722 
The Birds of May. 
The Bose-breasted Grosbeak is not 
a common bird, and is said to be grow- 
ing rarer ; which is probably the rea- 
son why it has never yet acquired 
that fame its loveliness deserves. Its 
life certainly ought to be protected by 
the most stringent regulations. The 
Cardinal Grosbeak, which inhabits 
the Southern States, is also one of the 
best of singers, but hardly equal to 
his Northern cousin, in the quite inde- 
scribable quality of his song ; which 
perhaps might be better termed the 
poetic, than any thing else. His col- 
oring, too, of complete scarlet, is rather 
too gaudy to suit a refined taste ; 
though, as he dashes through the lux- 
uriant tropical foliage, the impression 
he gives, as of a living flame, is one of 
those sights which cannot be forgot- 
ten. 
Meanwhile, the day is marching 
on ; and reluctantly we take our leave 
of sylvan things, and retrace our way 
back into the more exciting and dis- 
cordant, and yet more important 
scenes of human life. However, let 
us turn aside, as we pass by the grove 
which we first entered, and enjoy a 
parting glance at what has already 
ocne given so much delight. There 
they all are again, the dear creatures, 
the charming sprites ! We are sur- 
prised and dazzled afresh, as they 
frolic and dance and sing and flit 
about, taking aerial plunge-baths and 
somersaults; while the colors of their 
plumage gleam and sparkle, as if they 
were really precious gems upon the 
wing. That humming-bird with the 
blue effulgent head, perched on the 
spray of a young acacia, is certainly 
nothing less than a living sapphire. 
But what a noise they make ! It is 
one continual jubilee chorus ; and each 
individual sings with an energy and 
enthusiasm beyond the daring of any 
opera-girl. The sound comes from 
every side at once, and seems to roll off 
in long undulations above the tree-tops, 
as heated air is seen ascending above 
a bonfire. In a chorus of birds you 
never hear a false note; and although 
each seems to be performing his own 
peculiar strain independent of the 
rest, yet they all mingle together 
without jarring or discord. Moreover, 
the crystal clearness of the sounds 
they utter far surpasses that of any 
human voice, or even the best violins. 
Their concert only lacks one quality, 
that harmony which comes from com- 
bination, and the infusion of one great 
mind in the theme of the song. There 
is unity in it ; but it is rather the 
unity of conglomeration than of com- 
position. The bird-spirit is not of 
that kind and quality which strives 
to express itself in the symphonies of 
Mozart and Beethoven. As was said 
a long time ago, one man is of more 
value than many sparrows; and, 
even at our highest pitch of admira- 
tion for the concert of the woods, we 
must confess to a certain amount of 
monotony in it. And yet we must 
not rashly conclude that intelligence 
is wanting altogether. Each Thrush 
and Finch and Warbler knows well 
what he is about, and, however narrow " 
his sphere, has a character of his own, 
which he throws into his song with 
that pure single-heartedness which 
perhaps is worth more than any thing 
else. There is no special arrangement, 
no conductor of the orchestra ; but Na- 
ture finds her own way to make them 
all sing together, and unite in a har- 
mony whose import is of a truth so 
deep that mankind must still, for all 
ages, aspire to comprehend it. 
A 1 > at May brings, J une takes away. 
In the short space of two weeks, the 
sylvan carnival is sure to come to its 
end. Most of the Warblers, Fly-catch- 
ers, and Sparrows fly further north ; 
