400 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 



Sept 27, 1856. The bluebird family revisit their 

 box and warble as in spring. 



Feb. 18, 1857. I am excited by this wonderful air 

 and go listening for the note of the bluebird or other 

 comer. The very grain of the air seems to have under- 

 gone a change and is ready to split into the form of the 

 bluebird's warble. Methinks if it were visible, or I could 

 cast up some fine dust which would betray it, it would 

 take a corresponding shape. The bluebird does not 

 come till the air consents and his wedge will enter 

 easily. The air over these fields is a foundry full of 

 moulds for casting bluebirds' warbles. Any sound 

 uttered now would take that form, not of the harsh, 

 vibrating, rending scream of the jay, but a softer, flow- 

 ing, curling warble, like a purling stream or the lobes 

 of flowing sand and clay. Here is the soft air, and the 

 moist expectant apple trees, but not yet the bluebird. 

 They do not quite attain to song. 



Feb. 24, 1857. I am surprised to hear the strain of 

 a song sparrow from the riverside, and as I cross from 

 the causeway to the hill, thinking of the bluebird, I that 

 instant hear one's note from deep in the softened air. 

 It is already 40°, and by noon is between 50° and 60°. 

 As the day advances I hear more bluebirds and see 

 their azure flakes settling on the fence-posts. Their 

 short, rich, crispy warble curls through the air. Its 

 grain now lies parallel to the curve of the bluebird's 

 warble, like boards of the same lot. 



March 2, 1859. The bluebird which some woodchop- 

 per or inspired walker is said to have seen in that sunny 

 interval between the snow-storms is like a speck of clear 



