dewfall, and before the Robins and Thrushes commence their evening
hymn. Then, assembled in company, it would seem as if they were
practising a cotillon upon the wing, each one singing to his own
movements, as he sallies forth and returns,--and nothing can exceed
their apparent merriment.

The Bobolink usually commences his warbling just after sunrise, when
the Robin, having sung from the earliest dawn, brings his performance
to a close. Nature seems to have provided that the serious parts of her
musical entertainment in the morning shall first be heard, and that the
lively and comic strains shall follow them. In the evening this order
is reversed; and after the comedy is concluded, Nature lulls us to
meditation and repose by the mellow notes of the little Vesper-bird,
and the pensive and still more melodious strains of the solitary
Thrushes.

In pleasant, sunshiny weather, the Bobolink seldom flies without
singing, often hovering on the wing over the place where his mate is
sitting upon her ground-built nest, and pouring forth his notes with
great loudness and fluency. The Bobolink is one of our social birds,
one of those species that follow in the footsteps of man, and multiply
with the progress of agriculture. He is not a frequenter of the woods;
he seems to have no taste for solitude. He loves the orchard and the
mowing-field, and many are the nests which are exposed by the scythe of
the haymaker, if the mowing be done early in the season. Previously to
the settlement of America, these birds must have been comparatively
rare in the New England States, and were probably confined to the open
prairies and savannas in the northwestern territory.

THE O'LINCON FAMILY.

A flock of merry singing-birds were sporting in the grove;
Some were warbling cheerily, and some were making love:
There were Bobolincon, Wadolincon, Winterseeble, Conquedle,--
A livelier set was never led by tabor, pipe, or fiddle,--
Crying, "Phew, shew, Wadolincon, see, see, Bobolincon,
Down among the tickletops, hiding in the buttercups!
I know the saucy chap, I see his shining cap
Bobbing in the clover there,--see, see, see!"

Up flies Bobolincon, perching on an apple-tree,
Startled by his rival's song, quickened by his raillery.
Soon he spies the rogue afloat, curvetting in the air,
And merrily he turns about, and warns him to beware!
"'Tis you that would a-wooing go, down among the rushes O!
But wait a week,