It has often been remarked that in the bird world the rule is for the
males to have the brilliant plumage, with all the beautiful colors and
for the females to be the dowdy ones--a rule which would entail a
revolution in fashions, startling and ludicrous, if it were to be
introduced for variety among our own kind. Again, gaily-dressed birds
have the least pleasing song--the screaming jay bearing an unfavorable
comparison with the thrush--and the modestly-attired nightingale
having furnished, in all ages, a brilliant example of virtue
unadorned. The nightingale, however, leaving before the climate has
become objectionable, we must praise its musical accomplishments
rather as being those of a distinguished guest, or foreign _prima
donna_, than of an indigenous artist. But we have another bird who
_is_ always here, facing winter's blasts in addition to summer's
bloom, who in voice stands unrivaled; no competitor approaching any
where near him for fluency, richness, and liquid melody of song--to
wit, the blackbird.
This negro melodist seldom spares his lungs at all until winter is far
advanced into its New Year months; and even amid the bitter mornings
of January, his rich, unfaltering notes can sometimes be heard. His
coat is a glossy black, always cleanly brushed, and in the case of one
family, sometimes called the "Red-wing," with a gorgeous scarlet lapel
on either side.