to associate every ruined edifice, however
great or humble, with some romance or superstition ; and
our own people, who have no magnificent ruins, indulge
the sentiment which is awakened by them in their legends
of haunted houses, and by identifying these superstitions
with every deserted habitation.

It is worthy of remark that although a cottage is more
poetical than a palace, when each is in a perfect condi-
tion, a ruined palace is more poetical than a' ruined
cottage. A certain amount of grandeur must be asso-
ciated with a ruin to render it very effective. After a
family have deserted their habitation of luxury and
splendor, when they themselves have gone down to the
grave, and their old mansion is crumbling with the rav-
ages of time, we lose all that invidious feeling which
often prevents us from sympathizing with the wealthy
when they are living. They are now on a level with the
humblest cottagers, and we look upon their ruined abode
with a feeling of regret for all the elegance and greatness
that have passed away. Indeed, the more noble and
magnificent the edifice in its original state, the deeper is
the emotion with which we contemplate its ruins. This
circumstance yields a singular charm to the remains of

BUINS. 299

the ancient Grecian temples, and to those Gothic castles
that add a romantic character to certain European land-
scapes.

Some of the interesting accompaniments of a ruined
building are the plants which are found clustering around
its old roof and walls. Nature always decorates what
time has destroyed, and when the ornaments of art have
crumbled, she rears in their place garlands from her own
wilds, and the building, no longer beautiful, is adorned
with the greenness of vegetation. Hence certain plants
have become intimately allied with ruins, and derive from
this alliance a peculiarly romantic interest. Such are the
mosses and lichens, the evergreen ferns, the creeper, and
the most of the saxatile plants in America ; in Europe,
the yellow wall-flower, the chenopody, and the ivy.

In every ruin, therefore, we see the commencement of
a new and beautiful creation. When a tree has fallen
and has begun to decay, an infinite host of curious and
delicate plants, of the simplest vegetable forms, are nur-
tured upon the surface of its trunk. Mushrooms of every
description spring out from the inner bark, and lichens
and mosses, as various in their hues as they are delicate
in their forms, decorate all the outside. Insects which,
under the magnifying-glass, exhibit the various plumes
and glittering ornaments of the most brilliant birds and
butterflies, live under the protection of these minute
plants, as the larger animals find shelter in a forest of
trees. When the tree has entirely perished, and has
become assimilated with the soil, other hosts of plants
of a higher order take the place of the former, until new
forests have reared their branches over the ruins of those
of a preceding age. Eocks, continents, and worlds are
subject to the same decay and the same ultimate reno-
vation. Thus the whole system of the universe is but
an infinite series of permutations and combinations, all

300 RUINS.

the atoms, amidst apparent chaos, moving in the most
mathematical order, and gradually resolving themselves
into organized forms, infinite in their numbers and
arrangements.

In this country we have no classic ruins. The relics
of the ancient structures of the aborigines can hardly
awaken a romantic sentiment. We cannot associate
with them any affecting historic reminiscences. We
behold in them only the evidences of savage customs,
unformed art, and a miserable superstition, which afford
nothing to admire. No scenes are so well fitted as the
ruins of a great and civilized nation, to inspire the mind
with that contemplative habit which is the foundation
of the poetical character. They fill the soul with noble
conceptions, and serve to divert the thoughts from a con-
sideration of present interest, and turn them back upon
the ages of chivalry and romance.

Nature has so constituted the mind as to enable it to
convert all her scenes, under certain circumstances, into
sources of pleasure. It is not the beautiful alone that
aftord these agreeable impressions ; nor is it the cheerful
scenes only among natural or artificial objects that inspire
a pleasing sentiment. While contemplating a scene of
ruins, the mind may have glimpses of truths which are
not revealed to us in the lessons of philosophy, and which
excite indefinite hopes amidst apparent desolation. It is
our power of deriving pleasure from these inexplicable
sources that gives a pile of ruins half its charms. This
mingled sentiment of hope and melancholy combines
with almost all our ideas of beauty. On this account
a deserted house interests the mind more than a splendid
villa in its perfect condition ; and a plain, overspread with
classic ruins, more than a prospect of green meadows and
highly ornamented gardens. It would be idle to assert
that the human soul would take satisfaction in contem-

EUINS. 301

plating an object that is suggestive of its own dissolution.
This love of ruins ought rather to be considered as so
much evidence coming from them in favor of the infinite
duration of the universe. They are evidence of the great
age of the earth, and proof of its destination to exist
during countless ages of the future. I wonder that our
theologians have never deduced from this love of ruins,
which is so universal, an argument for the immortality of
the soul. It is evident that we do not instinctively regard
them as proofs of mortality ; but while we see in them
the subjection of material forms to those changes which
belong to everything that is mortal, we look upon our
own souls as lifted above any liability to these changes.
Did we innately perceive in them proof that the mind
that constructed these wonderful works of art perished
with them, we should turn away from them with a deep
despondency, and endeavor to hide them from our sight.
By a similar course of reasoning we may account for
the pleasure which is experienced when musing among
the tombs.

The scenes in our own land which are most nearly
allied to ruins are the ancient rocks that gird our shores
and give variety to our landscapes. They are, in fact,
the ruins of an ancient world, existing probably before
the human race had made their abode here. In these
rocks the frosts of thousands of winters, and the light-
nings of as many summers have made numerous fissures,
and split them asunder in many places. We find the
same species of saxatile and parasitic plants clustering
about them which are found among the ruins of art. The
forest-trees have inserted their roots into their crevices,
and oaks that have stood for centuries nod their heads
over the brink of these precipices, and cast a gloomier
shade into the valleys below. Nothing can be more
affecting than some of these ruins of nature, that want

302 RUINS.

only the historical associations connected with the ruins
of temples and palaces, to render them equally interest-
ing.

Man's natural love of mystery, and his proneness to
indulge in that emotion of grandeur and infinity that
flows from the sight of anything involved in the dimness
of remote ages of the past, are causes of the intense
interest felt in the study of geology. With a deep feeling
of awe we trace the footprints of those unknown animals
which were the denizens of a former world. The mind
" is roused to profound contemplation at the sight of piles
of * rocks as high as the clouds, recumbent on a bed of
fern, and at finding the remains of animals that once
sported on the summits of other Alps, now buried beneath
the very base and foundation of ours."

CALCULATIONS.

"-v

IT is remarkable that in this " enlightened age " (I give
the quotation-marks, lest I might be suspected of originat-
ing the expression) there should be a necessity of enter-
ing upon a course of argument to prove the utility of
birds to agriculture. It is also surprising that the greatest
enemies of birds are among men whose occupation would
be ruined if they were for a single year wholly deprived of
their services. There are many who plead for the birds as
beautiful and interesting objects, deserving protection for
their own sake. But, valuable as they are for their songs,
their gay plumage, and their amusing habits, all these
qualities are of minor importance compared with the ben-
efits they confer upon man, as checks to the overmultipli-
cation of insects. The trees and the landscapes are made
greener and the flowers more beautiful in the spring,
the fruits of autumn finer and more abundant, and all
nature is preserved in freshness and beauty by these hosts
of winged musicians, who celebrate their garrulous revel-
ries in field and wood.

I believe it admits of demonstration, that if birds were
exterminated man could not live upon this earth. Al-
most every one of the smaller species is indispensable to
our agricultural prosperity. The gunner who destroys
ten small birds in the spring preserves as many millions
of injurious insects to ravage our crops and render barren
our orchards. Naturalists are unanimous in declaring the
importance of their services ; but cultivators, who of all
persons ought to be most familiar with the facts that prove

304 CALCULATIONS.

their usefulness, are indeed the most ignorant of -them.
They attribute to them a full moiety of the injury oc-
casioned by insects; yet there is not an insect in exist-
ence which is not the natural food of certain birds, and
which would multiply to infinity if not kept in check by
them.

Men are willing and eager to keep dogs and cats, to
feed and protect them, and endure their annoyances, be-
cause they understand that their services in a variety of
ways, both in the house. and out of doors, are sufficient to
compensate for all their mischief and their trouble. They
can appreciate their value, and are willing to overlook
their offences. But the birds, who sing and make them-
selves agreeable in thousands of ways, men will destroy,
because they are either too ignorant or too stupid to
understand the benefits they derive from them. Probably
the cats and dogs in this country cost in the aggregate
a million of dollars in feeding them, to say nothing of
their troublesomeness, to one hundred dollars which the
whole feathered tribe costs us by the fruit and grain they
damage and consume.

Calculations have been frequently made to ascertain
the probable amount of insects consumed by any single
bird. Many of these accounts are almost incredible, yet
the most of them will admit of demonstration. Two dif-
ferent methods have been adopted for ascertaining these
facts. The investigators watch the birds, to learn their
food by their habits of feeding or foraging ; or they de-
stroy single birds at different times and seasons and exam-
ine the contents of their crop. Mr. Bradley, an Eng-
lish writer, mentions a person who was led by curiosity
to watch a- pair of birds that were raising a young brood,
for one hour. They went and returned continually, bring-
ing every time a caterpillar to the nest. He counted the
journeys they made, and calculated that one brood did not

CALCULATIONS. 305

consume less than five hundred caterpillars in the course
of the day. The quantity destroyed in thirty days, at
this rate, by one nest would amount to fifteen thousand.
Suppose every square league of territory contained one
hundred nests of this species, there would be destroyed
by them alone in this space a million and a half of cater-
pillars in the course of one month.

I was sitting at a window one day in May, when my
sister called my attention to a Golden Eobin in a black-
cherry tree employed in destroying the common hairy
caterpillars that infest our orchards, and we counted the
number he killed while he remained on the branch. Dur-
ing the space of one minute, by a watch, he destroyed
seventeen caterpillars. I observed that he did not swal-
low the whole insect. After seizing it in his bill, he set
his foot upon it, tore it asunder, and swallowed an atom
taken from the inside. Had he eaten the whole cater-
pillar, three or four would probably have satisfied his
appetite. But the general practice of birds that devour
hairy caterpillars is to eat only a favorite morsel. Hence,
they require a greater number to satisfy their wants.

This fact led me to consider how vast an amount of
benefit this single species must contribute to vegetation.
Suppose each bird to pass twelve out of the twenty-four
hours in seeking his food, and that one hour of this time
is employed in destroying caterpillars. At the rate of
seventeen per minute, each bird would destroy a little more
than one thousand caterpillars daily while they were to
be found. Yet, if the crop of the bird were dissected, it
would not be possible to discover from these titbits the
character of the insect which he had devoured. So I
draw the inference that while we may discover many
important facts by dissection, all are not revealed to us
by this mode of examination. Imagine, however, from the
facts which I have recounted, the vast increase of cater-

306 CALCULATIONS.

pillars that would follow the extinction of this single
species.

It is recorded in "Anderson's Becreations," that a curious
observer, having discovered a nest of five young jays, re-
marked that each of these birds, while yet very young,
consumed daily at least fifteen full-sized grubs of the May-
beetle, and would require many more of a smaller size.
The writer conjectures that of large and small each bird
would require about twenty for its daily supply. At this
rate the five birds would consume one hundred. Allow-
ing that each of the parents would require fifty, the fam-
ily would consume two hundred every day, and the whole
amount in three months would be about twenty thousand.
This seems to me from my own experience a very mod-
erate calculation.

In obedience to an almost universal instinct, the gra-
nivorous birds, except those that lead their brood around
with them like the hen, feed their young entirely upon the
larva of insects. The finches and sparrows are therefore
insectivorous, with but a few exceptions, the first two or
three months of their existence. They do not consume
grain or seeds until they are able to provide for themselves.
The old birds supply their young with larva, when this
kind of food is abundant, and when the tender state of
their digestive organs requires the use of soft food. Ac-
cording to Mr. Augustus Fowler, who is good authority
for any original observations, the American Goldfinch
waits, before it builds a nest, until it is so late that the
young, when they appear, may be fed with the milky
grains and seeds of plants. It should be added that
doves and pigeons soften the grain in their own crop be-
fore they give it to their young.

The quantity of insects consumed by the feathered
race is infinite or beyond all calculation. The facts
related of them show that birds require a larger quantity

CALCULATIONS. 307

of food according to their size than quadrupeds. My
own experience corroborates the accounts which I have
selected from the testimony of other observers. I took
from the nest two young bluebirds, which are only half
the size of a jay, and fed them with my own hands for
the space of two weeks. These little birds would each
swallow twelve or more large muck-worms daily, or other
grubs and worms in the same proportion. Still they
always seemed eager for more, and were not overfed. I
made a similar experiment with two young catbirds,
which were attended with results still more surprising.
Their voracity convinced me that the usual- calculations
bearing upon this subject are not exaggerated.

WHY BIEDS SING IN THE NIGHT.

IN connection with this theme, we cannot escape a
feeling of regret, almost like sorrow, when we reflect that
the true nightingale and the skylark — the classical birds
of European literature — are strangers to our fields and
woods. In May and June there is no want of sylvan
minstrels to wake the morn and to sing the vespers of a
quiet evening. A flood of song awakens us at the earliest
daylight ; and the shy and solitary veery, after the vesper
bird has concluded his evening hymn, pours his few pen-
sive notes into the very bosom of twilight, and makes the
hour sacred by his melody. But after twilight is sped
and the moon rises to shed her meek radiance over the
sleeping earth, the nightingale is not here to greet her
rising, and to turn her melancholy beams into brightness
and gladness. "When the queen moon is on her throne,
" clustered around by all her starry Fays," the whippoor-
will alone brings her the tribute of his monotonous song,
and soothes the dull ear of night with sounds which, how-
ever delightful, are not of heaven.

We have become so familiar with the lark and the
nightingale by perusing the romance of rural life, that
" neither breath of Morn when she ascends " without this
the charm of her earliest harbinger, nor " silent Night "
without her " solemn bird," seems holy as when we read
of them in pastoral song. Poetry has hallowed to our
minds the pleasing objects of the Old World. Those of
the New must be cherished in song many more years be-
fore they can be equally sacred to the imagination.

WHY BIRDS SING IN THE NIGHT. 309

The cause of the nocturnal singing of birds that do not
go abroad during the night, and are strictly diurnal in all
their other habits, has never been rationally explained.
It is natural that the whippoorwill, which is a nocturnal
bird, should sing during his hours of wakefulness and
activity, and we may explain why ducks and geese, and
other social birds, should utter their alarm-notes when
they meet with any midnight disturbance. The crowing
of a cock bears still more analogy to the song of birds ;
for it is certainly not a note of alarm. This domestic bird
might therefore be considered a nocturnal songster, though
we do not hear him at evening twilight. The cock sings
his matins, but not his vespers. He crows at the earliest
dawn and at midnight when he is wakened by the light
of the moon, and by artificial light. Many birds are ac-
customed to prolong their notes after sunset to a late hour,
and become silent only to begin anew at the earliest day-
break. But the habit of singing in the night is peculiar
to a small number of birds, and the cause of it is a curious
subject of inquiry.

By what means are they qualified to endure such ex-
treme watchfulness, — singing and providing for their off-
spring during the day, then becoming wakeful and musical
during the night ? Why do they take pleasure in singing
when no one will come in answer to their call ? Have
they their worship like religious beings; and are their
midnight lays but the fervent outpouring of their devo-
tions ? Do they rejoice like the clouds in the presence
of the moon, hailing her beams as a pleasant relief from
the darkness that has surrounded them ? Or, in the
silence of the night, are their songs but responses to the
sounds of the trees, when they bow their heads and shake
their rustling leaves to the wind ? When they listen to
the streamlet that makes audible melody in the hush of
night, do they not answer to it from their leafy perch ?

310 WHY BIRDS SING IN THE NIGHT.

And when the moth flies hummingly through the recesses
of the wood, and the beetle winds his horn, what are the
notes of the birds but cheerful counterparts to those sounds
that break sweetly upon the quiet of their slumbers ?

Wilson remarks that the hunters in the Southern States,
when setting out on an excursion by night, as soon as
they hear the mocking-bird, know that the moon is rising.
He quotes a writer who supposes that it may be fear that
operates upon the birds when they perceive the owls
flitting among the trees, and that they sing as a timid
person whistles in a lonely place to quiet their fears.
But if such be the case, Nature has implanted in them an
instinct that might lead to their destruction. Fear would
instinctively prompt them to be quiet, if they heard the
stirring of owls ; for this feeling is not expressed by
musical notes, but by notes of alarm, or by silence. The
moonlight may be the most frequent exciting cause of
nocturnal singing ; but it is not true that birds always
wait for the rising of the moon ; and if it were so, the
question still occurs, why a few species only should be
thus affected.

Since philosophy cannot explain this instinct, let fancy
come to our aid, as when men vainly seek from reason
an explanation of the mysteries of religion they humbly
submit to the guidance of faith. With fancy for our in-
terpreter we may suppose that Nature has adapted the
works of creation to our moral as well as our physical
wants ; and while she has instituted the night as a time
of general rest, she has provided means that shall soften
the gloomy effects of darkness. The birds, which are the
harbingers of all rural delights, are hence made to sing
during twilight ; and when they cease, the nocturnal
songsters become vocal, bearing pleasant sensations to
the sleepless, and by their lulling melodies prepare us
to be keenly susceptible to all agreeable emotions.

CLOUDS.

THE sky would present very little in the daytime to
charm the sight or interest the mind if it were destitute
of clouds. From these proceed all the beautiful tints of
sunrise and sunset, the rainbow, and the various configu-
rations that deck the arches of the firmament. The differ-
ent forms and colors they assume in their progress through
the atmosphere, and their ever-varying positions and com-
binations, are capable of awaking the most agreeable
emotions of beauty and sublimity. It is not often that
the same object causes these two different emotions. But
when the western clouds, piled in glittering arches one
above another, and widening as they recede from the
great source of light, display their several gradations of
hues, from the outermost arch successively of violet,
purple, crimson, vermilion, and orange, until our eyes
are dazzled by the radiance that beams from the throne
of day, the mind is affected with a sensation of beauty,
accompanied by the most cheerful exaltation.

The great painters have delighted in the representation
of clouds, knowing that every landscape may be improved
by their celestial forms and tints, and that a scene repre-
senting any passion or situation may be heightened by
such accompaniments, harmonizing with the cheerfulness
or sadness, with the lowliness or magnificence of the
subject. Poets have ever been mindful of the same ef-
fects ; and the Hebrew prophets have exalted the sublimity
of their descriptions and increased the efficacy of their
prophecies and their admonitions by employing imagery

312 CLOUDS.

derived from these appearances, adapted to illustrate
their sacred themes. Hence Jehovah, who set his bow
in a cloud as the token of a covenant between heaven and
earth, is represented as making clouds his chariot and
pavilion when ascending into heaven, or when descending
on earth to speak to the messengers of his will.

Every scene in the universe is the cause, when we be-
hold it, of a peculiar and specific sensation. Our emotions
are as infinite as our thoughts, and Nature has provided
an infinite variety of scenes to harmonize with all, that
no existing susceptibility to pleasure shall be lost for the
want of something external to act upon it, and render it
a source of happiness. There are beams in the counte-
nance of morn and even that irradiate into our souls a
feeling of serene delight ; and it is no marvel that Nature
should, seem, as the poets have described her, to smile
upon us in the sunshine that sparkles in the morning
dews and gilds the evening sky, or in the moonlight that
reveals to us a new firmament of wonders among the
silvery clouds of night. The forms and tints of clouds
produce effects upon the mind that vary with the hour
of the day. In the morning there is a feeling of hope-
fulness attending the spectacle of the constantly increasing
splendor of the clouds, beginning with the dark purple
tints of dawn, and widening with beautiful radiating
undulations through their whole succession of hues into
perfect day. As we are prepared by the buoyant feelings
that come from the spectacle of dawn to enter with a glad
heart upon the duties of the day, we are equally inspired
by the spectacle of sunset with a sentiment of tranquillity
that prepares us for healthful repose.

It is not difficult to understand that if the sun rose
clearly into the blue heavens without any changes except
from darkness to light, through all the degrees of twilight,
the charms of the morning would be greatly diminished.

CLOUDS. 313

But Nature, that all hearts might be enamored of the
morn, has wreathed her temples with dappled crimson, and
animated her countenance with those milder glories that
so well become the fair daughter of the dawn and the
gentle mother of dews. In ancient fable, Aurora is a
beautiful nymph who blushes when she first enters into
the presence of Day, and the clouds are the fabric with
which she veils her features at his approach. But a
young person of sensibility needs no such allegory to in-
spire him with a sense of the incomparable beauty and
grandeur of the orient at break of day. It is associated
with some of the happiest moments of his life ; and the
exhilarated feelings with which we look upon the day-
spring in the east are probably one cause of the tonic and
healthful influence of early rising.

The forms of clouds are not less beautiful or expressive
than their colors. While their outlines are sufficiently
definite for picturesque effects, they often assume a great
uniformity in their aggregations. The frostwork on our
window-panes on cold winter mornings exhibits no greater
variety of figures than that assumed by the clouds in
their distribution over the heavens. Beo-innin"1 in the

o o

form of vapor that rolls its fleecy masses slowly over the
plain, resembling at a distance sometimes a smooth sheet
of water, and at other times a drifted snow-bank, the
cloud divides itself as it ascends, into globular heaps that
reflect the sunlight from a thousand silvery domes. These,
after gradually dissolving, reappear in a host of finely
mottled images, resembling the scales of a fish, then
marshal themselves into undulating rows like the waves
of the sea, and are lastly metamorphosed into a, thin gauzy
fabric, like crumpled muslin, or in a long drapery of
hair-like fringe, overspreading the higher regions of the
atmosphere.

These different forms of cloud are elevated according to

14

314 CLOUDS.

the fineness of their texture and organization, the finer
and more complicated fabrics occupying the space above
the next in degree. We often observe three layers of
cloud separated by sufficient space to receive all the dif-
ferent hues of sunset at the same moment. While the
feather clouds that occupy the greatest elevation are burn-
ished with a dazzling radiance, the middle layers of dappled
cloud will be tipped with crimson, while the violet and in-
digo hues are seen in the dense unorganized mass that is
spread out below. It may be remarked, both of the forms
and the hues of clouds, that nature permits no harsh con-
trasts or sudden transitions. The different hues are laid
softly one above another, melting into each other like
those in the plumage of a dove. You can never see where
one hue terminates and another commences. It is the
same in a less degree with their forms, that never for two
minutes in succession remain unaltered. They exhibit a
pleasing irregularity, and are almost destitute of outlines,
so that the imagination is left to carve out of their ob-
scure figures and arrangements aerial landscapes, bright
sunny valleys, and rolling plains, with villages surrounded
by turrets and the pinnacles of mountains.

The imagination is always stimulated by a certain de-
gree of obscurity in the objects of sight and sound as well
as of thought. The sublime passages of the poets are
often obscure, suggestive of something that produces a
well-defined emotion, but no distinct image to the under-
standing. It is this quality that gives their power to
certain remarkable passages in the Hebrew prophets. In
a terrestrial landscape, when viewed by daylight, the out-
lines of objects, except at a distance, are so distinct that
we can see and easily describe their forms and character.
Distant objects have a dimness of outline and a misty
obscurity which are favorable to an expression of sub-
limity. In the darkness of night the forms of trees display

CLOUDS. 315

the indefinite shapes of clouds, and the imagination is
free to indulge its caprices, while, as we pass by them in
a journey or a ramble, our eyes are watching their ap-
parent motions and changes of form.

By no other scenes in nature is the imagination so
powerfully excited as by these celestial phenomena,
whether we imagine the gates of heaven to be opened
beneath the triumphal arches of sunset, or watch for the
passing of the gloomy precursors of evil days in the dark
irregular masses that deform the skies before a storm.
The picturesque effects of clouds are in great measure
attributable to the dubious character of their configu-
rations, giving rise to peculiar fancies and awaking sen-
timents that spring only from the loftiest images of
poetry. The shadows of passing clouds, as they fall upon
the earth after moving rapidly with the wind, add greatly
to their expression. Above all, do their motions contrib-
ute to the beauty of landscape, when, through some open-
ing in their dense masses, while the greater part of the
prospect is enveloped in shade, the sun pours a stream of
glory upon a distant grove, village, or range of hills.

As the most delightful views of ocean are attained when
a small part of it is seen through a green recess in a wood,
for the same cause the blue sky is never so beautiful as
when seen through the openings in the clouds. The emo-
tion produced by any scene is the more intense when the
greater part of the object that causes it is hidden, leaving
room for the entrance of pleasant images into the mind.
Clouds are peculiarly suggestive on account of the am-
biguity of their shapes and their constant changes.
Nothing, indeed, in nature so closely resembles the
mysterious operations of thought, ever ceaseless in their
motions and ever varying in their combinations, — now
passing from a shapeless heap into a finely marshalled
band ; then dissolving into the pellucid atmosphere as a

316 CLOUDS.

series of thoughts will pass away from our memory ; then
slowly forming themselves again and recombining in a
still more beautiful and dazzling congeries in another
part of the sky ; now gloomy, changeable, and formless,
then assuming a definite shape and glowing with the most
lovely beams of light and beauty ; lastly fading into dark-
ness when the sun departs, as the mind for a short period
is obliterated in sleep.

It is remarkable that in the evening, after the hues of
sunset have faded to a certain point, the clouds are some-
times reilluminated before darkness comes on. Before
the sun declines, the clouds are grayish tipped with silver.
As he recedes, the gray portion becomes brown or auburn,
and the silvery edges of a yellow or golden hue. While
the auburn is resolved into purple, the yellows deepen
into vermilion and orange. Every tint is constantly
changing into a deeper one, until the sky is decorated
with every imaginable tint except green and blue. When
these colors have attained their greatest splendor, they
gradually fade until the mass of each cloud has turned to
a dull iron-gray, and every beautiful tint has vanished.
We might then suppose that all this scene of glory had
faded. After a few minutes, however, the clouds begin
once more to brighten ; the whole scene is gradually re-
illuminated, and passes through another equally regular
gradation of more sombre tints, consisting of olive, lilac,
and bronze, and their intermediate shades. The second
illumination is neither so bright nor so beautiful as the
first. But I have known the light that was shed upon
the earth to be sensibly increased for a few moments by
this second gradation of hues, without any diminution of
the mass of cloud.

Men of the world may praise the effects of certain
medical excitants that serve, by benumbing the outward
senses, to exalt the soul into reveries of bliss and untried

CLOUDS. 317

exercises of thought. But the only divine exhilaration
proceeds from contemplating the beautiful and sublime
scenes of nature as beheld on the face of the earth and
the sky. It is under this vast canopy of celestial splen-
dors, more than in any other situation, that the faculties
may become inspired without madness and exalted with-
out subsequent depression. I never believe so much in
the divinity of nature as when, at sunset, I look through
a long vista of luminous clouds far down into that mystic
region of light in which we are fain to imagine are de-
posited the secrets of the universe. The blue heavens are
the page whereon nature has revealed some pleasant in-
timations of the mysteries of a more spiritual existence ;
and no charming vision of heaven and immortality ever
entered the human soul but the Deity responded to it
upon the firmament in letters of gold, ruby, and sapphire.

SOUNDS FKOM ANIMATE NATUEE.

A TREATISE on the beauties of nature would be very
imperfectly accomplished if nothing were written of
sounds. The hearing is indeed the most intellectual of
our senses, though from the sight we undoubtedly de-
rive the most pleasure. Hearing is also more intimately
connected with the imagination than any other sense;
and a few words of speech or a few notes of music may
produce the most vivid emotion or awaken the most
ardent passion. At all seasons and in all places the
sounds no less than the visible things of nature affect us
with pleasure or with pain. Everywhere does the song
of a bird or the note of an insect, the cry of an animal
or other sound from the animate world, come to the ear
with messages of the past, conveying to the mind some
joyful or plaintive remembrance.

Sounds are the medium through which many ideas as
well as sensations are communicated to us by nature ;
and we cannot say how large a proportion of those which
seem to rise spontaneously in the mind are suggested by
some animal, through its cries of joy or complaint. There
is hardly a rational being who is not alive to these sugges-
tions, varying with his habits of life, especially those of
his early years. Some persons do not purposely listen to
the voices of insects, and seem almost unaware of the
existence of these sounds. Yet even these apathetic per-
sons are unconsciously affected by them. We attend so
little to the subjects of our consciousness that we can
seldom trace to their source any of our most ordinary

SOUNDS FROM ANIMATE NATURE. 319

emotions. We see without conscious observation and
hear without conscious attention, so that when we are
suddenly deprived of these sights and sounds we feel that
there is a blank in our enjoyments, which can be filled
only by those charming objects that never before received
our thought or attention. How many bright things have
faded on our mind, and how many sweet sounds have
died on the ear before we were hardly aware of their
existence !

If we hearken attentively to the miscellaneous sounds
that come to our ears from the outer world, we shall
perceive that some of them are cheerful and exhilarat-
ing, others are melancholy and depressing. Of the first
are chiefly the songs of birds, the noise of poultry, the
chirping of insects ; indeed, the greater part of the sounds
of animate nature. The second class comes chiefly from
inanimate things, as the whistling of winds, the murmur
of gentle gales, the roar of storms, the rush of falling
water, and the ebbing and flowing of tides. All these
are of a plaintive character, sometimes gloomy and sad,
at other times merely soothing and tranquillizing. They
all produce more or less of what physicians call a seda-
tive effect. These two classes of sounds are often insep-
arably blended, inasmuch as some of the voices of birds,
insects, and other creatures are melancholy, and some of
the sounds of winds and waters are cheerful.

I shall treat of these different sounds chiefly as they
affect the mind and sensibility ; of the poetry rather than
the science of these phenomena. My object is to point out
one remarkable source of our agreeable sensations as de-
rived from nature, and to show in what manner we may
cause them to contribute to our pleasure. I am persuaded
that one important means of deriving pleasure from any
object is to direct our attention to it ; and if this be not
an indulgence that is liable to increase to a vicious extent,

320 SOUNDS FROM ANIMATE NATURE.

our happiness will be improved by our devotion to it. By
studying the various sounds of nature and by habitually
giving our attention to them, we become more and more
sensitive to their influence and capable of hearing music
to which others are deaf.

Cheerful sounds come chiefly from animated things ;
and from this we may infer that the mass of living crea-
tures, in spite of the evils to which they are exposed and
the pains they suffer, are happy. The chirping of insects
denotes their happiness. No man goes out in the autumn
and listens to the din of crickets and grasshoppers among
the green herbs, and regards it as a melancholy sound. To
all ears these notes express the joy of the creatures that
utter them. Those doleful moralists who look upon every-
thing as born to woe are greatly deluded ; else why do not
the voices of the sufferers give utterance to their pangs ?
Why, instead of uttering what seern like songs of praise,
do they not cry out in doleful strains that would excite
our pity ? The greater part of the life of every creature
is filled with agreeable sensations.

The fly, the gnat, the beetle, and the moth, though each
makes a hum that awakens many pleasing thoughts and
images, are not to be ranked among singing insects.
Among the latter are crickets and locusts and grasshop-
pers, which are appointed by nature to take up their little
lyre and drum after the birds have laid aside their more me-
lodious pipe and flute. Their musical apparatus is placed
outside of their bodies, and as they have no lungs, the air
is obtained by a peculiar inflation of their chests. Hence
the musical appendages of insects are constructed like
reed instruments or jews'-harps. The grasshoppers in all
ages have been noted as musical performers, and in certain
ancient vignettes are frequently represented as playing on
the harp.

Each species of insect has a peculiar modulation of his

SOUNDS FROM ANIMATE NATURE. 321

notes. The common green grasshopper, that during the
months of August and September fills the whole atmos-
phere with its din, abides chiefly in the lowland meadows
which are covered with the native grasses. This grass-
hopper modulates its notes like the cackling of a hen,
uttering several chirps in rapid succession and following
them with a loud spinning sound that seems to be the
conclusion of the strain. These notes are continued in-
cessantly, from the time when the sun is high enough to
have dried the dews until dewfall in the evening. The
performers are delighted with the sunshine, and sing but
little on cloudy days, even when the air is dry and warm.

SONG OP THE DIURNAL GREEN GRASSHOPPER.

-irrr-rrr w ~r~ 1^ 1^ 'r~

There is another grasshopper with short wings that
makes a kind of grating sound difficult to be heard, by
scraping its legs, that serve for bows, upon its sides, that
represent as it were the strings of a viol. If we go into
the whortleberry pastures we hear still another species,
that makes a continued trilling like the' note of a hair-
bird. In some places this species sings very loudly, and
continues half a minute or more without rest. Its notes
are not so agreeable as those which are more rapidly
intermittent.

There is a species of locust, seldom heard until mid-
summer, and then only in very warm weather. His note
is a pleasant reminder of sultry summer noondays, of
languishing heat and refreshing shade. The insect begins
low, usually high up in the trees, and increases in loud-
ness until it is almost deafening, and then gradually dies
away into silence. The most skilful musician could not
surpass his crescendo and diminuendo. It has a peculiar
vibrating sound that seems to me highly musical and ex-

14* U

322 SOUNDS FROM ANIMATE NATURE.

pressive. The insect that produces this note is a gro-
tesque-looking creature, resembling about equally a grass-
hopper and a humblebee.

The black crickets and their familiar chirping are well
known to everybody. An insect of this family is cele-
brated in English poetry as the " cricket on the hearth."
Those of the American species are seldom found in our
dwelling-houses ; but they are all around our door-steps
and by the wayside, under every dry fence and in every
sandy hill. They chirp all day and some part of the
night, and more or less in all kinds of weather. They
begin their songs before the grasshoppers are heard, and
continue them to a later period in the autumn, not ceasing
until the hard frosts have driven them into their retreats
and lulled them into a torpid sleep.

The note of the katydid, which is a mere drumming
sound, is not musical. In American literature no insect
has become so widely celebrated, on account of a fancied
resemblance to the word " katydid." To my ear a chorus
of these minute drummers, all uttering in concert their
peculiar notes, seems more like the hammering of a
thousand little smiths in some busy hamlet of insects.
There is no melody in these sounds, and they are accord-
ingly less suggestive than those of the green nocturnal
grasshopper, that is heard at the same hour in similar
situations.

The nocturnal grasshoppers, called August pipers, or
Cicadas, begin their chirping about the middle of July,
but are not in full song until August. These are the
true nightingales of insects, and the species that seems
to me the most worthy of being consecrated to poetry.
There is a singular plaintiveness in their low monotonous
notes, which are the charm of our late summer evenings.
There are but few persons who are not affected by these
sounds with a sensation of subdued but cheerful melan-

SOUNDS FROM ANIMATE NATURE. 323

choly. This effect does not seem to be caused by asso-
ciation so much as by their peculiar cadence.

The notes of these nocturnal pipers on very warm
evenings are in unison and accurately timed, as if they
were singing in concert. It is worthy of notice that they
always vary their keynote according to the temperature
of the atmosphere. They are evidently dependent on a
summer heat for their vivacity, and become sluggish and
torpid as the thermometer sinks below a certain point.
When the temperature is high they keep good time, sing-
ing shrilly and rapidly. As it sinks they take a lower
key and do not keep time together. When the thermom-
eter is not above sixty, their notes are very low, and
there are but few performers.

Height of Thermometer. Keynote of the Insects.

80° F natural, perfect time and tune.

75° Eflat,

70° D, " " "

65° C, imperfect time and tune.

60° Bflat, " " "

55° A, keynote hardly to be detected, many

out of time and tune.
50° G, a few individuals only, singing slowly

and feebly.

OCTOBEE.

THE cool and temperate breezes that prevail at this
time almost constantly from the west, attended with a
clear sky, announce the brilliant month of October with
a climate that alternately chills the frame with frosty
vapors by night and enlivens the heart with beauty and
sunshine by day. At sunrise the villagers are gath-
ered round their fires shivering with cold ; the chirping
insects also have crept into their shelters and are silent.
But ere the sun has gained half his meridian height the
villagers have forsaken their fires, and are busy in the
orchards beneath the glowing sunshine ; and the insects,
aroused from their torpor and warmed into new life, are
again chirping as merrily as in August, and multitudes
that could hardly creep with torpor in the morning are
now darting and spinning in the grassy meadows.

There are occasional dull and cloudy days in October,
the dreary precursors of approaching winter ; but they
are generally bright and clear, and unequalled by those
of any other month in salubrity. There are no sleep-
ing mists drawn over the skies to obscure the trans-
parency of the atmosphere ; but far as the eye can
reach, the distant hills lift up their heads with a clear,
unclouded outline, and the blue arch of heaven preserves
its deep azure down almost to the horizon. In the morn-
ings of such days a white fleecy cloud is settled upon the
streams and lowlands, in which the early sunbeams are
refracted with all the myriad hues of dawn, forming halos
and imperfect rainbows that seem to be pictured on a

OCTOBER. 325

groundwork of drifted snow. By this vapor, nearly mo-
tionless at sunrise, we may trace the winding course of
the small rivers far along through the distant prospect.
But the sun quickly dissipates this fleecy cloud. As the
winds float it slowly and gracefully over the plains, it
melts into transparency ; and ere the sun has gained ten
degrees in his orbit, the last feathery fragment has van-
ished and left him in the clear blue firmament without
one shadow to tarnish his glory.

October is the most brilliant of the months, unsurpassed
in the clearness of its skies and in the wonderful variety
of tints that are sprinkled over all vegetation. He who
has an eye for beautiful colors must ever admire the scen-
ery of this last month of foliage and flowers. As Nature
loses the delicacy of her charms, she is more lavish of the
gaudy decorations with which she embroiders her apparel.
While she appears before us in her living attire, from
spring to autumn she is constantly changing her vesture
with each passing month. The flowers that spangle the
green turf or wreathe themselves upon the trees and
vines, and the herbage with all its various shades of ver-
dure, constitute, with their successive changes, her spring
and summer adornment ; but ere the fall of the leaf she
makes herself garlands of the ripened foliage, and crowns
the brows of her mountains and the bosoms of her groves
with the most beautiful array.

Though the present is a melancholy time of the year,
we are preserved from cheerless reflections by the bright-
ness of the sunshine and the interminable beauty of the
landscape. The sky in clear weather is of the deepest
blue ; and the ocean and the lakes, slightly ruffled by the
October winds, which are seldom tranquil, have a pecu-
liar depth of coloring, unwitnessed when their surface is
calm. Diverted by the unusual charms of Nature, while
we look with a mournful heart upon the graves of the

326 OCTOBER.

flowers, we turn our eyes upward and around us, where
the woods are glowing like a wilderness of roses, and
forget in our ravishment the beautiful things we have
lost. As the flowers wither and vanish from our sight,
their colors seem to revive in the foliage of the trees, as
if each dying blossom had bequeathed its beauty to the
forest boughs, that had protected it during the year. The
trees are one by one putting aside their vestures of green
and slowly assuming their new robes of many hues.
From the beginning to the end of the month the land-
scape suffers a complete metamorphosis ; and October
may be said to represent in the successive changes of its
aspect all the floral beauty of spring and summer.

Unaffected by the late frosts, the grass is still green
from the valleys to the hill-tops, and many a flower is
still smiling upon us as if there were no winter in the
year. Many fair ones still linger in their cheerful but
faded bowers, the emblems of contentment, seeming per-
fectly happy if they can but greet a few beams of sun-
shine to temper the frosty gales. In wet places I still
behold the lovely neottia with its small white plumes
arranged in a spiral line about their stems, and giving
out the delicate incense of a lily. The purple gerardia,
too, has not yet forsaken us, and the gentians will wait
till another month before they wholly leave our borders.

If we quit the fields we find in the gardens a profu-
sion of lovely exotics. Dahlias and fuchsias, and many
other plants that were created to embellish other climes,
are rewarding the hands that cherished them with their
fairest forms and hues. All these are destined, not, like
the flowers of our own clime, to live throughout their
natural period, and then sink quietly into decay, but to
be cut down by frosts in the very summer of their love-
liness. Already are their leaves withered and blackened,
while the native plants unseared by the frost, grow bright-

OCTOBER. 327

er and brighter with every new morning, until they are
finally seared by the icy breath of November.

But to the forests we must look to behold the fairest
spectacle of the season, now glowing with the infinitely
varied and constantly multiplying tints of a summer sun-
set. The first changes appear in the low grounds, where
vegetation is exposed to the earliest blights, and is prema-
turely ripened by the alternation of chill dews and sun-
shine. Often in the space of one night the leaves of the
trees are metamorphosed into flowers, as if the dewdrops
brought with them the hues of the beautiful clouds from
which they fell. But Nature, while decorating some trees
in one uniform color, scatters over the remainder a gentle
sprinkling of every hue.

It is my delight during this month to ramble in the-
field and wood, to take note of these changes as they
happen day by day. Each morning witnesses a new
aspect in the face of Nature like each passing moment
that attends the brightening and fading of the evening
sky. The landscape we visited but a few days since is
to-day like a different prospect, save in the arrangement
of the grounds. Beauty has suddenly -awoke upon the
face of a dull and homely wood, and variety has sprung
up in the midst of tiresome uniformity. There are patches
of brightly tinted shrubbery that seem to have risen dur-
ing the night from the bed of the earth where yesterday
there was but a dull uniform green, and- when surrounded
by the unfaded grasses, they resemble little flower-plats
embosomed in verdure. As the month advances one tree
after another partakes of this beautiful transformation.
All the shades of red, yellow, and purple are resplendent
from different species. It seems as if the departed flowers
of summer had revisited the earth, and were wreathing
their garlands around the brows of the woods and the
mountains.

328 OCTOBER.

On every side of our walk various plats of herbage
gleam upon our sight, each with some unmingled shade
of some lovely hue ; and every shrub and every leafy
herb presents the appearance of a scattered variety of
bouquets, wreaths, and floral embroidery. The farms in
the lowlands display wide fields of intermingled orange
and russet, and the shrubs of different colors that spring
up among them in clumps and knolls add to the specta-
cle an endless variety of splendor. The creeping herbs
and trailing vines, some begemmed with fruit, display the
same variety of tinting, as if designed for wreaths to gar-
land the gray rocks, and to yield a smile to the face of Na-
ture that shall make glad the heart of the solitary rambler,
who is ready to weep over. the fair objects that have fled.

Day and night have at length about equally divided
the light and the darkness. The time of the latter harvest
is nearly past, and the winter fruits are mostly gathered
into barns. The mornings and evenings are cold and
cheerless, and the west-wind has grown harsh and uncom-
fortable. The bland weather of early autumn is rapidly
gliding from our year. Night is continually encroaching
upon the dominion of day. The white frosts already
glitter in the arbors of the summer dews, and the cold
north-wind is whistling rudely in the haunts of the sweet
summer zephyrs. The scents of fading leaves and of the
iripened harvest have driven out the delicate incense of
the flowers whose fragrant offerings have all ascended to
heaven. Dark threatening clouds occasionally frown upon
us as they gather for a few hours about the horizon, the
melancholy omens of the coming of winter. But there is
pleasantness still in a rural excursion, and when the cold
mists of dawn have passed away and the hoar-frost has
melted in the warm sunshine, it is my delight to go out
into the field to take note of the last beautiful things of
summer that linger on the threshold of autumn.

CHANGES IN THE HABITS OF BIEDS.

BIRDS acquire new habits as certain changes take place
upon the surface of the country that create a necessity for
using different modes of sheltering and protecting their
young. Singing-birds frequent in greatest numbers our
half-cultivated lands and the woods adjoining them. It
may therefore be inferred that as the country grows
older and is more extensively cleared and cultivated, the
numbers of our songsters will increase, and it is not im-
probable that their vocal powers may improve. It may
be true that for many years after the first settlement of
this country there were but few singing-birds and that
they have multiplied with the cultivation of the soil. At
that time, though the same species existed here and were
musical, their numbers were so small that they were not
universally heard. Hence early travellers were led to
believe that American birds were generally silent.

By a little observation we should soon be convinced
that the primitive forest contains but few songsters.
There you find crows, jays, woodpeckers, and other
noisy birds in great numbers ; and you occasionally hear
the notes of the 'sylvias and solitary thrushes. But not
until you are in the vicinity of farms and other culti-
vated lands are your ears saluted by a full band of feath-
ered musicians. The bobolinks are not seen in a forest,
and are unfrequent in the wild pastures or meadows which
were their primitive resorts. At the present day they
have left their early habitats, and seek the cultivated
grass-lands, that afford them a more abundant supply of

330 CHANGES IN THE HABITS OF BIRDS.

>

insect-food, with which they feed their young. They
build upon the ground in the grass, and their nests are
exposed in great numbers by the scythe of the mower, if
he begins haymaking early in the season.

These birds, as well as robins, before America was set-
tled by the Europeans, and when the greater part of the
country was a wilderness, must have been comparatively
few. Though the bobolink consumes great quantities of
rice after the young are fledged and the whole family have
departed, it is not the rice-fields which have made its
species more numerous, but the increased abundance of
insect food in the North, where they breed, — an increase
consequent upon the increased amount of tillage. The
robins are dependent entirely upon insect food, and must
have multiplied in greater proportion than the bobolinks.
There are probably thousands of both species at the pres-
ent day to as many hundreds that existed at the dis-
covery of America. Many other small birds, such as the
song-sparrow and the linnet, have increased nearly in
the same ratio with the progress of agriculture and the
settlement of the country.

Domestication blunts the original instincts of animals
and renders birds partially indifferent to colors. It
changes their plumage as well as their instincts. In pro-
portion to the length of time any species has been domes-
ticated, it is unsafe to depend on the correctness of our
observation of their instincts with respect to colors. All
the gallinaceous birds, except the common hen, lay spec-
kled eggs. It is probable that during the thousands of
ages since the latter was domesticated her eggs have lost
their original marking and have become white. As great
a change has happened in their plumage, while the more
recently domesticated birds, like the turkey and guinea-
hen, retain more nearly their original markings. After
domestication birds no longer require to be protected from

CHANGES IN THE HABITS OF BIRDS. 331

the sight of their enemies by the hues of their plumage.
Their natural predisposition to be marked only by a cer-
tain combination of hues is weakened. Being entirely in
the power and under the protection of man, color is of no
service to them, as in their natural and wild state.

Mr. S. P. Fowler communicated to the Essex Institute
an essay containing some important facts concerning the
changes in the habits of some of our own birds. He says :
" The Baltimore oriole still constructs her nest after the
old pattern, but has learned to weave it with materials
furnished by civilization. I have a whole nest of this
kind, made wholly from materials swept out of a milli-
ner's shop, woven and interlaced with ribbons and laces,
including a threaded needle." He has noticed for several
years a change in the habits of our crow-blackbirds, and
thinks they are becoming domesticated, like the rooks of
England. This change, in his opinion, has been pro-
duced by planting the white pine in cultivated grounds ;
for wherever a group of pines has attained the height of
thirty feet, they are visited by these birds for breeding,
even in proximity to our populous villages. He states
that the purple finches have followed the -evergreen trees
that have been planted in our enclosures, though a few
years since they were to be seen chiefly in our cedar
groves. They have grown more numerous, and breed in
his grounds on the branches of the spruce, feeding early
in the season upon the flower-buds of the elm or upon
those of the pear-tree.

From the same communication I gather the following
facts, slightly abridging his statements. He remarks that
the swallows have suffered more changes than any other
birds of our vicinity. The barn-swallows long since left
their ancient breeding-places, the overhanging cliffs of
rocks, and have sought buildings erected by man ; the
chimney-swallow has deserted the hollow sycamore for

332 CHANGES IN THE HABITS OF BIRDS.

some deserted chimney ; and the cliff-swallow has left
the shelving rock to seek shelter under the eaves of our
roofs. The purple martin and white-bellied swallow
have left the wilderness to find a home in our villages.
The purple martins, during the last fifty years, have grad-
ually diminished in Eastern Massachusetts. He thinks
it equally certain that the barn-swallows are growing
less numerous, and attributes their diminution to our
modern tight barns. Chimney-swallows, on the other
hand, have become more numerous. The opening of the
Pacific Railroad, he thinks, will cause both plants and
birds to follow its track.

BIEDS OF THE MOOR

THE AMERICAN WOODCOCK.

THE American Woodcock is a more interesting bird
than we should suppose from his general appearance and
physiognomy. He is mainly nocturnal in his habits, and
his ways are very singular and worthy of study. He ob-
tains his food by scratching up the leaves and rubbish
that lie upon the surface of the ground in damp and
wooded places, and by boring into the earth for worms.
He remains concealed in the wood during the day, and
comes out to feed at twilight, choosing the open ploughed
land where worms are abundant. Yet it is probable that
in the shade of the wood he is more or less busy among
the leaves in the daytime.

The Woodcock does not usually venture abroad in the
open day, unless he be disturbed and driven from his
retreat. He makes his first appearance here early in
April, and at this time we may observe that soaring habit
which renders him one of the picturesque objects of
nature. This soaring takes place soon after sunset, con-
tinues during twilight, and is repeated at a corresponding
hour in the morning. If you listen at these times near
the place of his resort, he will soon reveal himself by a
lively peep, frequently uttered from the ground. While
repeating this note he may be seen strutting about like
a Turkey-cock, with fantastic jerkings of the tail and a
frequent turning of the head ; and his mate is, I believe,
at this time not far .off. Suddenly he springs upward,
and with a wide circular sweep, uttering at the same time

334 BIRDS OF THE MOOB.

a rapid whistling note, he rises in a spiral course to a
great height in the air. At the summit of his ascent, he
hovers about with irregular motions, chirping a medley of
broken notes, like imperfect warbling. This continues
about ten or fifteen seconds, When it ceases and he de-
scends rapidly to the ground. We seldom hear him in
his descent, but receive the first intimation of it by
the repetition of his peep, like the sound produced by
those minute wooden trumpets sold at the German toy-
shops.

No person could watch this playful flight of the Wood-
cock without interest ; and it is remarkable that a bird
with short wings and difficult flight should be capable of
mounting to so great an altitude. It affords me a vivid con-
ception of the pleasure with which I should witness the
soaring and singing of the Skylark, known to us only by
description. I have but to imagine the chirruping of the
Woodcock to be a melodious series of notes to feel that I
am listening to the bird which has been so familiarized to
us by English poetry, that in our early days we often
watch for his greeting on a summer sunrise. It is with
sadness we first learn that the Skylark is not an inhab-
itant of the New World ; and our mornings and evenings
seem divested of a great part of their charm by their
want of this lyric accompaniment.

There are other sounds connected with the flight of the
Woodcock that increase his importance as an actor in
the great melodrama of Nature. When we stroll away at
dusk from the noise of the town, to a spot where the still-
ness permits us to hear distinctly all those faint sounds
which are turned by the silence of night into music, we
may hear at frequent intervals the hum produced by the
irregular flight of the Woodcock as he passes over short
distances near the wood. It is like the sound of the wings
of Doves, or like that produced by the rapid whisking of a

BIRDS OF THE MOOR. 335

slender rod through the air. There is a plaintive feeling
of mystery attached to these musical flights that yields
a savor of romance to the quiet voluptuousness of a
summer evening.

On such occasions, if -we are in a moralizing mood,
we are agreeably impressed with the truth of the maxim
that the secret of happiness consists in keeping alive
our susceptibilities by frugal indulgence, and by avoiding
an excess of pleasures that pall in proportion to their
abundance. The stillness and darkness of a quiet night
produce this quickening effect upon our minds. Our
susceptibility is then awakened to such a degree that
slight sounds and faintly discernible lights convey to
us an amount of pleasure that is seldom felt in the
daytime from influences even of a more inspiring char-
acter. Thus the player in an orchestra can enjoy such
music only as would deafen common ears by its crash
of sounds in which they can perceive no connection or
harmony; while the simple rustic listens to the rude
notes of a flageolet in the hands of a clown with feelings
of ineffable delight. To the seekers after luxurious and
exciting pleasures, Nature, if they could 'but understand
her language, would say, " Except ye become as this
simple rustic, ye cannot enter into my paradise."

THE SNIPE.

The Snipe has the nocturnal habits of the Woodcock,
and is common in New England in the spring and au-
tumn, but does not often breed here. It has the same
habits of feeding as the Woodcock, and the same wray of
soaring into the air during morning and evening twilight,
when he performs a sort of musical medley, which Audu-
bon has described in the following passage : " The birds
are met with in the meadows and low grounds, and by

336 BIRDS OF THE MOOR.

being on the spot before sunrise, you may see both male
and female mount high in a spiral manner, now with con-
tinuous beats of the wings, now in short sailings, until
more than a hundred yards high, when they whirl round
each other with extreme velocity, and dance as it were to
their own music ; for at this juncture, and during the
space of four or five minutes, you hear rolling notes
mingled together, each more or less distinct, perhaps,
according to the state of the atmosphere. The sounds
produced are extremely pleasing, though they fall faintly
on the ear. I know not how to describe them ; but I am
well assured that they are not produced simply by the
beatings of their wings, as at this time the wings are not
napped, but are used in sailing swiftly in a circle, not
many feet in diameter. A person might cause a sound
somewhat similar, by blowing rapidly and alternately
from one end to another across a set of small pipes con-
sisting of two or three modulations. This performance
is kept up till incubation terminates ; but I have never
observed it at any other period." In this respect the
Snipe differs from the Woodcock, whose nocturnal nights
I have not witnessed except in April and perhaps the
early part of May. The time occupied by the Woodcock
in the air is never more, I am confident, than fifteen sec-
onds, and the notes uttered by him while poised at the
summit of his ascent sound exactly like chip, chip, chip,
chip, chip, chip, about as rapidly as we might utter them
in a loud whisper.

THE VIRGINIA RAIL.

The shyness and timidity of the Virginia Eail, and the
quickness of its movements, its peculiar graceful atti-
tudes, and the rare occasions on which we can obtain
sight of one, combine to render this bird highly interest-

BIRDS OF THE MOOR. 337

ing. It is so seldom seen on account of its habit of con-
cealment during the day and of feeding at evening and
morning twilight, that many persons have never met with
it. It is in fact quite a common bird, and breeds in the
thickets in the immediate vicinity of our rivers and ponds.
I have seen numbers of this species in the meadows sur-
rounding Fresh Pond in Cambridge when hunting for
aquatic plants and flowers; but I have not discovered
their nests. Samuels says the eggs, which are from six
to ten in number, are of a deep buff color, and that their
nest "is nothing but a pile of weeds or grass which it
arranges in a compact manner, and hollows to the depth
perhaps of an inch or an inch and a half."

This is a very pretty species. The upper parts are
brown, striped with deeper shades of the same color;
the feathers on the breast are of a bright brown deep-
ening into red ; the wings black and chestnut with some
white lines. It resembles somewhat a miniature hen with
long legs and short tail, and is very nimble in its move-
ments. This species is most commonly found in those
fresh meadows into which the salt water extends or those
salt marshes which are pervaded by a stream of fresh
water. They feed more on worms and insects than upon
seeds and grain, though they do not refuse a granivorous
diet.

THE CLAPPER RAIL.

I have so seldom seen the Clapper Eail, though I have
many times heard its clattering notes, that I have nothing
to say of it from my own observation. But as it is not
unfrequent on the New England coast, it seems a fit sub-
ject to be introduced in my descriptions of picturesque
birds. I shall, therefore, in this case deviate from my
general practice of writing from my own experience,
and insert in this place a brief abstract of an essay on

15 v

338 BIRDS OF THE MOOR.

"The Clapper Rail," by Dr. E. Coues, published in the
"American Naturalist," Vol. III. pp. 600-607.

The Clapper Rail, or Salt-water Marsh Hen, inhabits
the marshes all along our coast, within reach of the tides,
rarely, if ever, straying inward. It goes as far as Massa-
chusetts, where it is rare ; but is found abundantly in the
Middle States, and in countless numbers on the coast of
North Carolina, where it spends the whole year. The
young birds while in their downy plumage are jet black,
with a faint gloss of green, resembling newly hatched
chickens. Rails live in the marshes, and are not very
often seen except when they fly up.

The eggs of the Clapper Rail are of a pale buff or
cream color. They are dotted or splashed with irregular
spots of a dull purple or lilac color; and the number
found in a nest is from six to nine. They raise two
broods in a season, and some idea of the countless num-
bers of Rails in the marshes may be gained from the fact
that baskets full of eggs are gathered by boys and brought
to the Beaufort market.

The Rails' nests are sometimes floated away and de-
stroyed by an unusual rise of the tide caused by a storm.
A great tragedy of this kind happened at Fort Macon on
the 22d of May, 1869, when the marsh, usually above
water, was flooded, — only here and there a little knoll
breaking the monotony of the water. There was a ter-
rible commotion among the Rails at first, and the reeds
resounded with their hoarse cries of terror. But as the
waters advanced and inundated their houses the birds
became silent again, as if in unspeakable misery. They
wandered in listless dejection over beds of floating wrack,
swam aimlessly over the water, or gathered stupefied in
groups upon projecting knolls. Few of the old birds
probably were drowned, but most of the young must
have perished.

BIRDS OF THE MOOR. 339

As if to guard against such an accident, the Bails gen-
erally build their nests around the margins of the marsh
or in elevated spots, at about the usual high-water mark.
The nest is always placed on the ground, in a bunch of
reeds or tussock of grass or clump of little bushes. It
is a flimsy structure made of dry grasses or reed-stalks
broken in pieces and matted together, but not inter-
twined. Sometimes it is barely thick enough to keep
the eggs from the wet.

The Eail, though not formed like a natatorial bird,
swims very well for short distances. Dr. Coues has
often seen it take to the water from choice, without
necessity, and noticed that it swam buoyantly and with
ease, like a coot. But the bird is a poor flyer, and it is
surprising, therefore, that some of the family perform such
extensive migrations. The Kails, in fact, are not distin-
guished either as flyers or swimmers. But as walkers
they are unsurpassed ; and have the power of making a
remarkable compression of their body, that enables them
to pass through close-set reeds. The bird indeed, when
rapidly and slyly stealing through the brush, becomes
literally as " thin as a rail."

Bails are among the most harmless and inoffensive of
birds. But when wounded or caught, they make the best
fight they can and show good spirit. In this case they
use their sharp claws for a weapon rather than their slen-
der bill. A colony of Bails goes far towards relieving a
marsh of its monotony. Betiring and unfamiliar as they
are, and seldom seen, considering their immense numbers,
they have at times a very effective way of asserting them-
selves. Silent during a great part of the year, or at most
only indulging in a spasmodic croak now and then, dur-
ing the breeding-season they are perhaps the noisiest birds
in the country. Let a gun be fired in the marsh, and like
the reverberating echoes of the report a hundred cries

340 BIRDS OF THE MOOR.

come instantly from as many startled throats. The noise
spreads on all sides, like ripples on the water at the plash
of a stone, till it dies away in the distance. In the even-
ing and morning particularly, the Rails seem perfectly
reckless, and their jovial if unmusical notes resound till
the very reeds seem to quake. Dr. Coues compares them
to the French claqueurs. Unobtrusive, unrecognized ex-
cept by a few, almost unknown to the uninitiated, the
birds steadily and faithfully fulfil their allotted parts;
like claqueurs they fill the pit, ready at a sign to applaud
anything that may be going on in the drama of life before
them.

THE HERON.

No family of birds is possessed of more of those
qualities which are especially regarded as picturesque
than the Herons. This family comprehends a great many
species, distinguished by their remarkable appearance
both when flying aloft and when wading in their native
swamps. They are generally seen in flocks, passing the
day in sluggish inactivity, but called forth to action by
hunger in the evening when they take their food. It is
at the hour just after twilight that their peculiar cries
are heard far aloft as they pass from their secluded day-
haunts to their nocturnal feeding-places. Their flight
deserves attention from their slow and solemn motion on
the wing. Their flying attitude, however, is uncouth,
with the neck bent backwards, their head resting against
their shoulders, and their long legs stretched out behind
them in the most awkward manner.

THE BITTERN.

Among the Heron family we discover a few birds which,
though not very well known, have ways that are singular

BIRDS OF THE MOOR. 341

and interesting. Goldsmith considered one of these
worthy of introduction into his "Deserted Village" as
contributing to the poetic sentiment of desolation. Thus,
in his description of the grounds which were the ancient
site of the village, we read : —

"Along its glades, a solitary guest,
The hollow-sounding Bittern guards its nest."

The American Bittern is a smaller bird than the one to
which the poet alludes, but is probably a variety of the
European species. It displays the same nocturnal habits,
and has received at the South the name of DunJcadoo,
from the resemblance of its common note to those sylla-
bles. This is a hollow-sounding noise, which would at-
tract the attention of every listener. I have heard it by
day in wooded swamps near ponds, and am at a loss to
explain how so small a bird can produce so low and hol-
low a note. The common people of England have a
notion that it thrusts its head into a hollow reed and uses
it as a speaking-trumpet, and at times puts its head into
the water and bubbles its notes in imitation of a bullfrog.
The American Bittern utters another note resembling the
sound produced by hammering upon a stake when driv-
ing it into the ground. Hence the name of Stake-driver
applied to him in some parts of New England.

THE QUA BIRD.

On a still evening in summer no sound is more com-
mon above our heads than the singular voice of the Qua
Bird, as he passes in slow and solemn flight from his re-
treats where he passes the day to his feeding-places upon
the sea-shore. His note is like the syllable quaw sud-
denly pronounced. If it were prolonged it might resem-
ble the cawing of a Crow. This note is very frequently
repeated, though one note by the same bird is never

342 BIRDS OF THE HOOK.

immediately succeeded by another. The birds of this
species are social in their habits, and the woods in which
they assemble are called heronries. During the breed-
ing-season they are extremely noisy, uttering the most
uncouth and unmusical sounds that can be imagined.

THE CRANE, OR BLUE HERON.

The Crane is a very attractive bird ; but the only in-
dividuals of the species I have seen enough to study
their ways and manners were tamed. There is a sort of
majesty in their appearance which I could not but admire.
"During the day," says Samuels, "the Crane seems to
prefer the solitudes of the forest for its retreat, as it is
usually seen in the meadows only at early morning and
in the latter part of the afternoon. It then, by the side
of a ditch or a pond, is observed patiently watching for
its prey. It remains standing motionless, until a fish or
a frog presents itself, when with an unerring stroke with
its beak, as quick as lightning it seizes, beats to pieces,
and swallows it. This act is often repeated ; and as the
Heron varies this diet with meadow-mice, snakes, and
insects, it certainly does not lead the life of misery and
want that many writers ascribe to it."

This bird, like the Night Heron, breeds in communities.
Samuels once visited with some attendants a heronry of
this species in a deep swamp, intersected by a branch of
the Androscoggin Eiver. The swamp over which he had
to pass was full of quagmires ; and these he could hardly
distinguish from the green turfy ground. It was only by
wading through mud and water, sometimes nearly up to
his waist, or by leaping from one fallen tree to another,
through briers and brushwood, that he arrived beneath
the trees which the birds occupied. These were dead
hemlocks, without branches less than thirty feet from the

BIRDS OF THE MOOR. 343

ground, and could not be climbed. The nests, placed in
the summits of the trees, were nearly flat, constructed of
twigs and put together very loosely. It was on the 25th
of June, and the young were about two thirds grown.
He says the old birds flew over their heads uttering their
hoarse, husky, and guttural cries. He observed, however,
that they were careful to keep out of gunshot. The eggs,
he says, are of a bluish-green color, and but one brood
is reared in the season. The birds are very suspicious ;
they are constantly looking out for danger, and with
their keen eyes, long neck, and fine sense of hearing,
they immediately detect the approach of a gunner.

SOUNDS FKOM INANIMATE NATUEE.

NATURE in every scene and situation has established
sounds which are indicative of their character. The
sounds we hear in the hollow dells among the mountains
are unlike those of the open plains ; and the echoes of
the sea-shore repeat sounds never reverberated in the
inland valleys. The murmuring of wind and the rus-
tling of foliage, the gurgling of streams and the bubbling
of fountains, come to our ears like the music of our early
days, accompanied with many agreeable fancies. A
stream rolling over a rough declivity, a fountain bubbling
up from a subterranean hollow, give sounds suggestive
of fragrant summer arbors, of cool retreats and all their
delightful .accompaniments.

The most agreeable expression from the noise of waters
is their animation. They give life to the scenes around
us, like the voices of birds and insects. In winter espe-
cially they make an agreeable interruption of the gen-
eral stillness, and remind us that during the slumber of
all visible things some hidden power is still guiding the
operations of Nature. The rapids produced by a small
stream flowing over some gentle declivity yield, per-
haps, the most expressive sound of waters, save the dis-
tant roar of waves as they are dashed upon the sea-
shore. The last, being intermittent, is preferable to the
roar of a waterfall, which is tiresomely incessant. Nearly
all the sounds made by water are agreeable, and cannot
be multiplied without increasing the delightful influences
of the place and the season.

SOUNDS FROM INANIMATE NATURE. 345

Each season of the year has its peculiar melodies beside
those proceeding from animated objects. In the opening
of the year, when the leaves are tender and pliable, there
is a mellowness in the sound of the breezes, as if they
felt the voluptuous influence of spring. Nature then
softens all the sounds from inanimate things, as if to
avoid making any harsh discords with the anthem that
issues from the woodlands, vocal with the songs of myr-
iads of happy creatures. The echoes repeat less distinctly
the multitudinous notes of birds, insects, and reptiles. To
the echoes spring and summer are seasons of compar-
ative rest, save when residing among the rocks of the
desert or among the crags of the sea-shore. Here sitting
invisibly in these retreats, they are ever responding to the
melancholy sounds that are borne upon the waves as they
sullenly recount the perils and accidents of the great deep.

But there are reverberations which are too refined and
subtle to be distinguished as echoes. All creation, indeed,
is a vast assemblage of musical instruments, whose chords
vibrate to every sound in Nature. Every sound that
peals over the landscape is in communication with millions
of harps whose strings give out some response in harmony
with the season and situation. As every ray of light
coming from the farthest perceptible distance in the uni-
verse is repeated millions of times in various forms of
beauty from dews and gems and flowers, — in the same
manner do the sounds in the atmosphere vibrate from
every spear of grass and every leaf of the forest, pro-
ducing some unconscious pleasure.

After the frosts of autumn the winds become shriller
as they pass over the naked reeds and rushes and through
the leafless branches of the trees, and there is a familiar
sadness in their murmurs, as they whirl among the dry
rustling leaves. When the winter has arrived and en-
shrouded all the landscape in snow, the echoes venture.

346 SOUNDS FROM INANIMATE NATURE.

out once more on the open plain, and repeat with unusual
distinctness the various sounds from wood, village, and
farm. During the winter they enjoy a long heyday of
freedom ; they hold a laughing revelry in the haunts of
the dryad, and seem to rejoice as they sing together over
the desolate appearance of Nature.

When the sun gains a few more degrees in his meridian
height, and the snow begins to disappear under the fervor
of his beams, then do the sounds from the dropping eaves
and the clash of falling icicles from the boughs of the
orchard-trees afford a pleasant sensation of the change ;
and the utterance of these vernal promises awakens all
the delightful anticipations of birds and flowers. The
moaning of winds has been plainly softened by the new
season, and the summer zephyrs, that occasionally pay
us a short visit from the south, and signalize their com-
ing by the crimsoned dew,s at sunrise, loosen a thousand
rills, that make lively music as they leap down the hill-
sides into the valleys. Yet of all these sounds from
inanimate Nature, there is not one but is hallowed by
some glad or tender sentiment, of which it is suggestive,
and we have but to yield our hearts to their influences
to feel that for the ear as well as for the eye, Nature
has provided an endless store of pleasure.

I believe the agreeable sounds from the inanimate
world owe their principal effect to their power of gently
exciting the sentiment of melancholy. The murmur of
gentle gales among the trembling aspen-trees, the noise
of the hurricane upon the sea-shore, the roar of distant
waters, the sighing of wind as it flits by our windows
and moans through the casement, have the power of ex-
citing just enough of the sentiment of melancholy to
produce an agreeable state of the mind. Along with the
melancholy they excite there is something that tranquil-
lizes the soul and exalts it above the mere pleasures of
sense.

SOUNDS FROM INANIMATE NATURE. 347

It is this power to produce the sentiment of melancholy
that causes the sound of rain to afford pleasure. The
pattering of rain upon our windows, but more especially
upon the roof of the house under which we are sitting, is
attended with a singular charm. There are few persons
who do not recollect with a sense of delight some adven-
ture in a shower, that obliged them on a journey to take
shelter under a rustic roof by the wayside. The pleasure
produced by the sight and sound of the rain under this
retreat often comes more delightfully to our memory than
all the sunshiny adventures of the day. But in order to
be affected in the most agreeable manner by the. sound of
rain, it is necessary to be in company with those whom
we love, or to feel an assurance that the objects of our
care are within doors, and to be ignorant of any person's
exposure to its violence.

During a thunder-storm the thunder is in many cases
too terrific to allow us to feel a tranquil enjoyment of the
occasion. There is no sound in Nature that is so pleas-
antly modified by distance. Some minutes before the
thunder-storm there is a perfect stillness of the atmosphere
which is fearfully ominous of the approaching tempest.
It follows the first enshrouding of daylight in the clouds
which are slowly gathering over our heads, as they come
up from the western horizon. It is at such times that the
sullen moan of the thunder, far down as it were below
the belt of the hemisphere, is peculiarly solemn and im-
pressive, and more productive of the emotion of sublimity
than when the crash is heard directly over our heads.
To be witness of a storm is pleasant when we are, and
believe others to be, in a place of safety. Then do we
listen with intense delight to the voice of winds and
waters as they contend with the Demon of the storm,
and the awful warring of the elements excites the most
sublime sensations, unalloyed with any painful anxiety
for the safety of a fellow-being.

348 SOUNDS FROM INANIMATE NATURE.

Thunder is heard with different emotions when it pro-
ceeds from clouds which are moving towards us and when
from those already settled down in the east, after the
storm is past. The consciousness that the one indicates
a rising storm renders forcibly suggestive the perils we
are soon to encounter and increases our anxiety. When
we are in the midst of the storm we feel the emotion of
terror rather than that of sublimity. An uncomfortable
amount of anxiety destroys that tranquillity of mind
which is necessary for the full enjoyment of the sublime
as well as the beautiful scenes of Naure.

It is pleasant after the terrors of the storm have ceased,
when the blue sky in the west begins to appear in dim
streaks through the misty and luminous atmosphere, to
watch the lightnings from a window, as they play down
the dark clouds in the eastern horizon, and to listen to
the rumblings of the thunder as it begins loudly overhead,
then dies away almost like the roaring of waves in a dis-
tant part of the heavens. Then do we contemplate the
spectacle with a grateful sense of relief from the fears
that lately agitated the mind, and surrender our souls to
all the influences naturally awakened by a mingled scene
of beauty and grandeur.

The emotion of sublimity is more powerfully excited
by any circumstances that add mystery to a scene or to
the sounds we may be contemplating. Hence any un-
known sound that resembles that of an earthquake im-
presses the mind at once with a feeling of awe, however
insignificant its origin. The booming of a cannon over a
distance that renders its identity uncertain causes in the
hearers a breathless attention, as to something ominous
of danger. We may thus explain why all sounds are so
suggestive in the stillness of night: the rustling of a
zephyr as it glides half noiselessly through the trees ; a
few heavy drops of rain from a passing cloud, the signal

SOUNDS FROM INANIMATE NATURE. 349

of an approaching storm ; the footfall of a solitary pas-
senger on the road ; the tinkling of a cowbell, heard
now and then from a neighboring field, — all these are
dependent on the stillness and darkness of the night for
their influence on the mind.

It is evident that the charm of all these sounds is ex-
alted by the imagination. A person who has not cultivated
this faculty is deaf to a thousand pleasures from this
source that form a considerable part of the happiness of
a man of sensibility. Music has no advantage over other
sounds save its greater power to act upon the imagination.
To appreciate the charm of musical notes, or to perceive
the beauty of an elegant house or of splendid tapestry,
requires no mental culture. But to be susceptible of
pleasure from what are commonly regarded as indifferent
sounds is the meed only of those who have cherished the
higher faculties and the better feelings of the soul. To
such persons the world is full of suggestive sounds as
well as suggestive sights, and not the whisper of a breeze
or the murmur of a wave but is in unison with some
chord in their memory or imagination.

OLD ROADS.

I CANNOT say that I am an admirer of those tasteful
operations which are commonly termed improvements,
and seldom observe them without a feeling of regret.
More of the beauty of landscape is destroyed every
year by attempts to improve it, than by the ignorant or
avaricious woodman who cuts down his trees for the
railroad or the shipyard. There is a certain kind of
beauty which ought to be cherished by the people of
every land ; including all such appearances as have arisen
from operations not designed to create embellishment.
As soon as we begin to cultivate a garden or decorate a
house or an enclosure with the hope of dazzling the
public eye, at that moment the spell of beauty is broken,
and all the enchantment vanishes. There is something
exceedingly delightful in the ornaments that have arisen
spontaneously in those grounds which, after they were
once reduced to tillage, have been left for many years
in the primitive hands of Nature. Vaiii are all our at-
tempts to imitate these indescribable beauties, such as
we find along the borders of an old rustic farm, on an
old roadside, or in a pasture that is overgrown with spon-
taneous shrubbery.

This kind of scenery is common in almost all those
old roads which are not used as thoroughfares, but as
avenues of communication between our small country
villages. Our land is full of these rustic by-ways;
and the rude scenery about them is more charming to
my sight than the most highly ornamented landscapes

OLD ROADS. 351

which have been dressed by the hand of art. A part
of their charm arises, undoubtedly, from their associa-
tion in our minds with the simplicity of life that once
prevailed among our rural population. But this is not
all. I believe it arises chiefly from the almost entire ab-
sence of decoration, save that which Nature has planted
with her own hands. Wherever we see a profusion of
embellishments introduced by art, though they consist
wholly of natural objects, we no longer feel the presence
of Nature's highest charm. Something very analogous
to sunshine is shut out. The rural deities do not dwell
there, and cannot inspire us with a fulness of satisfac-
tion. It is difficult to explain the cause ; but when I
am rambling the fields or travelling over one of these
old roads with that sort of quiet rapture with which
we drift along in a boat down a narrow stream through
the green woods in summer, the very first highly arti-
ficial object I encounter which bears evidence of being
put up for exhibition dissolves the spell, and I feel, all
at once, as if I had stepped out of Paradise into the
land of worldlings and vanity.

The beauty of our old roads does not consist in their
crookedness, though it cannot be denied that this qual-
ity destroys their monotony and adds variety to our
prospect by constantly changing our position. Neither
does their beauty consist in their narrowness, though it
will be admitted that this condition renders them more
interesting by bringing their bushy sidewalks nearer to-
gether. Their principal charm comes from the character
of their roadsides, now overgrown with all that blended
variety of herbs and shrubbery which we encounter in
a wild pasture. We hear a great deal of complaint of
old roads, because they are crooked and narrow and be-
cause our ancestors did not plant them with trees. But
trees have grown up spontaneously in many places, some-

352 OLD ROADS.

times forming knolls and coppices of inimitable beauty ;
and often an irregular row of trees and shrubs of different
species gives intricacy and variety to the scene.

And how much more delightful is a ride or a stroll
over one of these narrow roads, than through the most
highly ornamented suburbs of our cities, with their
avenues of more convenient width! The very neglect-
to which they have been left, together with the small
amount of travelling over them, has caused numberless
beauties to spring up in their borders. In these places
Nature seems to have regained her sovereignty. The
squirrel runs freely along the walls, and the hare may
be seen peeping timidly out of her burrow at their
foundation, or leaping across the road. The hazel-
bushes often form a natural hedgerow for whole fur-
longs ; and the sparrow and the robin, and even some
of the less familiar birds, build their nests in the green
thickets of barberries, viburnums, cornels, and whortle-
berry-bushes that grow in irregular rows and tufts along
the rough and varied embankments.

Near any old road we seldom meet an artificial
object that is made disagreeable by its manifest preten-
sions. Little one-story cottages are frequent, with their
green slope in front, and a maple or an elm that affords
them shelter and shade. The old stone-wall festooned
with wild grape-vines comes close up to their enclosures ;
and on one side of the house the garden is seen with its
unpretending neatness, its few morning-glories trained
up against the walls, its beds of scarlet-runners reared
upon trellises ' formed of the bended branches of the
white-birch driven into the soil, its few rose-bushes
of those beautiful kinds which have long been natural-
ized in our gardens. When I behold these objects in their
Arcadian simplicity, I lose all faith in the magnificent
splendors of princely gardens. I feel persuaded that in

OLD ROADS. 353

these humble scenes dwells the highest kind of beauty,
and that he is a happy man who cares for no more em-
bellishments than his own hands have undesignedly
added to the simple charms of Nature.

Let us, therefore, carefully preserve these ancient
winding roads, with all their primitive eccentricities.
Let no modern vandalism, misnamed public economy,
deprive the traveller of their pleasant advantages, by
stopping up their beautiful curves and building shorter
cuts for economizing distance. Who that is journeying
for pleasure is not delighted with them, as they pass on
through pleasant valleys, under the brows of hills, along
the banks of green rivers, or the borders of silvery lakes ;
now half-way up some gentle eminence that commands
a view of a neighboring village, or winding round a hill,
and giving us a new view of the scenes we have just
passed ? They are no niggardly economists of time ; but
they seem as if purposely contrived to present to the eye
of the traveller everything that renders the country de-
sirable to the sight ; now leading us over miles bounded
by old gray stone- walls, half covered with sweet-briers,
viburnums, and goldenrods ; then again through fragrant
woods, under the brink of precipices nodding with wild
shrubbery, and seeming to emulate the capricious wind-
ings of the stream in its blue course among the hills.
How pleasant, when journeying, to enter a village by one
of these gentle sweeps that gives us several glimpses of
its scenes, in different aspects, before our arrival ! How
much indeed would be done for us by Nature, if we did
not, in conformity with certain notions of improvement,
constantly check her spontaneous efforts to cover the
land with beauty!

NOVEMBER

A CHANGE has lately come over the face of nature ;
the bright garniture of field and wood has faded; the
leaves have fallen to the ground, and the sun gleams
brightly through the naked branches of the trees into
the late dark recesses of the forest. In some years the
bright hues of autumn remain unseared by frost until
November has tarried with us many days. It is then
melancholy to observe the change that suddenly takes
place in the aspect of the woods after the first wintry
night. The longer this fatal blast is deferred, the
more sudden and manifest are its effects. The fields
to-day may be glowing in the fairest hues of autumnal
splendor. One night passes away, — a night of still,
freezing cold, depositing a beautiful frostwork on our
windows, — and lo ! a complete robe of monotonous
brown covers the wide forest and all its colors have
vanished. After this frost the leaves fall rapidly from
the trees, and the first vigorous wind will nearly disrobe
$hem of their foliage.

This change is usually more gradual. Slight frosts'
-occur one after another during many successive nights,
each adding a browner tint to the foliage and causing the
different trees to shed their leaves in natural succession.
Though November is the time of the general fall of the
leaf, yet many trees cast off their vesture in October.
But the flowering season closed with the last of the
month. A few asters are still seen in the woods, and
here and there on the green southern slopes a violet

NOVEMBER. 355

will look up with its mild blue eye, like a star of
promise, to remind us of the beauties of the coming
spring. There is a melancholy pleasure attending a
ramble at this time, while taking note of the changes
of the year, and of the care with which Nature pro-
vides for the preservation of her charge during the
coming season of cold. All sounds that meet the ear
are in harmony with our feelings. The breezes murmur
with a plaintive moan, while shaking the dropping leaves
from the trees, as if they felt a sympathy with the gen-
eral decay, and carefully strew them over the beds of the
flowers to afford them a warm covering and protection
from the ungenial winter. The sear and yellow leaves
eddying with the fitful breezes fill up the hollows in the
pastures where slumbering lilies and violets repose, and
gather around the borders of the woods, where the ver-
nal flowers are sleeping and require their warmth and
protection. There is an influence breathing from all
nature in the autumn that leads us to meditate on the
charms of the seasons that have flown, and prepares us
by the regrets thus awakened to realize their full worth,
and to experience the greater delight when we meet them
once more.

There are rural sounds as well as rural sights which

o

are characteristic of this as well as every other month
of the year, all associated with the beauties and bounties
of their respective seasons. The chirping of insects
declines during October and dies away to silence before
the middle of the present month ; and then do the voices
of the winter birds become more audible. Their harsh
unmusical voices harmonize not unpleasantly with the
murmuring of wintry winds and with the desolate ap-
pearance of nature. The water birds assemble in the
harbors and are unusually loquacious ; and occasionally
on still evenings we hear the cackling flight of geese as

356 NOVEMBER.

they are proceeding aloft to the places of their hyemal
abode. These different sounds, though unmusical and
melancholy, awaken many pleasant recollections of the
season, and always attract our attention.

But silence for the most part prevails in the fields and
woods so lately vocal with cheerful notes. The birds
that long since discontinued their songs have forsaken
our territories, and but few are either heard or seen.
The grasshoppers have hung their harps upon the brown
sedges and are buried in a torpid sleep. The butterflies
also have perished with the flowers, and the whole tribe
of sportive insects that enlivened the prospect with their
motions have gone from our sight. Few sounds are heard
on still days, save the dropping of nuts, the rustling of
leaves, and the careering of the fitful winds that often
disturb the general calm. Beautiful sights and sounds
have vanished together, and the rambler who goes out to
greet the cheerful objects of nature finds himself alone,
communing only with silence and solitude.

It is in these days of November that we most fully
realize how much of the pleasure of a rural excursion
is derived from the melodies that greet our ears during
the vocal months of the year. Since the merry-making
tenants of the groves have left them to inanimate
sounds Nature seems divested of life and personality.
While separated from all sounds of rejoicing and ani-
mation, we seem to be in the presence of friends who
are silent and mourning over some bereavement. In
the vocal season the merry voices of birds and insects
give life to the inanimate objects around us, and Nature
herself seems to be talking with us in our solitary but
not lonely walk. But when these gay and social crea-
tures are absent, the places they frequented are converted
into solitude. No cheerful voices are speaking to us, no
bright flowers are smiling upon us, and we feel like one

NOVEMBER. 357

who is left alone to mourn over the scenes of absent joys
and departed friends.

But the silence to which I allude is chiefly that of the
singing-birds, whose voices are the natural language of
love and rejoicing. There are still many sounds which
are characteristic of the month. Hollow winds are sigh-
ing through the half-leafless wood, and the sharp rustling
of dry oak-leaves is heard aloft in the place of the warb-
ling of birds and the soft whispering of zephyrs. The
winds as they sweep over the shrubbery produce a shrill
sound that chills us as the bleak foreboding of winter.
The passing breezes have lost that mellowness of tone
that comes from them in summer while floating over the
tender herbs and the flexible grain. Every sound they
make is sharper whether they are rustling among the dry
cornfields or whistling among the naked branches of the
trees. Since the forests have shed their leaves the voices
of the winter birds are heard with more distinctness, and
the echoes are repeated with a greater number of rever-
berations among the rocks and hills.

Our rural festivities are past, the harvest is gathered,
and all hands are busy preparing for the comforts of the
winter fireside. The days are short, and the sun at noon-
day looks down with a slanting beam and diminished fer-
vor, or remains behind the cloud that often overshadows
the horizon. Dark clouds of ominous forms and threaten-
ing look brood sometimes for whole days over the sullen
atmosphere, through which the beams of the sun will
occasionally peer, as if to bid us not wholly despair of
his benignant presence. Every object in the rural world
tells of the coming of snows and of the rapid passing of
the genial days of autumn. The evergreens are the only
lively objects that grace the landscape, and the flowers
lie buried under the faded leaves of the trees that lift
up their branches as if in supplication to the skies.

358 NOVEMBER.

The spirit of desolation sits upon the hills ; and in her
baleful presence the northern blasts assemble on the
plains, and the wintry frosts gather together in the once
smiling valleys.

Such are the changes of the seasons, melancholy em-
blems of the vicissitudes of life. Transient is the period
of youth, like the flowery month of May, and rapidly, like
the flowers of summer, fade all the joys of early man-
hood. Our early hopes after they have finished their
songs of promise vanish like the singing-birds, and the
visions of our youth flit away like the insects that glitter
for a few brief days and then perish forever. Yet as the
pleasant things of one month are followed by those
equally delightful in the next, so are the joys of youth
that perish succeeded by the riper though less exhila-
rating pleasures of manhood. These in turn pass away to
be replaced by the tranquil and sober comforts of age, as
the autumnal harvest crowns the frailer products of sum-
mer. Joys are constantly alternating with sorrows, and
the regrets we pour over our bereavements are softened
and subdued by the new bounties and blessings of the
present time. While we are lamenting the departure of
one beautiful month, another no less delightful has al-
ready arrived ; and the winters of our sorrow are always
succeeded by vernal periods of happiness.

But to him who contemplates the works of Nature with
a philosophic view, do these vicissitudes yield sources of
pleasure, derived from watching the growth of the fields
through all its gradations, from the bud to the flower and
the leaf, and from the seedling to the perfect plant. The
budding of trees, the gradual expansion of their leaves,
and all the changes through which they pass until their
final decay, present unfailing topics of curious and pleas-
ing meditation. In every change that happens, he dis-
covers a new train of reflections on the grandeur and

NOVEMBER. 359

harmony of Nature's works. Even the melancholy in-
spired by the autumn differs from despondency, and
partakes of the character of pleasure. While lamenting
the departure of flowers and the coming of snows, we
are conscious that there would be a monotony in a per-
petual summer, which would soon be followed by indiffer-
ence; and amidst the beauties and blessings of nature,
our hearts would be cloyed with luxury and sighing
after unattainable happiness.

TESTIMONY FOR THE BIRDS.

A FARMER'S boy in Ohio, observing a small flock of
quails in his father's cornfield, resolved to watch their
motions. They pursued a regular course in their forag-
ing, beginning on one side of the field, taking about five
rows and following them uniformly to the opposite end.
Returning in the same manner over the next five rows,
they continued this course until they had explored the
greater part of the field. The lad, suspecting them of
pulling up the corn, shot one of them and examined the
ground. In the whole space over which they had trav-
elled he found but one stalk of corn disturbed. This
was nearly scratched out of the ground, but the kernel
still adhered to if. In the craw of the quail he found
one cutworm, twenty-one striped vine-bugs, and one hun-
dred chinch-bugs, but not a single kernel of corn. As
the quail is a granivorous bird in winter, this fact proves
that even those birds that are able to subsist upon seeds
prefer insects and grubs when they have their choice.

Mr. Roberts, a farmer who resided in Colesville, Ohio,
was invited by a neighbor to assist him in killing some
yellow-birds which, as he thought, were destroying his
wheat. Mr. Roberts, not believing the birds guilty of
any such mischief, was inclined to protect them. To
satisfy his curiosity, however, he killed one of the yellow-
birds, and found, upon opening its crop, that instead of
wheat the bird had devoured the weevil, the greatest de-
stroyer of wheat. He found in the bird's crop as many
as two hundred weevils and but four grains of wheat;

TESTIMONY FOR THE BIRDS. 361

and as each of those grains contained a weevil, he be-
lieved they were eaten for the sake of the insect within
them. The jealousy of the Ohio farmers had prompted
them in this case to destroy a family of birds, at the very
time when they were performing an incalculable amount
of benefit to agriculture.

The Southern farmers suspected the kildeer, a species
of plover, of destroying young turnips. A writer in the
" Southern Planter," alluding to this notion, declares the
kildeer to be the true guardian of the turnip crop; and
to prove his assertion he dissected a number of them.
Their crops were found to contain no vegetable substance.
Nothing was found in them save the little bug that is a
well-known destroyer of turnips and tobacco-plants.
They were little hopping beetles, and were rapidly in-
creasing, because the kildeers, their natural enemies, had
been nearly exterminated. " I seldom nowadays," he says,
"hear the kildeer's voice. Let no man henceforth kill
one except to convince himself and others that they eat
no young turnips. The sacrifice of one, producing such
conviction, may save hundreds of his brethren."

Insects of various kinds, in the year 1826, had become
so generally destructive as to cause apprehensions for the
safety of all products of the field. A correspondent of
the "Massachusetts Yeoman" expressed his belief that
this unusual number of injurious insects was caused by
the scarcity of birds. His neighbors were astonished that
everything in his garden should be so thrifty, while their
plants were cut down and destroyed before they had ac-
quired any important growth. " I have no concern about
it," he replied ; " my robins see to that. I preserve them
from their enemies, and they preserve my garden from
worms and insects. In one corner of my garden near
my dwelling is a tree in which a couple of these friends
of man have reared their families for three successive

16

362 TESTIMONY FOR THE BIRDS.

years. There has ever been a harmony between my birds
and me." He protected all the birds that frequented his
grounds, and they devoured the insects that infested
them. Grasshoppers, he said, in the early stage of their
existence are not bigger than flies. Ten or twelve birds
would clear a whole field of them before they could do
any injury to the grass-crop.

Small owls are useful as destroyers of the larger moths
and nocturnal insects, and they are excellent mousers.
Hon. Eichard Peters, in " The Memoirs of the Philadel-
phia Society for Promoting Agriculture," says that all
owls are destroyers of mice. A pine-tree near his house
afforded a resort to about a dozen of these birds during
the winter. From witnessing their operations, he con-
cluded that a few of them, if harbored near, would clear
the fields, barns, and out-houses of vermin. He says it
is only the larger species that will attack poultry or do
any other damage.

The inhabitants of a new country, like America, are not
so well informed of the evils that follow the destruction
of birds as those of old countries, who have learned from
the experience of many generations the indispensable
character of their services. Vincent Kollar says, if we
would prevent the increase of the cockchafer, we must
spare the birds that feed upon its larva. Among these
he thinks the crow deserves the first place. The bird
follows the plough to obtain the larva of this and other
insects as they are turned out by the furrows. In gar-
dens he walks among the plants, and wherever one has
begun to wither he plunges his bill into the ground and
draws out the grub. Crows do the same in the meadows,
which are sometimes nearly covered with them. The
American crow has the same habits ; but he does not fol-
low the plough, from his fear of the farmer's gun. Our
people will not believe that the crow does anything but

TESTIMONY FOR THE BIRDS. 363

mischief. But John Eandolph was so well convinced of
the usefulness of crows, that he would not allow one to
be shot upon his farm. To prevent their depredations he
fed them liberally when his young corn was liable to be
injured by them.

Mr. E. S. Samuels, while admitting the important ser-
vices rendered by the crow as a destroyer of insects,
larva, and vermin, thinks it counterbalances all its ser-
vices by its habit of devouring young birds while in their
nest, of which it destroys an immense number. His
reasoning is logical, and I have no information that
would lead me to doubt his facts. It seems probable,
however, that the crow would find its time more profita-
bly spent in exploring the fields for grubs and worms than
in hunting for birds'-nests.

Nuttall, after describing the mischief done to the corn-
crop by immense assemblages of crow-blackbirds in the
Southern States and the hatred borne them by the far-
mers on that account, remarks that on their arrival their
food for a long time consists wholly of those insects
which are the greatest pests to the farmer. He says they
familiarly follow the plough, and take 'all the grubs and
other noxious vermin as they appear, scratching the loose
soil, that none may escape. He affirms that up to the
time of the harvest he has found invariably, upon dissec-
tion, that their food consists, of larva, caterpillars, moths,
and beetles, in such immense quantities that if they had
lived they would have destroyed the whole crop.

THE WINTER BIRDS.

WE are prone to set an extraordinary value upon all
those pleasures that arrive in a season when they are few
and unexpected. Hence the peculiar charms of the early
flowers of spring, and of those, equally delightful, that
come up to cheer the. short and melancholy days of
November. The winter birds, though they do not sing,
are interesting on account of the season. The Chicka-
dees and Speckled Woodpeckers, that tarry with us in
midwinter and make the still, cold days lively and cheer-
ful by their merry voices, are in animated nature what
flowers would be if we saw them wreathing their forms
about the leafless trees. Nature does not permit at any
season an entire dearth of those sources of enjoyment
that spring from observation of the external world. As
there are evergreen mosses and ferns that supply in win-
ter the places of the absent flowers, so there are chattering
birds that linger in the wintry woods ; and Nature has
multiplied the echoes at this time, that their few and
feeble voices may be repeated by lively reverberations
among the hills.

To those who look upon the earth with the feelings of
a poet or a painter, I need not speak of the value of the
winter birds as enliveners of the landscape. Any cir-
cumstance connected with natural scenery that exercises
our feelings of benevolence adds to the picturesque
charms of a prospect. No man can see a little bird or
quadruped at this time without feeling a lively interest
in its welfare. The sight of a flock of Snow-Buntings,

THE WINTEE BIRDS. 365

descending like a shower of meteors upon a field of grass
and eagerly devouring the seeds contained in the droop-
ing panicles that extend above the snow-drifts ; of a
company of Crows, rejoicing with noisy sociability over
some newly discovered feast in the pine-wood ; of the
parti-colored Woodpeckers winding round the trees and
hammering upon their trunks, — all these and many other
sights and sounds are associated with our ideas of the
happiness of these creatures ; and while our benevolent
feelings are thus agreeably exercised, the objects that
cause our emotions add a positive charm to the dreary
aspects of winter. These reflections have led me to re-
gard the birds and other interesting animals as having
a value to mankind not to be estimated in dollars and
cents, and which is entirely independent of any services
they may render the farmer or the orchardist by pre-
venting the over-multiplication of noxious insects.

The greater number of small birds that remain in
northern latitudes during winter, except the Woodpeck-
ers, are such as live chiefly upon seeds. Those insectivo-
rous species that gather their food chiefly from the ground,
like the Thrushes and the Blackbirds, are obliged to mi-
grate or starve. Thus the common Eobins are almost ex-
clusively insect-feeders, using fruit, that serves them rather
as dessert than substantial fare. A bird that never de-
vours seeds or grain or any farinaceous food, depending
on insects and grubs that may be gathered from the sur-
face of the ground, cannot subsist in our latitude save in
mild and open winters. During such favorable seasons
Eobins in small parties are often seen collecting their
fare of dormant insects from the open ground. The
Robin, a bird that should hardly be called migratory,
never proceeds any farther south than is necessary to
keep him from starvation. Eobins perform their migra-
tions only as they are driven by the snow. If on any

366 THE WINTER BIRDS.

years, as sometimes happens, a large quantity of snow
should cover the territory of the Middle States as early
as the first of November, while north of them the ground
remained uncovered, the Robins would be retarded in their
journey, which is not a continued migration, and tarry
with us in unusual numbers. A great many of them
would perish with hunger or be reduced to the necessity
of feeding on the berries of the juniper and viburnum, if
they should be overtaken by snow covering a wide sur-
face that cuts off their supplies of dormant insects.

The Quail is not so liable to be starved, because, like
the common domestic hen, it is omnivorous. Quails may
be kept through the winter if fed exclusively on grain.
Hence, if it were not for the persecution they suffer from
mankind, they would be common residents with us in
winter, keeping themselves under the protection of sheds
and border shrubbery and gleaning their subsistence from
cornfields, and often associating with the poultry in the
farm-yard. If they had been encouraged by man in a
state of half-domestication, either for the use of their flesh
or as consumers of grubs and insects, they might still
have been common. Instead of being buried in snow in
the woods, they would have crept into our barns and
found safety in the hospitality of man, and would have
rewarded his kindness by their invaluable services upon
the farm. But man is only a half-reasoning animal. The
blood of the ape still courses in his veins, rendering him
incapable of understanding the value of thousands of
creatures which he destroys.

The Woodpeckers and their allied families, though in-
sectivorous, are not often distressed by the winter. Gath-
ering all their food, consisting of larva and dormant in-
sects, from the bark and wood of trees, the snow cannot
conceal it for any perilous length of time, and only a
coating of ice, that seldom outlasts more than a day or

THE WINTER BIRDS. 367

two, and covers only one side of a branch, can cause them
much trouble. The quantity of their insect food is less
than in summer, but the birds that winter here have
about as much of it, because other species are diminished
that divide with them this spoil in summer. Hence,
Woodpeckers, Tomtits, and Creepers are not obliged to
migrate. They simply scatter more widely over the coun-
try, instead o£ remaining in the woods, and thus accom-
modate themselves to the more limited supply of food in
any given space. The Swallows and Flycatchers, that
take their food in the air, are the first to migrate, because
the aerial insects are vastly and suddenly diminished by
the early frosts of autumn.

It is not often that we are led to reflect upon the ex-
treme loneliness that would prevail in solitary places in
winter, were all the birds to migrate at this season to a
warmer climate, or to sink into a torpid state like frogs
and dormice and tardy families of Swallows. But Nature,
to preserve the cheerfulness of this season, has endowed
certain birds with power to endure the severest cold and
with the faculty of providing for their wants at a time
when it would seem that there was not -food enough in
the hidden stores of the season to preserve them from
starvation. The woodman, however insensible he may be
to the charms of all such objects, is gladdened and en-
couraged in his toils by the sight of these lively creatures,
some of which, like the Jay and the Woodpecker, are
adorned with the most beautiful plumage, and are all
pleasantly garrulous, filling the otherwise silent woods
with frequent and vociferous merriment.

In my early days, for the supposed benefit of my health,
I passed a winter in Tennessee, and, being unoccupied,
except with my studies, I made almost daily journeys
into the woods a few miles from the city of Nashville.
It was at this season that I experienced the full power

368 THE WINTER BIRDS.

of the winter birds to give life and beauty to the faded
scenes of nature. Though not one was heard to sing,
they seemed as active and as full of merriment as in the
early summer. The most attractive birds on this occa-
sion were the Woodpeckers, of which several species were
very numerous. Conspicuous among them was the Car-
penter Bird, or Pileated Woodpecker, — a bird with rusty
black plumage, a red crest and mustaches, and a white
stripe on each side of the neck; one of the largest of
the family. His loud croaking might be heard at any
time in the deep woods, and his great size and his fre-
quent hammering upon the resounding boles of decayed
trees were very attractive.

A more beautiful but smaller species was the Eed-
headed Woodpecker, with head and neck and throat of
crimson, and other parts of his plumage variously marked
with white and changeable blue. This species, though
seldom seen in Eastern Massachusetts, is a common resi-
dent in this latitude west of the Green Mountain range.
The birds of this species were very numerous, and during
my rambles the woods were constantly flashing with their
bright colors as they flitted among the trees. They were
sometimes joined by the Eedbreasted Woodpecker, hardly
less beautiful.

It is impossible to describe the charm which these birds
gave to the otherwise solitary woods. I would sometimes
remain a whole day there, watching the manners of these
and hundreds of other beautiful birds, that were strangers
to me, taking my dinner with the squirrels, upon the
fruit of the black walnut-tree, which was strewn over
all the ground. The loud croaking of the Log-cock, the
cackling screams of the Red-headed Woodpecker, and the
solemn tolling of the Redbreast, blended with the occa-
sional cooing of Turtle-Doves, made a sylvan entertain-
ment that rendered my winter rambles at this period and

THE WINTER BIRDS. 369

in these woods as interesting as any I ever pursued in
summer or autumn.

In our latitude, after the first flight of snow has cov-
ered the ground, many winter birds, pressed by hunger,
are compelled to make extensive forages in quest of food.
Our attention is especially drawn toward them at such
times, and many parties of them will visit our neighbor-
hood in the course of the day, while, if no snow had
fallen, they would have confined themselves to a more
limited range. One of the most attractive sights on such
occasions is caused by flocks of Snow-Buntings usually
assembled in great numbers. They are chiefly seen when
the snow compels them to fly from place to place in quest
of food. They are not birds of ill-omen, as might be in-
ferred from the name of bad-weather birds given them in
Sweden ; for they do not appear until the storm is over.

Few sights are more picturesque than these flocks of
Snow-Buntings, whirling with the subsiding winds and
moving as if they were guided by an eddying breeze, now
half concealed by the direction in which they meet the
rays of the sun, then suddenly flashing as with a simul-
taneous turn they present the under white side of their
wings to the light of day. The power of these diminutive
creatures to endure the cold of winter and to contend
with the storm attaches to their appearance a char-
acter allied to sublimity. I cannot look upon them,
therefore, in any other view than as important parts in
that ever-changing picture of light, motion, and beauty
with which Nature benevolently consoles us for those
evils assigned by fate to all the inhabitants of the earth.

The common Snowbirds, of a bluish-slate color, are
not so often seen in large compact flocks. They go usu-
ally in scattered parties, and are seen in the southern parts
of New England only in winter and early spring, arriving
from the northern regions late in the autumn. Wilson

16* x

370 THE WINTER BIRDS.

considers them more numerous than any other species
on the American continent, swarming in multitudes over
all the country down to the borders of the Gulf of
Mexico. It is a marvel to him, therefore, that no part
of these immense hosts should remain in the summer to
breed at a latitude below that of 45° or 50°, except in
the high mountain-ranges. They have many of the habits
of the common Hairbird, which is by some of our coun-
trymen supposed to be the same species, changed in ap-
pearance by the winter. Like the Hairbird, they assemble
round our houses and barns, picking up seeds or crumbs
of bread and other fragments of food.

They differ entirely from the Buntings, which, for dis-
tinction, are called White Snowbirds. They are quite
equal to them in their power of enduring the cold and
in sustaining the force of a tempest. During a snow-
storm they may often be seen sporting as it were in the
very whirlpool of driving snows, and alighting upon the
tall weeds and sedges, and eagerly gathering their pro-
ducts. The Hempbird will sometimes join their parties,
and his cheerful and well-known twitter may be heard,
as he hurriedly flits from one bush to another, hunting
for the seeds of goldenrods and asters. The cause of the
migration of these birds from their native north is not
probably the severe cold of those regions, but the deep
snows that bury up their cereal stores at an early season.
They live upon seeds ; hence their forages are made chiefly
in tilled lands, where weeds afford them an abundant har-
vest. The negligence of the tiller of the soil is therefore
a great gain to the small birds, by leaving a supply of
seeds in the annual grasses that grow thriftily with his
crops.

Early in the spring the little Blue Snowbirds again
appear, but are not so familiar as in the beginning of
winter. They are .often seen in a thicket in companies,

THE WINTER BIRDS. 371

warbling softly and melodiously. Nuttall says their song
resembles that of the European Eobin Eedbreast. He
also remarks that the males have severe contests when
they are choosing their mates.

THE CHICKADEE.

There are but few persons who have spent their winters
in the country, who would not agree with me that to the
lively notes of the Chickadee we are indebted for a great
part of the cheerfulness that attends a winter's walk.
His notes are not a song ; but there is a liveliness in
their sound, uttered most frequently on a pleasant
winter's day, causing ' them to be associated with all
agreeable changes of the weather. The Chickadees are
not seen, like Snowbirds, most numerously after a fall of
snow. Their habits are nearly the same in all weathers,
except that they are more prone to be noisy and loqua-
cious on pleasant, sunny days.

The sounds from which the Chickadee has derived its
name appear to be its call-notes, like the gobbling of a
turkey, and enable the birds while scattered singly over
the forest to signalize their presence to others of their
own species. It may be observed that when the call-note
is rapidly repeated, a multitude of them will immediately
assemble near the place where the alarm was given.
When no alarm is intended to be given, the bird utters
these notes but seldom, and chiefly as it passes from one
tree to another. It is probably accustomed to hearing
a response, and if one is not soon heard it will repeat
the call until it is answered. For as these birds do not
forage the woods in flocks, this continued hailing is car-
ried on between them, to satisfy their desire not to remain
entirely alone. A similar conversation passes between a
flock of chickens when scattered over a field and out of

372 THE WINTER BIRDS.

sight of one another. One, on finding itself alone, will
leave its quest for food and chirp until it hears a re-
sponse, when it resumes its feeding. The call-notes of
this species are very lively, with a mixture of queru-
lousness in their tone which is not unpleasant.

The Chickadee is the smallest of our winter birds. He
is a permanent resident, and everybody knows him. He is
a lively chatterer and an agreeable companion ; and as he
never tarries long in one place, he does not tire us with
his garrulity. He is our attendant on all our pleasant
winter walks, in the orchard and the wood, in the garden
and by the roadside. We have seen him on still winter
days flitting from tree to tree, with the liveliest motions
and the most engaging attitudes, examining every twig
and branch, and after a few sprightly notes hopping to
another tree, to pass through the same manoeuvres. Even
those who are confined to the house are not excluded
from a sight of these birds. We cannot open a window
on a bright winter's morning without a greeting from one
of them on the nearest tree.

Beside the note from which the Chickadee derives his
name, he utters occasionally two very plaintive notes,
which are separated by a true musical interval, making
a third on the descending scale.

=±==j=[

pe pe pe pe.

They slightly resemble those of the Pewee, and are often
mistaken for them; but they are not drawling or mel-
ancholy, and do not slide from one note to another
without an interval. I do not know the circumstances
that prompt the bird to repeat this plaintive strain;
but it is uttered both in summer and winter. It has,
therefore, no connection with love or the care of the

THE WINTER BIRDS. 373

offspring. Indeed, there is such a variety in the notes
uttered at different times by this bird, that if they were
repeated in uninterrupted succession, they would form
one of the most agreeable of woodland melodies.

The Chickadee is not a singing-bird. He utters his
usual notes at all times of the year; but in the early
part of summer he is addicted to a low and pleasant kind
of warbling, considerably varied and wanting only more
loudness and precision to entitle him to rank among the
singing-birds. This warbling seems to be a sort of solilo-
quizing for his own amusement. If it were uttered by
the young birds only, we might suppose them to be tak-
ing lessons in music and that this was one of their first
attempts. I have heard a Golden Eobin occasionally
warbling in a similar manner.

THE DOWNY WOODPECKER.

In company with the Chickadees, we often see two
speckled Woodpeckers, differing apparently only in size,
each having a small red crest. The smaller of the two is
the Downy Woodpecker. The birds of this species are
called Sap-suckers, from their habit of making perfora-
tions in the sound branches of trees, through the bark,
without penetrating the wood, as if for the purpose of
obtaining the sap. These perforations are often in two
or three parallel circles around the branch, very close
together, and it is probable that they follow the path
of a grub that is concealed under the bark. Wilson
examined many trees that were perforated in this man-
ner, and saw evidence that they suffered no harm from it.
But why the bird should be so precise and formal in his
markings of the tree is a mystery not yet satisfactorily
explained.

The Woodpecker, however, takes a great part of his

374 THE WINTER BIRDS.

food from the inside of the wood or bark of the tree.
Hence he is not so diligent in his examination of the
outside of the branch as the Chickadee. He examines
those parts only where he hears the scratching or gnawing
of the grub that is concealed beneath the surface, bores
the wood to obtain it, and then flies off. The Chickadee
looks for insects on or near the surface, and does not con-
fine his search to trees. He examines fences, the under
parts of the eaves of houses, and the wood-pile, and de-
stroys in the course of his foraging many an embryo
moth or butterfly which would become the parent of
noxious larva. The Woodpecker is often represented as
the emblem of industry ; but the Chickadee is more
truly emblematical of this virtue, and the Woodpecker
of perseverance, as he never tires when drilling into the
wood of a tree in quest of his prey.

THE HAIRY WOODPECKER.

The Hairy Woodpecker is larger than the preceding
species, and their difference in size is almost the only
notable distinction. It derives its name from the resem-
blance of some of the feathers on its back to hairs. This
Woodpecker is not so often seen in summer as the smaller
species, but both are about equally noticeable in winter.
The nest is made in holes excavated by its own labor for
this purpose in the trunk or branches of old trees. The
bird commonly selects a dried and partially decayed limb,
because it is more easily excavated after the hole is
drilled through the outside.

THE RED-HEADED WOODPECKER.

This is the most beautiful of our Woodpeckers and
nearly as large as a Eobin. It is not often seen in the

THE WINTER BIRDS. 375

New England States, but often enough to be an acquaint-
ance of the generality of observers. This bird, like the
Robin, has gained the enmity of that conscientious class
of people who cut down their fruit-trees that the boys
may not have the temptation set before them to break
the Eighth Commandment. The Red-headed Wood-
pecker seems to be in this respect more mischievous
even than the Robin, for he not only takes cherries, but
carries off the finest apples and feeds upon the Indian-
corn when in the milk. The question is often raised,
therefore, with regard to the usefulness of this bird ; and
it will be answered according as the person interro-
gated takes a view of its general utility in the econ-
omy of nature, or of its mischievousness as a consumer
of fruit. Mr. George W. Rice, of West Newton, pre-
serves his cherry-trees for the exclusive benefit of the
Robins. If they do not take all the cherries, he has
what they leave; but he considers the fruit more val-
uable for the benefit of the Robins than for any other
purpose. Perhaps, however, since all men are not so
wise, we should say, " Cut down all your fruit-trees and
imitate the generosity of those men whom we occasion-
ally hear of, who choose to perform this sacrifice of their
own property rather than to shoot the boys."

THE BROWN CREEPER.

Another of the companions of the Chickadee is the
Brown Creeper, a bird of similar habits, often seen mov-
ing in a spiral direction around the trunks and branches
of trees, and when conscious of being observed, keeping
on the farther side of a branch. He is more frequently
seen in winter than in summer, when he is concealed by
the foliage. The different birds I have named as com-
panions of the Chickadee often assemble by seeming

376 THE WINTER BIRDS.

accident in considerable numbers upon one tree, and,
meeting perhaps more company than is agreeable to
them, they make the wood resound with their noisy dis-
putes. They may have been assembled by some note of
alarm, and on finding no particular cause for it, they raise
a shout that reminds us of the extraordinary vocifera-
tion with which young men and boys in the country con-
clude a false alarm of fire in the early part of the night.
These birds are not gregarious, and, though fond of the
presence of a few of their own kind, are vexed when
they find themselves in a crowd.

THE NUTHATCH.

The Nuthatch is often found in these assemblages, and
may be recognized by his piercing, trumpet-like note.
This bird resembles the Woodpecker in the shape of
the bill, but has only one hinder toe instead of two. He
is a permanent inhabitant of the cold parts of the Amer-
ican continent, resembling the Titmouse in his diligence
and activity, and in his manners while in quest of his
insect food.

There are times when even the birds I have described
in this essay, that collect their food from the bark and
wood of trees, are driven to great extremities. When the
trees are incased in ice, which, though not impenetrable
by their strong bills, prevents their discovery of their
food, they are in danger of starving. At such times the
gardens and barnyards are frequented by large numbers
of Woodpeckers, Creepers, and Nuthatches. Driven by
this necessity from their usual haunts, a piece of suet
fastened firmly to the branch of a tree, at any time of
the winter, would soon be discovered by them and
afford them a grateful repast. I have frequently assem-
bled them under my windows by this allurement.

THE WINTER BIRDS. 377

THE BLUE-JAY.

If we visit any part of the forest or live near it in
the winter, we are sure to be greeted by the voice of the
lively Blue Jay, another of our well-known winter birds.
He has a beautiful outward appearance, under which he
conceals an un amiable temper and a propensity to mis-
chief. There is no bird in our forest that is arrayed in
equal splendor. His neck of fine purple, his pale, azure
crest and head with silky plumes, his black crescent-
shaped collar, his wings and tail-feathers of bright blue
with stripes of white and black, and his elegant form
and vivacious manners render him attractive to every
visitor of the woods.

But with all his beauty, he has, like the Peacock, a
harsh voice. He is a thief and a disturber of the peace.
He is a sort of Ishmael among the feathered tribes, who
are startled at the sound of his voice and fear him as a
bandit. The farmer, who is well acquainted with his
habits, is no friend to him ; for he takes not only what
is required for his immediate wants, but hoards a variety
of articles in large quantities for future use. It would
seem as if he were aware when engaged in an honest and
when in a dishonest expedition. While searching for
food in the field or the open plain, he is extremely noisy ;
but when he ventures into a barn to take what does not
belong to him, he is silent and stealthy and exhibits all
the peculiar manners of a thief.

It would be no mean task to enumerate all the acts of
mischief perpetrated by this bird, and I cannot but look
upon him as one of the most guilty of the winged inhab-
itants of the wood. He plunders the cornfield both at
seed-time and harvest ; he steals every edible substance
he can find and conceals it in his hiding-places ; he 'de-
stroys the eggs of smaller birds and devours their young.

378 THE WINTER BIRDS.

He quarrels with all other species, and his life is a con-
stant round of contentions. He is restless, irascible, and
pugnacious, and he always appears like one who is out on
some expedition. Yet, though a pest to other birds, he
is a watchful parent and a faithful guardian of his off-
spring. It is dangerous to venture near the nest of a
pair of Jays, who immediately attack the adventurer,
aiming their blows at his face and eyes with savage
determination.

Like the Magpie, the Jay has considerable talent for
mimicry, and when tamed has been taught to articulate
words like a parrot. But this talent he never exercises
in a wild state. At certain times I have heard this bird
utter a few notes, like the tinkling of a bell, and which,
if syllabled, might form such a word as dilly-lily ; but it
is not a musical strain. Indeed, there is no music in his
nature ; he is fit only for " stratagems and spoils."

The Blue-Jay is a true American. He is known
throughout the continent, and never visits any other
country. At no season is he absent from our woods,
though his voice always reminds me of winter. He is
also an industrious consumer of the larger insects and
grubs, atoning in this way for some of his evil deeds.
I cannot say, therefore, that I would consent to his ban-
ishment, for he is one of the most cheering tenants of the
groves at a season when they have but few inhabitants ;
and I never listen to his voice without a crowd of charm-
ing reminiscences of pleasant winter excursions and ad-
ventures at an early period of life. The very harshness
of his voice has caused it to be impressed more forcibly
upon my memory in connection with these scenes.

THE WINTER BIRDS. 379

THE CROW.

The common Crow is the representative in America of
the European Rook, resembling it in many of its habits.
In Europe, where land is more valuable than in this
country, and where agriculture is carried on with an
amount of skill that would astonish an American, the
people are not so jealous of the birds. In Great Britain,
rookeries are permanent establishments ; and the Books,
notwithstanding the mischief they do, are protected on
account of their services to agriculture. The farmers of
Europe, having learned by experience that without the
aid of " mischievous birds their crops would be sacrificed
to the more destructive insect race, forgive them their
trespasses as we forgive the trespasses of cats and dogs,
who in the aggregate are vastly more destructive than
birds. The respect shown to birds by any people seems
to bear a certain ratio to the antiquity of the nation.
Hence the sacredness with which they are regarded in
Japan, where the population is so dense that the inhab-
itants would not consent to divide the products of their
fields with the feathered race unless their usefulness
had been demonstrated.

The Crow is one of the most unfortunate of birds in
all his relations to man ; for by the public he is regarded
with hatred, and every man's hand is against him. He
is protected neither by custom nor by superstition ; the
sentimentalist cares nothing for him as a subject of ro-
mance, and the utilitarian is blind to his services as a
scavenger. The farmer considers him as the very ring-
leader of mischief, and uses all the means he can invent
for his destruction ; the friend of the singing-birds
bears him a. grudge as the destroyer of their eggs and
their young; and even the moralist is disposed to con-
demn him for his cunning and dissimulation.

380 THE WINTER BIRDS.

Hence he is everywhere hunted and persecuted, and
the expedients used for his destruction are numerous
and revolting to the sensibility. He is outlawed by
legislative bodies ; he is hunted with the gun ; he is
caught in crow-nets ; he is hoodwinked with bits of paper
smeared with birdlime, to which he is attracted by means
of a bait ; he is poisoned with grain steeped in hellebore
and strychnine ; the reeds in which he roosts are treach-
erously set on fire ; he is pinioned by his wings, and placed
on his back, and made to grapple his companions who
come to his rescue. Like an infidel, he is not allowed
the benefit of truth to save his reputation ; and children,
after receiving lessons of humanity, are taught to regard
the Crow as an unworthy subject, if they were to carry
the precepts taught them into practice. Every govern-
ment has set a price upon his head, and public sentiment
holds him up to execration.

As an apology for these atrocities his persecutors enu-
merate a long catalogue of misdemeanors of which he is
guilty. He pillages the cornfields and pulls up the young
shoots of maize to obtain the kernels attached to their
roots. He destroys the eggs and young of harmless birds
which are our favorites ; he purloins fruit from the garden
and orchard, and carries off young ducks and chickens from
the farm-yard. Beside his mischievous propensities and
his habits of thieving, he is accused of deceit and of a
depraved disposition. He who would plead for the Crow
will not deny the general truth of these accusations, but,
on the other hand, would enumerate certain special ben-
efits which he confers upon man.

In the list of services performed by this bird we find
many details that should lead us to pause before we con-
sent to his destruction. He consumes vast quantities of
grubs, worms, and noxious vermin ; he is a valuable scav-
, clearing the land of offensive masses of decaying

THE WINTER BIRDS. 381

animal substances; he hunts the grass-fields and pulls
out and devours various cutworms and caterpillars, wher-
ever he perceives the marks of their presence as evinced
by the wilted stalks ; he destroys mice, young rats, and
lizards and the smaller serpents ; and, lastly, he is a
volunteer sentinel upon the farm and drives the Hawk
from its enclosures. It is chiefly during seed-time and
harvest that the depredations of the Crow are committed.
During the remainder of the year his acts are all benefits,
and so highly are his services appreciated by those who
have written on birds that there is hardly an ornithologist
that does not plead for his protection.

Let us turn our attention for a moment to his moral
qualities. In vain is he condemned for cunning when
without this quality he could not live. His wariness is
a virtue, and, surrounded as he is by all kinds of perils,
it is his principal means of self-preservation. He has no
system of faith and no creed to which he is under obli-
gations to offer himself as a martyr. His cunning is his
armor ; and I am persuaded that the persecutions which
he has always suffered have caused the development of
an amount of intelligence that elevates him many degrees
above the majority of the feathered race. Hence there
are few birds that equal the Crow in sagacity. He ob-
serves many things that could be understood, it Vould
seem, only by human intelligence. He judges with ac-
curacy from the deportment of the person approaching
him, if he is prepared to do him an injury, and seems to
pay no regard to one who is strolling the fields in search
of flowers or for recreation. On such occasions you may
come so near him as to observe his manners and even to
note the varying shades of his plumage. But in vain
does the gunner endeavor to approach him. So sure is
he to fly at the right moment for his safety that one might
suppose he could measure the distance of gunshot.

382 THE WINTER BIRDS.

The cawing of the Crow seems to me unlike any other
sound in nature. It is not melodious, though less
harsh than that of the Jay. It is said that when domes-
ticated he is capable of imitating human speech, though he
cannot sing. But ^Esop mistook the character of this bird
when he represented him as the dupe of the fox, who
gained the bit of cheese he carried in his mouth by per-
suading him to exhibit his musical powers. The Crow
could not be fooled by any such appeals to his vanity.

The Crow is justly regarded as a homely bird ; yet he
is not without beauty. His coat of glossy black with
violet reflections, his dark eyes and sagacious expression
of countenance, his stately and graceful gait, and his
steady and equable flight, all give him a proud and dig-
nified appearance. The Crow and the Eaven have always
been celebrated for their gravity, — a character that seems
to be caused by their black, sacerdotal vesture and by
certain peculiar manifestations of intelligence in their
ways and general deportment. Indeed, any one who
should watch the motions of the Crow for five minutes,
when he is stalking alone in the field or when he is ca-
reering with his fellows around some tall tree in the for-
est, would not fail to see that he deserves to be called a
grave bird.

Setting aside all considerations of the services rendered
by the Crow to agriculture, I esteem him for certain qual-
ities which are agreeably associated with the charms of
nature. It is not the singing-birds alone that contribute
by their voices to gladden the husbandman and cheer the
solitary traveller. The crowing of the cock at the break
of day is as joyful a sound, though unmusical, as the voice
of the Eobin, who chants his lay at the same early hour.
To me the cawing of the Crow is cheering and delightful,
and it is heard long before the generality of birds have
left their perch. If not one of the melodies of morn, it

THE WINTER BIRDS. 383

is one of the most notable sounds that herald its ap-
proach. And how intimately is the voice of this bird
associated with the sunshine of calm wintry days, with
our woodland excursions at this inclement season, with
the stroke of the woodman's axe, with open doors in
bright and pleasant weather, when the eaves are dripping
with the melting snow, and with all those cheerful sounds
during that period when every object is valuable that
relieves the silence or softens the dreary aspect of
nature !

DECEMBER

IT is one of the most cheerful recreations for a
leisure hour, to go out into the fields, under a mild, open
sky, to study the various appearances of Nature that
accompany the changes of the seasons, and to note those
phenomena which are peculiar to a climate of frost and
snow. The inhabitant of the tropics with his perpetual
summer, who sees no periodical changes except the alter-
nations of rain and drought, is deprived of a happy ad-
vantage possessed by the inhabitant of the north ; and,
with all the blessings of his voluptuous climate, is visited
by a smaller portion of the moral enjoyments of life.
In the minds of those who dwell in a northern latitude
there are sentiments which are probably never felt by the
indolent dweller in the land of the date and the palm ;
and however poetical to us may seem the imagery drawn
from the pictures we have read of those blissful regions,
ours is most truly the region of poetry, and of all those
sentiments which poetry aims to express.

It will not be denied that in winter Nature has com-
paratively but few attractions ; that the woods and fields
offer but few temptations to ramble ; and that these are
such as appeal to the imagination rather than to the
senses, by furnishing matter for studious reflection and
calling up pleasing and poetic images. The man of
phlegmatic mind sees, in all these phenomena, nothing
but dreariness and desolation ; while to the studious or
the imaginative, every form of vegetation on the surface
of the earth becomes an instructive lesson or awakens a

DECEMBER. 385

train of imagery that inspires him, on a winter's walk,
with a buoyancy not often felt in the balmy days of June.
Then does he trace, with unalloyed delight, every green
leaf that seems budding out for spring ; and in the gen-
eral stillness, every sound from abroad has a gladness
in its tone not surpassed by the melodies of a summer
morning.

On these pleasant days of winter, which are of frequent
occurrence in our variable climate, I often indulge myself
in a solitary ramble, taking note of those forms of vege-
tation that remain unchanged, and of the still greater
number that lie folded in hyemal sleep. For such excur-
sions the only proper time is when the earth is free from
snow, which, though a beautifier of the prospect, conceals
all minute objects that are strewed upon the ground or
that are still feebly vegetating under the protection of
the woods. The most prominent appearances are the
remains of autumnal vegetation. The stalks of the faded
asters are still erect, with their downy heads shaking in
the breeze, which has already scattered their seeds upon
the ground ; and the more conspicuous tufts of the golden-
rods are seen in nodding and irregular .rows under the
fences, or bending over the ice that covers the meadows
where they grew. All these are but the faded garlands of
Nature, that pleasantly remind us of the past festivities
of summer, of cheerful toil, or studious recreation.

Nature never entirely conceals the beauties of the field
and wood save when, for their protection, she covers them
with snow. The faded remnants of last summer's vege-
tation may have but little positive beauty ; but to the
mind of the naturalist they are attractive on account of
the lessons they afford and the sentiments they awaken.
But there are objects in the wood which are neither faded
nor leafless ; and many that are leaflets still retain their
beauty and the appearance of life. Beside the ever-

17 Y

386 DECEMBER.

greens, many of the herbs that bear the early spring
.flowers still retain their freshness and spread out their
green leaves in the protected nook or in the recesses of
the fern-covered rocks. The leaves of the wild strawberry
and the cinquefoil are always green in the meadows, and
those of the violet on the sheltered slope of the hill.
The crowfoot and the geranium are in many places as
fresh as in May ; and the aquatic ranunculus and the
wild cresses are brightly glowing with their emerald foli-
age, in the depths of the crystal watercourses that remain
unfrozen beneath the wooded precipice, or in the mossy
ravines of the forest.

These phenomena are doubly interesting as evidences
of the continued life of the beautiful things they repre-
sent, and of the invisible and ever-watchful providence
of Nature. Every step we take brings under our -review
other similar curiosities of vegetable life, which, by reason
of their commonness, often escape our observation. On
the sandy plain the slender hazel-bushes are loaded with
thousands of purple aments, suspended from their flexile
twigs, all ready to burst into bloom at the very first breath
of spring. In the wet lands, where the surface is one
continued sheet of ice, the crowded alders are so full
of their embryo blossoms, that their branches seem to
be hung with dark purple fruit ; and the sweet-fern of
the upland pastures, in still, mild weather, often faintly
perfumes the atmosphere with the scent of its half-
developed leaves and flowers.

But the face of Nature, at this time, is not an unfruitful
subject for the poet or the painter. The evergreens, if
not more beautiful, are more conspicuous than at any
other season; and there are many bountiful streamlets
that ripple through the woods and often in their depths
find protection from the greatest cold. Around these
streams the embroidering mosses are as green as the

DECEMBER. 387

grasses in May. The water-cresses may be seen grow-
ing freshly at the bottom of their channels, and the ferns
are beautiful among the shelving rocks, through which
the waters make their gurgling tour. When the sun, at
noonday, penetrates into these green and sheltered re-
cesses, before the snow has come upon the earth, when
the pines are waving overhead, the laurels clustering with
the undergrowth, and the dewberry (evergreen-blackberry)
trailing at our feet, we can easily imagine ourselves sur-
rounded by the green luxuriance of summer. Nature
seems to have prepared these pleasant evergreen retreats,
that they might afford to her pious votaries a shelter
during their winter walks, and a prospect to gladden
their eyes, when they go out to admire her works, and
pay the homage of a humble heart to the great Architect
of the universe.

Nor is the season without its harvest. The bayberry,
or false myrtle, in dry places gleams with dense clusters
of greenish- white berries, that almost conceal the branches
by their profusion ; the pale azure berries of the juniper
are sparkling brightly in the midst of their sombre ever-
green foliage; and the prinos or black-alder bushes,
glowing with the brightest scarlet fruit, and resembling
at a distance pyramids of flame, are irregularly distrib-
uted over the wooded swamps. While the barberries
hang in wilted and blackened clusters from their bushes
in the uplands, the cranberries in the peat-meadows shine
out like glistening rubies, from their masses of delicate
and tangled vinery. In the open places of the woods
the earth is mantled with the dark glossy green leaves
of the gaultheria, half concealing its drooping crimson
berries ; and the mitchella, of a more curious habit, each
berry being formed by the united germs of two flowers,
(twins upon the same stern,) adorns similar places with
fairer foliage and brighter fruit.

388 DECEMBER.

There is a sort of perpetual spring in these protected
arbors and recesses, where we may at all times behold
the springing herbs and sprouting shrubbery, when they
are not hidden under the snow-drift. The American hare
feeds upon the foliage of these tender herbs, when she
exposes herself at this season to the aim of the gunner.
She cannot so well provide for her winter wants as the
squirrel, whose food, contained in a husk or a nutshell,
may be abundantly hoarded in her subterranean grana-
ries. The hare in her garment of fur, protected from the
cold, feels no dread of the climate; and man is almost
the only enemy who threatens her, when she comes out
timidly to browse upon the scant leaves of the white
clover, or the heath-like foliage of the hypericum.

But the charm of a winter's walk is derived chiefly
from the flowerless plants, — the ferns and lichens of the
rocks, the mosses of the dells and meres, and the trail-
ing wintergreens of the pastoral hills. Many species
of these plants seem to revel in cold weather, as if it
were congenial to their health and wants. To them has
Nature intrusted the care .of dressing all her barren places
in verdure,, and of preserving a grateful remnant of sum-
mer beauty in the dreary places of winter's abode. And
it is not to be wondered that, to the fanciful minds of
every nation, the woods have always seemed to be peo-
pled with fairy spirits, by whose unseen hands the earth
is garlanded with lovely wreaths of verdure at a time
when not a flower is to be found upon the hills or in the
meadow.

Whether we are adapted to nature, or nature to us, it
is not to be denied that on the face of the earth those
objects that appear to be natural are more congenial to
our feelings than others strictly artificial. The lichen-
covered rocks, that form so remarkable a feature of the
hills surrounding our coast, are far more pleasing to every

DECEMBER. 389

man's sight than similar rocks without this garniture.
All this may be partly attributed to the different asso-
ciations connected with the two, in our habitual trains
of thought; the one presenting to us the evidence of
antiquity, the other only the disagreeable idea of that
defacement so generally attendant on the progress of
pioneer settlements. Hence the lichens and mosses,
upon the surface of the rocks, have an expression which
has always been eagerly copied by the painter, and is as-
sociated with many romantic images, like the clambering
ivy upon the. walls of an ancient ruined tower.

At this season, when the greater part of the landscape
is either covered with snow, or with the seared and brown
herbage of winter, this vegetation of the rocks has a
singular interest. In summer the rocks are bald in their
appearance, while all around them is fresh and lively.
In winter, on the other hand, they are covered with a
pale verdure, interspersed with many brilliant colors,
while the surrounding surface is a comparative blank.
Some objects are intrinsically beautiful, others are beau-
tiful by suggestion, others again by contrast. This latter
principle causes many things to appear delightful to the
eye at one period, which at other times would, by com-
parison with brighter objects, seem dull and lifeless.
Hence on a winter's ramble, when there is no snow
upon the ground, our attention is fixed, not only upon
the lichens and evergreens, but likewise on the bright
purple glow that proceeds from every plat of living shrub-
bery which is spread out in the wild. This appearance
is beautiful by contrast with the dull sombre hues of the
surrounding faded herbage, and it is likewise strongly
suggestive of the life and vigor of Nature. It is the vivid
hue of health, and entirely unlike the hue of the same
plants if they were dead or dying. It is not necessary
that we should have meditated upon this sight, in order

390 DECEMBER.

to be affected by it. We are all unconscious physiogno-
mists of the face of Nature; and over a wide tract of
country, were the vegetation blasted in autumn by some
secret pestilence that had destroyed its vitality, its whole
aspect would be such as to sadden every beholder, though
unaware of the fatal event. As -the human face in sleep
wears the glow, if not the animation of waking life, so
the face of Nature, in her hyemal sleep, has a glow that
harmonizes with our feelings and with our sense of
universal beauty.

The wildwood is always full of instruction for those
who are mindful either of its general scenes or its
minuter objects ; and a ramble on a pleasant winter's
day produces on the mind an invigorating effect that
might be used as a safeguard against mental depression.
The landscape, when undisfigured by art, is never without
beauty, and the woods are always redolent of sweet odors
that assist in perfecting the illusions that arise from
agreeable sights. While the exercise thus partaken in
the open air strengthens the body and improves the
health, the objects presented for our contemplation are
tonic and exhilarant in their action on the mind. What-
ever may be the season of the year, to the student of
science as well as to the lover of beauty, something is
always presented to fix his attention or awaken his ad-
miration, and he seldom returns from a woodland ramble
without increased cheerfulness and a prospect of new
sources of rational happiness.

BIEDS OF THE SEA AND THE SHOEE.

IN my preceding essays I have treated of birds chiefly
as they are endowed with song, or have some particularly
interesting trait of character. But I must not omit those
birds which may be especially regarded as picturesque
objects in landscape. A large proportion of these are
the birds of the sea and the shore. They are not sing-
ing-birds. Nature has not provided them with the gift
of song, the music of which would be lost amidst the
roaring and dashing of waves. Neither do I make
them the subject of my remarks as objects of Natural
History, but rather as actors in the romance of Nature.
I treat of them as they affect the pleasant solitudes they
frequent, and increase their impressiveness chiefly by their
graceful or singular flight. To the motions of birds, no
less than to their beauty of plumage and to the sounds
of their voices, are we indebted for a great part of the in-
terest we feel in our native land. The more we study
them, the more shall we feel that in whatever direction
we turn our observations, we may extend them to infinity.
There is no limit to the study of Nature. Even a subject
so apparently insignificant as the flight of birds may open
the eyes to new beauties in the aspects of Nature and
new sources of rational delight.

Nothing can exceed the gracefulness we observe in the
flight of many birds of the sea, from the Osprey, that vaults
in the upper region of the clouds, down to the little Sand-
piper, that charms the youthful sportsman by its merry
movements and circuitous flights. These little birds

392 BIRDS OF THE SEA AND THE SHOEE.

belong to the tribe of Waders, which are more graceful
in their walk than any that live in trees and bushes.
The great length of their legs permits them to take long
and unembarrassed steps and to move with great facility,
nodding all the while with the most amusing gesticula-
tions. A flock of Sandpipers on the beach where it is
left open by the receding tide, employing themselves in
gathering their repast of marine insects, always in motion,
nodding their heads and bending their bodies as if they
moved them on a pivot, now carelessly taking their food,
then suddenly raising their heads upon a slight alarm,
now moving in companies a short distance, then rising in
a momentary flight, is, to the eye of a young sportsman,
one of the most interesting sights in animated nature.

The interest we feel in these birds is caused by their
picturesque assemblages in twittering flocks and by their
peculiar cries. The voices of the sea-birds have a family
resemblance. We can always distinguish their cries, which
are shrill and piercing. Their notes are never low and
could seldom be mistaken for those of land-birds. The
Sandpipers afford great sport to young gunners, who over-
take and surprise them upon the flats of solitary inlets
when the tide is low. They arrive in dense flocks, alight-
ing at the edge of the tide and taking the insects as
they are uncovered ; and the dashing of the waves close
to their ranks causes them to be constantly flitting as
they break at their feet. While we watch them there
seems to be an active contention between them and the
rippling edges of the water.

It is in winter that the picturesque movements of land-
birds are most apparent. In summer and in autumn,
before the fall of the leaf, birds are partially concealed
by the foliage of trees and shrubs, so that the manner of
their flight cannot be so easily observed. In winter, if
we start a flock of them from the ground, we may watch

BIRDS OF THE SEA AND THE SHORE. 393

all the peculiarities of their movements. I have alluded
to the descent of Snow-Buntings upon the landscape
as singularly beautiful; but the motions of a flock of
Quails, when feeding in an open space in a wood or
when suddenly alarmed, are equally interesting. When
a Dove or a Swallow takes flight, its progress through
the air is. so rapid and the motions of its wings so un-
discernible as to injure the beauty of its flight. We
hardly observe anything so much as its rapidity. It is
quite otherwise with the Quail. The body of. this bird
is plump and heavy and its wings short, with a peculiar
concavity of the under surface when expanded. The
motions of the wings are very rapid, and, having but
little sweep, the bird seems to hang in the air, and is car-
ried along moderately by a rapid vibration of the wings,
describing about half a circle. Hence we see the shape
of the bird during its flight.

Birds of prey are remarkable for their steady and
graceful flight. The motions of their wings are slow,
but they are capable of propelling themselves through the
air with great rapidity. The circumgyrations of a Hawk,
when reconnoitring far aloft in the heavens, are very
picturesque, and have been used at all times to give char-
acter to certain landscape scenes in painting. A single
picturesque attitude is sufficient to suggest a whole series
of movements to one who has frequently watched them.
The Raven and Crow are slow in their flight, which is
apparently difficult. Hence these birds are easily over-
taken and annoyed by smaller birds, which are ever
watchful for an occasion to attack them without danger.
Crows are not formed, like Falcons, to take their prey on
the wing, and they cannot perform those graceful and
difficult evolutions that distinguish the flight of birds of
prey.

Small birds of the Sparrow tribe and some others gen-

17*

394 BIRDS OF THE SEA AND THE SHORE.

erally move in an undulating course, alternately rising and
sinking. The species that move in this way seldom fly to
great heights, and are incapable of making a long jour-
ney without frequent intervals of rest. They perform
their migrations by short daily stages. The flight of the
little Sandpipers that frequent salt marshes in numerous
flocks would be an interesting study. These birds are
capable of sustaining an even flight in a perfectly hori-
zontal line, only a few inches above the sandy beach.
When they alight they seldom make a curve or gyra-
tion. They descend in a straight line, though obliquely.
Snow-Buntings turn about, just before they reach the
ground, and come down spirally. I have seen them per-
form the most intricate movements, like those of people
in a cotillon, executed with the rapidity of arrows, when
suddenly checked in their course by the discovery of a
field covered with ripened grasses.

THE KINGFISHER.

If we leave the open field and wood, and ramble near
the coast of some secluded branch of the sea we may be
startled by the harsh voice of the Kingfisher, like the
sound of the watchman's rattle. This bird is the cele-
brated Alcedo or Halcyon of the ancients, who attributed
to it supernatural powers. It was supposed to con-
struct its nest upon the waves, where it was made to
float like a vessel at anchor. But as the turbulence of a
storm would be likely to destroy it, Nature has gifted the
sitting birds with the power of stilling the motion of the
winds and waves during the period of incubation. The
serene weather that accompanies the summer solstice was
believed to be the enchanted effect of the benign influence
of this family of birds. Hence the name of Halcyon days
was applied to this period of tranquillity.

BIRDS OF THE SEA AND THE SHORE. 395

It is remarkable that fable should add to these super-
natural gifts the power of song, as one of the accomplish-
ments of the Kingfisher. This belief must have been
very general among the ancients, and not confined to
the Greeks and Eomans. Some of the Asiatic nations
still wear the skin of the Kingfisher about their persons
as a protection against moral and physical evils. The
feathers are used as love-charms ; and it is believed, if
the body of the Kingfisher be evenly fixed upon a pivot,
it will turn its head to the north like the magnetic
needle.

The Kingfisher is singularly grotesque in his appear-
ance, though not without beauty of plumage. His long,
straight, and quadrangular bill, his short and diminutive
feet and legs, his immense head, and his plumage of
dusky blue, with a bluish band on the breast, and a white
collar around the neck, form a mixture of the grotesque
and the beautiful which, considered in connection with
his singularity of habits, may account for the super-
stitions that attach to his history. He sits patiently,
like an angler, on a post at the head of a wharf, or on the
trunk of a tree that extends over the bank, arid, leaning
obliquely with extended head and beak, he watches for his
finny prey. There, with the light-blue sky above him and
the dark-blue waves beneath, nothing on the surface of the
water can escape his penetrating eyes. Quickly, with a
sudden swoop, he seizes a single fish from an unsuspect-
ing shoal, and announces his success by the peculiar
sound of his rattle.

THE SPOTTED TATTLER.

A very interesting bird inhabiting the shores of seas
and lakes is the Peetweet, or Spotted Tattler. The birds
of this species breed in all parts of New England, arriv-

396 BIRDS OF THE SEA AND THE SHORE.

ing soon after the first of May, and assembling in occa-
sional twittering flocks, skimming along the edges of
some creek or inlet, most numerously after the tide has
left the beach. In their circuitous flights they follow all
the inequalities of the coast. It is amusing -to watch
their ways when they are preparing for incubation, rest-
less and anxious, and uttering their lively and plaintive
cry, like the syllables peet-iveet, repeating the last with
the rising inflection. They resemble the notes of the
little Wood-Sparrow, when repeated many times in suc-
cession, except that the Tattler utters them without in-
creasing their rapidity or varying their tone. These
notes approach more nearly to music than those of any
other bird of the sea or the shore.

The Tattlers build in the meadows among the rushes,
sometimes in a tilled field and very near human dwell-
ings, where they are seen roaming about with their young,
like a hen with her chickens, searching for worms and
grubs. They are very liable to be shot, while attracting
attention by their lively motions and their low and musi-
cal flight. The young follow the parent as soon as they
are hatched, when their downy plumage is of an almost
uniform light-grayish color. If surprised, they imme-
diately hide themselves among the herbage, while the
parent by her motions and cries endeavors to draw atten-
tion exclusively to herself.

The birds of this species have been so wantonly and
mercilessly hunted by gunners of all ages, that they have
become extremely shy, and have lost all confidence in
man. Yet, if they were harbored and protected from
annoyance and danger, they would grow tame and con-
fiding, and our fields and gardens would be full of them.
A brood of them following the hen would be indefatigable
hunters of insects in pastures and tilled lands. A few
pairs with their young would perform incalculable service

BIRDS OF THE SEA AND THE SHORE. 397

on every farm, and if encouraged and protected, would
soon reward us with their confidence and their services.
These little "Birds are incapable of doing any mischief,
even if there were fifty of them on every farm. They
take no fruit; they do not bite off the tops of tender
herbs, like poultry ; they are interesting in their ways ;
and the only cause of their scarcity is the destruction of
them by gunners.

THE UPLAND PLOVER.

This is a species allied to the Peetweet, and well known
by the name of Hill-Birds. They are of a solitary habit,
not to be compared in utility and interest with the little
Peetweet. They are seldom seen in flocks. We know
them chiefly by their notes, which are familiar to all as
heard at dawn or early evening twilight. These melan-
choly whistling notes are uttered as they pass from their
feeding-places, while flying at a great height, and the
hour of darkness when they are heard, and -their plain-
tive modulation, render them the most striking sounds
of a late summer evening.

THE GULL.

Among the birds which are most conspicuous about
our coast, I should mention the Gulls. They are not very
interesting birds ; but their screaming voices remind us
of their habitats, and their picturesque motions are famil-
iar to all who are accustomed to the sea-shore. They
associate in miscellaneous flocks, containing often several
species, and enliven the hour and the prospect by their
manoeuvres and their peculiar cries. The Gull is distin-
guished by its small and lean body, which is covered with
a great quantity of feathers. Its wings and head are very

398 BIRDS OF THE SEA AND THE SHORE.

large, all uniting to give the bird a false appearance of
size. Hence, I suppose, originated the word, when used
to imply deception. The sportsman who for the first
time has shot one of these birds, expecting to find it large
and plump, and discovers only a miserable lean carcass
imbedded in a large mass of feathers, is said to be gulled.

THE LOON.

I must not conclude without mentioning the Loon, one
of the most romantic of birds, the Hermit of our northern
lakes, and so exceedingly shy that it is rarely seen ex-
cept at a great distance. This bird belongs to the family
of Divers, so called from their habit of disappearing under
the water at the moment when they catch a glimpse of
any human being. The Loon inhabits the northern parts
of Europe and North America, and is occasionally seen
and heard in the lakes of New England, but chiefly now
in those of Northern Maine. As population increases,
this species retires to more solitary places.

In allusion to the scream of this bird, Nuttall says :
" Far out at sea in winter and in the great northern lakes,
I have often heard on a fine, calm morning the sad and
wolfish call of the solitary Loon, which like a dismal echo
seems slowly to invade the ear, and rising as it proceeds
dies away in the air. This boding sound to the mariner,
supposed to be indicative of a storm, may be heard some-
times for two or three miles, when the bird itself is invis-
ible or reduced almost to a speck in the distance. The
aborigines, almost as superstitious as sailors, dislike to
hear the cry of the Loon, considering the bird, from its shy
and extraordinary habits, as a sort of supernatural being.
By the Norwegians it is with more appearance of reason
supposed to portend rain."

OLD HOUSES.

WHEN journeying in the country, who has not occa-
sionally felt that the sight of the finest houses and the
most highly ornamented grounds does not affect the
mind with the greatest pleasure ? We are soon tired of
objects, however beautiful, that produce no other effect
than to excite an agreeable visual sensation. Something
that affords a pleasing exercise for the sympathies and
the imagination must be blended with all scenes of
beauty, or they soon become vapid and uninteresting.
When we first enter the interior of a spacious dome,
which is surrounded with colored glass windows, the
physical sensation of beauty thus produced may detain
us a few moments with extreme pleasure. But a fre-
quent repetition of these visits would cause the spectacle
to become tiresome, because it excites the eye without
affecting the mind. The very opposite effect would be
produced by visiting a gallery of paintings, because
there is no end to the ideas and images which these
works of genius may suggest.

In like manner, when travelling among the scenes of
nature and art, many a highly ornamented house passes
before our eyes without making any better impression
upon the mind than that which is produced by examin-
ing the plates of fashions in the window of a tailor's shop.
As we proceed farther into the country we presently en-
counter a scene that awakens a different class of emotions,
that seem to penetrate more deeply into the soul. An old
house, containing two stories in front, with the back roof

400 OLD HOUSES.

extending almost to the ground, is seen half protected by
the drooping branches of a venerable elm. A Virginia
creeper hangs in careless festoons around the low win-
dows, and a white rose-bush grows luxuriantly over the
plain board fence that encloses the garden. The house
stands a few rods back from the road, and is surrounded
in front and on one side by an extensive grass-plat, neatly
shorn by the grazing animals while sauntering on their
return from pasture. An old barn is near ; and the flocks
and the poultry seem to enjoy an amount of comfort
which we might look for in vain in the vicinity of a
more ornate dwelling-house.

There is an appearance of comfort and freedom about
this old house that renders it a pleasing object to almost
every eye. No one can see it without calling to mind the
old-fashioned people whom we always suppose to be its
occupants. About it and around it we see no evidences
of that constraint to which the in-dwellers and visitors
of some more fashionable houses must be doomed. The
exterior is associated with its interior arrangements, no
less than with the scenes around it. We see, in the
mind's eye, the wide entry into which the front door
opens, the broad and angular staircase, the window in
the upper entry, that looks out upon a rustic landscape
dotted with fruit-trees, and patches of ploughed land
alternating with green meadow. By the side of the stair-
case, on the lower floor, stands an ancient clock, whose
loud striking and slow stroke of the pendulum are asso-
ciated with the old style of low-studded rooms. Perhaps
by studying the cause of the pleasant emotions with
which we contemplate this old house, we may arrive
at the knowledge of a principle that may be turned to
advantage in regulating our own and the public taste.

The charm of these old houses, which are marked by
neatness and plainness, and by an absence of all preten-

OLD HOUSES. 401

sion, is founded on the natural yearning of every human
soul after freedom and simplicity. In them we behold
the evidences of a mode of life, which, if we could but
rid our hearts of a little insanity, wTe should above all
choose for ourselves. The human heart naturally attaches
itself to those scenes in which it would be free to indulge
its own natural fancies. But there is a habit stronger
than nature, derived from our perverted education, that
causes us to choose a part that will excite the envy of
our neighbors, in preference to one that would best pro-
mote our own happiness. Hence a man chooses to be
embarrassed with expenses above his pecuniary condition,
for the vain purpose of exciting admiration, rather than
to gratify his own tastes in the enjoyment of greater
freedom and a more humble and frugal mode of life.

In vain does the worshipper of fashion, by planting an
ornate dwelling-house in the heart of a forest, endeavor
to add to it the charm of a rustic cottage in the woods.
The traveller, as he beholds its proud ornaments glit-
tering through the trees, sees nothing of that charming
repose which, like a halo of beauty, surrounds the cot-
tage of the rustic. He perceives in it the expression of
a striving after something that is incompatible with its
affectations. There may be a true love of nature among
the inmates of this house. But they cannot consent
wholly to relinquish that bondage of fashion which
overpowers their love of freedom and simplicity, as
the appetite of the inebriate causes him, in spite of
his better resolutions, to turn back to the cup that is
destroying him. Nature may harmonize with elegance,
refinement, and grandeur, but not with pretence. The
rural deities will not make their haunts near the abode
of vanity ; and the Naiad, when she sees her rustic
fountain destroyed, turns sorrowfully away from the
spouting foam of a jet d'eau.

402 OLD HOUSES.

There may be more true love of Nature in the inmates
of this ambitious dwelling than in those of the rustic
cottage; but the former gives no evidence of this love,
if it is built in a style expressive of that folly which is
continually drawing us away from Nature and happi-
ness. Place them -both in a picture, and the fashionable
house excites only the idea of coxcombry, while the
rustic cottage charms all hearts. Is it not possible to
borrow this indescribable charm and add it to our country
residences ? Not until the builder or designer has become
as one of these cottagers in the simplicity of his heart,
and is content to forget the world when he is planning
for his retirement. Then might the traveller pause to
contemplate with delight a house in which the absence of
all affectation renders doubly charming those rural accom-
paniments, in which the wealth of the owner, if he be
wealthy, is detected only by the simple magnificence of
his grounds, and his taste displayed by the charm which
art has added to Nature, without degrading her fauns
and her hamadryads into mere deities of the boudoir.

These old houses with a long back roof are not the only
picturesque houses among our ancient buildings ; but no
other style seems to me so entirely American. Wherever
we journey in New England, we find neat little cottages
of one story, some with a door in front dividing the house
into two equal parts, some with a door at the side of the
front, and a vestibule with, a door at the opposite end.
It is common, when you meet with an old cottage of this
style in the less frequented roads in the country, to see
an elm standing in front, shading a wide extent of lawn.
Sometimes there may be merely an apple-tree or pear-tree
for purposes of shade. A rose-bush under one of the
windows, bearing flowers of a deep crimson, and a lilac
at the corner of the garden near the house, are perhaps
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404 OLD HOUSES.

whenever he attempts to use them. Hence the profusely
decorated houses of the present generation do not evince
any positive improvement in taste, when compared with
those of their predecessors. They are simply a proof
that the people of the present time have more ambition.
That want of taste, which former generations exhibited
by their entire disregard of ornament, is manifested in
their successors by their profuse and indiscriminate use
of it. The present house is no longer a thing to be loved.
We cease to look upon it with affection. It is a glitter-
ing thing that merely pleases the eye, but awakens no
delightful sentiment.

The object of these remarks is not to deride wealth,
but to condemn the ostentation of wealth that does not
exist, and the use of a house as a false advertisement
of the personal importance of its owner. An intelligent
man of wealth would reject these meretricious decora-
tions as the mere sham substitute for something better
which he would adopt because he could afford it. The
false taste which is here censured is mere architectural
hypocrisy. My purpose is to analyze certain of our
emotions and sentiments, and to prove thereby that the
man who builds a showy house gains no admiration, and
essentially mars his own happiness. Why do we con-
template with the purest delight a simple cottage in a
half-rude, half-cultivated field, except that it gives indi-
cations of something adapted to confer happiness upon its
inmates ? The rustic well, with a long pole fastened to
a lever, by which the bucket is raised ; the neat stone-wall
or iron-gray fence that marks the boundary of the yard ;
the old standard apple-trees dotted about irregularly all
over the grounds; the never-failing brook following its
native circuitous course through the meadow, — all these
objects present to the eye a scene that is strongly sugges-
tive of domestic comfort and happiness.

OLD HOUSES. 405

Let us not, in our zeal for rearing something beautiful,
overlook the effect of these venerable relics of the more
simple mode of life that prevailed fifty years since. Let
us not mistake mere glitter for beauty, nor the prompt-
ings of vanity for those of taste. Let us beware, lest in
our passion for improvement, without a rational aim, we
banish simplicity from the old farm, and allow fashion to
usurp the throne of Nature in her own groves. Far dis-
tant be the time when the less familiar birds of our forest
are compelled to retire beyond the confines of our villages,
and when the red-thrush is heard only in a few solitary
places, mourning over that barbarous art which has de-
stroyed every green thicket of native shrubbery, where
alone she makes her haunts. This rage for foreign
shrubbery is fatal to the birds, each species being depen-
dent on certain native trees and shrubs for subsistence
and protection. By eradicating every native coppice, and
planting exotics in their place, we may as effectually ban-
ish the thrushes, and many other species of warblers, from
our territories as by constantly shooting them.

Another style of old houses is a square with a hipped
roof, usually of two stories. This is a little more pre-
tentious than the others I have described, arid is more
frequently seen with an ornamental fence in front, after
the present fashion. Hence it is less attractive than
some of the more primitive houses. A more pleasing
style is a nearly square building of one story, with a
curb roof, having the front door at the extreme end of
the front, and a vestibule on one side, formed by ex-
tending the rear half of the house a few feet, with only
half a roof, making the door in the vestibule and the
front door face the same way. Modern improvers say
. there is no beauty in these old houses. As well might
they say there is no beauty in an old tree, unless it is
nicely trimmed and whitewashed. More charming to

406 OLD HOUSES.

the sight is a humble two-story house, unadorned by a
single artistical decoration, with a venerable old tree in
front and a wide extent of lawn, than the most showy
house in the modern filigree style, with its narrow en-
closures, its stiff spruces, and its ornamental fence that
seems purposely designed to shut out Nature.

One principal charm of a cottage consists in the rural
appurtenances around it ; and the less inexpressive archi-
tectural ornament there is about it the greater is this
charm. It is true there is a style of building which is
always pleasing to the eye, and another which is either
offensive or unattractive. A good style differs from a
bad style chiefly in suggesting, by its external appearance,
all those exterior and interior arrangements which serve
to make it a happy and comfortable residence. This is
the principal beauty which is desirable in a dwelling in
order to produce the most charming effect. There are
certain ornaments the utility of which is not apparent ;
but everything added externally to a house, in accord-
ance with the rule of proportions, that suggests to the
mind an additional comfort or convenience, renders it
more pleasing to the sight. Hence a plain, square house,
without a single projection, is not so pleasant to look
upon as another, whose wings and vestibules, under
separate roofs, exhibit at once to the mind the conven-
iences within. A neatness and elegance of finish would
improve it still further ; but any inexpressive ornaments
would spoil it. There is a class of ornaments, however,
which are beautiful from suggesting something, indepen-
dent of actual utility, that is agreeable to the imagination.

I would venture to affirm that the more showy the
house, other things being equal, the less pleasure does it
confer upon its owner or occupant. A perpetual glitter
soon tires upon the eye and wearies the mind. There is
a want of what painters call repose in a building that is

OLD HOUSES. 407

excessively ornate; and the occupants of such a house
must feel less tranquil satisfaction in it than in one of
equal convenience, which is furnished only with such
ornaments as have been denominated chaste. Chaste
pleasures are those which are attended by no disgust
and bring no repentance ; and chaste ornaments resemble
them in this respect, by giving permanent satisfaction,
and by causing no fatigue to the eye or repentance to the
mind. There is a stronger analogy between these two
things than any one who has not reflected upon the sub-
ject can be aware of. It is safe to assert that any par-
ticular style of building and grounds, which serves in the
highest degree to promote the happiness of the permanent
occupants, will confer the most enduring pleasure upon
the beholder.

We frequently admire without one spark of affection,
and love with deep affection what we do not admire.
But more pleasure springs from love than from admira-
tion; and when people madly relinquish those humble
scenes and objects which they love, to obtain those which
shall glitter in the public eye, tickle their own vanity
and excite the envy of their neighbors, they commit a
greater error than the most bitter declaimer against pride
has generally imagined. I am far from believing the
paradox, maintained by Eousseau, that man is more
happy in a state of nature than in a civilized state.
This author, in his efforts to grasp at an important truth,
reached beyond it. That great truth I believe to be this :
that the more we extend and cultivate the moral and in-
tellectual advantages and refinements of civilization, while
we tie ourselves down to the simple habits of rustic life,
the greater will be the sum of our happiness.

JANUAKY.

POETS in all ages have sung of the delights of seed-
time and harvest, and of the voluptuous pleasures of
summer ; but when treating of winter, they have con-
fined their descriptions to the sports of the season rather
than to the beauties of Nature. Winter is supposed to
furnish but few enjoyments to be compared with those of
summer; because the majority of men, being oppressed
by too many burdens, naturally yearn for a life of indo-
lence. I will not deny that the pleasures derived from
the direct influence of Nature are greatly diminished in
cold weather; there are not so many interesting objects
to amuse the mind, as in the season when all animated
things are awake, and the earth is covered with vegeta-
tion ; but there are many pleasant rural excursions and
invigorating exercises which can be enjoyed only in the
winter season, and for which thousands of our undegen-
erate yeomanry would welcome its annual visit.

The pleasures of a winter's walk are chiefly such as
are derived from prospect. A landscape-painter could be
but partially acquainted with the sublimity of terrestrial
scenery, if he had never looked upon the earth when it
was covered with snow. In summer the prospect unfolds
such an infinite array of beautiful things to our sight,
that the sublimity of the scene is hidden beneath a spec-
tacle of dazzling and flowery splendor. We are then
more powerfully attracted by objects of beauty that charm
the senses than by those grander aspects of Nature that
awaken the emotion of sublimity. In winter, the earth

JANUAEY. 409

is divested of all those accompaniments of scenery
which are not in unison with grandeur. At this period,
therefore, the mind is affected with nobler thoughts ; it
is less bewildered by a multitude of fascinating objects,
and is more free to indulge itself in a serious train of
meditations.

The exhilaration of mind attending a winter walk in
the fields and woods, when the earth is covered with
snow, surpasses any emotion of the kind which is pro-
duced by the appearance of Nature at other seasons. We
often hear in conversation of the invigorating effects of
cold weather; yet those few only who are engaged in
rural occupations, and who spend the greater part of the
day in the open air, can fully realize the amount of phys-
ical enjoyment that springs from it. I can appreciate the
languid recreations of a warm summer's day. When one
is at leisure in the country he cannot fail to enjoy it, if
he can take shelter under the canopy of trees or in the
deeper shade of the forest. But these languid enjoyments
would soon become oppressive and monotonous ; and the
constant participation of them must cause one gradually
to degenerate into a mere animal. The human mind is
constituted to feel positive pleasure only in action.
Sleep and rest are mere negative conditions, to which
we submit with a grateful sense of their power to fit us
for the renewed exercise of the mind and the body.

In our latitude, at the present era January is usually
the month of the greatest cold; and in severe weather
there is a general stillness that is favorable to musing.
The little streamlets are frozen and silent, and there is
hardly any motion except of the winds, and of the trees
that bend to their force. But the works of Nature are
still carried on beneath the frost and snow. Though the
flowers are buried in their hyemal sleep, thousands of
unseen elements are present, all waiting to prepare their

18

410 JANUARY.

hues and fragrance, when the spring returns and wakes
the flowers and calls the bees out from their hives.
Nature is always active in her operations ; and during
winter are the embryos nursed of myriad hosts, that will
soon spread beauty over the plains and give animation to
the field and forest.

Since the beauties of summer and autumn have faded,
Nature has bestowed on earth and man a brilliant recom-
pense, and spread the prospect with new scenes of beauty
and sublimity. The frozen branches of the trees are
clattering in the wind, and the reed stands nodding above
the ice and shivers in the rustling breeze. But while
these things remind us of the chills of winter, the univer-
sal prospect of snow sends into the soul the light of its
own perfect purity and splendor, and makes the landscape
still beautiful in its desolation. Though we look in vain
for a green herb, save where the ferns and mosses conceal
themselves in little dingles among the rocks, yet the
general face of the earth is unsurpassed in brilliancy.
Morning, noon, and night exhibit glories unknown to
any other season ; and the moon is more lovely when
she looks down from her starry throne and over field,
lake, mountain, and valley, emblems the tranquillity of
heaven.

It is pleasant to watch the progress and movements of
a snow-storm while the flakes are thickly falling from the
skies, and the drifts are rapidly accumulating along
the sides of the fences and in the lanes and hollows.
The peculiar motion of the winds, while eddying and
whirling over the varied surface of the ground, is ren-
dered more apparent than by any other phenomenon.
Every curve and every irregular twisting of the wind is
made palpable, to a degree that is never witnessed in the
whirling leaves of autumn, in the sand of the desert, or
in the dashing spray of the ocean. The appearance is

JANUARY. 411

less exciting when the snow descends through a perfectly
still atmosphere, but after its cessation we may witness
a spectacle of singular beauty. If there has been no wind
to disturb the snow-flakes as they were deposited on the
branches of the trees, to which they adhere, they hang
from them like a drapery of muslin ; then do we see
throughout the woods the mimic splendor of June ; and
the plumage of snow suspended from the branches re-
vives in fancy's eye the white clustering blossoms of the
orchards in early summer.

Sometimes when the woods are fully wreathed in
snow-flakes, and the earth is clothed in an interminable
robe of ermine, the full moon rises upon the landscape
and illumines the whole scene with a kind of unearthly
splendor. If we wake out of sleep into a sudden view
of this enchanted scene, though the mind be wearied and
depressed, it is impossible, without rapture, to contem-
late the etherial prospect. The unblemished purity of
the snow-picture, before the senses are awakened to a
full consciousness of our situation, glows upon the vision
like a scene from that fairy world which has often
gleamed upon the soul during its youthful season of
romance and poetry. And when the early rays of
morning penetrate these feathery branches and spread
over the white and spotless hills of snow a rosy tinge,
like the hues that burnish the clouds at sunset, and kin-
dle amid the glittering fleece that is wreathed around
the branches all the changeable colors of the rainbow, we
are tempted to exclaim that the summer landscape with
all its verdure and fruits and flowers was never more
lovely than this transitory scene of beauty. Yet the
brilliancy of this spectacle, like the rainbow in heaven,
passes away almost while we are gazing on its fantastic
splendor. A brisk current of wind scatters from the
branches, like the fading leaves of autumn, all the false

412 JANUARY.

honors that have garlanded the forests, and in an hour
they have disappeared forever.

Beside the pleasing objects already described as pecul-
iar to the season, there are many beautiful appearances
formed by the freezing of waters and the crystallization
of vapors which one can never cease to examine with
delight. One of the most brilliant spectacles of this kind
is displayed on a frosty morning, after the prevalence of
a damp sea-breeze. The crystals, almost imperceptibly
minute, are distributed, like the delicate filaments of the
microscopic mosses, over the withered herbs and leafless
shrubbery, creating a sort of mimic vegetation in the late
abodes of the flowers. Vast sheets of thin ice overspread
the plains, beneath which the water has sunk into the
earth, leaving the vacant spots of a pure whiteness, and
forming hundreds of little fairy circles of a peculiarly
fantastic appearance. The ferns and sedges that lift up
their bended blades and feathers through the plates of
ice, coated with millions of crystals, resemble, while
sparkling in the rays of the sun, the finest jewelry.
After a damp and frosty night, these appearances are
singularly beautiful, and all the branches of the trees
glitter with them as if surrounded with a network of
diamonds.

These exhibitions of frostwork are still more magnifi-
cent at waterfalls, where a constant vapor arises with the
spray and deposits upon the icicles that hang from the
projecting rocks a plumage, resembling the finest ermine.
Some of the icicles, by a constant accumulation of water
which is always dripping from the crags, have attained
the size of pillars, that seem almost to support the shelv-
ing rocks from which they are suspended. The foam of
the water has been frozen into large white masses, like
a snow-bank in appearance, but as solid as ice. The
shrubs that project from the crevices of the rocks are

JANUARY. 413

clad in a full armor of variegated icicles ; and when the
slanting rays of the sun penetrate into these recesses,
they illuminate them with a dazzling brilliancy; and
it seems as if the nymphs, that sit by these fountains,
had decorated them as the portals to that inner temple
of Nature, whence are the issues of all that is lovely
and beautiful on earth.

Thus, when the delightful objects of summer have
perished, endless sources of amusement and delight are
still provided for the mind and the senses. Though the
singing-bird has fled from the orchard and the rustling
of green leaves is heard no longer in the haunts of the
little mountain streams, there are still many things to
attract attention by their beauty or their sublimity.
Whether we view the frosts that decorate the herbage
in the morning, or the widespread loveliness of the snow
on a moonlight evening, the sublimity of heaven seems
to rest upon the face of the earth and we behold with
rapt emotions every terrestrial scene. The universe, full
of these harmonies, yields never-ending themes for study
and meditation, to absorb and delight the mind that is
ever searching after knowledge, and to raise the soul
above the clods of the valley to that invisible Power
that dwells throughout all space.

I never listen to the shrill voice of the woodpecker,
within the deep shelters of the forest, or to the lively
notes of the chickadee, which alternate with the sound
of winds among the dry rustling leaves, without feeling
a sudden and delightful transport. I cannot help in-
dulging the fancy, that Nature has purposely endowed
these active birds with a hardihood almost miraculous, to
endure the severity of winter, that they might always
remain to cheer the loneliness of these wintry solitudes.
For no clime or season has Nature omitted to provide
blessings for those who are willing to receive them, and

414 JANUARY.

in winter, wheresoever we turn, we find a thousand pleas-
ant recompenses for our privations. The Naiad still sits
by her fountain, at the foot of the valley, distributing her
favors to the husbandman and his flocks ; and the echoes
still repeat their voices from the summits of the hills and
send them over the plains, with multiplied reverberations,
to cheer the hearts of all living creatures.

FACTS THAT PEOYE THE UTILITY OF BIKDS.

THE consequences which have followed the destruction
of birds in many well-authenticated instances are suffi-
cient to demonstrate their utility. Professor Jenks men-
tions a case communicated by one of his female correspond-
ents. In former times, as she had been told by her father,
an annual shooting-match was customary on election day
in May. On one of these occasions, about the year 1820,
in North Bridge water, Mass., the birds were killed in such
quantities that cart-loads of them were sent to farmers for
compost. Then followed a great scarcity of birds in all
that vicinity. The herbs soon showed signs of injury.
Tufts of withered grass appeared and spread out widely
into circles of a seared and burnt complexion. Though
the cause and effect were so near each other, they were
not logically put together by the inhabitants at that time.
Modern entomology would have explained to them the
cause of the phenomena, by the increase of the larva of
insects which were previously kept in check by the birds
destroyed at the shooting-match.

After the abolition of the game-laws in France, at the
close of the last century, the people, having been accus-
tomed to regard birds as the property of great land-owners,
destroyed them without limit. Every species of game,
including even the small singing-birds, was in danger of
extermination. It was found necessary to protect them
by laws that forbade hunting at certain seasons. The
most serious evils were the consequence. The farmers*
crops were destroyed by insects, and the orchards pro-

416 FACTS THAT PROVE THE UTILITY OF BIRDS.

duced no fruit. It is only by such unfortunate experi-
ence that men can learn that the principal value of birds
does not consist alone in their flesh or in their power of
conferring pleasure by their songs.

Some years ago, in Virginia and North Carolina, several
tracts of forest were attacked by a malady that caused
the trees to perish over hundreds of acres. A traveller
passing through that region inquired of a countryman if
he knew the cause of the devastation. He replied that the
mischief was all done by the woodpeckers, and though
the inhabitants had killed great numbers of them, there
still remained enough to bore into the trees and destroy
them. The traveller, not satisfied with this account,
made some investigations, and soon convinced them that
the cause of the mischief was the larva of a species of
Buprestis, which had multiplied without limits. This
larva was the favorite food of the woodpeckers, which had
congregated in that region lately on account of its abun-
dance. He showed them that they were protecting the
real destroyers of the forest by warring against the
woodpeckers, which, if left unmolested, would soon eradi-
cate the pest sufficiently to save the remaining timber.
Birds become accustomed to certain localities, and if by
any accident they should be exterminated in any one
region insects of all kinds will increase, until the birds
that consume them are slowly attracted to them from
other parts.

In the year 1798, in the forests of Saxony and Bran-
denburg, the greater part of the trees, especially the coni-
fers, died, as if struck at the roots by some secret malady.
The foliage had not been attacked, and the trees perished
without any manifest external cause. The Eegency of
Saxony sent naturalists and foresters to investigate the
conditions. They proved the malady to be caused by the
multiplication of a species of lepidopterous insects, which

FACTS THAT PROVE THE UTILITY OF BIRDS. 417

had in its larva state penetrated into the wood. Wher-
ever a bough of fir or pine was broken, the larva was
found, and had often hollowed it out even to the bark
The report of the naturalists declared that the extraordi-
nary increase of this insect was owing to the entire dis-
appearance of several species of titmouse, which for some
years past had not been seen in that region.

According to an account given by Buffon, the Isle of
Bourbon, where there were no grackles, was overrun with
locusts imported in the eggs contained in the soil which
with some plants had been brought from Madagascar.
The Governor-General, as a means of extirpating these
insects, caused several pairs of Indian grackles to be
brought into the island. When the birds had considera-
bly increased, some of the colonists, seeing them very dili-
gent in the newly sown fields, imagined them in quest of
the grain, and reported that they did more mischief than
good. Accordingly they were proscribed by the Council,
and in two hours after their sentence was pronounced,
not a grackle was to be seen on the island. The people
soon had cause for repentance. The locusts multiplied
without check and became a pest. After a few years of
experience, the grackles were again introduced, and their
breeding and preservation were made a state affair. The
birds multiplied and the locusts disappeared.

Kalm, a pupil of Linnaeus, remarks in his " Travels in
America," that after a great destruction of purple grackles
for the legal reward of threepence per dozen, the Northern
States in 1749 experienced a total loss of the grain and
grass crops from the devastation of insects and their larva.
The crows of North America were some years since so
nearly exterminated, to obtain the premiums offered for
their heads, that the increase of insects was alarming, and
the States were obliged to offer bounties for the protec-
tion of crows. The same incidents have repeatedly hap-

18* AA

418 FACTS THAT PROVE THE UTILITY OF BIRDS.

pened in other countries, and ought to convince any
reasoning mind that all the native species of insectivo-
rous birds are needful, and that one or any number of
species cannot perform the work which would have been
done by the species that is extirpated.

" An aged man " of Virginia remarks, in " The Southern
Planter" of 1860, that since his boyhood there has been a
rapid decrease in the numbers of birds and a proportional
increase of insects. Since their diminution great ravages
have been committed on the farmers' crops by clover
worms, wire-worms, cut-worms, and on the wheat crops
particularly by chinch-bugs, Hessian flies, joint- worms,
and other pests. All this is owing, he thinks, to the
destruction and the scarcity of birds. He alludes par-
ticularly to the diminution of woodpeckers as a public
calamity. He has known a community of red-headed
woodpeckers to arrest the destructive progress of borers
in a pine forest. He mentions the flicker or widgeon
woodpecker — a common bird in New England — as the
only bird he ever saw pulling out grubs from the roots of
peach-trees. May not this habit of the flicker, which is
a very shy bird because he is hunted for his flesh, be
the cause why apple-trees that grow near a wood are not
affected by borers ?

The alarming increase of grasshoppers in some parts of
the Western States, is undoubtedly the consequence of
the wholesale destruction of quails, grouse, and other
birds in that region.

BIRDS OF THE FAKM AND THE FARM-YARD.

IT is not easy to explain why certain species of birds
and other animals are susceptible of domestication, while
others resist all efforts to inure them to artificial habits.
The mystery is increased when we consider that individ-
uals of a species which cannot be domesticated may,
when reared in a cage, be made as tame as the tamest
of our domestic birds. There are certain families of
which several species have been domesticated. This is
true of the Gallinaceous tribe and of the Anseres. Of
the former are the Cock, the Turkey, the Pintado, the
Peacock. Of the Anseres, there are two or three species
of Goose and several species of Duck. Several of the
Pigeon tribe may be domesticated. The Rook and the
House Sparrow of England may also be regarded as in
a state of at least partial domestication. The species
among our birds that comes nearest the Rook in its hab-
its is the Purple Grackle. That, as population thickens,
the Grackles will assume more and more of the habits of
a domestic bird, seems not improbable, especially if they
should be protected for their valuable services to agri-
culture.

THE HOUSE SPARROW. '

I am not entirely free from suspicions that by natural-
izing the House Sparrow in this country, we have intro-
duced a pest. It has always been regarded in Europe as
a mischievous bird, but is tolerated because, like all the

42 0^ BIRDS OF THE FARM AND THE FARM-YARD.

Sparrow family, through granivorous for the most part,
it destroys great quantities of grubs and insects during
its breeding - season, which continues several months.
Other circumstances that render the bird valuable are
its domesticated habits, its permanent residence, and its
proneness to live and multiply in the city as well as the
country. The little Hair Bird, which is far more inter-
esting and musical, is not a permanent resident, and can-
not, from its habit of breeding in trees, become inured to
the city. Perhaps, therefore, it need not be feared that
the multiplication of the House Sparrows will diminish
the number of our native birds. But I cannot, while
dwelling on this subject, avoid the reflection that since
our people are resolutely bent on the destruction of our
native birds, it may be fortunate that there exists a for-
eign species of such a character that, like the white-weed
and the witch-grass, after being once introduced, they can-
not by any possible human efforts be extirpated. When
all our native species are gone, we may be happy to hear
the unmusical chatter of the House Sparrows, and gladly
watch them and protect them, as we should, if all the
human race had perished but our single self, welcome the
society of orang-otangs.

I am pleased to learn that Dr. Brewer does not fear
that their introduction will cause any evil to our native
birds. If I were entirely satisfied of the correctness of
his opinion, I should say welcome to the little intru-
ders. They are at least valuable by affording amuse-
ment to children who are confined to cities, and who may
watch and feed -them where, if they were absent, but few
other birds would be seen. But I will leave the House
Sparrow to treat of a far more interesting family of birds,
the common Domestic Pigeon.

BIRDS OF THE FARM AND THE FARM- YARD. 421
THE DOVE.

It is a matter of curiosity among naturalists that Doves
and Pigeons, which are active and powerful on the wing
beyond any known species, should have submitted so
readily to domestication. Their power of wing and con-
sequent capacity of providing food for themselves at great
distances from their habitations must render them quite
independent of any necessity of resorting to man's pro-
tection, like the gallinaceous birds. Yet they have prob-
ably been domesticated, like the common fowl, from im-
memorial time. The Dove is a bird which has been
sacred in all ages as an emblem of constancy, while
hardly a gallinaceous bird could be named that does not
in its moral habits represent the political theory of free
love. Ornithologists have lately removed the Dove into
a separate family, reclassing it as distinct from all other
birds. Doves are, in a wild state, very powerful on the
wing; but, having small feet and legs, they are awkward
and feeble walkers. The Goose is said to fly to a greater
height than any other bird; but none can equal wild
Pigeons in swiftness. This power of -flight is of great
service to them when foraging ; for they can have a roost
in Virginia and sally forth in any direction fifty miles
to obtain a breakfast, and return sooner than the steam-
cars could perform the journey in one direction.

The Dove, — the most amiable of birds, consecrated to
some of the kindest virtues of the human soul, dedicated
in ancient times to Venus, whose chariot was drawn by
two Doves, — like a sweet maiden who neither flaunts
nor glitters, but gains admiration solely by her innocence
and her beauty, is very properly considered the symbol
of purity and holiness. Holy Spirit and Heavenly Dove
are, in the poetry of Christianity, synonymous expres-
sions. The Dove, in Biblical Fable, that was sent out

422 BIRDS OF THE FARM AND THE FARM- YARD.

by Noah to determine the condition of the earth after
this great captain and his family had become weary of
navigating the Ark, brought back the olive-branch, which,
like its feathered bearer, has ever since been regarded as
the emblem of peace.

The Dove is more completely domesticated than the
Quail could be under any circumstances. But it is al-
most exclusively granivorous, and is not so useful a bird
as the Quail, flocks of which, if protected by providing
them food and shelter, would frequent our orchards, and
rid the trees entirely of the canker-worms by picking
up the insects that generate them before they have
climbed the tree. Mr. George W. Eice of West Newton
has for several years past kept his apple-trees free from
canker-worms by means of early chickens. He binds a
raw cotton band round the tree very near the ground.
Before the insects have time to creep over this obstacle,
they are caught by the hens and chickens, so that not
more than one in a hundred escapes.

Doves of all species seem to be very similar in their
manners. Almost the only notes they utter are a gentle
cooing, and if you scare one it does not scream, like
other birds, but makes only a low moaning. Hence
arose the reputation of the Dove for gentleness. Yet it
is not without spirit or courage. When a boy I had a
flock of thirty pigeons, all white. I watched them so
attentively that I learned all their peculiar habits, the
constancy of the mated female, the gallantry of all males
toward unmated females, and the courage with which
both sexes would defend their place and nest. I could
distinguish each one of the flock from all the rest, and
had a name for each. They were all black-eyed but one,
and this one had a slight tinge of lilac upon its white
feathers, and its eyes were light gray. The common slate-
colored Pigeon has red eyes.

BIRDS OF THE FARM AND THE FARM- YARD. 423
THE TURTLE-DOVE.

The first wild bird I captured and tamed in my boy-
hood was taken from the nest of a Carolina Turtle-
Dove. The nest was placed upon the horizontal branches
of a small white pine about fifteen feet from the ground.
It was made of slender twigs put together as carelessly
as if they had fallen from some branches above, and were
levelled, but not hollowed, by the parent birds. The
nest contained a single white egg, more roundish in its
shape than that of the common tame Pigeon. I took the
young bird from the nest when it was nearly ready to
fly. I fed it exclusively upon farinaceous food, and was
successful in rearing it. It grew very tame, and behaved
like the young of a domesticated Dove. It often flew
away in quest of food and regularly returned, and was so
docile as to sit upon my hand. I exchanged the bird, to
gratify one of my schoolmates, for a volume of Peter
Pindar's works, which I read over and over again with
great delight, and a volume of President Monroe's Tour,
which I used for kindling-paper.

After I had taken the bird from the" nest I heard for
more than a week the almost uninterrupted cooing or
moaning of the parents, or one of them, upon an old
white oak that stood in a field near my boarding-house,
which was almost surrounded by woods. This oak was
about a quarter of a mile from the nest, and it seemed
as if the old birds had in some way or other a suspicion
of the fact that the young one had been removed in this
direction from the nest. To listen to the "mourning
Dove" was a romantic incident that gave me so much
satisfaction that it entirely absorbed all the sympathy I
was disposed to feel for the bereaved parents. The young
Dove was shot soon after I parted with it by one of the
pioneers of Christian civilization, a Divinity Student.

424 BIRDS OF THE FARM AND THE FARM-YARD.

Turtle-Doves are now rarely seen in New England, but
they are common in other States. In this centre of en-
lightenment there is plenty of cant about mercy to birds
and other creatures; there are whole encyclopaedias of
rhymes written about the " beautiful and innocent birds."
But the rhymes and the cant go hand in hand with the
snare, the gun, and strychnine ; as the Bible and mission-
aries sail lovingly together with rum and gunpowder, to
Africa and other regions of moral darkness, .sent onward
by the same persons and the same funds. There may be
some desire in many hearts for the preservation of our
birds ; but it is with our sentimentalists as with our poli-
ticians, sentiment must give way to peas and strawberries
as principle must give way to party and personal ambition.
It is a remarkable fact that the possession of a single
cherry-tree or one bed of strawberries will turn the most
lachrymatory sentimentalist into a rabid exterminator of
the feathered race.

THE COCK.

I should be guilty of a great omission, if in my de-
scriptions of interesting birds I were to say nothing of the
common Cock, the true Bird of Morn in every country ;
the monitor who never fails to give the inmates of the
house notice of the dawn of day. So intimately is this
bird allied with the morning, that the dawn is always
designated as the hour of cock-crowing. If he should
cease hereafter faithfully to announce the earliest ap-
proach of day, we should look upon him as one who had
lost the most remarkable trait in his character. But, like
other birds that sing by night, he is often deceived by the
light of the moon, when it rises past midnight, mistaking
• its beams for the promise of dawn.

The Cock is a bird of the East, and is by nature ad-
dicted to Eastern customs and habits. He is furnished

BIRDS OF THE FARM AND THE FARM- YARD. 425

with spurs with which he is expected to fight for the
possession of as many females as he can procure by
slaying his rivals. He knows no such feeling as an
exclusive attachment to a single mate. He is a bird
neither of sentiment nor principle. His crowing is but
sound of triumph and exultation which is designed to
notify all his brood of wives of his presence and of his
power to defend them, and his defiance to other males
who should venture to claim any one of the numerous
members of his harem. His example has always been
copied by the kings and sultans of the East. There is
only this difference, — that the Cock obtains by his
prowess what the sultan obtains by wealth and political
authority, aided and countenanced by the deity whom he
worships. But if Solomon was like Chanticleer in his
customs, we might apply to him a quotation from the
New Testament: "That even Solomon in all his glory
was not arrayed like one of these."

The variety of plumage which is displayed by this bird
in his domesticated state surpasses that of any known
species. It is remarkable, however, that he has very few
pure colors. He has no pure yellow, nor blue, nor crim-
son, nor scarlet, nor vermilion. But there is a brilliancy
about these neutralized colors and there are fine contrasts
in their arrangement giving splendor to certain varieties
of this bird that cannot be surpassed. There are some
which are pure white and others pure black. In these
varieties the male and female differ but slightly in color.
In other varieties, if the female is brown, the male is red ;
if the female is black, with neck-feathers grayish striped,
the male is black, with neck and saddle feathers of a
bright buff color. If the female is all gray, the male is
gray, with neck and saddle white and tail black. Several
of these contrasts are very beautiful. The long silken
feathers of the neck and saddle distinguish the Cock from

426 BIRDS OF THE FARM AND THE FARM- YARD.

almost every other bird save the Pheasant. The Peacock,
the Turkey, and the Guinea-Fowl are destitute of these
marks.

THE TURKEY.

The Turkey is not so interesting a bird as the Cock.
He is neither so lively nor so courageous. His gobbling
is not so musical as the crowing of the Cock, nor is it
in any respect a sentinel sound. He resembles the Pea-
cock in many ways, but does not equal him in beauty.
But the wild Turkey is said to be in all respects more
beautiful than the tame one. There was formerly some
controversy respecting the American origin of this bird.
Beside the whimsical Daines Barrington, many eminent
naturalists supposed Africa to be its native country. Buf-
fon, however, eloquently supported its claims to be con-
sidered an American bird. C. L. Buonaparte says, the
first Turkey that garnished a feast in France was served
up at the wedding banquet of Charles the Ninth in the
year 1570. This was also the date of the general intro-
duction of the Turkey into Europe as a domestic bird.

Dr. Franklin wrote a characteristic piece of humor on
the substitution of the Turkey for the Bald Eagle as the
emblematic representative of our country. The Bald
Eagle he considers a bird of bad moral character, who
gets his living by dishonest means. Like a robber he
watches the Fish Hawk, and when he has caught a fish,
pounces upon him and takes it away from him. Withal,
he is a rank coward, and permits himself to be driven out
of the district by the little Kingbird. He confesses,
therefore, that he is not displeased that the figure is not
recognized as a Bald Eagle, but looks more like a Turkey.
The Turkey is a more respectable bird, and a true native
of America. He is also, though a little vain and silly
(and, as the Doctor expresses it, " not the worse emblem

BIRDS OF THE FARM AND THE FARM-YARD. 427

on that account "), a bird of courage, and would not hesi-
tate to attack a grenadier of the British Guards who
should invade his grounds with a red coat on.

Wild Turkeys were formerly not uncommon in the
woods of New England. If any still remain they will
not long escape the besom of civilization and progress.
The Turkey will vanish with the Turtle-Dove and the
Quail, and go where arithmetic and trigonometry have
not yet mapped out the wilderness into auction-lots.

THE GOOSE.

The Goose is truly a pastoral bird. Though it uses
animal food, it lives more upon grain and by grazing,
like cattle and sheep. It is not a sea fowl. It devours
some insects, but does not take fishes, and resorts to the
water chiefly at night, where it retires to rest, for security.
It is the pastoral habit of the Goose that renders it so fit
a subject for domestication. On the same account it is a
better walker than the Duck, that passes the greater part
of its time in the water, feeding upon the aquatic vege-
tables that grow in the shallows and upon such insects
as are found among them. The Goose, notwithstanding
the general habit among us of using its name as the
superlative of folly, is an intelligent bird. The proverb
" silly as a Goose " would be more correctly applied to
a Hen or a Turkey.

The Goose has no special beauty of plumage. Its colors
seldom vary from white and black and gray. The wild
Goose of America greatly surpasses the common domesti-
cated species in beauty, having some fine shades of green
and purple on the 'black feathers of its long swan-like
neck. Charles Waterton says of this species, which has
been very generally domesticated in Great Britain: "There
can be nothing more enlivening to rural solitude than the

428 BIRDS OF THE FARM AND THE FARM- YARD.

trumpet-sounding notes of the Canada Goose. They may
be heard at most hours of the day and during the night.
But spring is the time when these birds are most vocifer-
ous. Then it is that they are on the wing, moving in
aerial circles round the mansion ; now rising aloft, now
dropping into the water, with such notes of apparent joy
and revelling as cannot fail to attract the attention of
those who feel an interest in the wildest scenery."

Wild Geese and other birds of the same family assem-
ble, not in myriads, like Pigeons and Blackbirds, but in
such limited flocks as admit of organization and geomet-

o o

ric arrangement. Geese sometimes fly in a straight line ;
but more frequently make a triangular figure, that permits
each one in the rear to see its leader. Some naturalists say
that Geese fly to a greater height than any other bird ;
others say they are surpassed by Herons. They are often,
however, at so great height that they may be heard, when
nothing more of them than a black line can be seen. Be-
fore they alight upon the ground they form a straight line,
probably without any purpose but from the habit of ar-
ranging themselves in a single rank and file when flying.
Having taken their rest for a few hours, the sentinel gives
the signal note, when they all rise again, form the same
triangular group, and pursue their mysterious journey to
a southern clime.

Naturalists are not agreed respecting the character of
the leader of these flocks. Some believe that an old gan-
der who has previously made the journey takes the lead.
Others assert that each one of the flock takes his turn in
being leader. It seems to me highly probable that neither
of these assumptions is correct; but on the other hand,
that the leadership is a matter of chance, except that the
most powerful individuals would usually happen to place
themselves at the head of the flock, being naturally the
most active and vigorous, the first to rise from the ground

BIRDS OF THE FARM AND THE FARM-YARD. 429

and the swiftest to gain the foremost position. It is ab-
surd to suppose that these birds in their migrations are
directed by the knowledge and experience of a few older
ones. Urged by a powerful impulse, if the old birds
were all destroyed, the young flock, when the proper time
arrived for their migratory flight, would proceed on their
journey as instinctively as they would konk instead of
crowing like a Cock

THE DUCK.

Ducks are by far the most beautiful of all aquatic birds
in the colors of their plumage. Other genera of this fam-
ily seldom show any hues except a various mixture of
white and gray. The plumage of several species of the
Duck is of many colors and finely variegated. This
beautiful lustre is remarkable in the drake of "the Mallard,
of the Teal, and above all of the Summer Duck. Of the
latter, both male and female are beautiful, and the species
was named by Linnaeus, on account of its beauty, sponsa,
a bride. Its pendent crest of green and purple hanging
from the back of its head; its neck of purple-crimson,
changing in front to a glossy brown, speckled with white ;
its wings and tail of metallic green, changeable into blue
and crimson, — its endless varieties, indeed, of changeable
hues cause it to surpass in beauty all the birds of our
woods and waters.

It is not often that we have an opportunity of watch-
ing for any considerable time the manoeuvres of wild
Geese or wild Ducks upon the water. "We must observe
the motions of the domesticated birds to learn those of
the wild ones, making allowance for less dexterity, as the
consequence of domestication. The flight and habits of
the Duck are not less interesting or picturesque than
those of the Goose. Their whistling flocks that pass
frequently over our heads at different seasons always

430 BIRDS OF THE FARM AND THE FARM-YARD.

command our attention. Ducks live the greater part of
the time upon the water, feeding upon the plants^ that
grow around their edges and borders. Hence they prefer
small ponds and inlets of the sea to the bay or harbor.
But, like almost all other species of birds, the Duck and
the Teal are rarely seen except in the remote lakes of
the forest. These wild birds are allowed no peace and
no security. I cannot see what is to prevent their utter
extirpation from the American continent.

The Black Duck seems more nearly allied to the Mal-
lard than to any American species. It has been repeat-
edly domesticated, and mixes with the Mallard, and the
mixed offspring have none of the marks and qualities of
hybrids. The drake of this species has not the beauty
of the Mallard drake. Flocks of them are common in
the autumn in some of our solitary inlets or near our
harbors ; and they formerly reared their young in Massa-
chusetts. They have been driven away by gunners, and
they now breed only in the northern parts of New Eng-
land, especially near the lakes of Maine. Samuels found
the nest of one on a low stump, that overhung a small
spring on the side of a hill, a mile from any water. He
says these nests are abundant all round Lake Umbagog.
When the fresh ponds are frozen, the Ducks resort to the
salt water, and are often seen, in flocks of considerable
size, in our harbors and salt-water creeks in winter.

THE SWAN.

If the Duck is the most beautifully arrayed of all
aquatic birds, the Swan is certainly the most graceful and
attractive when sailing upon the water. The Swan re-
sembles the Duck more than the Goose in its feeding
habits. It does not graze like the Goose, but takes its
food from beneath the water, often probing to the bottom

ofshav-- • its lon^ neck; whi

design ild Swans associat<

flocks, sf; -icg the breeding-sea?

risir) he approach of v

J. clime. When

divide themselves

again ^' course aft^r the

ID am i

THE FLIGHT OF THE WOOD-NYMPHS.

ON the southern slope of a hill, nearly in the entrance
of a valley, stood a rustic cottage inhabited by a plain
industrious farmer and his family. The farm which was
connected with the cottage was a beautiful intermixture
of wood, tillage, and pasture ; and, imbosomed in these
natural groves, the glistening waters of a miniature lake
gave animation to the landscape, and became a scene of
rustic sport for many a youthful angler. In front of the
cottage was an irregular grassy slope, extending down to
the roadside, and wholly unenclosed. Through this natural
lawn a narrow footpath, leading obliquely from the road
to the doorstep, had been worn by the feet of passengers ;
tufts of wild shrubbery grew here and there about the
rocks that projected from the surface of the soil, and the
sweet fern diffused its odors within a rood of the cottage
windows. In the evening a small herd of cows might
be seen, quietly ruminating under a rugged old oak, that
stood about thirty paces from the house.

In the month of May this place was a favorite resort
for all the children of the village, on account of the mul-
titude and variety of wild-flowers that grew there, and the
many pleasant arbors afforded by the woods that over-
shadowed the borders of the lake. On these green hillsides
they might often be seen weaving chains of the stems of
dandelions, or stringing white and blue violets upon a
thread, with which they made garlands and necklaces to
add to their own simple apparel. Later in the season,
old and young resorted hither, to gather berries that grew

THE FLIGHT OF THE WOOD-NYMPHS. 433

abundantly in these grounds and the neighboring pastures.
Many a May-queen has been crowned with the trailing
evergreens that abounded in all the wild lands, and cov-
ered the meadows with verdure in the depth of winter ;
and the children have returned home with baskets full of
checkerberries and garlanded with early spring flowers.

There was something about the whole aspect of this
place that was unaccountably delightful. Every one who
visited it felt inspired with a mysterious sense of cheer-
fulness and pensive delight, that could hardly be ex-
plained, as there were in the same region many magnifi-
cent country-seats, with highly ornamented grounds, that
failed in awakening any such emotions. Here nothing
had ever been done to add a single ornament to the face
of nature, but in all parts of the landscape there was a
beauty that seemed unattainable by art. It became evi-
dent at last that these groves and pastures must be the
residence of the rural deities, who, by their invisible
presence, inspired every heart with those delightful senti-
ments which, though not entirely unfelt on earth, are well
known only in Paradise. It was the presence of these
deities that yielded the place its mysterious charms. It
was the naiad who gave romantic melody to the fountain
that bubbled up from the mossy glen in the hillside, and
spread the hue of beauty over the solitary lake in the
valley ; and the dryads, or wood-nymphs, that caused
these woodland arbors to rival the green retreats of Elys-
ium.

In these rural solitudes were assembled all those little
harmless animals, which by their motions and frolics
serve to give life to the inanimate scenes of nature. Here
were not only all the familiar birds that delight in the
company of man ; but all the less familiar species that love
to chant their wild melodies in the hiding-places of the
solitary echoes, might also be heard in the season of song.

19 BB

434 THE FLIGHT OF THE WOOD-NYMPHS.

The red-winged starling, long exiled from our villages,
still uttered his melancholy ditty among the willows in
the valley, and wove his nest among the tall rushes that
rose out of the water. The ruff-necked grouse beat his
muffled drum in the adjoining forest, and the hermit-
thrush poured forth his indescribable strains, like some
voice that had wandered from the groves of Idalia. Even
in the depth of winter the hearts of the farmer and his
family were cheered by a multitude of merry voices, that
seemed to be peculiar to the place.

This charming spot soon became celebrated in all the
country around for its romantic beauties ; and it was
eagerly coveted by many people of wealth who were seek-
ing a place of rural retirement. The cottager who had
lived here ever since his birth regarded it with affection
and reverence, as his own paternal homestead. But there
are not many who can resist the temptation of gold to make
a sacrifice either of principle or affection, and the rustic
possessor of this little farm was not one of them. He sold
it to a man of wealth and cultivated taste, whose wife
and daughters were unaffected lovers of nature, and who
were delighted with the idea of occupying a place that
was celebrated as the resort of the wood-nymphs and
other deities of the groves. The new proprietor deter-
mined to adorn and improve it to the utmost extent. He
resolved that the decorations of the modern landscape art
should be added to the advantages it had derived from
nature ; the beauties of other climes should be engrafted
upon it, and the whole work should be crowned with the
best efforts of the sculptor and the architect.

In accordance with these plans, the work of beautify-
ing and improving the place was commenced. Standard
English works on landscape gardening were consulted;
the great Italian painters were studied for hints which
Nature is supposed to communicate only through their

THE FLIGHT OF THE WOOD-NYMPHS. 435

medium, and Brown and Eepton guided the taste of the
improver in all his operations. The rustic cottage was
removed to a distant spot, and a splendid Italian villa
was erected in the place of it. No labor nor money was
spared in the effort to give it all the external and internal
finish which would be needful to adorn a palace. Every
piece of work was tasteful and correct ; no counterfeit
imitations of valuable ornaments were allowed ; and when
the edifice was completed, the most scientific architect
could find no fault with it. It stood forth proudly on the
brow of the hill, one of the masterpieces of villa architec-
ture.

The elegance of the mansion made it the more apparent
that the grounds must be improved, that the appearance
of nature might harmonize with the work of the archi-
tect. On the grassy slope that fronted the cottage, there
were occasional projections of the rock that was buried
underneath the soil, and around them various species of
wild shrubbery had come up in many a tufted knoll.
These prominences were split off, and covered with loam,
and the whole surface was graded into a beautifully even
and rounded lawn. The wood-anernone, the mouse-ear, and
the saxifrage no longer spangled the grassy slope in early
spring, nor the aster nor the golden-rod stood there to wel-
come the arrival of autumn. But tulips grew proudly in
a fanciful border of spaded earth under the side windows
in the opening of the year, and verbenas, portulaccas, and
calceolarias outshone all the native summer beauties of
the landscape.

Surrounding the fields that adjoined the cottage was an
old stone-wall, gray with lichens and covered with numer-
ous wild vines that had clustered round it, as the ivy
intwines itself round the walls of ruined castles and
abbeys in the Old World. The clematis overshadowed it
with flowers and foliage in summer, and with its beauti-

436 THE FLIGHT OF THE WOOD-NYMPHS.

fill silken down in the fall of the year ; and the celastrus
grew with it side by side, offering its honeyed flowers to
the bee, and its scarlet bitter-sweet berries to the hand of
the simpler, or to the famishing winter birds. Among
this vinery the summer warblers built their nests ; and
numbers of them were revealed to sight when the foliage
was swept away by the late autumnal winds.

The ladies of the mansion would not readily consent
to the removal of this old stone wall, with its various rus-
tic appurtenances, which seemed to them a part of the
original charms of the place; but they were soon con-
vinced that the villa ought not to stand in the midst of
such shabby " surroundings." They were plied with argu-
ments drawn from the works of men who had studied na-
ture in the galleries of art and through the medium of
canvas, and were persuaded to believe that the principles
of English landscape-gardening must never be sacrificed
to the crude notions of a poetic mind. The ladies gave
up their impulses in favor of the cold rules of professional
taste. The stone wall was removed ; the wild rose and
the eglantine were destroyed ; the flowering shrubs that
formed, on each side of it, a glistening row of bloom and
verdure, were rooted up ; a neat paling fence was erected
as a temporary boundary, and a hedge of buckthorn was
planted all around the old pasture !

The lawn in front of the mansion was enclosed by an
ornamental fence, and the narrow footpath that led up to
the rude doorstep of the cottage, meeting in its course
an occasional tuft of spiraea and low laurel, gave place to
a neatly gravelled walk, four feet six inches wide, and
shaped into a graceful serpentine curve. The enclosure
was filled with exotic shrubbery ; and silver maples, sil-
ver poplars, and silver firs stood at proper distances, like
sentinels to guard the portals of this temple. The grounds
were likewise embellished with statuary, and large marble

THE FLIGHT OF THE WOOD-NYMPHS. 437

vases, holding some flaunting exotic, stood in their as-
signed positions.

Two years had not elapsed before the design of the
improver was completed, and the whole aspect of the
place was changed, as if by enchantment. The rustic
cart-paths that led over the hills and through the woods
and valleys were widened and covered with a neat spread
of gravel, and all their crooked outlines were trimmed
into a graceful shape. An air of neatness was apparent
-in every direction. The undergrowth of the wood was
removed, certain misshapen trees were cut down, and all
rubbish was taken away that could afford a harbor for
noxious insects or mischievous quadrupeds. The lake
that was embroidered with alders, swamp roses, button-
bushes, the fragrant clethra, and the drooping andromeda,
was improved by the removal of all these useless plants,
and gravel and loam were carted down to its edges, which
were then covered with soil and sowed with grass seed,
to afford a neat and lawn-like appearance to the grounds,
and to visitors a firm foundation for their feet. The fre-
quent tufts of shrubbery that gave a ragged look to the
pasture were likewise removed, and the whole was planted
with the most approved grasses.

'Not many rods from the cottage was a natural fountain
that bubbled up from a subterranean source in the hill-
side, from which the farmer irrigated the greater part of
his lands. It was a true rustic fountain, girded on one
side by steep fern-clad rocks, and overshadowed by the
gnarled and twisted branches of the tupelo, one of the
most grotesque and beautiful trees in the forest. From
this fountain issued a rivulet, which was conducted along
the declivity, until it poured its waters into a wooden
trough, and formed a watering-place for the cattle. These
objects were altogether too rude to be admitted as a part
of the map of improvements. The bed of the fountain

438 THE FLIGHT OF THE WOOD-NYMPHS.

was excavated into a deep and spacious reservoir, and
from this a pipe was carried along under ground to the
front yard, where it terminated in a jet d'eau, that issued
from a marble basin, and threw up a wide and graceful
spray.

The inmates of the villa were charmed with the result
of these operations. There was an air of elegance and
" high keeping " about the grounds, that corresponded
judiciously with the splendor of the villa and its out-
buildings. No wild bushes were left in straggling tufts,
to suggest the idea of poverty or negligence on the part
of the proprietor ; and the pasture, which was full of a
great variety of wrild plants or weeds, was repeatedly
ploughed and pulverized to destroy them, and afterwards
" laid down " to legitimate English grasses. The dande-
lion and buttercup were no more to be seen in the spring,
or the rank hawkweed in the autumn ; through this lawn
neat gravel-walks were made, that visitors might stroll
there in the morning without being wet by the dews.
Many of the slopes were provided with marble steps, and
here and there, in the centre of a clump of firs, were
erected marble statues to emblemize the rural deities.

But where stands the idol, there we may not feel the
presence of the deity. In vain do we strive to compen-
sate Nature, when we have despoiled her of her original
charms, by calling in the aid of the sculptor, whose lifeless
productions serve only to chill the imagination that might
otherwise revel among the wizard creations of poetry.
The images of Ceres, of Galatea, or of the heavenly hunt-
ress were not attractive to the beings whom they were
intended to represent. The naiad no longer sat by her
fountain which was held in a marble basin, and sent up
its luminous spray, in the midst of the costly works of
art. The dryads had forsaken the old wood, whose moss-
grown trees were deprived of their variegated undergrowth,

THE FLIGHT OF THE WOOD-NYMPHS. 439

and of the native drapery that hung from their boughs.
They wept over the exiled birds and the perished flowers
of the wildwood, and fled sorrowfully to some new and
distant haunts. The nymphs who used to frequent these
shady retreats had also fled. Woods, groves, hills, and
valleys were all deserted ; and the cold, lifeless forms that
were carved out of marble stood there alone, the mere
symbols of charms that no longer existed.

The village children who formerly assembled here to
gather bouquets of wild roses, red summer lilies, and the
sweet-scented pyrola, that grew up like a nun under the
shade of the deep woods, came often since the improve-
ments, but searched in vain for their favorite flowers.
They no longer saw the squirrel upon the tree or the nest
of the sparrow upon the vine-clad wall. The grounds,
that seemed once to belong to them as well as to their
rustic proprietor, now displayed something in their aspect
that made them feel like intruders, as soon as they set
foot within their borders. These old woods and pastures,
now that they were metamorphosed into park and lawn,
had lost their charms for them, and they turned away
with sadness, when they thought of the. delightful arbors
that would shelter them no more.

But the children were not the only sorrowers. The
ladies of the mansion were grieved when they found that
the rural deities had fled from the very objects which
were erected for their shrines. The cause of their flight
was a problem they could not explain. Why would they
no longer dwell in their ancient abodes that seemed now
so much worthier the residence of beings of a superior
nature ? Could not the beautiful green lawn that had
taken the place of the weedy pasture, nor the commo-
dious park which was once a tangled wood; nOr the
charming flowers of all climes which had been substituted
for the inferior wild-flowers, nor the marble fountain

440 THE FLIGHT OF THE WOOD-NYMPHS.

with its graceful spray, nor the neat-spread gravel-walks,
induce them to remain ? More than all, could not the
"beautiful statuary that represented them in material
shape please them and retain them in their ancient
haunts ?

At length they began to suspect that there was a too
entire absence of rustic scenes and objects in their present
arrangements ; and forthwith, to appease the deities, rustic
arches and bowers, made of rude materials, were erected
and placed in different parts of the grounds. A summer-
house was built of the rudest of logs, shingled with the
rough bark of trees, and rocks were introduced for seats
and covered with mosses. Fences were constructed in
similar style, and various other rude devices were exe-
cuted and distributed in a fanciful manner over the face
of the landscape. But not even the shaggy goat-footed
Pan would acknowledge any such thing for an altar. No
such objects could be made to accord with the "high keep-
ing " of the grounds, nor could they give an air of rusticity
to the scenes that were so elaborately ornamented. They
were mere pieces of affectation; blotches upon the fair
surface of beauty, that served no other purpose but to add
deformity to the unique productions of art.

One day, as the ladies were strolling pensively along their
accustomed paths, lamenting that nothing could be done
to appease the divinities whom they had offended, they
discovered in a little nook, under a cliff that projected over
a rude entrance into the wood, a slab of weather-stained
slate, resembling a headstone. Observing that it was let-
tered, they knelt down upon the green turf and read the
following ,

INSCRIPTION.

In peaceful solitudes and sylvan shades
That lure to meditation ; where the birds
Sing all day unmolested in their haunts,

THE FLIGHT OF THE WOOD-NYMPHS. 441

And the rude soil still bears the tender wilding, —

There dwell the rural deities. They love

The moss-grown trees and rocks, the flowery knoll,

The tangled wildwood, and the bower of ferns.

They fill each scene with beauty, and they prompt

The echoes to repeat the low of herds

And bleat of tender flocks. The voice of him

Who drives his team afield ; the joyous laugh

Of children, when on pleasant days they come

To take from gentle Spring her gift of flowers,

Are music to their ears. All these they love ;

But shun the place where wealth and art have joined

To shut out Nature from her own domains,

Or dress her in the flaunting robes of fashion.

Wouldst thou retain them ? — keep a humble heart,

Nor in their temples seek to show thy pride,

Or near their altars to parade thy wealth ;

Then may they come and dwell with thee as once

With simple shepherdess and rural swain.

19*

CELESTIAL SCENERY.

THE system of Nature is attended with so many cir-
cumstances that mar our happiness, that Nature has
benevolently spread every scene with beauty that shall
serve by its exhilarating influence to lift us above the
physical evils that surround us and render us half un-
mindful of their presence. Hence beauty is made to
spring up, not only in the field, in the wilderness, and by
the wayside, by the sea-shore and among the hills, but
it is spread in gorgeous spectacles upon the heavens in
the infinitely varied forms and arrangements of the clouds,
and ' in their equally beautiful lights, shades, and colors.
The man of feeling and culture, therefore, who takes
pleasure in surveying the beauties of a terrestrial land-
scape feels no less delight in contemplating the scenery
of the heavens. Every morning, noon, and evening affords
him scenes always charming and never tiresome, being
as changeable and evanescent as they are brilliant and
beautiful.

I have ever been at a loss to explain why we are more
agreeably affected with the appearance of sunshine on a
circumscribed part of the landscape, while we ourselves
are enveloped in shadow, than when the whole space
is illuminated. In this case the circumstances that
cause us to look with pleasure upon the raging of a tem-
pest, while we are in a comfortable shelter, seem to be
reversed. The two facts, however, do not involve any
inconsistency. In the first case, we are amused in a com-
fortable lookout, with the movements of a tempest, — the

CELESTIAL SCENERY. 443

whirling of the clouds, the falling of the rain, the flashes
of lightning, and the roar of thunder. In the other case,
the sunshine makes an agreeable picture. It affords a
view that cannot so well be seen in shadow or where the
sunlight is equalized over the whole prospect. It is set
apart from the remainder like an island in a lake. But,
above all, the tract of country thus illuminated, while our
standing-place is shaded, becomes to the imagination a
celestial view. The scene in sunshine is made a part of
the heavens ; and the mind is exhilarated on beholding
a scene in our earthly landscape exalted as it were to the
skies.

The moon has always been a favorite theme of the
poets. Her course in the heavens has in all ages been
marked with interest, and her form and phases watched
with 'delight. We associate her beams with serenity and
peace. Her very aspect breathes of purity and holiness.
How gloomy and lonely would be the night without her
presence, except with the knowledge that she will soon
reappear to bless the earth with her beams. Nature
seems to have regarded this luminary as indispensable to
the moral wants of rational beings ; but in this, as in
other cases, she has been cautious of prodigality. I have
often thought that two or three moons would be less de-
lightful than the solitary orb that guards our night. As
the moon is not needful, like the sun, for the existence of
light and life, but is rather one of the luxuries of Nature,
her light is more beautiful than useful, while we do not
suffer from her occasional absence.

Lovers have always been charmed by moonlight, that
accords so well with seclusion and tender sentiment.
" A fair face looks yet fairer under the light of the moon,
and a sweet voice is sweeter among the whispering sounds
of a summer night." This remark of Walter Scott de-
scribes what almost all persons have felt. The beauty

444 CELESTIAL SCENERY.

of a lovely countenance seems to partake of a more spir-
itual character in the mellowing light of the moon ; for
this luminary brings us nearer heaven than the sun, by
our sequestration in the darkness that surrounds us.

The moon is regarded by those who are melancholy
or affected with grief as a heavenly sympathizer. They
welcome her soft and pensive light, to divert the soul
from the misery of its own thoughts and to breathe into
it that serenity which pervades her countenance. To
a religious mind this fair orb seems very properly a
heavenly gift intended for the refreshment of the soul,
especially as the physical benefits conferred upon us by
the moon are not apparent to reason and observation.
Hence we hail this luminary when ascending from the
misty verge of the horizon as a fair messenger of heaven,
and we are inclined to pay to her the homage of the soul
as to a living deity.

In ancient mythology the moon is a serene goddess
enthroned among the constellations, — the daughter of
Jove, the heavenly huntress, the chaste Luna, the in-
corruptible Diana. She is the embodiment of all purity,
of all blessedness, of tranquillity, and of hallowed and
constant affection. She is the guardian of innocence, the
protectress of virtue, the light of heaven in darkness,
the guide of hope in despondency, the soother of grief,
and the source of that tranquil inspiration that comes
from peaceful themes and pleasant recollections. Her
course in heaven is the path of peace, and her light is
the same that dwells in the souls of heroes and inspired
bards.

The light of the moon guides our steps without clearly
revealing our presence to others. She is therefore the
symbol of benevolence, yielding to the fugitive the means
of finding safety and granting him her light for his own
deliverance while it is insufficient to betray him. It is

CELESTIAL SCENERY. 445

for this that the moonlight is so dear to one who seeks
seclusion in an hour of night that cannot be devoted to
rest. Twilight partakes of the same quality, but in a
less degree. It is more diffused, having no shadows un-
der which an object might be concealed, while its light is
of less avail to the wanderer. Moonlight, above all other
kinds of light, is therefore the comfort of those who seek
concealment that they may enjoy an hour of freedom;
who would meditate awhile without interruption, or hold
sacred intercourse with a companion whom it would be
imprudent to meet under the broad light of day. Hence
those who are cheerful and those who are depressed,
and those who are anxious and afflicted, hail the light
of the moon with gladness and her placid countenance
with veneration.

To comprehend the full glory and beauty of moonlight,
it must be seen at one time upon the calm surface of a
lake and again upon the ruffled tide of the ocean. In
one case, it images its own serenity upon the placid
mirror ; in the other, it forms a beautiful contrast with
the agitated state of the waves, — the peace of heaven
opposed to the distracted condition of the inhabitants of
the earth.

The light of the moon is seldom iridescent. Her radi-
ance is mostly of a pure whiteness. When her light falls
upon the clouds they assume no gorgeous colors ; they
display that silvery light only that symbolizes purity.
She often wears a corona, and gives thereby a prophetic
signal to the laborers, who bless the token as the omen of
refreshing showers. This corona is projected upon the
highest clouds, and indicates the prevalence of moisture
in the upper part of the atmosphere. No such appear-
ance is impressed at any time upon the lower clouds.
The lunar rainbow is a beautiful but rare phenomenon,
which I have seen only once in my life.

446 CELESTIAL SCENERY.

Though I have treated of the moon as an object of
more passionate contemplation than the sun, the effects
of sunlight are infinitely more glorious and beautiful.
The sun, being too intensely bright to be viewed by the
naked eye, must be adored in its effects, — in the beautiful
tintings of sunrise and sunset, in the silvery lustre of
the clouds at noonday, in the halo that surrounds his
disk and gives warning of a tempest, and in the rainbow
that announces the end of the storm. It is in these
celestial phenomena that we behold the beauty of colors
in their highest degree. Of all that is beautiful on
earth, there is nothing that equals the beauty of the
sun's rays upon the clouds. There is nothing so exhil-
arating to the mind, or that conveys such a vivid con-
sciousness of -the existence of something purer and more
divine than our life in this world.

FEBEUAEY.

WHEN we consider the general sameness of winter's
aspects, we need not marvel that among the works of
landscape-painters there are but few pictures of winter.
These few have generally represented some domestic
scene, — a cottage with its roof covered with snow ; cat-
tle standing in a warm shelter in the barnyard ; poultry
huddled in a sunny corner; and children hastening toward
their homes. Among the designs of Thomas Bewick
there is only one winter scene, and this has served as
the original from which all later ones have been copied
or imitated. It represents a traveller with a pack on his
shoulders, trudging over a trackless region of snow-cov-
ered ground, accompanied by his dog. He makes his way,
not like a man who is enjoying his walk, but as one beset
with dangers and thinking only of gaining his journey's
end. The sun shines coldly upon him, and the wind
causes him to bend to its blast. The naked trees frown
upon him, his lengthened shadow seems like the ghost of
"Winter forever haunting his sight, and his dog looks up to
him piteously and seemingly anxious to know his master's
thoughts.

Whenever we ramble in winter we can readily under-
stand why the naturalist, who studies individual objects,
should find but few attractions in a winter's walk ; but it
is not so clear why the painter, whose principal purpose
is to observe aspects, should be uninterested. If we are
inclined to indulge in meditation, no other season is so
favorable to it. In the agreeable monotony of a snow-

448 FEBRUARY.

scene, there is but little to divert attention from our
thoughts. We can find enough to employ our observa-
tion ; but there is less than at other seasons that forces
itself upon our attention. We can leave ourselves at
any time, to examine a remarkable object or to view a
charming scene.

He must have an eye that is insensible to grandeur
and a mind that is incapable of appreciating the sublimity
of landscape who would say that Nature is destitute of
charms in the month of February. It is true that the
variegated surface of brown and white that characterizes
a winter prospect, though it be here and there diversified
with a knoll of evergreen-trees that lift their heads as it
were in triumph above the snows, will not compare with
the interminable verdure of summer or the magnificence
of forest scenery in autumn ; yet there is a quiet sublim-
ity that pervades all Nature — hill, field, and flood — at
this season, which almost reconciles one to the temporary
absence of summer flowers and spicy gales.

I am no lover of cold weather, and feel more contented
when the sultry heats of summer oblige me to seek the
refreshing breezes beneath a willow-tree on the banks
of the sea-shore, than when the cold blasts of winter
drive me within doors or force me to mope in a sunny
nook in the forest. But there are days in winter, when
the wind is still and mild, which are attended with pleas-
ant sensations seldom experienced even in the month of
June. Whether the delightful influence of this serene
weather arises from a physical cause, or whether it is the
result of contrast with the cold that has kept us half
imprisoned for many weeks, I cannot determine. But
when I review the rural rambles of former years, my
winter walks on these delightful days will always crowd
most sweetly and vividly upon my memory.

In winter the mind possesses more sensibility to rural

FEBRUARY. 449

charms than during the seasons of vegetation and flowers.
A long deprivation of any kind of pleasure increases our
susceptibility and magnifies our capacity for enjoyment.
Thus we may become indifferent to the warbling of birds
in the summer, while we are forming a habit which, after
the long silence of the wintry woods, shall cause the mel-
odies of spring to yield us the greatest delight. After
the confinement of winter we are keenly alive to agree-
able impressions from all rural sights and sounds. Then
does the sight of a green arbor in the woods or a green
plat in a valley affect us as I can imagine a weary travel-
ler to be affected on suddenly meeting an oasis in a desert.
The melancholy that attends a ramble in the autumn has
passed from us, and we now come forth, during the sleep
of vegetation and in the general hush of animated things,
with some of the gladness that inspires the mind when
the little song-sparrow first sings his prelude to the gen-
eral anthem of Nature. Some blessing comes from every
sacrifice, and some recompense for every privation. Thus
the darkness of night prepares us to welcome with glad-
ness the dawn of a new morning. The charm of life
springs from its vicissitudes, and we are capable of no
new enjoyment until we have rested from pleasure.

When the earth is covered with snow that has grown
hard enough to bear our footsteps without sinking into
the drifts, I have often taken advantage of one of the
serene days of winter to ramble in the woods. Every
pleasant rural object I then behold affords me as much
pleasure as I should derive in summer from all the
charms of landscape united in one view. The snow lies
in scattered parcels over the earth, that serves to variegate
the scene and to render it more pleasing to the sight than
the dull monotonous brown which the landscape wears at
this season, when there is no snow.

Every sound I hear in the woods at such a time is

cc '

450 FEBRUARY.

music, though it be but the cowbell's chime, the stroke
of the woodman's axe, or the crash of some tall tree just
falling to the ground. Sometimes, during this period of
calm sunshine, the squirrels will come forth from their
retreats and in the echoing silence of the woods we may
hear their rustling leap among the dry oak-leaves, their
occasional chirrup, and the dropping of nuts from the
lofty branches of the hickory. There is music in all the
echoes that break the stillness of the hour ; in the cawing
of crows, the scream of jays, or the quick hammering of
the woodpecker upon the hollow trunk of some ancient
standard of the forest. .

The mild serenity of the weather, the fresh odors that
arise from thawing vegetation, the beautiful haze that sur-
rounds the horizon, reflecting all the colors of the rainbow,
the lively chattering of poultry in the farm-yards, the
bleating of flocks and the lowing of kine, an occasional
concert of crows in the neighboring wood, the checkered
landscape of snow-drifts rising out of the brown earth and
gleaming in the sunshine, and the soft hazy light that
glows from distant hills and spires, — all these rural
sights and sounds affect us with a pleasure not surpassed
by that which is felt at any time or season. Now and
then, amidst all this harmonious medley, as if to remind
us of the coming delights of spring, a solitary song-spar-
row, prematurely arrived from the south, will tune his
little throat and sing from some leafless shrub his first
salutation of reviving Nature.

Among the attractions of winter scenery I must not
omit the frostwork upon the windows, which has been
so often used by poets to emblemize the hopes of youth.
All vegetation in summer presents not a greater variety
of forms than we may behold in these beautiful configu-
rations. The mornings which are most remarkable for
this curious pencil-work are such as follow a very cold

FEBRUARY. 451

night after mild and thawing weather on the preceding
day. Nothing in the world seems so much like the effects
of enchantment. The pictures made by the frost upon
our window-panes are a part of the domestic scenery of
winter ; but their origin and progress form a curious study.
It is remarkable that this deposit of frost resembles in
structure and development the formation of clouds in
clear weather in the upper region of the heavens. The
clouds usually display more beauty of form in winter and
in very dry weather, because the arid state of the atmos-
phere is favorable to their delicate organization. Hence
the most beautiful clouds are those which are highest
above the earth's surface, where the air contains but very-
little moisture. The same principle affects the formation
of window-frost. The air of the room when only slightly
charged with vapor projects the most delicate and beauti-
ful figures on the windows.

The first deposit on the window-glass, when the weather
is very cold and the air of the room moist, is a thin iri-
descent film resembling that produced by oil spread upon
the surface of still water. This iridescence vanishes at
the moment when the film begins to change into a crys-
tallized surface. Immediately there appears in the place
of it a collection of little flocculi, — a sort of constellation
of minute snow-flakes, without any formal arrangement.
These, as they increase from the moisture of the room,
slowly assume a feathery organization, with more or less
geometrical beauty, according as the deposit is made from
air that is lightly or heavily charged with dampness. The
less the moisture in the air of the room, if there be a
sufficient quantity, and the colder the air outside if the
inner air be not much above freezing-point, the finer and
more beautiful are these configurations. Hence the win-
dows of a sleeping-room, if not occupied by more than
two or three persons, are more delicately frosted on a cold

452 FEBRUARY.

morning than those of a cooking-room where the mois-
ture is precipitated so rapidly upon them as to mar their
arrangement.

There is no season or month without its peculiar beau-
ties. They are distilled like dew from heaven, and cover
all places. They are scattered over the greensward in
spring and summer, upon the forest in autumn, and in
winter they are spread over the earth with the whiteness
of snow and precipitated in frost upon the trees and upon
our window-panes. At all times and seasons may we look
upon these wonders and beauties that attract our sight in
the least as well as the greatest operations of the Invisible
Artist.

INDEX.

A.

PAGE

Acadian Owl Strix Acadica .... 282

American Goldfinch Fringilla tristis ... 14

American Linnet Fringilla purpurea . . 16

Angling 228

Anthem of Morn 112

April 72

August 235

B.

Baltimore Oriole Icterus Baltimore . . . 86

Bank-Swallow Hirundo riparia . . . 251

Barn-Swallow Hirundo rufa .... 248

Bee-Martin Muscicapa tyrannus . . 255

Birds of the Air 248

Birds of the Farm and the Farmyard 419

Birds of the Garden and Orchard, No. 1 5

" " " "II 43

" " " " " HI 83

Birds of the Moor 333

Birds of the Night 277

Birds of the Pasture and Forest, No. 1 118

" " " "II 164

" " " " " HI 202

Birds of the Sea and the Shore 391

Birds of Winter 364

Bittern Ardea minor .... 340

Black Duck Anas obscura .... 430

Bluebird Ampelis sialis .... 49

Blue-Jay Corvus cristatus . . . 377

Bobolink Icterus agripennis ... 46

Brigadier Vireo gilvus .... 43

Brown Creeper Certhia familiaris . .375

454 INDEX.

c.

PAGE

Calculations 303

Canada Goose Anser Canadensis .... 428

Carpenter Bird Picus principalis . . . . 368

Catbird Turdus felivox . . . .169

Cedar- Bird Bombycilla Carolinensis . 90

Celestial Scenery . 442

Chewink Fringilla erythrophthalma . 121

Chickadee Parus palustris .... 371

Chimney-Swallow Hirundo pelasgia . . . 254

Clapper-Rail fiallus crepitans . . . .337

Cliff-Swallow Hirundo fulva .... 249

Clouds 311

Cock Phasianus gallus . . . .424

Cowbird Icterus pecoris 204

Crane Ardca Herodias .... 342

Crow Corvus corone 379

Cuckoo Cuculus Americanus . . . 202

D.

December 384

Dove Columba 421

Downy Woodpecker Picus pubescens .... 373

Drought 186

Duck, Common Anas boschas 429

E.
Early Flowers 20

F.

Facts that prove the Utility of Birds 415

February 447

Field and Garden 96

Flicker Picus aurqtus 129

Flight of the Wood-Nymphs 432

Flowerless Plants . . . 176

Flowers as Emblems 131

Foraging Habits of Birds 241

Flowers of Autumn 267

G.

Golden-crowned Thrush Turdus aur oca pillus . .124

Golden Robin Icterus Baltimore .... 86

Golden- winged Woodpecker .... Picus auratus 129

INDEX. 455

PACE

Goose Anser 427

Green Warbler Sylvia virens 125

Grosbeak, Rose-breasted Fringilla Ludoviciana . . 129

Ground-Robin Fringilla erythrophthalma . 121

Gull Larus argentatus .... 397

H.

Habits of Birds, Changes in 329

Haunts of Flowers 56

Hair- Bird Fringilla socialis . ... 12

Hairy Woodpecker Picus villosus 374

Hemp-Bird Fringilla tristis .... 14

Hermit-Thrush Turdus solitarius . . .164

Heron, Blue Ardea Herodias .... 342

Hibernation of Swallows '. 262

House-Sparrow Fringilla domestica . . . 419

House- Wren Troglodytes fulvus ... 52

Humming- Bird Trcchilus colubris . . . 259

I.

Indigo-Bird Fringilla cyanea .... 92

J.

January 408

July 191

June 147

K.

Kingbird Muscicapa tyrannus . . . 255

Kingfisher Alcedo alcyon 394

L.

Lark, Meadow Sturnus Ludovicianus . . 88

Log-Cock Picus pileatus 368

Loon Colymbus glacialis . . .398

M.

March 31

Marsh- Wren . . » Troglodytes brevirostris . . 54

Maryland Yellow -Throat .... Sylvia trichas 127

May .....•;.' 105

Meadow-Lark Sturnus Ludovicianus . . 88

Mocking- Bird Turdus polyglottus . . . 290

Mtisic of Birds . 1

456 INDEX.

N.

! Caprimulgus Virginianus . 287

November 354

Nuthatch Sitta Carolinensis .... 376

O.

October 324

Old Houses 399

O'Lincon Family 48

Oven-Bird Turdus aurocapillus . . .124

Old Roads 350

Owls - 278

P.

Peabody-Bird Fringilla alUcollis ... 18

Pewee Muscicapa nunciola . . .256

Picturesque Animals 138

Plea for the Birds 157

Plumage of Birds 78

Preacher Vireo olivaceus .... 45

Protection of Birds 197

Purple Finch Fringilla purpurea ... 16

Purple Grackle Quiscalus versicolor . . . 208

Purple Martin Hirundo purpurea . . . 252

.Q.

Qua-Bird Ardea discors 341

Quail Perdix Virginiana . . .210

R.

Red-breasted Woodpecker .... Picus Carolinus .... 368

Red-headed Woodpecker Picus crythrocephalus . .374

Redstart Muscicapa ruticilla . . .123

Red-Thrush Turdus ruf us 172

Red- winged Blackbird IcteriLS plueniceus . . . .206

Robin Turdus migratorius ... 83

Rocks 25

Rose-breasted Grosbeak Fringilla Ludoviciana . .129

Ruffed Grouse Tetrao umbellus . . . .212

Ruins 296

S.

Sand-Martin Hirundo riparia .... 251

Saw-Whetter Strix Acadica . ... 282

INDEX. 457

PAGE

Scarlet Tanager . Tanagra rubra . . . .128

Screech-Owl Strix Asio 283

September 272

Simples and Simplers 214

Singing-Birds 37

Snipe Scolopax Wilsonii . . .335

Song-Sparrow . 6

Sounds from Animate Nature 318

Sounds from Inanimate Nature 344

Speckled Creeper Certhia maculata . . . .123

Spotted Tattler Totanus macularius . . . 395

Summer Yellow-Bird Sylvia citrinella .... 93

Swan 430

Swamp-Sparrow 119

T.

Tattler Totanus macularius . . . 407

Testimony for the Birds 360

Titmouse, Black-capped Parus palustris . . . .371

Turkey Meleagris gallipavo . . . 426

Turtle-Dove Columba Carolinensis . . 423

TJ.

Upland Plover Totanus Bartramius . . . 397

V.

Veery Turdus Wilsonii . . . .167

Vesper-Sparrow Fringilla graminea . . .10

Vireo 43

Virginia Rail . . . Rallus Virginianus . . . 336

W.

Water Scenery 66

Whippoorwill Caprimulgus vociferus . . 285

Why Birds sing in the Night 308

Wilson's Thrush Turdus Wilsonii . . . 167

Winter- Wren Troglodytes hyemalis . . 54

Woodcock Scolopax rusticola . . . 333

Wood-SpaiTow Fringilla pusilla . . . .120

Wood-Swallow Hirundo bicolor .... 250

Wood-Pewee Muscicapa wrens .... 258

Wood-Thrush . Turdus melodus . . . .166

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