THE COMING OF THE CATBIRD. 773 



cheery ditties from the weather-beaten fences and the bare, brown 

 tangle of brier patches. The day may close lurid with the frayed 

 streamers of lofty cirrus clouds streaking across the sky — the vapor- 

 ous overflow of a coming storm — or a week of the same bright weather 

 may continue with the wind all the while blowing softly out of the 

 south, but sooner or later the inevitable winter storm must close 

 this foretaste of the spring. 



A decided wave of rising temperature usually reaches the Dela- 

 ware Valley from the middle to the last of March, maintaining itself 

 longer than the February rise, and ushering in a well-marked bird 

 wave. It is about this time that the vanguard of the robin migration 

 scatters over the country. The grackles or crow blackbirds, which 

 have been more or less in evidence since their first appearance in Feb- 

 ruary, begin renovating the old nests or laying the foundations of new 

 ones in the tops of tall pines. The shrill call of the flicker sounds 

 through the woods, and before the end of the month one is sure to 

 hear the plaintive song of the field sparrow. This is about the time 

 that the spicebush shows its yellow blossoms through the grays and 

 browns of the spring underwoods, and the skunk cabbage unfolds its 

 fresh, green leafage in rank abundance along the boggy course of 

 woodland rills. A week earlier the streaked yellow and purple of its 

 fleshy spathes shows here and there in the oozy ground by the side 

 of the folded leaf spikes. It is just at this time, too, that one must 

 go to the woods for the first spring wild flowers — bloodroot, hepatica, 

 anemones, and the yellow dog-tooth violet — if one would get the real 

 freshness of spring into his soul. The crows, that all through the 

 winter filed away each evening in straggling lines of flight toward 

 the distant roost, have broken ranks, and go rambling in small groups 

 through the woods and over the fields of green winter wheat. Like 

 the grackles, they have thoughts of courtship and the more earnest 

 business of family cares. The liquid notes of meadow larks sound 

 clear and sweet in the greening fields and pastures, and small flocks 

 of vociferous killdeers scatter in wheeling flight over the newly 

 plowed lands. In tangle covers the rustle of dead leaves here and 

 there tells of the whereabouts of a flock of fox sparrows halting in 

 their northward pilgrimage. The pewee is back, inspecting her last 

 year's house under the span of some old bridge, and the melancholy 

 voice of the dove is borne on the air from the fence rows and cedars 

 along the farther side of fields. 



After the 1st of April the tide of migration sets in with force, 

 and the earlier waves bring several species of summer birds — those 

 that come to build and breed in our woods — that rarely if ever make 

 their appearance before this time. It is an interesting fact that none 

 of the migrants that make their first appearance in April are ever 



