INTRODUCTORY CHAPTERS. 



the Song Sparrow sounds his reveille of three notes and a 

 roulade — *' Maids, maids, maids, put your kettle-ettle on.'' 

 The Robin answers with his clarion notes, and the Bluebird, 

 mildly plaintive, seems to regret that the quiet night is 

 past, and sighs — " Dear, dear, think of it, think of it." 

 Then the various Swallows begin their twitterings, and the 

 Chimney Swift redoubles his winged pursuit of insects, and 

 the Purple Martins, rising in pairs, coquette in mid-air, and 

 their cheerfid warble seems to drop from the clouds. As it 

 becomes light, the Phoebe joins his "Pewit, phoebe-a," with 

 the Wood Pewee's — "Pewee, pewee peer," and the Field 

 Sparrow whistles and trills somewhat in the key of the 

 Chipping Sparrow. Then up from the meadow wells the 

 song of the Bobolink, our only bird that rivals the English 

 Lark in singing and soaring, pouring out its delicious melody 

 with virile fervour, while in the same field the Meadowlark 

 rings his bell-like — " Spring o' the year, spring o' the year I " 

 and the Indigo Bunting lisps from the briars. 



One by one, the Oriole, the Song and Wood Thrushes, the 

 Mourning Dove, Catbird, Towhee, Wrens, Warblers, Chat, 

 and the obstreperous Yireos chime in. These are the birds 

 that you may hear in your garden and the near-by meadows. 

 Down in the lowlands the Red-winged Blackbird " flutes his 

 okalee," the Crows keep up an incessant cawing, and in the 

 woods between these lands and the marshes, the Herons 

 cry; while from the marshes themselves the Snipe call. 

 The flocking Sandpipers " peep " from the beach edge, and 

 ihe migrating Ducks call as they settle in the flags. 



Above the inland woods the Nighthawk, the Whip-poor- 

 will's kinsman, skirling, circles a few times before hiding 

 from day. There are Hawk cries, as Cooper's Hawk (the 

 dreaded chicken-killer) bears a tender morsel to her nest- 

 lings already well fledged, who are in the top of the tall 

 hickory, and the Quail whistles " Bob- white ! Poor Bob- 

 white ! " the Buffed Grouse clucks henlike, and the Wood- 

 cock calls like his brother Snipe. 



It is in these woods, within sound of running water, that 

 you may hear the Veery, though he is not so much the bird 



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