Every one's a funny fellow; every one's a little mellow; Follow, follow, follow, follow, o'er the hill and in the hollow. Merrily, merrily there they hie; now they rise and now they fly; They cross and turn, and in and out, and down the middle and wheel about, With a "Phew, shew, Wadolincon; listen to me, Bobolincon ! Happy 's the wooing that 's speedily doing, that's speedily doing, O what a happy life they lead, over the hill and in the mead! THE BLUEBIRD. Not one of our songsters is so intimately associated with the early spring as the Bluebird. Upon his arrival from his winter residence, he never fails to make known his presence by a few melodious notes uttered from some roof or fence in the field or garden. On the earliest morning in April, when we first open our windows to welcome the soft vernal gales, they bear on their wings the sweet strains of the Bluebird. These few notes are associated with all the happy scenes and incidents that attend the opening of the year. The Bluebird is said to bear a strong resemblance to the English Robin-Redbreast, similar in form and size, having a red breast and short tail-feathers, with only this manifest difference, that one is olive-colored above where. the other is blue. But the Bluebird does not equal the Redbreast as a songster. His notes are few and not greatly varied, though sweetly and plaintively modulated and never loud. On account of their want of variety, they do not enchain the listener; but they constitute an important part of the melodies of morn. The value of the inferior singers in making up a general chorus is not sufficiently appreciated. In a musical composition, as in an anthem or oratorio, though there is a leading part, which is usually the air, that gives character to the whole, yet this leading part would often be a very indifferent piece of melody if performed without its accompaniments; and these alone would seem still more trifling and unimportant. Yet, if the composition be the work of a master, these brief strains and snatches, though apparently insignificant, are intimately connected with the harmony of the piece, and could not be omitted without a serious disparagement of the grand effect. The inferior singing-birds, bearing a similar relation to the whole choir, are indispensable as aids in giving additional effect to the notes of the chief singers. Though the Robin is the principal musician in the general anthem of morn, his notes would become tiresome if heard without accompaniments. Nature has so arranged the harmony of this chorus, that one part shall assist another; and so exquisitely has she combined all the different voices, that the silence of any one cannot. fail to be immediately perceived. The low, mellow warble of the Bluebird seems an echo to the louder voice of the Robin; and the incessant trilling or running accompaniment of the Hair-Bird, the twittering of the Swallow, and the loud, melodious piping of the Oriole, frequent and short, are sounded like the different parts in a band of instruments, and each performer seems to time his part as if by some rule of harmony. Any discordant sound that may occur in this performance never fails to disturb the equanimity of the singers, and some minutes will elapse before they resume their song. It would be difficult to draw a correct comparison be tween the birds and the various instruments they represent. But if the Robin were described as the clarionet, the Bluebird might be considered the flageolet, frequently but not incessantly interspersing a few mellow strains. The Hair-Bird would be the octave flute, constantly trilling on a high key, and the Golden Robin the bugle, often repeating his loud and brief strain. The analogy, if carried further, might lose force and correctness. All the notes of the Bluebird - his call-notes, his notes of complaint, his chirp, and his song- are equally plaintive and closely resemble one another. I am not aware that this bird utters a harsh note. His voice, which is one of the earliest to be heard in the spring, is associated with the early flowers and with all pleasant vernal influences. When he first arrives he perches upon the roof of a barn or upon some leafless tree, and delivers his few and frequent notes with evident fervor, as if conscious of the pleasures that await him. These mellow notes are all the sounds he makes for several weeks, seldom chirping or scolding like other birds. His song is discontinued at midsummer, but his plaintive call, consisting of a single note pensively modulated, continues every day until he leaves our fields. This sound is one of the melodies of summer's decline, and reminds us, like the note of the green nocturnal tree-hopper, of the ripened harvest, the fall of the leaf, and of all the joyous festivals and melancholy reminiscences of autumn. The Bluebird builds his nest in hollow trees and posts, and may be encouraged to breed around our dwellings, by supplying boxes for his accommodation. In whatever vicinity we reside, whether in a recent clearing or the heart of a village, if we set up a bird-house in May, it will certainly be occupied by a Bluebird, unless previously taken by a Wren or a Martin. But there is commonly so great a demand for such accommodations, that it is not unusual to see two or three different species contending for one box. THE HOUSE-WREN. The bird whose notes serve more than any other species to enliven our summer noondays is the common House-Wren. It is said to breed chiefly in the Middle States, but is very common in our New England villages, and as it extends its summer migration to Labrador, it probably breeds in all places north of the Middle States. It is a migratory bird, leaving us early in autumn, and not reappearing until May. It builds in a hollow tree like the Bluebird. A box of any kind, properly made, will answer its purposes. But nothing is better than a grape-jar, prepared by drilling a hole in its side, just large enough for the Wren, and setting it up on a perpendicular branch sawed off and inserted into the mouth of the jar. The bird fills it with sticks before it makes a nest, and the mouth of the jar serves for drainage. The Wren is one of the most restless of the feathered tribe. He is continually in motion, and even when singing is constantly flitting about and changing his position. We see him in a dozen places as it were at the same moment; now warbling in ecstasy from the roof of a shed, then, with his wings spread and his feathers ruffled, scolding furiously at a Bluebird or a Swallow that has alighted on his box, or driving a Robin from a neighboring cherry-tree. Instantly we observe him running along a stone-wall and diving down and in and out, from one side to the other, through its openings, with all the nimbleness of a squirrel. He is on the ridge of the barn roof, he is peeping into the dove-cote, he is in the garden under the currant-bushes, or chasing a spider under a cabbage-leaf. Again he is on the roof of a shed, warbling vociferously; and these manœuvres and peregrinations have occupied hardly a minute, so rapid and incessant are all his motions. The notes of the Wren are very lively and garrulous, and if not uttered more frequently during the heat of the day, are, on account of the general silence of birds, more noticeable at that hour. There is a concert at noonday, as well as in the morning and evening, among the birds; and of the former the Wren is one of the principal musicians. After the hot rays of the sun have silenced the early performers, the Song-Sparrow and the RedThrush continue to sing at intervals during the greater part of the day. The Wren is likewise heard at all hours; but when the languishing heat of noon has arrived, the few birds that continue to sing are more than usually vocal, and seem to form a select company. The birds which are thus associated with the Wren are the Bobolink, the Preacher, the Linnet, and the Catbird, if he be anywhere near. If we were at this hour in the woods we should hear the loud, shrill voice of the Oven-Bird and some of the warbling sylvians. Of all these noonday singers, the Wren is the most remarkable. His song is singularly varied and animated. He has great compass and execution, but wants variety in his tones. He begins very sharp and shrill, like a grasshopper, slides down to a series of guttural notes, then ascends like the rolling of a drum in rapidity of utterance to another series of high notes. Almost without a pause he recommences his querulous insect-chirp, and proceeds through the same trilling and demi-semi-quavering as before. He is not particular about the part of his song which he makes his closing note. He will leave off in the middle of a strain, when he seems in the height of ecstasy, to pick up a spider or a fly. As the Wren produces two broods in a season, his notes are prolonged |