Music of the Wild 



be imitated so they answer it readily. The male 

 cries, "Pt'seet!" and the female answers, "Pt'see!" 

 The continuous song that they sow on the air with 

 an abandon approaching the bubbling notes of the 

 bobolink, and really having more pure glee in it, 

 to my ears syllabicates, "Put seed in it! Put seed 

 in it!" 



Possibly I thought of this because they are 

 always putting seed into themselves. Mustard, 

 thistle, lettuce, oyster plant, millet, and every gar- 

 den vegetable and wild weed that produces a seed, 

 in time will bear a goldfinch singing as it sways 

 and feasts. 



One of the commonest plants of the wayside, 



dignified and attractive in bloom, and wholly ar- 



Milk- tistic in seedtime, is the milkweed. This plant is 



weed and inseparably connected in my mind with the gold- 



JJittcrs'wcct 



finch, that depends upon it for most of its nesting 

 material, and with the monarch butterfly, the cat- 

 erpillar of which feeds upon the leaves. Any plant 

 that blankets a goldfinch family and nourishes a 

 butterfly is an aristocrat of the first order. In 

 touch of it grows our best-loved climber. 



Because of its elegant leaves, its stout, twining 

 stem, and brilliant and long clinging berries, the 

 bittersweet is the very finest vine of the roadside. 

 In winter it outshines all others, because the hulls 

 of the yellow clusters open in four divisions and 

 expose a bright-red berry divided sometimes into 

 282 



