THE ROBIN 261 
part at the approach of winter. Often the late spring snows 
catch it on its early migration, and its staying powers are put 
to the test. It is a good plan to scatter food for these early 
birds. Nothing save the sun itself is more gladdening on a 
raw March day than the joyous note by which the Robin 
announces the arrival of himself and spring. 
Who is there who can know the Robin and not love him? 
Few, indeed; and those 
persons around New 
York and in some parts 
of the South who shoot 
Robins for food are 
wholly unfit to inhabit 
the Robin’s country, 
unless they reform.' 
The Robin is one of 
the sweetest and most 
joyous songsters I peeey 
know. As well try to 
describe the glories of a sunset as to set forth in words the 
liquid melody, clear and sweet, which pours from his throat 
when he feels particularly joyous. 
Everywhere the Robin is a very sociable bird, and ex- 
ceeding quick to distinguish a friend from a foe. Give it 
1 “Tn central Tennessee are large tracts of cedars, the berries of which serve to 
attract myriads of Robins in the winter. One small hamlet in this district sends 
to market annually enough Robins to return $500, at five cents per dozen, equal to 
120,000 birds.” They are killed at night by torchlight, with sticks. An officer of 
the Louisiana Audubon Society states that a conservative estimate of the number 
annually killed in Louisiana for food’ purposes is a quarter of a million when they 
are usually plentiful.— William Dutcher, in Educational Leaflet No. 4, of the National 
Association of Audubon Societies. 
