6 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 



In that free, fascinating, half-work and half-play 

 pursuit, — sugar-making, — a pursuit which still lingers 

 in many parts of New York, as in New England, the 

 robin is one's constant companion. When the day is 

 sunny and the ground bare, you meet him at all points 

 and hear him at all hours. At sunset, on the tops of 

 the tall maples, with look heavenward, and in a spirit 

 of utter abandonment, he carols his simple strain. And 

 sitting thus amid the stark, silent trees, above the wet, 

 cold earth, with the chill of winter still in the air, there 

 is no fitter or sweeter songster in the whole round 

 year. It is in keeping with the scene and the occasion. 

 How round and genuine the notes are, and how eagerly 

 our ears drink them in ! The first utterance, and the 

 spell of winter is thoroughly broken, and the remem- 

 brance of it afar off. 



Robin is one of the most native and democratic of 

 our birds ; he is one of the family, and seems much 

 nearer to us than those rare, exotic visitants, as the 

 orchard starling or rose-breasted grossbeak, with their 

 distant, high-bred ways. Hardy, noisy, frolicsome, 

 neighborly and domestic in his habits, strong of wing 

 and bold in spirit, he is the pioneer of the thrush 

 family, and well worthy of the finer artists whose 

 coming he heralds and in a measure prepares us for. 



I could wish Robin less native and plebeian in one 

 respect, — the building of his nest. Its coarse material 

 and rough masonry are creditable neither to his skill 

 as a workman nor to his taste as an artist. I am the 



