Cambridge, Mass.
1901.
June 27
  Clear and hottest day of the season thus far.
  When I awaked this morning (at about five o'clock)
the first bird that I heard was a House Wren. He sang
a dozen times or more very near the house (I am staying
at the Hinckley's at the head of Riedesel Street.
  Entering the garden an hour later I found it still 
bathed in deep, cool shade. Looking down along the
eastern walk I could easily imagine it a path way
in the heart of the woods. The trees arched nearly
over it and the tall ostrich ferns lined it on
one side. The air was fresh and sweet and several 
birds were singing, among them the Catbird. He is
a rare performer, one of the best I have ever listened to,
with a sweet, subdued exquisitely modulated voice and
an exceptionally varied repertory. Earlier in the season
he frequently gave a perfect rendering of one of the bars
of the Wood Thush's song. We still hear it occasionally
but of late he has to a large degrees substituted for
it an equally good imitation of the opening part of
the Bobolink's song. He also reproduces very perfectly
the twitter of the King-bird. The first two of
these imitations completely deceived me
when I first heard them.
  At half-past six this morning I left the garden
and started for a walk. Crossing Hubbard Park and
passing around the Hospital grounds I entered the old
lane that leads to the Cambridge farm. Up to this
time I had heard only a Redstart,
a Red-eye and perhaps a Robin. But the
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