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Tent 
RN i en MI ST PCT 
THE SUMMER WARBLER. 67 
the burly brooks, seem to shiver with a mysterious joy as they feel the 
sap, their life blood, well up into and throughout their varied members. 
Days, when we can imagine that the leaves have voluntary motion, and 
seem to clap their glad palms together in a round of applause, through- 
out every aisle and avenue of their sinuous assemblage in recognition 
of the jubilant carolings of the beautiful and innocent denizens of their 
shady naves. Days, which fret the links upon our longing limbs that 
bind us to duty and labor, and entrance the child of nature, and days in 
which we murmur against the heritage bequeathed us by the frail one of 
Eden. We are recompensed, however, for the wearing of the shackles 
which restrain our eager feet and bar our entrance into nature’s realm, 
in the joyful notes which fall from the tongues of the birds. In the 
sweet medley which they pour forth, the strain of the Summer Warbler 
is by no means insignificant. Once heard, and its source noted, it will 
never be forgotten by the admirer of nature’s music. _ Its syllabic crisp- 
ness commands the ear, and its hearty and confiding utterance wins from 
the heart of the listener, a love, involuntary, sincere and faithful which 
it were vain to withhold. 
Simple, confiding and sweet, I imagine the song of this warbler may 
be best represented by an expression from between the nearly closed 
lips and teeth, of the syllables, szv-s¢n-s7s-a-red, or sin-sin-stn-stsa-red, 
with the accent and rising inflection upon the last syllable. The bird 
seems most happy in its repetition, hardly ceasing to give it utterance 
even in the swelling noontide of a summer day. 
Owing toa not too close distinction of plumose colorations and 
markings, I find as previously remarked that many persons are apt to 
confound the Goldfinch described in the preceding sketch, with the bird 
under consideration. I have thought proper, therefore, even at a sacri- 
