Indigo Bunting. I57 



to the younglings that the demanded food is near. Nor 

 have the bird songs all ceased, either; for now the merry 

 carol of a goldfinch floats to ray ear as the happy fellow 

 bounds through the air. A robin is bravely singing, too, 

 hidden by the foliage of the high raaple in which he is 

 perched, and at regular intervals comes the trill of a chip- 

 ping sparrow from the top of a smaller raaple. JSTow an- 

 other familiar voice gives pleasure, singing from a yet 

 lower level; for in the top of a small plum tree an indigo 

 bunting chants as loudly and blithely as in the earlier 

 days. Surely if generous measure can render the music 

 of any bird acceptable, the little indigo bunting deserves 

 a high rank among our songsters. The quality of its 

 fervid roundelays, however, is little inferior to the quan- 

 tity; and lovers of bird music can not tire of the pretty 

 little strains it delivers so regularly and persistently. 



In ray early wildwood rambles I soon formed the ac- 

 quaintance of this little creature, so ornately attired and 

 rausically gifted. I could not fail to notice it; for as I sat 

 on the shady bank of ray favorite fishing resort, raore in- 

 terested in the birds than in ray idle cork, the indigo 

 bunting would perch in the tree-top above rae and chant 

 its vigorous measures. As the days grew warmer, and 

 the harmony of the woods became weaker, its strains 

 seemed yet louder, and in July the wildwood chorus 

 dwindled to a trio which never failed to yield me pleas- 

 ure — the blithe carols of the indigo bunting in the tree- 

 top, the sweet chants of the song sparrow in the top of a 

 brush-heap. and the short, merry whistle of the yellow- 

 throat in the lower bushes. Indeed, it seemed to me that 

 only in July the song of the indigo bird arose in spirit 

 and power, for then its fervor and fluency most clairaed 

 my attention. 



In the raidday July heat it chooses a perch in the eura- 

 mit of a garden tree, or on the telegraph wire near its 

 haunts, and there it delivers its pleasing chants. Unlike 

 the vireos, it is a bird of the sunlight, and only in the 

 direct sunshine does it sing at its best. Nor does it sing 

 as an accompaniment to its work; but, like the song 

 sparrow, with which it often associates, it sings from its 

 love of melody and from an overflowing spirit. Lifting 



