THE BLUEBIRD 
By MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT 
The National Association of Audubon Societies 
Educational Leaflet No. 24 
Who dares to write of the Bluebird, thinking to add a fresher tint 
to his plumage, a new tone to his melodious voice, or a word of praise 
to his gentle life? Not I, surely. He is a home-body — a true garden- 
bird, coming nearer than any other in America to the ideal of England’s 
Robin Red-breast. Indeed, his breast has much the same tint, delight- 
fully contrasting with his azure mantle. “Although the Bluebird did not 
come over in the Mayflower ” Florence Merriam once wrote, “it is said 
that when the Pilgrim Fathers came to New England this bird was one 
of the first whose gentle warblings attracted their 
notice, and, from its resemblance to the beloved Robin T RoWn UC 
Redbreast of their native land, they called it the Blue 
Robin.” Thoreau said that he carried the sky on his back; to which John 
Burroughs added, “and the earth on his breast.” 
Nevertheless, our Bluebird is an adventurous traveler. Ranging all 
over the eastern United States, some have their nesting-haunts at the very 
edge of the Gulf States and others as far north as Manitoba and Nova 
Scotia. 
Before more than the first notes of the spring song have sounded 
in the distance, Bluebirds are to be seen by twos and threes about the 
edge of old orchards, or along open roads where the skirting trees have 
crumbled, or decaying knot-holes have left tempting nooks for the tree- 
trunk birds, with which the Bluebird may be classed. 
There is a curious eluding or ventriloquistic quality about the voice 
of the Bluebird, which is as fascinating as it is puzzling. “You may 
hear the notes on a bright March morning,” Ernest Ingersoll writes, “but 
cannot find their pretty author. He denies your eyes the welcome sight 
of him until at last you give up the search only to discover him close 
behind you.” 
Hark! Tis the bluebird’s venturous strain 
High on the old fringed elm at the gate — 
Sweet-voiced, valiant on the swaying bough, 
Alert, elate, Spring’s 
Dodging the fitful spits of snow, Poet-laureate 
New England’s poet-laureate 
Telling us Spring has come again. — T. B. Aldrich. 
As with many other species of migrant birds, the male is the first 
to arrive ; and he does not seem to be particularly interested in house- 
hunting until the arrival of the female, when the courtship begins without 
delay, and the delicate purling song, with the refrain, “Dear, dear, think 
