SPRING FASHIONS. 
ELLA GILBERT IVES. 
EVEN in birddom some of the 
styles come from Paris, where 
the rouge gorge smartens up his 
red waistcoat as regularly as 
the spring comes round. Our staid 
American robin tries to follow suit, 
though he never can equal his old- 
world models. Even the English red- 
breast excels him in beauty and song. 
I must tell the truth, as an honest re- 
porter, though I am not a bit English, 
and would not exchange our Merula 
migratoria for a nightingale; for beauty 
is but feather-deep, and when our robin 
shines up his yellow bill — a spring 
fashion of his own — the song that 
comes from it is dearer than the pot of 
gold at the end of the rainbow. That 
little relative of his whom our fore- 
fathers called the "blue robin," has the 
same rufous color in his waistcoat, 
though it stops so short it always 
seems as if the stuff must have given 
out. No Parisian or London dandy 
set the style for his lovely coat. If 
ever a fashion came down from heaven, 
that did; and it came to the fresh, new 
world and stopped here. No blue- 
coats perch on the rails in old Eng- 
land; perhaps because there is never 
clear sky enough to spare for a bird's 
back. We have so much on this con- 
tinent, that half a dozen birds dress in 
the celestial hue; some of them, like 
the jay, all the year round. 
But indigo bunting, whose summer 
coat and vest seem interwoven of blue 
sky and a thunder cloud, and then 
dipped in a sea-wave of foamy green, 
is not so lavish of his beauty. His 
plain wife and children, who dress 
almost like common sparrows, have 
only shreds and patches of blue in 
their attire, and indigo pater puts on 
the same dull shade for his winter over- 
coat. But in spring, what a spruce old 
beau he is! — and how he does like to 
show off in the tasseled oaks! So 
beautiful is his changeable silk that 
one half suspects him of borrowing 
from the peacock's wardrobe. A grain 
of that lordly fowl's disposition may 
have mixed with the dye; for if there 
is a pointed spruce tree near, indigo is 
sure to perch on the tip-top and sing 
until you look at him. Still, he loves 
beauty for beauty's sake, and is not 
really vain like the tanager. 
That gorgeous bird actually sings, 
"Here pretty, pretty here!" with varia- 
tions, as if all loveliness focused in 
his feathers. He arrives just when the 
tender young foliage of May will half 
veil his vivid scarlet coat; and as it is 
less dependent on light than the in- 
digo's, he does not affect tree-tops, 
but perches under a spray of golden 
oak leaves or the delicate green of an 
elm, and shines like a live coal in a 
bed of leaves. If he were a British 
trooper he could not be more resplen- 
dent in scarlet and black. Tanager is 
uniformed first for conquest, then for 
guard duty. He wears his bright trap- 
pings during courting and nesting 
time, and the rest of the year doffs his 
scarlet and wears olive-green like that 
of his modestmate. Hestillcarriesblack 
wings and tail, however, to mark his sex. 
So does gay little goldfinch, bird of 
winsome ways and a happy heart. He, 
too, dresses up for courting; and how 
do you think he does it? All winter 
long he has worn an olive-brown coat, 
as subdued as any finch's needs to be; 
but when the willows begin to hint at 
the fashionable spring color, and the 
spice bush breathes its name, and the 
dandelions print the news on the grass 
and the forsythia emblazons it on 
every lawn, and the sunset sky is a 
great bulletin board to announce it — 
then this dainty bird peels off his dull 
winter overcoat, each tiny feather 
dropping a tip, and lo! underneath a 
garb that a Chinese Chang might 
covet. To match his wings and tail, 
he puts on a black cap, and then you 
never saw a more perfect "glass of fash- 
ion and mold of form" — at least that is 
Mme. Goldfinch's opinion. 
"No dis-pu-ting a-bout tastes!" chirps 
chipping sparrow. He prefers a dress 
of sober tints and thinks nothing so 
ISO 
