Natural History, if this science be doomed ever to suffer such a curse, when, by the use of new names for every thought of the human mind, we shall all be reduced to a sudden ignorance of everything we once knew, and rendered incapable of talking or writing without constant reference to a new dictionary of terms, the MeadowLark may yet be discovered to be no bird at all, but a mere myth of the meadows.

The Meadow-Lark, though not the "Messenger of Morn" that "calls up the tuneful nations," and though perhaps not properly classed among our singing-birds, has a peculiar lisping note which is very agreeable, and not unlike some of the strains in the song of the English Wood-Lark, as I have heard them from a caged bird. Its notes are heard soon after those of the Robin, the earliest messenger of morn among our singing-birds. They are shrill, drawling, and plaintive, sometimes reminding me of the less musical notes of the Redwing and sometimes of the more musical and feeble song of the Green Warbler. Nuttall very aptly describes its notes by the syllables et-see-dee-ah, each one drawled out to a considerable length. These are repeated at all hours of the day; indeed, they are almost incessant, for hardly a minute. passes when, if a pair of the birds are located in an adjoining field, you may not hear them. It is the constant repetition of their song that has led gunners to the discovery of the birds, which, if they had been silent, might have escaped notice.

That numerous class of men who would be more enraptured at the sight of "four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie" than at the sound of their notes, though they equalled those of the Nightingale, - men who never look upon a bird save with the eyes and disposition of a prowling cat, and who display their knowledge of the feathered race chiefly at the gun-shops, — martial heroes

among innocent songsters, have not overlooked a bird so large and plump as the Meadow-Lark. Vain is its lisping and plaintive song; vain is the beauty displayed in its hovering and graceful flight, in its variegated plumage and its interesting ways! All these things serve but to render its species the more conspicuous mark for gunners, who have hunted them so incessantly that they are now as shy as the persecuted Crow, and as elusive a mark for the sportsman as a Loon.

Samuels says that "usually one bird of a flock is perched on a tree or a fence-post as a sentinel, and the moment a gunner approaches, the bird gives his alarm," when all the flock take wing. The Meadow-Lark is variegated above with different shades of yellow and brown; beneath, a lighter brown speckled with black. Its flight is very graceful, though not vigorous. The motions of its wings are rapid and intermittent, the slight pauses in their vibratory motions giving them a character quite unique.

THE CEDAR-BIRD.

Little bird, that watchest the season of mellow fruits, and makest thy appearance like a guest who comes only on feast-days, and, like a truant urchin, takest the fair products of the garden without leave of the owner, saying not even a grace over thy meals like the Preacher, but silently taking thy fill, and then leaving without even a song of thankfulness, still I will welcome thee to the festival of Nature, both for thy comely presence and thy cheerful and friendly habit with thy fellows.

The Cedar-Bird is not a songster. It seldom utters any note save the lisp that may always be heard when it is within sight. Dr. Brewer, who kept a wounded one in a cage, mentions that "beside its low, lisping call, this bird had a regular, faint attempt at a song of several low

notes, uttered in so low a tone that it would be almost inaudible, even at a short distance. It became perfectly contented in confinement, and appeared fond of such members of the family as noticed it." He says of this species as proof of their devotion to one another and their offspring: "Once when one had been taken in a net spread over strawberries, its mate refused to leave it, suffered itself to be taken by the hand in its anxiety to free its mate, and, when set at liberty, would not leave until its mate had also been released and permitted to go with it."

According to Nuttall, during the mating season, they are always caressing each other like Turtle Doves. There is a manifestation of mutual fondness between these social birds. A friend assured him that he had seen one among a row of them seize an insect and offer it to its next neighbor, who passed it to the next, each politely declining the offer, until it had passed backwards and forwards several times.

The Cedar-Bird is not exclusively frugivorous. In the spring and early summer, before the berries are ripe, it feeds wholly upon insects and their larvæ. As a compensation for the mischief done by the bird and its fellows among the fruit-trees, they destroy vast numbers of canker-worms, taking them when they are very small and nestled in the flower-cup of the apple-tree. The excessive multiplication of the canker-worm seems a direct consequence of the proportional diminution of this and a few other valuable though mischievous species. Those cultivators who would gladly extirpate the boys as well as the birds, taking care to save boys enough to kill the birds, might, instead of persecuting the Cedar-Bird, find it more profitable in the end to pay a tax for its preservation.

This bird is very fond of the juniper. Its usual

abode is among the junipers. From these, when rambling in the woods, you will often start a flock; for they are easily alarmed on account of the pertinacity with which they have been hunted. It is seldom we see one bird of this species, without at least six or eight more in its company. Their habit of assembling in small flocks renders them more liable to be extirpated; for those who would grudge a charge of powder and shot for the flesh of a single bird are delighted to shoot into a flock, when perhaps six or eight little tender birds will fall to the ground.

The Cedar-Bird is remarkable for the elegance of its shape; and though the colors of its plumage are not brilliant, they are exceedingly fine and delicate. Its general color above is a reddish-brown, slightly tinged with olive; somewhat brighter on the breast, dark in the throat, tail tipped with yellow, forehead with a black line over the eyes, and little scarlet beads upon the outer wing-feathers, resembling dots of red sealing-wax.

THE INDIGO-BIRD.

Some of the earliest nests I discovered in my boyhood were those of the Indigo-Bird, of which, for several successive years, there were two or three in a grove of young locust-trees near the building where I attended school. Hence I have always associated this bird with the locusttree. Every one admires the beauty of the Indigo-Bird,— its plumage of dark-blue, with green reflections when in a certain light. Its color is not that of the Bluebird; but more nearly resembles a piece of indigo, being almost a blue-black. Though it never comes very near our windows, it does not appear to be shy, and it prefers the trees of our gardens and enclosures to those of the forest. When the breeding season is over, the old birds probably retire to the woods; for, after the young have taken flight, they are seldom seen.

I think Mr. Nuttall is incorrect in his description of the Indigo-Bird's song. It certainly has not that variety and pathos which he ascribes to it. The song is rather a lively see-saw without expressing even animation. It ought not to be considered plaintive. His notes are sharp, not unlike those parts of the Canary's song which are disagreeable. I allude to the sip, sip, sip, sip, which the Canary intersperses with his more musical and rolling notes. The whole song of the Indigo-Bird is but a repetition of the sip, sip, of the Canary, modified by the addition of another note, like sip-see, sip-see, sip-see, sipsee, repeated four or five times very moderately, with a few unimportant intervening notes. Neither has the song of the Indigo-Bird so much rapidity as Nuttall ascribes to it. His notes, though not slow, are but little more rapid than those of the Robin. He has the merit, however, of being one of the few of our birds that sing persistently at noonday.

THE SUMMER YELLOW-BIRD.

There is no common feature in our New England domestic landscape more remarkable than the frequent rows of willows which have at different times been planted by the sides of roads where they pass over wet meadows. The air is never sweeter, not even in a grove of lindens, than the vernal breezes that are constantly playing among the willows, when they are hung with golden aments, and swarming with bees and butterflies. Here, flitting among the soft foliage of these trees after the middle of May, you will never fail to meet the little Summer Yellow-Bird, whose plumage is so near the color of the willow-blossoms that they almost conceal it from observation.

The Summer Yellow-Bird is one of that incomparable tribe of warblers, comprehended under the general name