A Bouquet of Song Birds 



nothing of importance to remark, commonly 

 abound in small talk. The curiously colored, 

 chestnut-sided warbler was plentiful, with his 

 insipid but vibrant strain. The pert little 

 oven-bird was omnipresent — a delightful fellow 

 to look at as he struts about in his trim figure 

 and soft olive dress, but his inordinate loquac- 

 ity often mars the effect. He was hammering 

 the air incessantly with his familiar dissyllable 

 — at first amusing, then wearisome, and finally 

 maddening. His relative, the water thrush, 

 was less assertive, but more musical. The dis- 

 tinctiveness of all the warblers increases with 

 acquaintance. Nature tucks away a trace of 

 individuality into every possible corner. Un- 

 der the guise of uniformity, she is wonderfully 

 lavish of variety, and evidently abhors monot- 

 ony as much as she is reputed to abhor a vac- 

 uum. 



Of course, in mass of brilliant color, the 

 scarlet tanager makes all our other birds pale. 

 Early in the morning he was singing a brief 

 phrase of three notes in a rich but hoarse voice, 

 and as lustily as his indolent nature would allow ; 

 but later he indulged in a genuine and really 

 pleasing warble, with a very different quality of 

 tone, not unlike a clear and loud-voiced warb- 



