A Bouquet of Song Birds 
in the air are of a piece with his musical 
buffoonery. But, prodigal as he is of all his 
natural gifts, he does not betray a genuine, 
earnest soul for music, like a thrush or finch ; 
and utters his kaleidoscopic mé/ange in a rather 
shallow, ad captandum fashion. If I mistake 
him not, he is not a bad type of the profes- 
sional humorist, who is at first extremely enter- 
taining, but gives no thoroughly substantial 
pleasure, and ere long becomes wearisome. 
At a deserted ‘‘ mill privilege’’ the water 
thrush and a pair of sandpipers had taken up 
their abode, the red- winged blackbird an- 
nounced himself in aswamp close by, the king- 
bird rattled his ominous note as he chased his 
insect-prey, and bank swallows circled over the 
stream. The olive-backed and the Wilson 
thrushes were still shifting all the burden of 
song upon the faithful wood thrush, the olive- 
backed only deigning occasionally to snap out 
a sharp note, while the Wilson’s more mellow, 
but fretful, tone was heard everywhere. 
On the edge of a clearing the impetuous 
white -eyed vireo appeared to be domiciled. 
The first time I heard his dashing strain, a 
couple of weeks before, he was so captivating 
by his peculiarly vigorous temperament that, 
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