clxxiv 
LIFE OF WILSON. 
the favourite haunts of the Wood Thrush are invaded; and, ere 
long, like his lamented historian, his place will be known there 
no more. 
His poetical description of the Blue-bird, which originally 
appeared in the first volume of the Ornithology, has been copi- 
ed into many publications, and still maintains its popularity. 
It contains some ill-constructed lines, and some rhymes so 
grossly defective, that we wonder how he could have tolerated 
them in a production of only half a dozen stanzas. The last 
quatrain of the fourth stanza contains false syntax ; the construc- 
tion is not regular and dependent, the adverb so being out of 
place. In the third stanza there is a grammatical error. Yet in 
this little poem, Wilson’s happy talent of describing rural scene- 
ry, and the habits of birds, is conspicuous. The picture is 
charming, and more so to an American, who knows how beau- 
tifully accurate are its outlines. We see the disappearing of 
the snows of Winter; the busy labours of the fishermen; the 
wild geese labouring their airy way to the north; the lone but- 
terfly fluttering over the meadows; the red maple buds bursting 
into life; and, finally, “the “herald of Spring,” the well- 
known blue-bird, hailing “ with his warblings the charms of 
the season.” The warm sunshine brings out the frogs from 
their retreats, and their piping is heard throughout the marshes; 
the woodland flowers unfold their charms to the eye; and the 
industrious housewives repair to their gardens. The useful 
bird is beheld flitting through the orchard in search of noxious 
insects, he drags the devouring grub from the newly planted 
maize, and the caterpillars from their webs. The ploughman 
is pleased to behold him gleaning in his furrows, and the gar- 
dener suspends his labours to listen to his simple song. “ When 
all the gay scenes of the summer are o’er,” we observe him 
lingering about his native home, like a solitary outcast; we 
hear his melancholy adieu from the leafless branch, and mourn 
his departure as that of a beloved friend. 
Of all Wilson’s minor effusions this pleases me the most. Its 
imagery is derived from objects that are familiar to us, but yet 
