86 THE Birps Asout Us. 
my grandfather would remark, “ The red-bird says 
‘wet,’ so it’s going to rain.” Of course it did not 
rain that day; it never does when the May day is as 
bright as those that made the world beautiful when 
I was a boy. Then the orchard in full bloom and 
every blossom blushing as a rose! Have the flowers 
faded within forty years? Why have the new orchards 
such a pallid face? The world is forever moving 
forward; we are now in the electric age and steam is 
slow. A vast improvement, it is said, but I would 
that our young orchards were old and every tree had 
its red-bird. 
I did not and do not purpose speaking slightingly 
of scarlet tanagers, but it must be confessed that if 
you took away a few red feathers there would be 
absolutely nothing left. As asong-bird you cannot 
name a more melancholy failure; and as they do not 
show themselves more than is necessary, and are 
sluggish creatures at best, why not set up bits of red 
flannel in the trees and call them red-birds ? 
As an insect-hunter the scarlet tanager is a grand 
success, and for this alone he merits endless praise. 
Here are three lines from a recent newspaper which 
mean a vast deal: 
“In Burlington grub-worms and mice did some harm, more so 
than during the past twenty-five years.” 
Not long ago I passed, early in May, a ploughed 
field and noticed on the brown earth here and there 
a bright-red dot. Stopping by a little cedar that 
concealed me from their view, I saw at second glance 
that the red dots were tanagers, and with my field- 
