Mui'' FOR THE PEOPLE^ FOR EDVCATION ' ; FORSCIENCE I 1 LIBRARY OF THE AMERICAN MUSEtJM OF NATURAL HISTORY ; w^alk at a short distance from the town, and not so near the woods as the haunts of the Thrusiies. When w^e go out into the country on 2 '^ 18 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 vvith larvse. Tliis is a general practice among the seed-eaters, in order to provide their young with soft and digestible food. ISTature 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 licard BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 19 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 s^^e- 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, wdien 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, wdience 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. 20 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 liis 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 Eobin 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. 21 viding that these birds "should not bring forth tlieir young until the time ^Yhen 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 associatimx 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 on 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 theu^ 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, tlie 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." "VAHiile eno'acjed 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 imdoubtedly 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 wp the chorus. These concerts are repeated at intervals for several days, ending probably with the period of courtsliip. A singular habit of the Hemp-Bird is that of building a nest, and then tearing it to pieces, before any eggs have 22 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 Avith 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 OR A^IERICAN 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 otlier 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. 23 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 somewliat 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 res^ardless 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 liimself 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 24 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. varied. I think tliere 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 fliglit, and while pois- ing himseK in the air, though still advancing, to pour out a contiimed 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 enougli 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-BIED. In the northern parts of New England only are the inhabitants familiar with the habits of tlie Peabody-Bird, or White-throated Sparrow. I have seen it, however, in Cambridii^e ; and durincj a season when the currant- worm was very destructive, one individual came fre- quently into my garden and employed himseK in pick- ing the caterpillars from a row of currant-bushes. As the fruit was tlien ripened, or partially ripe, his appear- ance so late in the season led me to infer that he had probably a nest somewhere in tlie Cambridge woods. This is a large Sparrow, and a very iine singing-bird. Samuels says : " The song of this species is very beauti- ful. It is difficult of descrij^ition, but resembles nearly the BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 25 syllables 'cliea, dee de ; de-d-de, de-d-de, de-d-de, de-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 sinmno: late in the season. Tliis is caused by his delay in build- ing his nest, which is not done before June. The w^ords used by the Peabody-Bird in his song are thus described in that State : — All day wMttling, whittling, whittling, whittling. 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 Ptobin 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 Eobin 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, whetli- er early or late, continue to sing throughout the month of 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 Xew 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, May, and the three summer months. SINGING-BIRDS. 27 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 far 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 artilicial 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 tlume, 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 28 SINGING-BIEDS. vary their notes, no individual ever departs. The tlieme of the Song-Sparrow is easily written on the gamut, out of which the bird makes many variations ; that of the Robin's song is never more than sliglitly 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 ? Bii'ds of the same species have by their organization a dispo- sition to utter certain sounds wlien 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, Vv^ould not trouble himself to be a music-teacher, and, if he were AviUing 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 theu^ mode of instruction, — if we should see the young birds standing around an old cock Eobin 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, vrould 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 pccuhar medley. ]N"ature has provided each species with notes unlike those of any other as one of the means by wliicli they should SINGING-BIRDS. 29 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 ly a mate. AVlien 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 lier 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 sittino;, on account of her absence, and are more than usually vociferous, sometimes v/ith the evident intention of coquetting with other females. After tlie 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 30 SINGING-BIRDS. 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 i)eriod than those who w^ere 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 w^ant of a mate, in the one case, or from her absence when she is sitting, in the other. Tlie 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 liis 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 SINGING-BIRDS. 31 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 ]N'orth. APEIL. Dear to tlie poet and to the lover of nature is the month of A])Yi\, 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 montlis 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 witli 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. 83 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 ho]3efulness and action, is unfavorable to thought. So many delightful objects are constantly inviting us to pleasui^e, 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 profler, it is wearisome to sit down apart from all these delights to the compara- tively dull task of describing them. As childhood is not ahvays 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 fxowers that are just peeping out from their A^dnter coverts are often greeted by snow, and spring's "ethereal mildness" is exchanged for harsh ^dnds and cloudy skies. In vain do the crocus, the snowdrop, and the yellow narcissus appear in the gardens, or the blue violet and the saxifrage span- gle the southern slopes of the hiUs, — the north-wind is not tempered by their beauty nor beguiled by the songs of the early birds. 34 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 wliich 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 redv/ing 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 APRIL. SB profusion of glossy purple stems, like so many liairs, 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 witli 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 ^vandering 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 36 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, maybe 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 fislies 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 tliat congregate near the edges of the salt-water creeks niake a tremulous motion of the water, as upon our sudden approach they dart away from the shallows into the deeper sea. The sun has smik below the horizon. The wind is still. APRIL. 87 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 perhaj^s 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. BIEDS OF THE GAEDEN AND ORCHAED. IL 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 Vireos; one of which I shall designate as the Brigadier, the other as the Preacher. I give below the song of the Brigadier : — Brig - a 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 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 39 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 famihar to me as the voice of the Kobin. I have, there- fore, determined to name them according to the style of tlieir songs, leaving it to others to identify the species to wiiich they respectively belong. THE BRIGADIER. 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 (Eed- 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 tlieir 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 eitlier cj)ecies is to sus- pend its nest at a very considerable height from the 40 BIRDS OF THE GAEDEN AND ORCHARD. 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 Ptobin, 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, be"inninsj 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 imtil 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. BIRDS OF THE GAEDEN A:ND ORCHARD. 41 THE BOBOLINK. There is not a singing-bird in Xew 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 liis company. He is not without great merits as a son<^ster ; but he is well known and admired because he is showy, noisy, and flippant, and sings only in the open field, and frequjantly while poised on the wing, so that any one who hears can see him and know who is the author of the strains tliat 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 tlie sun is up, when many of the early per- formers liave become silent, as if determined to secure a good audience before his own exhibition. In tlie grand concert of Xature 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 v\^ing 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 42 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 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 Eobin 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 Eobin, 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 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 43 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 aU 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 T^dth 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'LIXCON FAMILY. A flock of merry singing-birds were sporting in tlie 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, shcAv, Wadolincon ; see, see Bobolincon Down among the tickle-tops, hiding in the buttercujis ; I know the saucy chap ; I see his shining cap Bobbing in the clover there, — see, see, see ! " Up 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 tariy ; "Wadoliuk, Whiskodink, Tom Denny, wait, wait, wait ! " 44 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. Every one 's a funny fellow ; every one 's a little mellow ; Follow, follow, follow, follow, o'er the hill and in the hollow. ]\Ierrily, 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 ! Novv^ they gambol o'er the clearing, — ofl" 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 ; Tlien, Bobolincon, Wadolincon, AVinterseeble, haste, haste away I " 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 tlie Eedbreast as a songster. His notes are few and not gi^eatly varied, though sweetly and plaintively modulated and never loud. On account of their want of variety, they do BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 45 not enchain tlie 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 leadiug 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 trilling and unimportant. Yet, if the composition be the work of a master, these brief strains and snatches, though apparently insigniilcaut, 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. Tliough the Eobin is the principal musician in the gen- eral anthem of morn, Ins notes would become tiresome if heard without accompaniments, ISTature 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 tlie Bluebird seems an echo to the louder voice of tlie Eobin ; 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- 46 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 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 Eobin 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 tlie 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 liis plaintive call, con^ sisting of a single note pensively modulated, continues every day until he leaves our fields. Tliis 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 liis 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 wiU 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 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 47 it is not unusiial 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- laijfes, and as it extends its summer m iteration 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 j\Iay. 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 liis 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 Ac^ain he is on the roof of a shed. 48 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. warbling vociferously ; and these manoiuvres and peregri- nations have occupied hardly a minute, so rapid and in- cessant are all his motions. Tbc 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 AYren is one of the principal musicians. After the hot rays of the sun have silenced the early performers, the Song-Sparrow and the Eed- 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 lie 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 slnill, 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 high 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 v/ill leave off in the middle of a strain, wlien he seems in the height of ecstasy, to pick up a spider or a fly. As th^e Wren produces two broods in a season, his notes are prolonged BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 49 to a late period in the summer, and may be heard some- times in the third week in August. THE WINTER-WREX. We do not often meet with this bird near Boston in summer. He is then a resident of the northern parts of IVIaine and N^ew Hampshire, and of the Green Mountain range. In the autumn he migrates from the north 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 liome. 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 olten 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 astlimatic bird or an aggravated frog. Tlie 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 lown upon the railing of a rustic bridge that crossed the 50 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 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 Natui^e, 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. Brew^er 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 witii 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 PLUMAGE OF BIEDS. The colors and forms of the plumage of birds are gen- erally regarded as mere accidents, vmattended with any advantages in their economy. I cannot believe, however, that they are not in some way, which we cannot fully understand, indispensable to theu' 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 pro\dsion of Nature. 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 52 PLUMAGE OF BIRDS. 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 briglitly 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 afibrd 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 tlie ground and herbage while they are seeking their food or sitting upon their nests. Birds, however, do not differ much in tlie 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 lines of tlie clouds and tlie sky and tlie grayish undersurface of tlie leaves of trees. AVater-1 )irds are generally gray all over, except a tinge of blue in their plumage alcove. 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. ISTature works on the same plan in guarding insects PLUMAGE OF BIRDS. ~ 53 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 tliat 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 on 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 goldtinch 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 wliile 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 Ije 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 Ijlossom. 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, tliat 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, Xature has provided that the plumage 54 PLUMAGE OF BIRDS. 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 l^ature 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 w^hich 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 bii'ds that run upon PLUMAGE OF BIEDS. 55 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 pecuhar 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 rufiled 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 g^^ound, 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. MAY. Tpie spring in ISTew England does not, like tlie 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 j)'^ii'ple and crimson that leads up the mornings in summer. It is a pleasant, though some- times w^eary prolongation of the season of hopes and promises, frequently interrupted by short periods of win- try gloom. The constant lingering delay of nature in th.e 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 w^e ramble througli rustic paths and narrow lanes and over meadow^s still dank and sere, the very tardiness with which the little starry blossoms peep out of its darkn^^ss, and with wdiich the wreath of verdure is slowdy drawn over the plains, gives us opportunity to w^atch tliem r.nd 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 tlie 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. J^ature is not yet clothed in the fulness of her beauty ; but in many respects she is lovelier than she wall 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 MAY. 57 progression. It is this thought that renders a young girl more lovely and interesting with her unfinished gi^aces than when she has attained the completion of her cliarms. 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 afibrded 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 cf 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 efibrt 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 tlie meadow, and the first sprouting of the Iierbs, 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. AVhile 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 58 MAY. 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 diffier- ent hues, come forth in millions, and yield to the forest a golden and ruddy splendor, like the tints of thp 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 tliese 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. 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 Ave 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 gTceted 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 MAY. 59 wander over the village outskirts, wdll 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 tliis the fields appear in the fulness of their glory. Wild geraniums in the borders of the woods and copses, w^hite and yellow violets, ginsengs, bell worts, silverweeds, and cinquefoils bring up the rear in the procession of May. Durincj all this time the flowers of the houstonia, which liave 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 snowliakes, 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 distingiush 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 Jime. In early May, set apart from the general nakedness of the woods, may be seen here and there a clump or a row of 60 MAY. willows full of bright yellow aments, maples witli buds, blossoms, and foliage of crimson, and interspersed among tliem 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 comes 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, tlie different shades of green be- come more thoroughly blended into a single uniform tint. But ere the process is completed tlie 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 buslies ; pear-trees, with corols per- fectly white, internally fringed v»'ith brown anthers, like long dark eyelashes, that give them almost the counte- nance of life ; cherry-trees, v.dth tlieir wliite 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 tlie coun- try, you would be persuaded that the prospect is far more magniflcent 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 MAY. Gl 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 fragi-ance in a warm air; and if the wind is still and moist, the odors, as they escaj^e, 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, wdien the weather is rather sultry, and while the sunbeams are tinged with a purj^le 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 wdiicli 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- 62 MAY. clining sun casts a beautiful slieen 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 lie 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 gi^oves 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. BIEDS OF THE GAEDEN AND OECHAED. III. THE EOBIN. Our American birds have not been celebrated in classic song. They are hardly well known even to onr 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 sono-ster, and he enjoys but little celebrity. He has never been puffed and OA^erpraised,.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- inf:j strains he does not minc,de 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 C4 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 w^ho taught the Lark and the Nightingale, The Eobin is surpassed by some other birds in certain qualities of song. The Mock- ing-Bird lias more " power," the Eed Thrush more vari- ety, tlie Bobolink more animation ; but tliere is no bird tliat has fewer faults than the Robin, 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 Piobin 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. Remove the Robin from this woodland or- chestra, and it would be left without a soprano. Over all BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 65 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 tliis 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 Robin, 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 Robin may be taught to imitate the notes of other birds. I heard a tamed Robin 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. 5 66 BIRDS 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 Kobin 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 GAEDEN AKT> ORCHARD. 67 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 tliis 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 68 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 Robin 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 Robins 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. l^^zz^nSp^ *— td"—- '-'-'-^ !==tj UEE^=3^E^3E^SEP ?-^ 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 BIKDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. 69 Xatural 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 " ^lessenger of Morn" that "calls up the tunefid nations," and though perhaps not properly classed among our singing-birds, has a peculiar lisping note which is very agreeable, and not unHke 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 me of the less musical notes of the Eedwing and sometimes of the more musical and feeble sonc^ of the Green War- bier. !N"uttall very aptly describes its notes by the sylla- bles et-scc-dec-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 70 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 gTaceful, 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. 71 notes, utterecl 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, sufiered 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 larvai. 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 72 BIRDS OF THE GARDEN AND ORCHARD. abode is among the junipers. From these, when ramhhng in the woods, you wdll often start a flock ; for they are easily alarmed on account of the pertinacity with which they have been hunted. It is seldom w^e 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 extirj)ated ; for those who would grudge a charge of pow^der and shot for the flesh of a sin- gle bird are delighted to shoot into a flock, when perhaps six or eicrht little tender birds will fall to the OTound. 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 oHve ; somewhat briohter on the breast, dark in the throat, tail tipped w^ith yellow, forehead with a black line over the eyes, and little scarlet beads upon the outer wing-feathers, resemblin^^ dots of red sealincj-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 w^ere 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 ga*een 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 }iear 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. 73 I thiiik Mr. Kiittall 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 unhke those parts of the Canary's song which are disagreeable. I allude to the siiJ, 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 jSTuttall ascribes to it. His notes, though not slow, are but little more rapid than those of the Robin. 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 74 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 hatcli the egg of the Cowbird. If this bird should drop one of its eggs into lier 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. 75 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, and 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 ANTHEM OF MOEK ISTature, for the delight of waking eyes, has aiTayed 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 grouj)S of mottled and rosy-bosomed clouds assemble on the gilded sphere, and, crowned with wreaths of fickle rainbows, spread a mirrored Hush 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. ISTot 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 wdth everything, in heaven and on earth, that is delight- ful to the eye or to the ear, or capable of inspiring some aOTeeable sentiment. THE ANTHEM OF MORN. 77 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, on 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 tlie 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, wliose song is only a short mellow warble, is heard nearly at the same time with the rol)in, 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 78 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 miglit seem that the robins had gradually resigned their part in the performance to tlie bobolinks, not one of which is heard until some of the former haA^e concluded their THE ANTHEM OF MORN. 79 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, wdth 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 wdiortleberries 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. 80 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 j)art 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 c^eneral 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. 81 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 underneatli successive arches of crimson and vermilion, constantly widening and brightening into the full glory of sunrise; the melodious concert of warljlers 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 watchinix 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. 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-tlowers 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 otlier in their attempts to beautify tlie 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 witli 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. JUNE. 83 The dews hang heavily upon the herbage, and the wliite 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, 84 JUNE. 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 j\Iarch, 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 witli 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 wdth the visions of those pleasures of which we cannot enjoy the substance ; filliDg 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 lias 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. JUNE. S5 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 fragrant carpet, which is characteristic of a jjine wood. Among the Howers 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 tw^o to five feet in height, and its brilliant purple flowers, unrivalled in delicacy, appear on the extremities of the branches, when the leaves are jusi; beginning to unfold. It is rendered singularly attrac- tive by the contrast between its purple hues, of peculiar resplendency, and the whiteness of the flow^ers of almost all other shrubs, at this season. This plant, by its flow^er- ing, marks the commencement of summer, and may be considered an apt symbol of the brilliant month of June. 86 JUNE. 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 w^ere 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 flow^ers 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 w^ere but faintly blended. In ejune the purple shades iDredominate 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 tlie most charming appearances of the present month, to one who is accustomed to tlie minute obser- vation of Nature's works, is the flowering of the grasses. JUNE. 87 Thoiigli tliis 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 wdieat 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 tlie present time, and there are no other species, save the flowerless plants, which afford more attractions to tliose 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 depri^'ed. 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 w^ide' 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 88 JUNE. toil or harassed with care, 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, wdien the purple light of dawn first awakens us from slee^), 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 dayliglit, 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 JUNE. 89 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 t]ie 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 witli 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, wdien 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 90 JUNE. 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 JUNE. 91 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 tilings 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. BIEDS OF THE PASTUEE AND FOEEST. I. 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 Uke those of the Eobin 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. 93 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 w^ere 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 wdth a sense of freedom known only to those who often retire from the world to live in religious communion with nature. THE SWAMP- SPAEROAV. There is a little Sparrow whose notes I often hear about the shores of unfrequented ]3C)nds, and from their untrodden islets covered w^ith 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, wdiere 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 94 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 ISTuttall 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 Tiours 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 line, and dusky- white beneath. Though he does not seem BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 95 to be a shy bird, I have never seen him in our gardens. The inmates of sohtary 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 giusses 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 tlian one strain. He begins slowly and emphatically, as if repeating the syllable clc, clc, dc, 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 d d d d d d d d d d d^^.-^-^-^^-^.^-.r^ In the latter part of June, when this bii'd 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 GROUXD-ROBIX OR CHEWINK. Wliile 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 96 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. female being of a bright bay color where the male is red. Every rambler knows liim, not only by his plumage and his peculiar note, but also by his singular habit of lurking among the bushes, a2:)pearing and disappearing like a squirrel, and watching all our movements. It is witli 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 pieculiar note of complaint from which he has derived the name Chewink. The sound is more like chewce, 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. SONG 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 BIKDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 07 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 Yeery miglit 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 Red- 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 haK 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 7 98 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 larvie that are lodged in the crevices of the bark. It often leaves the Avood and diligently manoeuvres among the trees in our gar- dens and enclosures. The constant activity of the birds of this s]3ecies 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 rustUng 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 vroods, 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 tliat equals this little piper in the energy with which he delivers his brief communication. His BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 99 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 sin"- 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 anj 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 dov/n upon one of these green velveted couches and take note 100 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE A^^D 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 A¥arbler, 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 famihar 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 and 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. 10 i 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. -a~ g I » tf #-» ^ I ^ 0 Hear me, St. The - re 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 wliile 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 102 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. and Lreast, 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 iindergi'owth 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 yoimg 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. Tliis bird, however, dis- jjlays no skill as a basket-maker, hardly surpassing even the Turtle-Dove as an architect. The eggs are speckled on a gT?ound of dull pea-green. The male Tanager sings with consideral )le 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. BIEDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 103 THE FLICKER. We are all familiar with the notes of this "Woodpecker, that resemble the call-notes of the common Eobin, 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 sunsliine, and obtain a view of fields and farms, to hear the voice of the Eose-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 104 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 wliich 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 chc-hoo, cJie-lioo, chc-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 amonsj 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." Tliis description seems to me very beautiful and accurate. Mv. 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. PLEA FOR THE BIEDS. In the beginning, according to the testimony of the " Wisdom of Solomon," all things were ordered in meas- ure, number, 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 106 PLEA FOR 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 N"ature 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 ISTature'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. Altliough 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. 107 ated for the particular benefit of mankind, tliis may cer- tainly be said of birds. Men in general are not apt to consider liow 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 y&liie upon the feathered tribes. They are important in the 108 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 larva? 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. 109 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 chanc^ed 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 bu-ds, 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 aU 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 110 TLEA FOR THE BIRDS. with tlieir 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 conc^reo-ate about his habitations, as if she de- signed tliem 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 tliem with contentment in their solitude. With- out their merry voices, the silence of tlie groves, unbroken PLEA FOR THE BIRDS. Ill save by the moaning of the winds, would be oppressive ; the fields would lose half tlieir 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. JULY. The montli 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 turned 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 JULY. 113 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 thinibleberries, 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 gTateful 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 iiimbie feet upon the broad leaves that float on 8 114 JULY. 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 N'ature. 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 w^edded 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 mjo-iads 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 JULY. 115 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 fiUed 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 livinj^ thincrs. 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 and 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 bv one, like the 116 JULY. 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. Wliile rejoicing, therefore, amid the voluptuous delights of sum- mer, we will not regret that we cannot live forever among enervating luxuries. With tlie aid of temperance and virtue, all seasons as they come may be made equal JULY. 1 i 7 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 ? BIEDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 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 liabit 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 Veery, who prefers the twilight of morn and even. In another important respect he differs BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 119 from the Veeiy, whicli 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 comes 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 Sono'-Thrush, are incorrect. It is not true that his 120 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. different strains or those of the Wood-Thrush "finally blend togetlier 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 consistin£[ of a ^li^ht 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, ha^dng a similar song, con- taining fewer strains, delivered with less precision and moderation, and with shorter intervals betw^een the high and the low notes. In their general habits the two spe- cies differ very slightly. BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 121 THE VEERY, OR WILSON S THRUSH. The Veery 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. 122 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 jprimct 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. 123 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 witli 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. Eidgway differs from him. " To his ear," says Dr. Brewer, " there was a solemn harmony and a beautiful expression w^hich 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. Fond 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 veiy 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 SAvamp, 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- 124 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. erate singer. He seldom makes music Ids 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 w^oods 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 w4iich 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 tlie Catbird's songf is somewhat o 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 tliat may be likened to it, and some fine guttural tones wliicli the other never utters. BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. 125 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- Itobin, repeating them with such exactness as to deceive the birds tliat were imitated. He has known tlie 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 tlieir 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 wdiich 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 Eobin has been frequently in danger of proscription. The horticul- turists, who seem to consider their cherries and strawber- 126 BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST. ries and favorite insipid pears of more importance than the whole agricultural croj) 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 shrul;)bery, 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. 127 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 Saliara and wilderness of Mount Auburns. The Eed-Thrusli 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 j)astures, 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 tlie 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 soncr under an hour. 128 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 Eed-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 tliat 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, eitlier 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. 129 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 avIio 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. 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 PROTECTION OF BIRDS. 131 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 w4th 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 w^e 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. 132 PROTECTION OF BIRDS. There will be no danger for many years to come that our lands will be so tlioroughly stripped of their native growth of herbs, trees, and slirubs 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. AVher- 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 tlie woods, if it be done rudely, leaving buslies 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 tlieir PROTECTION OF BIKDS. 133 guns. The removal of tins 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 wdld 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 constitiites one of the picturesque attractions of a New England stone-waU. 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, whUe the rest of the field is devoted to tillage. The " nice man " who undertakes farminoj will 2Tud- all the while for the lari^er 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-^Iartin 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 stealinsj rrrain 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, containin^^ 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 PEAVEE. If we stroll at any hour of the day in summer and sit under a rustic bridue for coolness or shelter, while 174 BIRDS OF THE AIR. 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 no 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 ije-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 BIRDS OF THE AIR. 175 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 tlieir multitudinous families, will not perform the work of the Eobin or tlie Woodpecker, nor can all these together do the work of tlie 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- 176 BIRDS OF THE AIE. nion 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 ISTature. THE HUMMING-BIED. The Humming-Birds, of which it is said there are more than four himdred 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,'W^hich 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 Selasplwrus riifvs can cliange in a twinkling the vivid fire color of its expanded tliroat 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 BIRDS OF THE AIR. 177 of down, like tliat wliicli 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 tlie 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 12 178 BIRDS OF THE AIR. Blue-tliroated Humming-Bird, tlie 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 gTOund. 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: THEIE 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 180 SWALLOWS: THEIR HIBERNATION. 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 duriug 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 remain 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 Noxemher ; 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 tliat while he was at school near Slieen, 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, Pantoflidan re- lates that swallows before they sink under water sing the Sioallow Song, as it is called, and which everybody knows. SWALLOWS: THEIR HIBEENATION. 181 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 water 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. LIcKenzie, 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 182 SWALLOWS: THEIR HIBERNATION. 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 w^ould 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 tliey resort is, that while moulting they live upon the ground in shelters of thicket, SWALLOWS: THEIR HIBERNATION. 183 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 w^ater, 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. OCTOBER. 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 til at 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. 185 groundwork of drifted snow. By this vapor, nearly mo- tionless at sunrise, we may trace the winding course of the smaU 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 186 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 tlieir 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. 187 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 tliem 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 tlie 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. 188 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 Horal 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 sj)ecta- 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 jSTa- 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 ripened liarvest have driven out the delicate incense of the flowers whose fragrant offerings have all ascended to lieaven. 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. 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 190 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, w^hich 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. 191 than a Eobin. 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, fuU, 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 downw^ards 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 w^ould 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 lias 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 192 BIRDS OF THE NIGHT. regard liim 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 Eed-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. 103 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 w^e 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 tlie 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 13 194 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 tlie months of April and May, and in tlie 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. 195 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 lie 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 196 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 Xew England there are only two species, the Whippoorwill and the Mghthawk. 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- Avise, unlike other birds. They are remarkable for their singular voices, and only one species — the AVhippoor- wiU — 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 tlieir voices resembling human speech. BIRDS OF THE NIGHT. 197 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 siuGjs near our dwellin