Song Birds and Water Fowl 
ticularly fond of pastures, the borders of the 
highway, and the like. In the general chorus, 
too, the inferior but neatly dressed ‘‘ chip- 
py’’—as the hair-bird is familiarly called— 
proved that he was anxious to do his best on 
all occasions ; but how variable that best is— 
sometimes so ringing and musical, and at other 
times as hard and uncompromising as a minia- 
ture watchman’s rattle. 
A heavy fog prevailed early in the morning ; 
but a fog can never dismay a bird in May. He 
is too joyously full to be choked off by such a 
vaporous trifle ; so they sang in their most wild 
and rampant fashion, and left to me the only 
effect of the fog—the difficulty of finding them. 
One of the first to be heard was the wood 
thrush ; and he afforded, as usual, the golden, 
richly modulated undertone, like the melting 
French horn, throughout the morning’s sym- 
phony. What a royal repose in his short but 
stately cadence, giving one the impression that 
always marks the mature and genuine artist— 
the sense of great reserve power. The wine 
of his soul is rare, but not intoxicating. If we 
did not have so many really witching and ec- 
static melodists in nature’s choir, we might be 
a bit provoked at times, that so grand a vocalist 
6 

