THE SONGS OF OUR BIRDS 



All in all, June is the best month of 

 the year to study bird-song. Then, most 

 of the birds are nesting and sing most 

 typically and frequently. In May, con- 

 ditions are still unsettled ; besides our 

 time would best be spent with the mi- 

 grants. When July brings its hot days, 

 nesting is almost over, and one by one 

 the birds drop out of the chorus ; the 

 bobolink's rollicking song is one of the 

 first to be missed, and the thrasher and 

 chat soon follow. August announces 

 the advent of the molting season, and, 

 consequently an almost total muteness 

 among the birds; and the disappointed 

 ornithologist must seek refuge in botany 

 and entomology. Late September marks 

 a brightening, a short period of song pre- 

 ceding migration ; but the young of the 

 year join in tentatively and hopelessly 

 confuse the student. This period is so 

 soon over, and with it the migration, that 

 before we are aware of any vital change, 

 all the robins have left, goldenrod, and 

 boneset are fast fading, and another cold 

 season is at hand. 



Among the great variety of songs, the 

 student will first begin to pick out those 

 that seem to exhibit sentiment and feel- 

 ing. It is not likely that because the 

 pewee's note is pathetic and doleful, he 

 partakes of these feelings. If this were 

 so, the screech owl, nature's chief 

 mourner, would be the most unhappy be- 

 ing in existance. Yet we are prone to 

 contemplate on the various songs in this 

 way and refer to the mournful cooing of 

 the dove, the merry laugh of the flicker, 

 the petulant dissuasion of the phoebe, the 

 plaintive chant of the field sparrow, the 

 drowsy notes of the warblers, the un- 

 couth monosyllables of the chat, the sad- 

 voiced meadowlark, and the like. But 

 such adjectives are very good from a lit- 

 erary standpoint; unless they are taken 

 too literally they are more colored in a 

 descriptive sense than such trite expres- 

 sions as clear, and loud, and sweet. 



Mentioning the variation in songs, it 

 might be noted that the value of the song 



as a thing of beauty is determined only 

 from our cultivated, but narrow, human 

 standpoint, and that therefore to the ears 

 of the grackle his coarse, rusty notes are 

 inestimably better music than the spirit- 

 ual chants of the thrushes. Were it not 

 so that each species possesses its peculiar 

 musical sense, acknowledging the hermit 

 thrush as the finest singer, evolution 

 would produce a tendency to sameness 

 among the birds, the thrush song being 

 the object to be attained; for in court- 

 ship the radical finch or vireo would as- 

 sume a higher type of music, nearer re- 

 lated to the thrush. This would be more 

 pleasing to the female finches or vireos 

 (for by hypothesis, they have a common 

 musical sense, with the thrush as the 

 highest form) and the male with icono- 

 clastic voice would meet with success. 

 Others of his tribe would do likewise, 

 until the very existence of every finch 

 or vireo would force him to adopt the 

 betterment. Thus a gradual evolution 

 resulting in the thrush form of song 

 would become universal. Now, of 

 course, this is not and will not be the 

 case. The chipping sparrow's unbeauti- 

 ful trill (unbeautiful of course from the 

 human standpoint) wins the heart of the 

 female as well as the male hermit 

 thrush's sublime notes call forth the ad- 

 miration of the opposite sex. 



Another feature of bird-song that 

 elicits speculation is the morning chorus. 

 It is a quarter before four o'clock on a 

 May morning. Not a vestige of light is 

 tinging the eastern horizon. Not a 

 sound disturbs the still air. Fifteen min- 

 utes pass thus. Suddenly a few subdued 

 notes issue from a tree. They sound 

 ghostly, as if the singer were frightened 

 by the sound of his own voice. But an- 

 other robin hears the song and joins in 

 with greater vigor, a full carol. Then 

 the first robin starts with fresh spirit. 

 Another bird sings afar ofif, and another 

 and another, till a half hundred, a mighty 

 throng, swell the chorus. Gray light is 

 appearing in the east, but the chorus con- 



