AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 85 



ABOUT SOME BIRDS. 



By Wilfobd Ernst Mann. 



^c l^S^Zh^ frequently have people say to me: "I would like to know 

 v mi something about birds from personal observation, but I 



^ R>j have no time to wander through the fields and woods m 



search for them." That is not necessary. With eyes to 



|p see, and ears to hear, no little knowledge can be gained 



r ^i^^ r ^^'W without going a dozen rods from the house. In this paper 

 I shall speak only of those that I have seen and studied about my own 

 house and lawn. First, I will mention the Purple Finch, not at all a 

 rare bird in New England, but one known to comparatively few people. 

 Only last summer a friend expressed the regret that she had never been 

 able to see a Purple Finch, or hear one sing. She must have seen and 

 heard many of them, for not twenty rods from her home, I had that 

 very day listened with delight to the song of one of these birds, and 

 had watched him as he flitted from tree to tree. In walking a distance 

 of two miles to that point, I had seen three Purple Finches. I presume 

 that the unfortunate name he carries is often the cause of failure to 

 identify his finchship. Crimson would be more appropriate judging 

 from his attire. The rump and breast show less of the crimson than 

 the head, neck, middle of back and wing coverts. The belly and under 

 tail coverts are white, streaked faintly with brown, except in the very 

 middle. The edges of wings and tail feathers are brownish red. The 

 female is more of an olive brown, but like her mate shows no purple. 

 To call a crimson bird purple is misleading. 



This year the Purple Finch came to us the middle of April. Every 

 morning about half past five o'clock, one wings his way over a neigh- 

 bor's lot, singing as he goes, and a sweeter bird song one seldom hears 

 The Bobolink and Hermit Thrush sing very sweetly but neither, holds 

 tny admiration as does the Purple Finch. The hermit thrush reminds 

 me of joys departed, the Purple Finch inspires me with hope of joys to 

 come. One morning while in my garden, the notes of a song began to 

 shower upon my ears. Looking up, I saw a Purple Finch "fetching" 

 his music with him to a nearby apple tree. His head and wings had 

 the appearance of wanting to stay in air, while his body decided to settle 

 down upon the apple tree. When he reached the topmost bough, his 

 song continued. His crest feathers seemed raised in anger with him- 

 self for not being able to give expression to his joy, while occasionally 

 he gave his head a shake as though declaring the uselessness of at- 

 tempting to utter his true sentiments. For five minutes, or more he 

 dropped, 



