i68 AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 



V. 



House Wren. — None of those mentioned can fill his place, he is the 

 embodiment of life, activity, and energy. In the midst of a deserted 

 l3it of land stands a little shed that "has seen better days." Immense 

 weeds cover the little walk that leads to the shed. Not far away is a 

 neglected orchard in full blossom from which comes the endearing 

 notes of the Bluebird. The day is bright; the sun shines gloriously on 

 high; the sky is a deep blue; the earth is green and beautiful. An 

 active little "chip" an active little hop, and from a little heap of brush 

 comes a House Wren. With an angry little note he flies to a small 

 tree, then down again, then to the other side of the brush, then with an 

 undulating flight to another heap of brush, and lastly to the roof of the 

 shed. There, on the gable he perches, and lets flow one of the most 

 wonderful liquid songs in all Bird-dom. He seems fully as animated 

 as our Water-thrush, but his notes lack the wildness so characteristic of 

 that bird, they would be altogether out of place in the dense woods. 

 He is all energy; a minute wasted is a sin. Even his song is short; he 

 tiies from his perch to go on with his persecution of the insects. And 

 who would want to see a Wood Pewee at the damp side of a stream, or 

 a Water-thrush trilling his wonderful notes from a tree, during the 

 drowsy month of August, or the Junco at a House Wren's home, or a 

 Vesper Sparrow in the dense woods. 



I for one say, each bird where it belongs. Nature cannot be 

 bettered. And it is the situation in which we find the bird, as much as 

 ■the bird itself that makes us respect it- or sympathize with it, or love it 

 as the case may be. norman o. forester. 



A SPRING SONG. 



Nature now smiles after winter's long wait, 

 Joys in the air and the earth is elate, 

 Never a bird that will find not his mate 

 And start keeping house at a very brisk rate; 

 Eros the sprite, from far up his height. 



Shoots forth his arrows and blisses. 

 And everything rhymes to the joyful times. 

 In such a season as this is. 



Cheer up ! Cheer up ! ' ' listen and hear. 

 Listen to the robin so loud and clear — 

 Upstart bard with never a fear. 

 Singing so gay in the spring of the year. 



While poets, methink, are spilling their ink. 



In a practical land such as this is. 

 We pass them unheeded, they never are needed. 

 When robin is telling his blisses. 



