THE SPRING BIRD PROCESSION 



America. Never before had I seen this bird-jewel 

 of omnipotent wing take so kindly and so habituat- 

 edly to the perch. 



The unseasonable season, no doubt, caused the 

 death of vast numbers of warblers. We picked up 

 two about the paths on my place, and the neighbors 

 found dead birds about their grounds. Often live 

 birds were so reduced in vitality that they allowed 

 the passer-by to pick them up. Where one dead bird 

 was seen, no doubt hundreds escaped notice in the 

 fields and groves. A bird lives so- intensely — rapid 

 breathing and high temperature — that its need for 

 food is always pressing. These adventurous little 

 aviators had come all the way from South and Cen- 

 tral America; the fuel-supply of their tiny engines 

 was very low, and they suffered accordingly. 



A friend writing me from Maine at this time had 

 the same story of famishing warblers to tell. Certain 

 of our more robust birds suffered. A male oriole 

 came under my window one morning and pecked a 

 long time at a dry crust of bread — a food, I dare say, 

 it had never tasted before. The robins alone were 

 in high feather. The crop of angleworms was one 

 hundred per cent, and one could see the robins 

 "snaking" them out of the ground at all hours. 



Emerson is happy in his epithet "the punctual 

 birds." They are nearly always here on time — al- 

 ways, considering the stage of thje season; but the 

 inflexible calendar often finds them late or early. 

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