46 



THE OOLOGIST. 



Some unknown writer thus character- 

 izes his enchanting song: 



"That rollicking, jubilant whistle 



That rolls like a brooklet along— 

 That sweet flageolet of the meadows 

 The bubbling, bobolink song." 



How he escorts you with music along 

 those acres of meadow-land which he 

 has selected for his domain. He is the 

 very soul and spokesman of pastoral 

 scenery; filled to the brim is that little 

 goblet of feathers with the ecstacy of 

 country living and country thinking. 

 He is enough in himself to woo all the 

 cities out into the country. He invites 

 the rustic naturalist to leave the scenes 

 of vernal toil, and wander off over 

 green fields into green woods; for his 

 song is an invitation to idleness. Wash- 

 ington Irving in that essay "The Birds 

 of Spring," where he touches the bobo- 

 link in his ever happy and sunny strain, 

 mentions what feelings he had "when 

 luckless urchin I was doomed to be 

 mewed up, during the live long day, in 

 a school-room. It seemed as if the lit- 

 tle varlet mocked at me as he tiew by 

 in full song, and sought to taunt me 

 ^ith his happy lot. Oh! how I envied 

 biml No lessons, no tasks, no schools; 

 nothing but holiday, frolic, green fields 

 and fine weather." 



C. P. Cranch has given us the poetic 

 origin of "the Bobolink." 



When Nature had made all her birds 

 With no more cares to think on. 

 : She gave a rippling laugh, and out 

 There flew a Bobolink on. 



She laughed again, out flew a mata 



A breeze of Eden bore them 

 Across the flelds of Paradise 



The sun rise reddening o'er them." 



Lansing V. Hall, a blind poet, sings 

 of our bird: 



"But of all their merry .jingle 



In meadow or the dingle 



The Bobolinks' cadenza does excel.'' 



He has also a long poem on the "Song 

 of the Bobolink" which opens with 

 these lines "to be read rapidly:" 



"June may kindle, kindle with her sunshine, 

 And her heat, till this is wheat, till this is 

 wheat, 

 For Bobolink and Mrs. Bobolink very sweet, 

 . And good to eat, and good to eat." 



This purports to be an interpretation 

 of Bobolinks' song into words. 



J. G. Whittier makes an old charact- 

 er in a poem "The Sycamore" to say 

 quaint things of our bird: 



"JoUiest of our birds of singing 

 Best he loved the Bob-o-link. 



'Hush" ! he'd say, 'the tipsy fairies I 

 Hear the little folks in drink:' " 



And in other places in the works of 

 our Quaker bard who portrays nature 

 so happily, do we find the Bobolink. 



J. H. Langille thinks; "It is difficult 

 to speak of the Bobolink without going 

 into ecstasies. To say the least he is 

 the finest bird of our field and mead- 

 ows." And he proceeds in that enter- 

 taining volume, "Our Birds in Their 

 Haunts," to give a beautiful discription. 

 of the bird its song and manners. Take 

 this exquisite description of its song for 

 an example: The first tinkling tones 

 are like those of a tine musical box 

 rapidly struck, then come the longer 

 drawn i otes as of a rich viol or violin, 

 and finally the sweet liquid, limped, 

 gui'gling sounds as of an exquisite bell- 

 toned piano lightly and skillfully touch- 

 ed. These several different strains, 

 variously modulated are uttered with a 

 rapid, gushing volubility, which to an 

 untrained ear might sound like the per- 

 formances of a whole chorus of song- 

 sters."' 



Hew sweet is this song delivered 

 while he quivers through the air on 

 trembling wings. And as he closes you 

 often see him drop into the green bos- 

 om of the meadow like a failing leaf or 

 drifting feather his motionless wings 

 held at a sharp angle. This is a pretty 

 sight only equaled when he sings on a 

 fence or clump of grass with wings 

 raised so that he reminds you of pic- 

 tures of cherubims you have seen. 



Perhaps the finest passage touching 



