VOICES OF BIRDS. 183 
| April these stragglers unite, form a small company, and 
j take their flight. 
Rural sounds, the voices, the language of the wild 
l| creatures, as heard by the naturalist, belong to, and are 
j in concord with the country only. Our sight, our smell, 
i may perhaps be deceived for an interval by conserva- 
tories, horticultural arts, and bowers of sweets ; but our 
hearing can in no way be beguiled by any semblance 
of what is heard in the grove or the field. The hum, 
the murmur, the medley of the mead, is peculiarly its 
own, admits of no imitation, and the voices of our birds 
convey particular intimation, and distinctly notify the 
various periods of the year, with an accuracy as cer- 
tain as they are detailed in our calendars. The season 
of spring is always announced as approaching by the 
notes of the rookery, by the jangle or wooing accents 
of the dark frequenters of its trees ; and that time hav- 
ing passed away, these contentions and cadences are no 
longer heard. The cuckoo then comes, and informs us 
that spring has arrived ; that he has journeyed to us, borne 
by gentle gales in sunny days ; that fragrant flowers 
are in the copse and the mead, and all things telling of 
gratulation and of joy : the children mark this well- 
known sound, spring out, and cuckoo! cuckoo! as they 
gambol down the lane: the very plow-boy bids him 
welcome in the early morn. It is hardly spring without 
the cuckoo’s song; and having told his tale, he has 
voice for no more — is silent or away. Then comes the 
dark, swift-winged marten, glancing through the air, 
that seems afraid to visit our uncertain clime : he comes, 
though late, and hurries through his business here, 
eager again to depart, all day long in agitation and pre- 
cipitate flight. The bland zephyrs of the spring have 
no charms with them ; but basking and careering in 
the sultry gleams of June and July, they associate in 
throngs, and, screaming, dash round the steeple or the 
ruined tower, to serenade their nesting mates; and 
glare and heat are in their train. When the fervor of 
summer ceases, this bird of the sun will depart. The 
evening robin from the summit of some leafless bough, 
or projecting point, tells us that autumn is come, and 
