A Book on Birds 



on a broken willow limb extending above, 

 slackens and silences our footsteps with 

 his rich vesper song; nor takes his leave 

 until we are almost underneath. 



Then the Wild Dove (who for some reason 

 is becoming a less familiar figure than 

 formerly in these parts) cooes thrice and 

 shps softly away to his nest of sticks and 

 two white eggs back in the apple-orchard; 

 and the Vesper Sparrow answers but holds 

 his perch; and a Red-eyed Vireo actually 

 comes nearer, sounding his rasping note; 

 and then we see in succession a Crested 

 Flycatcher; and a Chipping Sparrow; and 

 a Song Sparrow, and a Yellow-billed 

 Cuckoo, sad of voice; and a Catbird, in 

 sharp contrast; and a Robin or two, and 

 a Brown Thrasher, and the Baltimore 

 Oriole, gorgeous and lively; and his kins- 

 man of the orchard, not quite' so brilliant 

 but none the less alive; and a Yellow- 

 hammer; and a Meadow Blackbird, who 

 really ought to be out in the open; — these 

 and others, all abundant in music; and, as 

 we try to move in proper spirit with the 



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