198 AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 



The Chimney Swallow chatters silvery, rattling notes that aim at 

 making music. 



The birds that have only musical call notes are the Blue-bird, Sand- 

 piper, Swallow, Red-shouldered Starling, Pewee and "High-hole." 



The common Sand-piper is not a loguacious bird and utters only 

 occasional call-notes. Though it is not a songster, its note is very 

 pleasing as it flits up and down summer streams or runs along in 

 pebbly shallows. During its spring migrations its calling and piping 

 can be heard in the night. 



The Wood Pewee's pathetic, silvery note, the Yellow-throat's "wich- 

 ery, wichery," the Orioles strong whistle, the loud call of the High- 

 hole, the Gold Finch's animated strain, the rich melodious song of the 

 Rose-breasted Grosbeak, Chewink's brief emphatic song, and the pierc- 

 ing call of the Meadow-lark, all contribute to the lesser strains. 



The pretty Cedar-bird has the least voice of all the American birds, 

 while the Bobolink excells in simple lingual excellence. 



The bird choir is rich in Sparrow voices. The ditty of the Song 

 Sparrow rises from the garden fence, and from the roadside early in 

 March. It is prophetic and touching with many variations and trills. 

 On the other hand the notes of the Savannah Sparrow are shrill and 

 and harsh. The Vesper Sparrow with its reposeful song tells of quiet 

 lanes, and the softly ringing notes of the Bush Sparrow delights the 

 ear. The Canada Sparrows sing only in the spring and fall, and the 

 Fox Sparrow can sometimes be heard in April, singing the richest and 

 and most moving of all sparrow songs. 



Now let us consider one of the most beloved of American birds — 

 Robin Redbreast. This pretty bird sings his greatest carol surrounded 

 by deep silence. His song is then at its truest harmony with nature. 

 He should be heard on a clear early spring day, just as the sun is set- 

 ting. He then carols steadily for ten or fifteen minutes from the top of 

 some tree. At such a time there is hardly any other sound. Patches 

 of snow linger here and there. The trees are naked. The earth is cold 

 and dead. Then this contented hopeful strain is poured forth so freely 

 and deliberately that it fills the void with the very breath and presence 

 of spring. Yet it is a simple strain, unaffected by long fancy trills. It is 

 honest and direct and slightly plaintive. It goes straight to the heart 

 and cheers like the sunbeams that glide and glance among the dark 

 boughs. 



There are great bursts of bird song in America during May and at 

 times till mid-summer. Many bird voices join in the general outburst 

 but it is fitful and more confined to certain hours of the day. There is 



