It comes from childhood land,
Where summer days are long
And summer eves are bland—
A lulling good-night song.
Upon a pasture stone,
Against the fading west,
A small bird sings alone,
Then dives and finds its nest.
The evening star has heard
And flutters into sight.
Oh, childhood’s vesper bird,
My heart calls back good night.
—Edith M. Thomas.
_The Chipping-sparrow._ Our least Sparrow, who wears a little chestnut
velvet cap, gray back, and black bill, and has a mild, innocent
expression in keeping with his friendly ways. He puts his dainty
hair-lined nest (from which he is sometimes called Hair-bird) in a
near-by shrub or rose-bush in the garden, and then hops about the door,
picking up almost invisible bits of food, calling “chip-chip-chip.” His
courting song is a long trill that begins at dawn almost with the Phœbe,
and the dear little bird often sings as he sits on the ground.
_The Tree Swallow._ This we saw last fall in the migration, and we may
hope that it will take lodging in some of the new bird-boxes.
“In the second half of the month:—
_The Barn Swallow._
_Spotted Sandpiper._
_Bank Swallow._
_Purple Martin._
_Whip-poor-will._ One of the birds of the air that, together with its
brother the Nighthawk and its cousins the Chimney Swift and
Humming-bird, may well be called winged mysteries.
_Towhee-Chewink, or Ground-robin_, of the tribe of Sparrows and Finches,
but, like the Cardinal, without stripes, and having a stout beak. Head,
throat, back, and breast black; white belly and rust-red sides. Black
tail with white outer feathers. A handsome, vigorous bird and a lover of
bushes and thickets, where he scratches among the leaves. Call-note,
“Tow-hee-tow-hee.”
_Black-and-white Warbler._ This you will at first take to be a small
Woodpecker from its black-and-white stripes and tree-creeping habits
that remind one of the Brown Creeper of winter, but its slender bill
names it a warbler; one of the “lispers,” who, though they have musical
names, whisper or lisp a few notes as if to themselves.
_Ovenbird._ Also a warbler, but, though it sings high among the trees,
nests on the ground among the leaves, the nest being closed at the top
and open on the sides like an oven. A shy bird with a _golden brown
crown edged by a black line_. Plain olive above, white beneath, with
thrush-like black streaks on breast and sides.
_House Wren._ Dear little Jenny Wren, of several nests and a large
family, who lives in our bird-boxes, outbuildings, and garden trellises.
Gowned in reddish brown, with fine black bars and a pert little tail
that she jerks nervously as she flies. Johnny Wren is the singing
partner, for Jenny has no voice left of a morning after she has
spluttered and scolded her bird neighbours and attended to her
housekeeping.
_Brown Thrasher._
_Catbird._
_Wood Thrush._
_Veery._—No matter how familiar with them we may be, we must always
pause to look and listen when we meet one of this wonderful quartette of
vocalists, whose voices belong with the gorgeously apparelled singers of
the opera; but the quiet plumage and demeanour of three of the four mark
them for peaceful home life and seclusion.