And hath so long a life, as we may see, He must be dead, the king as shall a page; Then is it wisdom, as it thinketh me, And take it well, that we may not eschew, Then hath he done his friend, ne him, no shame; Can he them thank? Nay, God wot, never a del, And looking now where most sorrow is herein, "Sister (quod he) this is my full assent, That ye shall of your grace upon him rue, To maken you assenten to this thing. By all the council of the baronage. And God, that all this world hath wrought, And he her serveth so gentilly, That never was there no word them between FEATHERED LIFE IN AMERICA. [John Burroughs, an American ornithologist, who, following in the footsteps of Wilson and Audubon, is helping to extend our knowledge of the characteristics of the winged tribes. The following is from an article in the New York Galaxy Magazine, August, 1869.] Years ago, when quite a youth, I was rambling in the woods one Sunday with my brothers, gathering black-birch, wintergreens, &c., when, as we reclined upon the ground, gazing vaguely up into the trees, I caught sight of a bird that paused a moment on a branch above me, the like of which I had never before seen or heard of. It was probably the blue yellow-backed warbler, as I have since found this to be a common bird in those woods; but to my young fancy it seemed like some fairy bird, so curiously marked was it, and so new and unexpected. It seemed like an integral part of the green beech woods. I saw it a moment as the flickering leaves parted, noted the white spot in its wing, and it was gone. How the thought of it clung to me afterward! It was a revelation. It was the first intimation I had had that the woods we knew so well held birds that we knew not at all. Were our eyes and ears so dull, then? There was the robin, | and a half-musical note or two; why all this the blue-jay, the blue-bird, the yellow-bird, ado? 'Who would give a hundred and twenty the cherry-bird, the cat-bird, the chipping- dollars to know about the birds?" said an bird, the woodpecker, the high-hole, an occa- Eastern governor, half contemptuously, to sional red-bird, and a few others, in the woods Wilson, as the latter solicited a subscription or along their borders, but who ever dreamed to his great work. Sure enough. Bought that there were still others that not even the knowledge is dear at any price. The most hunters saw, and whose names no one had ever precious things have no commercial value. It heard? is not, your excellency, mere technical knowledge of the birds that you are asked to purchase, but a new interest in the fields and woods, a new moral and intellectual tonic, a new key to the treasure - house of nature. Think of the many other things your excellency would get; the air, the sunshine, the sylvan fragrance and coolness, and the many respites from the knavery and turmoil of political life. When, one summer day later in life, I took my gun and went to the woods again in a different, though perhaps a less simple spirit, I found my youthful vision more than realized. There were indeed other birds, plenty of them, singing, nesting, breeding, among the familiar trees, which I had before passed by unheard and unseen. It is a surprise that awaits every student of ornithology, and the thrill of delight that accompanies it, and the feeling of fresh, eager inquiry that follows, can hardly be awakened by any other pursuit. Take the first step in ornithology, procure one new specimen, and you are ticketed for the whole voyage. There is a fascination about it quite overpowering. It fits so well with other things—with fishing, hunting, farming, walking, camping-outwith all that takes one to the fields and woods. One may go a blackberrying and make some rare discovery; or, while driving his cow to pasture, hear a new song, or make a new observation. Secrets lurk on all sides. There is news in every bush. Expectation is ever on tip-toe. What no man ever saw before may the next moment be revealed to you. What a new interest the woods have! How you long to explore every nook and corner of them! You would even find consolation in being lost in them. You could then hear the night birds and the owls, and in your wanderings might stumble upon some unknown specimen. In all excursions to the woods or to the shore, the student of ornithology has an advantage over his companions. He has one more resource, one more avenue of delight. He, indeed, kills two birds with one stone, and sometimes three. If others wander, he can never go out of his way. His game is everywhere. The cawing of a crow makes him feel at home, while a new note or a new song drowns all care. Audubon, on the desolate coast of Labrador, is happier than any king ever was; and on shipboard is nearly cured of his sea-sickness when a new gull appears in sight. The ornithologists divide and subdivide the birds into a great many families, orders, genera, species, &c., which, at first sight, are apt to confuse and discourage the reader. But any unprofessional person can acquaint himself with most of our song birds by keeping in mind a few general divisions, and observing the characteristics of each. By far the greater number of our land birds are either Warblers, Vireos, Fly-catchers, Thrushes, or Finches. The Warblers are, perhaps, the most puzzling. These are the true Sylvia, the real wood-birds. They are small, very active, but feeble songsters, and, to be seen, must be sought for. In passing through the woods, most persons have a vague consciousness of slight chirping, semimusical sounds in the trees overhead. In most cases these sounds proceed from the Warblers. Throughout the Middle and Eastern States, half a dozen species or so may be found in almost every locality, as the red-start,1 the Maryland yellow-throat, the yellow-warbler (not the common goldfinch, with black cap and black wings and tail), the hooded-warbler, the black and white creeping-warbler; or others, according to the locality and the character of the woods. In pine or hemlock woods, one species may predominate; in maple or oak woods, or in mountainous districts, another. The subdivision of ground warblers, the most common members of which are the Maryland yellow-throat, the Kentucky-warbler, and the mourning-ground warbler, are usually found 1 I am aware that the red-start is generally classed among the Fly-catchers, but its song, its form, and its One must taste it to understand or appreciate habits are in every respect those of a Warbler. Its main its fascination. The looker-on sees nothing to inspire such enthusiasm. Only a little feathers fly-catcher mark is its beak, but to the muscicapa proper it presents little or no resemblance to the general ob server. in low, wet, bushy or half-open woods, often | approach their nests; but the demeanour of on, and always near the ground. Audubon figures and describes over forty different Warblers. More recent writers have divided and subdivided the group very much, giving new names to new classifications. But this part is of interest and value only to the professional ornithologist. The finest songster among the Sylvia, according to my notions, is the black-throated greenback. Its song is sweet and clear, but brief. The rarest of the species are Swainson's warbler, said to be disappearing; the ceruleanwarbler, said to be abundant about Niagara; and the mourning-ground warbler, which I have found breeding about the headwaters of the Delaware in New York. The Vireos, or Greenlets, are a sort of connecting-link between the Warblers and the true Fly-catchers, and partake of the charac- | teristics of both. The red-eyed vireo, whose sweet soliloquy is one of the most constant and cheerful sounds in our woods and groves, is, perhaps, the most noticeable and abundant species. The Vircos are a little larger than the Warblers, and are far less brilliant and variegated in colour. There are four species found in most of our woods, viz. the red-eyed vireo, the white-eyed vireo, the warbling-vireo, and the solitaryvireo-the red-eyed and warbling being most abundant, and the white-eyed being the most lively and animated songster. I meet the latter bird only in the thick, bushy growths of low, swampy localities, where, eluding the observer, it pours forth its song with a sharpness and a rapidity of articulation that are truly astonishing. This strain is very marked, and, though inlaid with the notes of several other birds, is entirely unique. The iris of this bird is white, as that of the red-eyed is red, though in neither case can this mark be distinguished at more than two or three yards. In most cases, the iris of birds is a dark-hazel, which passes for black. The basket-like nest, pendent to the low branches in the woods, which the falling leaves of autumn reveal to all passers, is, in most cases, the nest of the red-eyed, though the solitary constructs a similar tenement, but in much more remote and secluded localities. The general colour of this group of birds is very light ash beneath, becoming darker above, with a tinge of green. The red-eyed has a crown of a bluish tinge. Most birds exhibit great alarm and distress, usually with a strong dash of anger, when you the red-eyed on such an occasion is an exception to this rule. The parent birds move about softly amid the branches above, eyeing the intruder with a curious, innocent look, uttering now and then a subdued note or plaint, solicit ous and watchful, but making no demonstration of anger or distress. The birds, no more than the animals, like to be caught napping, but I remember, one autumn day of coming upon a red-eyed vireo that was clearly oblivious to all that was passing around it. It was a young bird, though full grown, and it was taking its siesta on a low branch in a remote heathery field. Its head was snugly stowed away under its wing, and it would have fallen an easy prey to the first hawk that came along. I approached noiselessly, and when within a few feet of it paused to note its breathings, so much more rapid and full than our own. A bird has greater lung capacity than any other living thing, hence more animal heat, and life at a higher pressure. When I reached out my hand and carefully closed it around the winged sleeper, its sudden terror and consternation almost paralyzed it. Then it struggled and cried piteously, and when released hastened and hid itself in some near bushes. I never expected to surprise it thus a second time. The Fly-catchers are a larger group than the Vireos, with stronger-marked characteristics. They are not properly Songsters, but are classed by some writers as Screechers. Their pugnacious dispositions are well known, and they not only fight among themselves but are incessantly quarrelling with their neighbours. The king-bird, or tyrant fly-catcher, might serve as the type of the order. The common pewee excites the most pleasant emotions, both on account of its plaintive note and its exquisite mossy nest. The phoebe-bird is the pioneer of the Flycatchers, and comes in April, sometimes in March. It comes familiarly about the house and out-buildings, and usually builds beneath hay-sheds or under bridges. The Fly-catchers always take their insect prey on the wing, by a sudden darting or swooping movement; often a very audible snap of the beak may be heard. These birds are the least elegant, both in form and colour, of any of our feathered neighbours. They have short legs, a short neck, large heads, and broad flat beaks, with bristles at the base. They often fly with a peculiar quivering movement of the wings, and when at rest oscillate their tails at short intervals. There are found in the United States nine- | song-sparrow, which every child knows, comes teen species. In the middle and eastern dis- first, at least his voice is first heard. And can tricts one may observe in summer, without any there be anything more fresh and pleasing than special search, about five of them, viz., the this first simple strain heard from the garden king-bird, the phoebe-bird, the wood-pewee, fence, or a near hedge, on some bright, still the great-crested fly-catcher (distinguished from March morning? all others by the bright ferruginous colour of its tail), and the small green-crested flycatcher. The Thrushes are the birds of real melody, and will afford one more delight perhaps than any other class. The robin is the most familiar example. Their manners, flight, and form are the same in each species. See the robin hop along upon the ground, strike an attitude, scratch for a worm, fix his eye upon something before him or upon the beholder, flip his wings suspiciously, fly straight to his perch, or sit at sundown on some high branch carolling his sweet and honest strain, and you have seen what is characteristic of all the Thrushes. Their carriage is pre-eminently marked by grace, and their songs by melody. Beside the robin, which is in no sense a Wood-bird, we have in New York the woodthrush, the hermit-thrush, the veery or Wilson's thrush, the olive-backed thrush, and, transiently, one or two other species not so clearly defined. The wood-thrush and the hermit stand at the head as songsters, no two persons, perhaps, agreeing as to which is the superior. The cast of their songs is so much alike, that any but an experienced observer might easily confound the two. But hear them both at the same time and the difference is quite marked. The song of the hermit is on a higher key, and is more simple, and more wild and ethereal. His instrument is a silver horn, which he winds in the most solitary places. The song of the wood-thrush is more golden and leisurely. Its tone comes nearer to that of some rare stringed instrument. One feels that perhaps the wood-thrush has more compass and power, if he would only let himself out. His tone is certainly richer; but, on the whole, I am inclined to think that he falls a little short of the pure, serene, hymnlike strain of the hermit. Under the general head of Finches Audubon describes over sixty different birds, ranging from the sparrows to the grosbeaks, and including the buntings, the linnets, the snowbirds, the cross-bills, and the red-birds. We have nearly or quite a dozen varieties of the sparrow in the Atlantic States, but perhaps no more than half that number would be discriminated by the unprofessional observer. The The field or vesper-sparrow, called also grassfinch, and bay-winged sparrow, a bird slightly larger than the song-sparrow, and of a lighter gray colour, is abundant in all our upland fields and pastures, and is a very sweet songster. It builds upon the ground, without the slightest cover or protection, and also roosts there. Walking through the fields at dusk I frequently start them up almost beneath my feet. When disturbed by day they fly with a quick, sharp movement, showing two white quills in the tail. The traveller along the country roads disturbs them earthing their wings in the soft dry earth, or sees them skulking and flitting along the fences in front of him. They run in the furrow in advance of the team, or perch upon the stones a few rods off. They sing much after sundown, hence the aptness of the name vesper-sparrow, which a recent writer, Wilson Flagg, has bestowed upon them. In the meadows and low wet lands the savannah-sparrow is met with, and may be known by its fine, insect-like song. In the swamp, the swamp-sparrow. The fox-sparrow, the largest and handsomest species of this family, comes to us in the fall, from the north, where it breeds. Likewise the tree or Canada-sparrow, and the white-crowned and white-throated sparrows. The social-sparrow, alias "hair-bird," alias "red-headed chipping-bird," is the smallest of the sparrows, and, I believe, the only one that builds in trees. A favourite sparrow of my own, but little noticed by bird writers, is the wood, or bushsparrow, usually called spizella pusilla by the ornithologists. Its size and form are nearly that of the socialis, but in colour it is less distinctly marked, being of a duller reddish tinge. It prefers remote bushy fields, where its song is one of the sweetest to be heard. Its strain is sometimes very noticeable, especially early in spring. I have sat in the still leafless April woods when one of these birds would suddenly strike up, sending its voice through the woods like a clear soft whistle. On such an occasion, of course, its song is all the more noticeable and charming for being projected upon such a broad unoccupied page of silence. This song is like the words fe-o, fe-o, fe-o, few, few, few, fee, fee, fee, uttered at first high and leisurely, but running very rapidly toward the close, which is low and soft. The Finches, as a class, all have short conical bills, with tails more or less forked. The purple-finch heads the list in varied musical ability. Beside the groups of our more familiar birds which I have thus hastily outlined, there are numerous other groups, more limited in specimens, but comprising some of our best-known songsters. The Bobolink, for instance, has properly no congener. The famous Mocking bird of the Southern States belongs to a genus which has but two other representatives in the Atlantic States, viz. the Cat-bird and the long-tailed or ferruginous Thrush. The Wrens are a large and interesting family, and as songsters are noted for vivacity and volubility. The more common species are the house-wren, the wood-wren, the marshwren, the great Carolina-wren, and the winterwren, the latter perhaps deriving its name from the fact that it breeds in the north. It is an exquisite songster, and pours forth its notes so rapidly, and with such sylvan sweetness and cadence, that it seems to go off like a musical alarm. Wilson called the Kinglets Wrens, but they have little to justify the name except their song, which is of the same continuous, gushing, lyrical character as that referred to above. Dr. Brewer was entranced with the song of one of these tiny minstrels in the woods of New Brunswick, and thought he had found the author of the strain in the blackpollwarbler. He seems loath to believe that a bird so small as either of the kinglets could possess such vocal powers. It may indeed have been the winter-wren, but from my own observation I believe the golden-crowned kinglet quite capable of such a performance. Wordsworth's lines have the same beauty and O cuckoo! shall I call thee bird? Thrice welcome darling of the spring! No bird, but an invisible thing- More recent writers and explorers have added to Audubon's list over three hundred new species, the greater share of which belong to the northern and western parts of the continent. Audubon's observations were confined mainly to the Atlantic and Gulf States and the adjacent islands; hence the Western or Pacific birds were but little known to him, and are only briefly mentioned in his works. As the paramount question in the life of a bird is the question of food, perhaps the most serious troubles our feathered neighbours encounter are early in the spring, after the supply of fat, with which nature stores every corner and by-place of the system, thereby anticipating the scarcity of food, has been exhausted; and the sudden and severe changes in the weather which occur at this season make unusual demands upon their vitality. No doubt many of the earlier birds die from starvation and exposure at this season. Among a troop of Canada-sparrows which I came upon one March day, all of them evidently much reduced, one was so feeble that I caught it in my hand. The Cuckoo, of which we have two species, During the present season a very severe cold the yellow-billed and black-billed, the latter spell, the first week in March, drove the blueabounding in New York, and the former fur- birds to seek shelter about the houses and outther south, is an interesting bird, though no buildings. As night approached, and the winds more a songster than a crow is. Its charac- and the cold increased, they seemed filled with teristic sound is a long loud call, which it re-apprehension and alarm, and in the outskirts peats with a peculiar weird and monkish effect in the depths of the forest. It sometimes suggests the distant voice of a turkey. When near at hand it is like this, k-k-k-k-kow, kow, kow-ow, kow-ow, kow-ow. Like all natural sounds it has a charm of its own, and soon becomes associated in the mind with all that is delightful in summer days and woods. The European species is larger than ours, and differently marked; but its habits and call resemble those of our black-billed so closely that The of the city came about the windows and doors. crept behind the blinds, clung to the gutters and beneath the cornice, flitted from porch to porch, and from house to house, seeking in vain for some safe retreat from the cold. street pump, which had a small opening just over the handle, was an attraction which they could not resist. And yet they seemed aware of the insecurity of the position, for no sooner would they stow themselves away into the interior of the pump, to the number of six or |