hue, but so variously is it intermingled 
with brown at different times and sea 
sons and ages, that scarcely two finches 
look alike. The mother-bird wears the 
protective colors of the sparrow, while 
young males seem to be of doubtful 
mind which parent to copy; and so a 
purple finch family presents diversity 
of attire puzzling to a novice. 
But why, pray, should a bird family 
wear a uniform, as if a charity school 
or a foundling hospital? The gay little 
warblers are not institutional to that 
degree. An example of their origi- 
nality is redstart — another misnamed 
bird. He wears the colors of Princeton 
College, or rather, the college wears 
his; and a lordly male privilege it is, 
in both cases. His mate contents her- 
self with pale yellow and gray, while 
the young male waits three years be- 
fore putting on his father's coat. The 
first year he wears his mother's dress; 
the second, a motley betwixt and be- 
tween; the third, he is a tree "can- 
delita" or little torch, lighting up his 
winter home in a Cuban forest, and 
bringing Spanish fashions to New Eng- 
land with the May blossoms. 
When dame nature in the spring 
For her annual opening- 
Has her doors and windows washed by April 
showers; 
When the sun has turned the key, 
And the loosened buds are free 
To come out and pile the shelving rocks with 
flowers; 
When the maple wreathes her head 
With a posy-garland red, 
And the grass-blade sticks a feather in his 
cap; 
When the tassels trim the birch, 
And the oak-tree in the lurch 
Hurries up to get some fringes for his wrap; 
When the willow's yellow sheen 
And the meadow's emerald green 
Are the fashionable colors of the day; 
When the bank its pledges old 
Pays in dandelion gold, 
And horse-chestnut folds its baby hands to 
pray- 
Then from Cuba and the isles 
Where a tropic sun beguiles, 
And from lands beyond the Caribbean sea, 
Every dainty warbler flocks 
With a tiny music-box 
And a trunk of pretty feathers duty-free. 
And in colors manifold, 
Orange, scarlet, blue, and gold, 
Green and yellow, black, and brown and 
grays galore, 
They will thread the forest aisles 
With the very latest styles, 
And a tune apiece to open up the score. 
But they do not care to part 
With their decorative art, 
Which must always have the background of 
a tree; 
And will surely bring a curse 
To a grasping mind or purse, 
Since God loves the birds as well as you and 
me. 
BIRDS THAT DO NOT SING- 
SINGING is applied to birds in the 
same sense that it is to human 
beings — the utterance of musical 
notes. Every person makes vocal 
sounds of some kind, but many persons 
never attempt to sing. So it is with 
birds. The eagle screams, the owl 
hoots, the wild goose honks, the crow 
caws, but none of these discordant 
sounds can be called singing. 
With the poet, the singing of birds 
means merry, light-hearted joyousness, 
and most of us are poetic enough to view 
it in the same way. Birds sing most in 
the spring and the early summer, those 
happiest seasons of the year, while em- 
ployed in nest-building and in rearing 
their young. Many of our musical sing- 
ers are silent all the rest of the year; at 
least they utter only low chirpings. 
Outside of what are properly classed 
as song birds there are many species 
that never pretend to sing; in fact, 
these far outnumber the musicians. 
They include the water birds of every 
kind, both swimmers and waders; all 
the birds of prey, eagles, hawks, owls, 
and vultures; and all the gallinaceous 
tribes, comprising pheasants, partridges, 
turkeys, and chickens. The gobble of 
the turkey cock, the defiant crow of the 
"bob-white," are none of them true 
singing; yet it is quite probable that all 
of these sounds are uttered with pre- 
cisely similar motives to those that in- 
spire the sweet warbling of the song- 
sparrow, the clear whistle of the robin, 
or the thrilling music of the wood- 
thrush . — Philadelphia Times. 
188 
