i 9 4 LITERARY PILGRIMAGES 



morning, a recurrence of rollicking refrain which 

 reminds one strongly of the awakening notes of 

 the bugle as they ring through the camp when the 

 last of the night watches is ended and the new day 

 calls all to be up and stirring. The robins are 

 peculiarly the buglers of the reveille. No bird 

 sings earlier, and when the full chorus is in swing 

 there is little chance for any other bird to be heard. 

 No wonder the sun gets up betimes. 



The day calls, the assembly, the retreat, the 

 mess call and a score of others are left to other 

 birds than the robins. The thrush may pipe them. 

 Grosbeak, tanager or warbler may trill the 

 familiar melodies for all these, and a host of 

 others sing at any hour of the day in tree or shrub 

 or in the pine woods that stand in a phalanx, like 

 a company under arms, pressing close up to 

 the brow of the hill. Sometimes I hear these in 

 the sweet, flowing warble of the purple finch which 

 is not rare hereabouts, but more often in the notes 

 of the warbling vireos which frequent the tops 

 of the shade trees. These are all-day buglers, 

 piping clear for all occasions in firm, rich, con- 

 tinuous notes of whose meaning there can be no 



