llBlben (Brass is (Breen 



could not marry both. A good deal, I think, de- 

 pends upon the time of day, and your own state 

 of mind. The rose-breasted grosbeak suits the 

 early morning hours, the song is so full of life, 

 hope, and earnestness. It says " pitch in," and 

 with the song ringing in your ears the day's labor 

 seems lighter. For me, the wood-thrush is too 

 melancholy. It is too suggestive of sorrow, too 

 despondent, and yet we stand listening as if spell- 

 bound. Such is the contradictory nature of poor 

 mortal man. We realize this when the cardinals 

 come from some near-by thicket, and whistle as 

 they only can. It is * away with melancholy' 

 with them and with us too. How the woods ring, 

 and we might almost look for the old oaks to 

 dance. 



" There is another splendid, inspiriting songster 

 that seems but little known. This is the Carolina 

 wren. They take to our outbuildings as readily 

 as the pewee or chimney-swallow to the chim- 

 neys, and what energy they have. Wren-like, 

 they are never at rest, and when they sing they 

 put forth all their strength. I have heard them 

 when fully half a mile distant, determining this 

 by actual measurement. This may seem an ex- 

 travagant assertion, but it is not. Cope says of 

 the bullfrog that ' it may be heard for a distance 

 of several miles.' Now sound, of course, travels 

 far over water, but the wren I heard sent its 

 voice ringing through a strip of woodland and 

 134 



