SPRING FASHIONS. 



ELLA GILBERT IVES. 



EVEN in birddom some of the 

 styles come from Paris, where 

 the rojige gorge smartens up his 

 red waistcoat as regularly as 

 the sprmg comes round. Our staid 

 American robin tries to follow suit, 

 though he never can equal his old- 

 world models. Even the English red- 

 breast excels him in beauty and song. 

 I must tell the truth, as an honest re- 

 porter, though I am not a bit English, 

 and would not exchange our Merula 

 migratoria for a nightingale; for beauty 

 is but feather-deep, and when our robin 

 shines up his yellow bill — a spring 

 fashion of his own — the song that 

 comes from it is dearer than the pot of 

 gold at the end of the rainbow. That 

 little relative of his whom our fore- 

 fathers called the "blue robin," has the 

 same rufous color in his waistcoat, 

 though it stops so short it always 

 seems as if the stuff must have given 

 out. No Parisian or London dandy 

 set the style for his lovely coat. If 

 ever a fashion came down from heaven, 

 that did; and it came to the fresh, new 

 world and stopped here. No blue- 

 coats perch on the rails in old Eng- 

 land; perhaps because there is never 

 clear sky enough to spare for a bird's 

 back. We have so much on this con- 

 tinent, that half a dozen birds dress in 

 the celestial hue; some of them, like 

 the jay, all the year round. 



But indigo bunting, whose summer 

 coat and vest seem interwoven of blue 

 sky and a thunder cloud, and then 

 dipped in a sea-wave of foamy green, 

 is not so lavish of his beauty. His 

 plain wife and children, who dress 

 almost like common sparrows, have 

 only shreds and patches of blue in 

 their attire, and indigo pater puts on 

 the same dull shade for his winter over- 

 coat. But in spring, what a spruce old 

 beau he is! — and how he does like to 

 show off in the tasseled oaks! So 

 beautiful is his changeable silk that 

 one half suspects him of borrowing 

 from the peacock's wardrobe. A grain 

 of that lordly fowl's disposition may 



have mixed with the dye; for if there 

 is a pointed spruce tree near, indigo is 

 sure to perch on the tip-top and sing 

 until you look at him. Still, he loves 

 beauty for beauty's sake, and is not 

 really vain like the tanager. 



That gorgeous bird actually sings, 

 ''Here pretty, pretty here/" with varia- 

 tions, as if all loveliness focused in 

 his feathers. He arrives just when the 

 tender young foliage of May will half 

 veil his vivid scarlet coat; and as it is 

 less dependent on light than the in- 

 digo's, he does not affect tree-tops, 

 but perches under a spray of golden 

 oak leaves or the delicate green of an 

 elm, and shines like a live coal in a 

 bed of leaves. If he were a British 

 trooper he could not be more resplen- 

 dent in scarlet and black. Tanager is 

 uniformed first for conquest, then for 

 guard duty. He wears his bright trap- 

 pings during courting and nesting 

 time, and the rest of the year doffs his 

 scarlet and wears olive-green like that 

 of his modestmate. Hestillcarriesblack 

 wings and tail, however, to mark his sex. 



So does gay little goldfinch, bird of 

 winsome ways and a happy heart. He, 

 too, dresses up for courting; and how 

 do you think he does it? All winter 

 long he has worn an olive-brown coat, 

 as subdued as any finch's needs to be; 

 but when the willows begin to hint at 

 the fashionable spring color, and the 

 spice bush breathes its name, and the 

 dandelions print the news on the grass 

 and the forsythia emblazons it on 

 every lawn, and the sunset sky is a 

 great bulletin board to announce it — 

 then this dainty bird peels off his dull 

 winter overcoat, each tiny feather 

 dropping a tip, and lo! underneath a 

 garb that a Chinese Chang might 

 covet. To match his wings and tail, 

 he puts on a black cap, and then you 

 never saw a more perfect "glass of fash- 

 ion and mold of form" — at least that is 

 Mme. Goldfinch's opinion. 



''No dis-pu-ti7ig a-bout tastes !" chirps 

 chipping sparrow. He prefers a dress 

 of sober tints and thinks nothing so 



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