THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 



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"Everywhere the blue sky belongs to them and is their appointed rest, and 

 their native country, and their own natural home which they enter unannounced as 

 lords that are certainly expected, and yet there is a silent joy at their arrival.' ' 



HE return of the birds to their 

 real home in the North, where 

 they build their nests and 

 """"" rear their young, is regarded 

 by all genuine lovers of earth's mes- 

 sengers of gladness and gayety as one 

 of the most interesting and poetical of 

 annual occurrences. The naturalist, 

 who notes the very day of each arrival, 

 in order that he may verify former 

 observation or add to his material 

 gathered for a new work, does not 

 necessarily anticipate with greater 

 pleasure this event than do many 

 whose lives are brightened by the 

 coming of the friends of their youth, 

 who alone of early companions do not 

 change. First of all — and ever the 

 same delightful warbler — the Blue- 

 bird, who, in 1895, did not appear at 

 all in many localities, though here in 

 considerable numbers last year, betrays 

 himself. "Did he come down out 

 of the heaven on that bright IVIarch 

 morning when he told us so softly and 

 plaintively that, if we pleased, spring 

 had come?" Sometimes he is here 

 a little earlier, and must keep his 

 courage up until the cold snap is over 

 and the snow is gone. Not long after 

 the Bluebird, comes the Robin, some- 

 times in ]\Iarch, but in most of the 

 northern states April is the month of 

 his arrival. With his first utterance 

 the spell of winter is broken, and the 

 remembrance of it afar off. Then 

 appears the Woodpecker in great 

 variety, the Flicker usually arriving 

 first. He is always somebody's old 

 favorite, ''announcing his arrival by a 

 long, loud call, repeated from the dry 

 branch of some tree, or a stake in the 

 fence — a thoroughly melodious April 

 sound." 



Few perhaps reflect upon the diffi- 

 culties encountered by the birds them- 

 selves in their returning migrations. 

 A voyager sometimes meets with 



many of our common birds far out at 

 sea. Such wanderers, it is said, when 

 suddenly overtaken by a fog, com- 

 pletely lose their sense of direction 

 and become hopelessly lost. Humming 

 birds, those delicately organized, 

 glittering gems, are among the most 

 common of the land species seen at sea. 



The present season has been quite 

 favorable to the protection of birds. 

 A very competent observer says that 

 not all of the birds migrated this 

 winter. He recently visited a farm 

 less than an hour's ride from Chicago, 

 where he found the old place, as he 

 relates it, "chucked full of Robins, 

 Blackbirds, and Woodpeckers," and 

 others unknown to him. From this 

 he inferred they would have been in 

 Florida had indications predicted a 

 severe winter. The trees of the south 

 parks of Chicago, and those in 

 suburban places, have had, darting 

 through their branches during the 

 months of December and January, 

 nearly as many members of the Wood- 

 pecker tribe as were found there 

 during the mating season in May last. 



Alas, that the Robin will visit us in 

 diminished numbers in the approach- 

 ing spring. He has not been so com- 

 mon for a year or two as he was 

 formerly, for the reason that the 

 Robins died by thousands of starvation, 

 owing to the freezing of their food 

 supply in Tennessee during the pro- 

 tracted cold weather in the winter of 

 1895. It is indeed sad that this good 

 Samaritan among birds should be 

 defenseless against the severity of 

 Nature, the common mother of us all. 

 Nevertheless the return of the birds, 

 in myriads or in single pairs, will 

 be welcomed more and more, year by 

 year, as intelligent love and apprecia- 

 tion of them shall possess the popular 

 mind. 



