64 STARLIGHT AND SUNSHINE. 



road, and be deaf to your robin and wren. The song reveals it- 

 self instantly, and is readily caught thereafter. 



Sitting thus with closed eyes and ears alert almost any bright 

 morning in early June, a few minutes' patience rewards me with 

 the distinct identification of the following elements of song, veri- 

 fied from careful notes which tally year by year what a revela- 

 tion to the pilgrim from city walls, where the scolding of the 

 garrulous sparrows in the ivy, the occasional scream of the night- 

 hawK, the cooing of the pigeon, and, perhaps, an occasional pro- 

 fane parrot, have summed up the ornithological inspiration ! 

 robin, bobolink, wood-thrush, cat-bird, oriole, orchard oriole, mead- 

 ow-lark, wren, kingbird, brown thrush, Wilson's thrush, red-eyed 

 vireo, warbling vireo, white -eyed vireo, yellow-hammer, chewink, 

 rose-breasted grosbeak, purple finch, song-sparrow, yellow winged 

 sparrow, chipping-sparrow, field-sparrow, bluebird, phcebe, yellow 

 warbler, swallow, goldfinch, quail, nighthawk, and crow. Nor are 

 these all, incredulous reader. My list is confined only to those 

 songs which are more or less incessant in my merry medley. I 

 have omitted the tanager, the grackle, the indigo-bird, the red- 

 start, and others, whose notes either occasionally reach my ears or 

 are involved in doubt, to say nothing of the owl and whippoorwill, 

 with their duet lullaby of the twilight. 



And what an endless diversion, this picturesque, kaleidoscopic 

 music, this pastoral opera, every fresh recognition bringing its 

 vision of some favorite feathered songster, each with its welcome 

 of personal reminiscence ! 



The fringe of wood beneath the hill sends up its faithful com- 

 plement through the rippling maze of song, in which the weird 

 call of the veery, the bell of the wood-thrush, and the challenge 

 of the chewink form a more or less interrupted trio, occasionally 

 silenced by the piercing note of the meadow-lark or the whistle 

 of the quail, while again the resonant tattoo of the yellow-hammer 

 rings from its hollow tree, or that coaxing, cooing note now fills 

 some momentary lull: how are the flashes of golden wing, the 

 pearly lucent eggs, the old bleached limb and all, embodied in 

 that pictorial sound " wick, wick, wick, wick, wick !" 



