THE YELLOW WARBLER OR BLOSSOM-EATER. 
By R. M. G. 
There are few indeed who may be consid- 
ered lovers of our feathered friends unfamiliar 
with the vivacious song of the yellow warbler. 
The air is tull of the joyous notes of myriads of 
happy songsters, and a practiced ear can 
readily detect the ditties of twenty well-known 
species in the grove near at hand, while the 
willow copse at the edges of the stream adds 
its quota of harmony to the May-day chorus. 
Swaying on the topmost spray of the budding 
pussy willow near may be seen the blue-eyed 
yellow warbler, an active little fellow dressed 
in a bright coat of chrome yellow with a tinge 
of greenish. His breast is streaked with burnt 
umber, while his eye, characteristic of the spe- 
cies and a peculiarity in coloration in birds, is 
light blue. His song floats to us almost unin- 
terruptedly, though after the first burst seem- 
ing to come from a different source. The gay, 
suspicious creature is shy, easily made anxious 
by our presence in its chosen haunts, and is 
flying about us from bush to bush intent on a 
tour of inspection. Down among the trees and 
bushes bordering the brook and river his thrill- 
ing notes can be heard all the day long from 
early May until middle of June. Unlike many 
of our common birds, he does not cease to sing 
when the sun is high in the heavens, but rather 
increases his bursts of liquid melody during 
the warmer hours in seeming rivalry to the 
red-eyed vireos of the grove, chanting their 
praise in the spotted shade formed by the par- 
tially foliaged elms and basswoods. 
The song of this species is thrilling in its 
sweetness, and, though not long, it compen- 
sates for its brevity in vivacity. I know noth- 
ing mere agreeable or inspiriting than the 
notes of this bird issuing from a copse in early 
morning when the sun has lent his beams and 
the dew still glitters on the early foliage of the 
willows. The summer yellow bird, as it is 
often called, is one of the first to make its pres- 
ence known in the morning, and they are often 
heard while still the whippoorwill is monoto- 
nously quavering his jargon and the noiseless 
bats are wheeling above in murky air. The 
simple song, but doubly sweet at this time, 
sounds almost out of place while yet the owl is 
lurking for his prey, but is always agreeable to 
one who, from choice or duty, goes abroad at 
this hour. We cannot claim superiority for 
the notes of this pleasing performer of the bush 
from any elegance of modulation, as it is out- 
ranked by many in true merit as to music. 
The soft-toned song of the scarlet tanager and 
bell-like notes of the wood thrush, or the rip- 
pling warble of the warbling vireo, are perhaps 
more truly musical, but they do not more per- 
fectly fill their part in the chorus than do the 
ecstatic notes of this warbler, whose cheerful 
song possesses an inspiriting power to a re- 
markable degree. One who hears the cheerful 
song will ever remember it if he has an ear for 
harmony and a love for birds. I shall not at- 
tempt a description of this song, for, although 
some songs are uttered so plainly in distinct 
syllables, as we may say, as to even be set to 
music, most series of notes are beyond descrip- 
tion. If we assert that the songs of birds which 
are the most difficult to describe are the most 
beautiful, we shall be correct. The true music 
issuing from the throats of most feathered sing- 
ers is above comparison or criticism. 
One cannot fail to have favorites, and our se- 
lection is unconsciously made even with the 
birds. We look upon some as our sentimental 
friends, as we would hold a musician or poet; 
again we compare those of chivalric tendencies 
and yet again those ot vulgar characteristics 
and flashy appearance, or of manners arrogant 
or unconscionable. Our little friend under 
discussion is certainly a favorite, and as thor- 
oughly knitted to our sympathies as it is possi- 
ble to ally one of these winged gems with our 
human sentiments. To me this bird will ever 
be cherished in my heart of hearts. Years 
ago, when the advantages afforded by works 
on ornithology were unknown to me; ata time 
when names of many—nay, nearly all—ot our 
feathered friends were catalogued in my mem- 
