8 



upon a stone in the water, sat the snow- 1 

 bird, conscious only of his own associa- [ 

 tion with the dawn and greeting the ap- 

 proaching day with his wild untamable 

 melody. It has since been my privilege 

 to hear this musical effort on many sim- 

 ilar occasions, and it has never failed to 

 impress me as when I first heard it. 



Some birds sing almost constantly, day 

 or night, feeding, washing, dressing, fly- 

 ing, and even sleeping, and their efforts 

 have no set time. Others are quite sys- 

 tematic and have a season for work and 

 a season for music, the song season al- 

 ways after the work is completed. To 

 these belong some of our sparrows, and 

 most noticeably the vesper sparrow. At 

 such times he mounts a fencepost, branch 

 or other elevation, and expresses to the 

 world in song his thorough appreciation 

 of the good things of life. Sung chiefly 

 in the evening twilight, it is an inspired 

 melody most pleasing and beautiful. 



A mysterious atmosphere seems to 

 surround certain birds, which, because 

 of the regular repetition and striking 

 character the song attracts general atten- 

 tion, while, search as we may, the singer 

 is rarely located or identified. The 

 white-throated sparrow and the Veery 

 or Wilson thrush are two birds sur- 

 rounded by this mysterious atmosphere. 

 The peculiar whistle of the former bird 

 floating from out the depths of the 

 swamp or from under the brush heap in 

 the woods has earned for him a number 

 of aliases as extensive as the range of 

 the bird. " The peabody bird," " Hard 

 times Canada bird," and " the paddy 

 whack " are some of these, and the vari- 

 ation is according to the interpretation 

 of the song. The various conditions un- 

 der which I have met and studied this 

 original bird have resulted in my refer- 

 ence to him as the " bird of moods." 



Upon his arrival in the spring, when 

 the stamp of returning vitality is every- 

 where in evidence upon the face of na- 

 ture, and his cheery clear whistle floats 

 along in the morning breeze, it conveys 

 to me his happiness in the words, " I've 

 come back again." " back again." " back 

 again," and I hasten to enter the wood 

 to greet him. 



As the advance-guard is reinforced, 

 there is much squabbling and practical 

 joking, resulting in hand-to-hand, or 

 rather " beak-to-beak " encounters, after 

 which the vie! or, mounting above his 

 vanquished, with a thrill of true satis- 

 faction pipes out his tune, which now 

 says, " Oh, say, didn't I, didn't I, didn't 

 I?" 



Migration is past, summer begun, and 

 as we float down the river past the 

 dtrse impenetrable masses of low-lying 

 scrub and you ask me what creature 

 could live in that hopeless tangle, and 

 even before I reply he has mounted a 

 branch to have a look at us and pipes 

 out, "Old Tom, Peabody, Peabody, Pea- 

 body." He has raised his family, ex- 

 hausted the interests of the locality and 

 reminded by chilly evenings and turning 

 leaves of approaching blizzards, he calls 

 to them, apparently with a tone of sad- 

 ness, "We had, better move, better move, 

 better move," and after a few weeks of 

 scurry and flutter and wrangle among 

 the brush and falling leaves he leaves us 

 at last for another season. He seems 

 to say, "Hard times in, Canada, Canada. 

 Canada," and well he might say it if 

 times were as hard as the frosts and ice 

 he moves away from, but he never leaves 

 us without that ring of assurance of 

 '' I'll be back again, in the spring, in the 

 spring." 



An aristocrat in manner and dress and 

 a refined vocal artist is the handsome 

 fox-sparrow. His song possesses many of 

 the richer qualities of the Baltimore 

 oriole and the rosebreasted grosbeak, 

 and heard in chorus in April it lis an in- 

 spiration of summer melodies. 



The pine grosbeak, purple finch and 

 crossbill are all worthy of mention 

 among the feathered vocalists, being also 

 among our richer plumaged bird's. 



The pine grosbeak's is the most strik- 

 ing song, the other being modifications 

 o f it . I t i s 

 somewhat muf- 

 fled and most- 

 ly sung without 

 opening the 

 mouth, but it is 

 a pro longed 

 sweet warble 

 quite i n har- 

 mony with the 

 confiding gentle 

 and sincere dis- 

 position of the 

 bird. In the 

 breeding season it becomes louder and 

 clearer and flows almost continuously 

 and irrepressibly from him resting, feed- 

 ing, bathing or even sleeping. 



As the bobolink is the mad musician 

 of the meadows, so the rosebreasted 

 grosbeak can be considered the orpheus 

 of our woods. 



Regularly distributed over our entire 

 wooded country, one cannot in season 

 travel far without hearing the rose- 



Pine Grosbeak. 

 (Pinicola enucleator.) 



