is an inspiration and he will sing 

 through the hot summer noontime and 

 his song seems at its best during the 

 months of July and August. As he 

 mounts to his song perch at the tree- 

 top, he flits from branch to branch sing- 

 ing as he rises. When he reaches the 

 top of this ''staircase of song" he sings 

 a vigorous and melodious melody. At 

 first the song is loud and the notes are 

 rapidly uttered forming a melodious 

 warble, but it grows fainter and weaker 

 until it closes as if the bird were out of 

 breath. Florence A. Merriam has so 



well expressed the song habits of the 

 Indigo that we quote her words : ''I 

 well remember watching one Indigo- 

 bird who, day after day, used to fly to 

 the lowest limb of a tree and sing his 

 way up from branch to branch, burst- 

 ing into jubilant song when he reached 

 the topmost bough. I watched him 

 climb as high into the air as he could, 

 when, against a background of blue 

 sky and rolling white clouds, the blessed 

 little songster broke out into the blith- 

 est round that ever bubbled up from a 

 glad heart." 



THE FOREST AT MIDNIGHT. 



I had become acquainted with my for- 

 est in many of its moods and seasons. 

 I had stood amid its naked trunks when 

 the fierce blizzards of winter swayed 

 the rigid trunks, and the branches 

 creaked and groaned as if in agony. I 

 had traveled its recesses when the gently 

 falling snow made of every tree an 

 enchanted bower, and every bush a 

 thing of exquisite beauty. I had seen 

 it decked in glittering ice, when every 

 twig and branch was weighed down 

 with sparkling pendents, every sapling 

 bent low, and every clump of bushes a 

 mass of dazzling splendor. I had wan- 

 dered through its carpeted temples when 

 the beams of the spring time sun had 

 quickened into active life and bloom the 

 delicate claytonia, the pale cardamine, 

 the fair anemone, the purple and the 

 yellow violets, and all the varied pleas- 

 ing bloom of the early spring-time. I 

 had walked in its grateful shade when 

 the summer sun and the rains had devel- 

 oped its leaves into a thick canopy that 

 cast a twilight shade even at noonday. 

 I had watched the deepening and bright- 

 ening colors of its foliage as it ripened 

 with the season, and had reveled in the 

 richness of their dyes of green and gold, 



purple, bronze and flame. I had ram- 

 bled again under naked boughs when 

 the fallen leaves lay thick upon the 

 ground and rustled loudly at every step, 

 and, alas ! I had stood mute and stricken 

 when the fierce conflagration had swept 

 with its breath of destruction through it 

 and left it seared and blackened. With 

 awe I had watched the vivid lightning 

 shine among the trees, and listened to 

 the echoing thunder and roaring wind 

 and beating rain, making of it a pan- 

 demonium. I had silently stood within 

 its fastness and watched the coming of 

 the day and the awakening of its deni- 

 zens. I had visited it in the gathering 

 of the twilight and with eye and ear 

 learned how the forest and its people go 

 to rest. I had learned many of its 

 secrets, and received great lessons from 

 its teaching, but I was not yet satisfied. 

 I must even invade the sacredness of its 

 sleeping hours and learn the lesson of 

 its slumber. 



The summer was yet young, the June 

 roses were not all faded, and the yel- 

 low lilies were beginning to show their 

 flame. The chill of the springtime air 

 had been tempered by the summer sun 

 till shade was a condition to be coveted. 



220 



J 



