276 BULLETIN UNIVERSITY OF MONTANA 



voiced utterances of this species charm our ears. Then the songs cease 

 in frequency and spirit, even before the sitting bird has seen her young- 

 lings break the delicate blue-tinged shells. When we arrive at the Bio- 

 logical Station for our annual summer outing, the voice of the bluebird 

 has been hushed, so far as its song is concerned; its tender calls, how- 

 ever, can be heard as we chance on the birds flitting from the deadened 

 boles of the adjacent ridges. To some of us, at least, these calls are a 

 plaintive reminder of the earlier song season, and are worthy of a place 

 in our thougths regarding the bird music of the region. 



Of our familiar western robin, what shall we say that has not often 

 been said? In his usual business-like way, he comes from his southern 

 sojourn, squeaks about the neighborhood for a day or two until he gets 

 his bearings and ascertains that everything is as it was when he departed 

 late in the preceding autumn. Then he begins his recitals, generally 

 from the topmost branch of the tallest tree in view, giving his lyric as a 

 fitting ending to a day that has begotten in us a genuine case of "spring 

 fever." There are but few feet in a verse of robin music, and that verse 

 is oft repeated. Florence Merriam has quite accurately described the 

 song in syllables "trill-er-ee, trill-er-ah." Generally the song is enunci- 

 ated in a loud, hurried manner, so nervously that it appears as if the 

 songster were losing breath; at times, however, the song is uttered in a 

 high, squeaky falsetto tone, the same performer sometimes changing 

 from one tone to another at will. Again, the singing is done in a low, 

 subdued tone, for our friend robin frequently drops into a poetic mood, 

 especially if his fair charmer is sitting near, and often whispers his flat- 

 teries into the ears of his promised bride. The song season of the robin 

 is longer than that of the bluebird, and in this region is prolonged by 

 some individuals well into July, the late songs, however, being heard 

 chiefly early in the morning and less frequently late in the day. 



As we skirt the shores of Daphnia Pond (See Plate XLIX) in quest 

 of biological specimens, the singing of the catbird greets us like the 

 strains of familiar music. Nowhere in this region is this gifted songster 

 more numerous than on the enchanted shores of Daphnia Pond. In the 

 bushes there the catbird nests until late in August, and as it thus prolongs 

 its domestic duties, it carries the spirit of song far beyond the season 

 common to most of our bird musicians. Sitting in some secluded nook 

 of the bushes, this songster gives expression to its impulses in voice low 

 and sweet, in most fitting accord to the fast ebbing tide of summer bird 

 music. The opening hours of the day are generally used by the catbird 

 in its recitals of the later season. At such times we must rise early in 

 the morning if we want to hear the birds begin to sing. In the cool 

 morning hour the catbird is at its best, and if a nest is anywhere in the 

 neighborhood, the listener is certain to be regaled by a prodigality of wild- 

 wood music by the gifted owner of the household. 



The warblers, notwithstanding their name as a group, do not excel 

 generally in musical powers. Many of them, though, are songsters of 

 no mean ability. The vocal power of the warblers that occur in the Flat- 

 head region serve about the same function in the woodland chorus as the 

 side-horns in the instrumentation of a large band. They are not soloists 



