168 SIGNS AND SEASONS 



is SO richly endowed. It is not every season that 

 I hear him, though my ear is on the alert for his 

 strong, finely-modulated whistle. 



Nearly all the warblers sing in passing. I hear 

 them in the orchards, in the groves, in the woods, 

 as they pause to feed in their northward journey, 

 their brief, lisping, shuffling, insect-like notes re- 

 quiring to be searched for by the ear, as their forms 

 by the eye. But the ear is not tasked to identify 

 the songs of the kinglets, as they tarry briefly with 

 us in spring. In fact, there is generally a week 

 in April or early May, — 



" On such a time as goes before the leaf, 

 When all the woods stand in a mist of green 

 And nothing perfect," 



during which the piping, voluble, rapid, intricate, 

 and delicious warble of the ruby-crowned kinglet is 

 the most noticeable strain to be heard, especially 

 among the evergreens. 



I notice that during the mating season of the 

 birds the rivalries and jealousies are not all confined 

 to the males. Indeed, the most spiteful and furious 

 battles, as among the domestic fowls, are frequently 

 between females. I have seen two hen robins 

 scratch and pull feathers in a manner that contrasted 

 strongly with the courtly and dignified sparring 

 usual between the males. One March a pair of 

 bluebirds decided to set up housekeeping in the 

 trunk of an old apple-tree near my house. Not 

 long after, an unwedded female appeared, and prob- 

 ably tried to supplant the lawful wife. I did not 



