FIRST-COMERS. 45 
One of my pleasantest memories is of a sparkling April 
morning in 1874, at Scott’s Landing, a little railway-junec- 
tion on the Ohio River. It was bright and cold, and the 
wheezy steamboats passing up and down the river trailed 
from their tall and slender stacks great golden banners 
athwart the rising sun. The birds were up betimes. Crows 
from far and near were gathering to breakfast at the banks 
of the river, as is their custom at seasons of high water. 
The crow blackbirds—redundancy of title !—were moving in 
small flocks about some newly ploughed ground, smacking 
their horny lips at one another over some luscious, luckless 
erub; and their cousins, the military redwings, were in the 
highest glee. Cardinals are the natural bird-feature there ; 
and their bold whistling resounded from every hill-side. Out 
of the orchard came the sharp squeak of a black-and-white 
ereeper, the noisy chatter of chipping-sparrows, and the 
dee-dee-dee of the miniature Southern chickadees. One tree: 
was the haunt of a single robin—rara avis in that locality 
—and he sang loud and long, not minding his loneliness. 
Bluebirds were not plenty, but a pair of them, and per- 
haps two families, inhabited an old cherry-tree so near 
to the railway-track that the tops of the passing ears 
pushed aside the boughs. I have noticed so many nests 
of birds built in close proximity to railways that I have 
