Sylvan Minstrels. 139 



with the screams of a family of jays ; here, chimes in 

 the chatter of a magpie ; there, rises the alarm note of 

 a missel-thrush like the crash of breaking boughs in 

 wintry storms. No, there is no lack of movement, 

 but there is a dearth of music. 



There are birds which sing, more or less, throughout 

 the year like our familiar and faithful friends the 

 robin and the wren. But the spring-time is the musical 

 season. 



When the eggs are hatched the singers break off one 

 by one, and devote their energies to their family cares. 



The male bird, who sang over and over again all his 

 rich store of melodies to cheer his mate in her long 

 and patient vigil, has time for music no longer. 



Hard indeed must the pair toil to keep their insati- 

 able nestlings supplied with food. From dawn to 

 dark it is one continuous labour. 



And when the hush of night has settled down upon 

 the woodlands ; when the glow has faded from the 

 west, and soft blue shadows gather in the landscape, 

 the little minstrels are fain to snatch a few brief hours 

 of sleep before the glimmer in the east shall rouse once 

 more their hungry brood. 



In the early spring, commencing even before the 

 grip of winter is fairly loosened from the land, the song- 

 thrush is the chief musician. Not half-hearted and 

 fickle, like the nightingale ; not given to breaking off 

 in the middle of a bar, like the blackcap ; but, from the 

 top of a wayside elm, or from the shelter of a spreading 



