424 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIEDS 



feet from ground. E. Garfield spoke of the wren's nest 

 as not uncommon, hung in the grass of the meadows, 

 and how swiftly and easily the bird would run through 

 a winrow of hay. 



April 9, 1856. The air is full of birds, and as I go 

 down the causeway, I distinguish the seringo note. You 

 have only to come forth each morning to be surely ad- 

 vertised of each newcomer into these broad meadows. 

 Many a larger animal might be concealed, but a cun- 

 ning ear detects the arrival of each new species of bird. 

 These birds give evidence that they prefer the fields of 

 New England to all other climes, deserting for them 

 the warm and fertile south. Here is their paradise. It 

 is here they express the most happiness by song and 

 action. Though these spring mornings may often be 

 frosty and rude, they are exactly tempered to their con- 

 stitutions, and call forth the sweetest strains. 



June 6, 1856. How well suited the lining of a bird's 

 nest, not only for the comfort of the young, but to keep 

 the eggs from breaking ! Fine elastic grass stems or 

 root-fibres, pine-needles, or hair, or the like. These 

 tender and brittle things which you can hardly carry in 

 cotton lie there without harm. 



Feb. 20, 1857. What is the relation between a bird 

 and the ear that appreciates its melody, to whom, per- 

 chance, it is more charming and significant than to any 

 else ? Certainly they are intimately related, and the one 

 was made for the other. It is a natural fact. If I were 

 to discover that a certain kind of stone by the pond- 

 shore was affected, say partially disintegrated, by a par- 

 ticular natural sound, as of a bird or insect, I see that 



