SPRINa ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS. 35 



boys were shooting the warbhng vireos, supposing them 

 to be purple finches from the resemblance of their sing- 

 ing. I trust my explanations saved the remaining 

 vireos, and to some extent lessened in the boys' estima- 

 tion the imaginary offenses of the finches. 



The arrival of the vivacious American gold finches is 

 welcomed by all who like bright color and cheerful 

 voices. Though loaded down with scientific names, the 

 latest, {Spinus tristis), they remain the same sunny 

 optimists, accepting life as a boon and not a burden. 

 Their cheerfulness is contagious and their presence 

 seems to light up the surroundings like the sunshine. 

 They are gems in color and proportion. Their motions 

 are peculiarly graceful, and whether in their undulatory 

 billowy flight, or hanging head downward from the 

 feathery top of a pasture thistle, every movement is the 

 very " poetry of motion." 



The other day while walking in the edge of a woods 

 in search of the hepatica, I suddenly became conscious 

 that a whirlwind of bright feathers and happy voices 

 was over my head in the branches of a spreading maple. 

 The tree had suddenly become alive with a chattering, 

 musical foHage, more brilliant than the colored leaves 

 that dropped from it last autumn. It was like the 

 " talking oaks of Dodona." A flock of at least fifty 

 gold finches were taking possession of it, and a livelier, 

 merrier, noisier tree-top one never saw. They were 

 moving from branch to branch, continually changing 

 places like the colors in a kaleidoscope, and singing, 

 talking or calling at the same time. The tumult was 



