clxxiv LIFE OF WILSON. 



the favourite haunts of the Wood Thrush are invaded; and, ere 

 long, like his lamented historian, his place will be known there 

 no more. 



His poetical description of the Blue-bird, which originally 

 appeared in the first volume of the Ornithology, has been copi- 

 ed into many publications, and still maintains its popularity. 

 It contains some ill-constructed lines, and some rhymes so 

 grossly defective, that we wonder how he could have tolerated 

 them in a production of only half a dozen stanzas. The last 

 quatrain of the fourth stanza contains false syntax; the construc- 

 tion is not regular and dependent, the adverb so being out of 

 place. In the third stanza there is a grammatical error. Yet in 

 this little poem, Wilson's happy talent of describing rural scene- 

 ry, and the habits of birds, is conspicuous. The picture is 

 charming, and more so to an American, who knows how beau- 

 tifully accurate are its outlines. We see the disappearing of 

 the snows of Winter; the busy labours of the fishermen; the 

 wild geese labouring their airy way to the north; the lone but- 

 terfly fluttering over the meadows; the red maple buds bursting 

 into life; and, finally, " the " herald of Spring,' 7 the well- 

 known blue-bird, hailing " with his warblings the charms of 

 the season." The warm sunshine brings out the frogs from 

 their retreats, and their piping is heard throughout the marshes; 

 the woodland flowers unfold their charms to the eye; and the 

 industrious housewives repair to their gardens. The useful 

 bird is beheld flitting through the orchard in search of noxious 

 insects, he drags the devouring grub from the newly planted 

 maize, and the caterpillars from their webs. The ploughman 

 is pleased to behold him gleaning in his furrows, and the gar- 

 dener suspends his labours to listen to his simple song. " When 

 all the gay scenes of the summer are o'er," we observe him 

 lingering about his native home, like a solitary outcast; we 

 hear his melancholy adieu from the leafless branch, and mourn 

 his departure as that of a beloved friend. 



Of all Wilson's minor effusions this pleases me the most. Its 

 imagery is derived from objects that are familiar to us, but yet 



