characters of more than one out of three of the songsters; and as I have since studied the markings of birds only by viewing them from the ground as they were perched upon bush or tree, and have never killed or dissected one for this purpose, I cannot describe all the specific or generic characters of our birds. I am well acquainted with two of our Vireos; but I cannot distinguish them from each other except by their notes, which are as familiar to me as the voice of the Robin. I have, therefore, determined to name them according to the style of their songs, leaving it to others to identify the species to which they respectively belong. THE BRIGADIER. The Brigadier, which is the one, I think, described by Nuttall as the Warbling Vireo, is a little olive-colored bird, that occupies the lofty tree-tops while singing and hunting his food, and is almost invisible as he is flitting among the branches, and never still. The Preacher (Redeyed Vireo) arrives about a week or ten days earlier than the Brigadier, and is later in his departure. The two are very similar, both in their looks and their habits, frequenting the trees in the town and its suburbs in preference to the woods, singing at all hours of the day, particularly at noon, and taking their insect prey from the leaves and branches of the trees, or seizing it as it flits by their perch, and amusing themselves while thus employed with their oft-repeated notes. Each species builds a pensile nest, or places it in a fork of the slender branches of a tree. I have seen a nest of the Brigadier about ten feet from the ground on a branch of a pear-tree, so near my chamber-window that I might have reached it without difficulty. The usual habit of either species is to suspend its nest at a very considerable height from the ground. THE PREACHER. The Preacher is more generally known by his note, because he is incessant in his song, and particularly vocal during the heat of our long summer days, when only a few birds are singing. His style of preaching is not declamation. Though constantly talking, he takes the part of a deliberative orator, who explains his subject in a few words and then makes a pause for his hearers to reflect upon it. We might suppose him to be repeating moderately, with a pause between each sentence, "You see it, you know it, hear me?- do you you believe it?" All these strains are delivered with a rising inflection at the close, and with a pause, as if waiting for an answer. do The tones of the Preacher are loud and sharp, hardly melodious, modulated somewhat like those of the Robin, though not so continuous. He is never fervent, rapid, or fluent, but, like a true zealot, he is apt to be tiresome, from the long continuance of his discourse. He pauses frequently in the middle of a strain to seize a moth or a beetle, beginning anew as soon as he has swallowed his morsel. Samuels expresses great admiration for this little bird. "Everywhere in these States," he remarks, "at all hours of the day, from early dawn until evening twilight, his sweet, half-plaintive, half-meditative carol is heard," and he adds, that of all his feathered acquaintances this is his favorite. The prolongation of his singing season until sometimes the last week in August renders him a valuable songster. When nearly all other birds have become silent, the little Preacher still continues his earnest harangue, and is sure of an audience at this late period, when he has but few rivals. THE BOBOLINK. There is not a singing-bird in New England that enjoys the notoriety of the Bobolink. He is like a rare wit in our social or political circles. Everybody is talking about him and quoting his remarks, and all are delighted with his company. He is not without great merits as a songster; but he is well known and admired because he is showy, noisy, and flippant, and sings only in the open field, and frequently while poised on the wing, so that any one who hears can see him and know who is the author of the strains that afford so much delight. He sings also at broad noonday, when everybody is out, and is seldom heard before sunrise, while other birds are joining in the universal chorus. He waits till the sun is up, when many of the early performers have become silent, as if determined to secure a good audience before his own exhibition. In the grand concert of Nature it is the Bobolink who performs the recitative, which he delivers with the utmost fluency and rapidity, and we must listen carefully not to lose many of his words. He is plainly the merriest of all the feathered creation, almost continually in motion, and singing on the wing apparently in the greatest ecstasy of joy. There is not a plaintive strain in his whole performance. Every sound is as merry as the laugh of a young child, and we cannot listen to him without fancying him engaged in some jocose raillery of his companions. If we suppose him to be making love, we cannot look upon him as very deeply enamored, but rather as highly delighted with his spouse and overflowing with rapturous admiration. His mate is a neatly formed bird, with a mild expression of face, of a modest deportment, and arrayed in the plainest apparel. She seems perfectly satisfied with observing the pomp and display of her partner, and listening to his delightful eloquence of song. If we regard him as an orator, it must be allowed that he is unsurpassed in fluency and rapidity of utterance; if only as a musician, that he is unrivalled in brilliancy of execution. I cannot look upon him as ever in a very serious humor. He seems to be a lively, jocular little fellow, who is always jesting and bantering; and when half a dozen different individuals are sporting about in the same orchard, I can imagine they might represent the persons dramatized in some comic opera. The birds never remain stationary upon a bough, singing apparently for their own solitary amusement; they are ever in company, passing to and fro, often beginning their song upon the extreme end of an apple-tree bough, then suddenly taking flight and singing the principal part while balancing themselves on the wing. The merriest part of the day with these birds is the later afternoon, during the hour preceding dewfall, before the Robin and the Veery begin their evening hymn. At that hour, assembled in company, they might seem to be practising a cotillon on the wing, each one singing to his own movement as he sallies forth and returns, and nothing can exceed their apparent merriment. The Bobolink begins his morning song just at sunrise, at the time when the Robin, having sung from earliest day break, is near the close of his performance. Nature seems to have provided that the serious parts of her musical entertainment in the morning shall first be heard, and that the lively and comic strains shall follow them. In the evening this order is reversed, and after the comedy is concluded Nature lulls us to repose by the mellow notes of the Vesper-Bird, and the pensive and still more melodious strains of the solitary Thrushes. In pleasant shining weather the Bobolink seldom flies without singing, often hovering on the wing over the place where his mate is sitting upon her ground-built nest, and pouring forth his notes with the greatest loudness and fluency. Vain are all the attempts of other birds to imitate his truly original style. The MockingBird is said to give up the attempt in despair, and refuses to sing at all when confined near one in a cage. The Bobolink is not a shy bird during the breeding season; but when the young are reared and gathered in flocks the whole species become very timid. Their food consists entirely of insects during at least all the early part of summer. Hence they are not frequenters of the woods, but of the fields that supply their insect food. They evidently have no liking for solitude. They join with their own kindred, sometimes, during the breeding season, in small companies, and in the latter summer in large flocks. They love the orchard and the mowing-field, and many are the nests which are exposed by the scythe of the haymaker when performing his task early in the season. THE O'LINCON FAMILY. A flock of merry singing-birds were sporting in the grove ; Up flies Bobolincon, perching on an apple-tree; "'T is you that would a wooing go, down among the rushes O! Wait a week, till flowers are cheery; wait a week, and ere you marry, Be sure of a house wherein to tarry; Wadolink, Whiskodink, Tom Denny, wait, wait, wait!” |