SPRING AT THE CAPITAL 143 
A curious and charming sound may be heard here 
in May. You are walking forth in the soft morn- 
ing air, when suddenly there comes a burst of bobo- 
link melody from some mysterious source. A score 
of throats pour out one brief, hilarious, tuneful 
jubilee and are suddenly silent. There is a strange 
remoteness and fascination about it. Presently you 
discover its source skyward, and a quick eye will 
detect the gay band pushing northward. They 
seem to scent the fragrant meadows afar off, and 
shout forth snatches of their songs in anticipation. 
The bobolink does not breed in the District, but 
usually pauses in his journey and feeds during the 
day in the grass-lands north of the city. When the 
season is backward, they tarry a week or ten days, 
singing freely and appearing quite at home. In 
large flocks they search over every inch of ground, 
and at intervals hover on the wing or alight in the 
treetops, all pouring forth their gladness at once, 
and filling the air with a multitudinous musical 
clamor. 
They continue to pass, traveling by night and 
feeding by day, till after the middle of May, when 
they cease. In September, with numbers greatly 
increased, they are on their way back. I am first 
advised of their return by hearing their calls at 
night as they fly over the city. On certain nights 
the sound becomes quite noticeable. I have awak- 
ened in the middle of the night, and, through the 
open window, as I lay in bed, heard their faint 
notes. The warblers begin to return about the 
