JULY. 243 



The blue-bird, forsaken, yet true to his home, 

 Still lingers, and looks for a milder to-morrow, 



Till forced by the horrors of winter to roam, 

 He sings his adieu in a low note of sorrow. 



'' While spring's lovely season, serene, dewy, warm, 



The green face of earth, and the pure blue of heaven, 

 Or love's native music has influence to charm, 



Or sympathy's glow to our feelings is given, 

 Still dear to each bosom the blue-bird shall be ; 



His voice, like the thrillings of hope, is a treasure ; 

 For through bleakest storms, if a calm he but see, 



He comes to remind us of sunshine and pleasure ! " 



C. Wilson had the true naturalist's enthusiasm : he 

 appears to have lived in a world of birds, and to have 

 viewed them in the light of intelligent and companionable 

 beings : his earnest defences of their characters, and his fre- 

 quent eulogia on their moral excellencies, prove this. They 



are certainly very fascinating little creatures. A few 



days ago I saw a very showy little fellow, dressed in deep 

 black and orange : his tail, in particular, was bright orange at 

 the sides, and black down the middle : he was flying about 

 the end of an outhouse in a garden. 



F It was either the American Redstart (Muscicapa 



RuticillaJ, or the Baltimore Oriole (Oriolus Baltimorus}; 

 your description applying pretty equally to both : but I ra- 

 ther suppose it might be the latter, for I have heard Ameri- 

 cans speak of the Gold Robin as being found here, by which 

 name they distinguish the Baltimore ; though I have never 

 observed it myself in this country. This bird is remarkable 

 for its skill and ingenuity in the manufacture of its nest, 

 which is pensile, hung at the end of a bough or twig, a bag 

 of thick strong felt, about six inches deep, made of tow, flax, 

 hair, wool, &c. according to Wilson. I have no doubt of its 

 being an inhabitant of this province, as it is spread over the 



M 2 



