90 AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 



now and then. What was he doing out so early ? I pitied him, for he 

 would surely freeze at the next cold spell. 



Now I heard my first bird notes. " Who are you ? Who are you ? " 

 came from the hillside. It was a new note to me, and I hurried for- 

 ward to see the ministrel. There he was, his tail pointing skywards, 

 and his voice pouring out music as fast as a fire engine pumps its 

 stream of water, a Carolina Wren ! It is easily recognized, as it is the 

 largest of our wrens. 



I left him, and started up the road, till a glorious burst of music 

 bombarded my ears. The sunshine had put new vigor into the Song 

 Sparrow, and he was singing as he had never sung before. I call this 

 the spring song of the Song Sparrow, though he sings it nearly all year, 

 but never so beautifully as in Spring. 



I am suddenly distracted from this melody by a sudden flash of blue 

 that almost dazzles me. The first Bluebird ! I feel like shouting and 

 throwing my hat in the air for joy; but he is soon gone, and I turn my 

 attention to more winter residents. 



"Phoebe, phoebe," I am dumbfounded. Who ever heard of a Phoebe 

 in January ? Yet there it is again, as plain as day. This must be 

 investigated, so I start forward at once, and immediately run into a 

 flock of chickadees. The joke is on me this time. Of course it is the 

 chickadee's spring call ! 



Another dazzling flash, this time red, and then I hear a cardinal sing. 

 I am satisfied. I have seen what I sought, and I turn homewards. 



On my way home I have to cross the river, and I find that it is full 



of floating ice, and is rising rapidly. The big floes boom against the 



piers of the bridge with astonishing force, and the whole structure 



trembles. I feel safer when I am at the other end boarding a street car 



which carries me to a good hot supper 



Aethuh T. Henbice. 



