THE SPRING SONG. 



of dawn as of twilight, and in tliis same spot some day tlie 

 Hermit Thrush may" give a rehearsal for your private ear, of 

 the music with which he will soon thrill the northern woods. 



This is the Matin Song. When it ceases, you must watch 

 for the individual birds as they go to and fro, feeding or 

 building, or perching on some favourite twig to sing, either 

 to their mates or from pure exultation. From nine o'clock 

 in the morning until live m the afternoon, the principal 

 singers are the Bobolink, Meadowlark, Vireos ; the Red- 

 start, who declares that every morsel he swallows is " Sweet, 

 sweet, sweeter ! " the Black-throated Green Warbler, who 

 flashes his yellow feathers calling, " Will you co-ome, will 

 you co-ome, will you ? " the sprightly Maryland Yellow- 

 throat, who almost beckons as he dashes about laughing, 

 " Follow me, follow me " ; the Baltimore Oriole, who alter- 

 nately blows his mellow horn or complains querulously ; and 

 the Song Sparrow, who sings equally at all times. 



Towards five o'clock the Evensong begins, and the Purple 

 Finch, perching in the elm top, warbles in continuous bursts 

 — " List to me, list to me, hear me, and I'll tell you, you, 

 you," each peal being more vigorous than the last. The 

 Wood Thrushes take up their harp-like " Moli Uoli-, aeo- 

 lee-lee," the Vesper Sparrow tunes, the birds of morning 

 follow, one by one ; but there are new voices that we did 

 not hear in the matinal that continue after the chorus is 

 hushed — the Rose-breasted Grosl)eak, the Veer}^ and the 

 Whip-poor-will. 



The Yeery rings his echo notes in the morning also, but 

 his evensong is the best ; and, as the dusk deepens, his notes 

 have a more solemn quality. The Grosbeak has a sweet, 

 rounded, warbling song that it is difficult to render in sylla- 

 bles intelligently, but when you hear it in the twilight you 

 will know it, because it is unlike anything else. The Mock- 

 ingbird is not heard freely as a night singer in this latitude, 

 but further south he gives his real song only to the night 

 wind; not his mocking, jeering ditty of squeaks and cat- 

 calls, but his natural heart-song; and when you hear it, you 

 may listen for the martial note of the Cardinal, who seems 



