THE SPRING BIRD PROCESSION 



Season after season, all over the country, the 

 spectacle of scarlet tanagers inspecting the ground 

 in ploughed fields recurs. 



This season an unusual number of male rose- 

 breasted grosbeaks have frequented the ground in 

 my vineyards at the same time. Their black-and- 

 white plumage, with an occasional glimpse of their 

 rose-colored breasts, makes them very noticeable, 

 but not so conspicuous as the tanagers. But their 

 rich, mellow warblings from the tree-tops more than 

 make up to the ear what the eye misses. Strange to 

 say, in my boyhood I never saw or recognized this 

 bird, and few country or farm people, I think, ever 

 discriminate it. Its song is like that of the robin 

 much softened and rounded and more finely modu- 

 lated, contrasting in this respect with the harder 

 and more midsummery strain of the tanager. The 

 heavy beak of the bird gives him a somewhat 

 Hebraic look. 



II 



That birds of a feather flock together, even in 

 migration, is evident enough every spring. When 

 in the morning you see one of a kind, you may con- 

 fidently look for many more. When, in early May, 

 I see one myrtle warbler, I presently see dozens of 

 them in the trees and bushes all about me; or, if I 

 see one yellow redpoll on the ground, with its sharp 

 chirp and nervous behavior, I look for more. Yes- 

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