1886
May 12
Concord, Massachusetts.
  Morning cloudy and misty; afternoon
clear; a dead calm all day. Weather cool.
  Starting at 9 o'clock this morning I drove
to Halls' birches and spent the forenoon there,
having my buggy driven home, and back 
again for me about noon.
  Many of the birch copses have been cut
away over this ground since I was there last,
changing its' appearance materially, there is abund-
ant cover remaining, however, and it was fairly
well supplied with birds, most of them common
species, and all summer residents, not a single
emigrant being seen.
  As I passed  through the birches lining the 
turnpike and entered the old apple orchard
the scene was equally attractive to three of
the senses-sight, sound and hearing. The
apple trees were snowy domes of blossoms
which scented the air with their delicate fragrance
and among which countless bees droned and
hummed. The orchard was framed on every
side by a setting of the tenderest green
with every now and then a touch of salmon
red, marking the position of a solitary maple
with its clusters of winged seeds. Three Brown
Thrashers were singing at once in different
directions, their varied notes drowning the 
weaker voices of the Warblers and Sparrows.
Every now and then however, the song of a 
Chestnut-sided Warbler or Black +  White creeper
would rise above the  din, and in the distance
I occasionally caught the zee dee dee of a