Notes from Field and Study 



293 



that perfect morning. It must have been 

 a sense of this that kept our talk within 

 few words, uttered softly, as though loud 

 speech would have broken an enthralling 

 charm. But we were to be shown that 

 not all sounds are at variance with June's 

 best showing. From somewhere among 

 the leaves overhead came the notes of a 

 Song Sparrow. The melody was repeated 

 over and over, as something too good to 

 be given only once. No intrusion upon 

 June's perfect harmony. Xo discord. 

 Rather it was a fit musical setting for the 

 beauty around us. After the singer 

 stopped there was a pause long enough to 

 make us believe he had flown away, when 

 the song was renewed. But how different! 

 The arrangement of the notes was entirely 

 new. At first we thought the bird must 

 have gone and another Sparrow taken 

 his place, though the song seemed to 

 come from the same position in the tree. 

 We arose and walked about, peering 

 up through the branches. There he sat 

 at the top of a dead bough, with head 

 pointing upward as though offering the 

 best that was in him to the skies. A song 

 of sunrise, a song that goes with moods of 

 serene joy and hope. Let evening take 

 the Wood Thrush, the Veery and the 

 Hermit Thrush. Our little brown bird 

 is the melodist of the day new-born. 



Again he stopped. We watched to see 

 whether he might fly away. It began to 

 dawn upon us that the period of silence 

 meant more than a mere cessation of the 

 music. We were on the alert for the 

 renewed song; and this time there would 

 be no doubt of the identity of the singer. 

 Presently the head pointed skyward 

 again and the notes floated down to us. 

 An entirely different song again — differ- 

 ent from either of the others in the arrange- 

 ment and succession of the notes. 



It is not because he is tired then that 

 the Song Sparrow pauses in his song, but 

 in order that he may compose another 

 melody. Other singers have great variety 

 of notes; as the Mockingbird, the Brown 

 Thrush and the Catbird; but what other 

 bird sings a set song many times over, 

 then, after a pause, another one entirely 



(iiilefL-ni. and so un through changes so 

 numerous that they seem limitless? 



The modest little singer had revealed 

 himself as something more than an uncon- 

 scious voicing of nature's melodies. He 

 seemed a composer who sings his song 

 many times, then ceases and invents 

 another which he voices, and another, 

 and as many as he chooses. Since that 

 day we have regarded him as in a class 

 by himself — the creative artist of the 

 winged choir. — George A. Dennison, 

 256 -gtk St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 



Bluebirds vs. Wrens 



Hoping to entice some birds to build 

 near our new little cottage, we fastened 

 a gourd on the post of our porch. Sure 

 enough, early in the spring, came the tiny 

 Wren, bringing his busy little wife, who 

 hopped onto the rose bush, and then in 

 and out several times, while he sat on 

 the porch support and sang his little song. 

 After only a few moments' investigation 

 they both went to work, and to us who 

 were watching, seemed quite contented. 



On the third morning while we stood 

 watching the little builders, who should 

 come fl>'ing right against the Wren and 

 knock him off his perch, but a Bluebird, 

 who, to the little Wren, I am sure, 

 looked enormous. 



So. all morning, every time the Wrens 

 came with grass or other material for 

 their nest the Bluebird would fly against 

 them and drive them away. Finally the 

 Bluebird must have grown very angry, for 

 he flew into the gourd and we could see him 

 scratching and tearing up the work of the 

 Wrens, and one stick too long to come out 

 of the door, he took in his bill and flew 

 with such force, that, to our surprise, he 

 tumbled out head first, but the twig came 

 also, and he flew away. This old bachelor 

 bird (for he was alone» kept watch over 

 the gourd and succeeded in dispossessing 

 the Wrens. In time he found a mate and 

 they built their nest and raised their 

 little family of three. 



It was a great pleasure to watch the 

 parent birds feeding the young, and how 



