blew his soft,
mellow flute in a pear-tree in my garden. The tones had all the
sweetness and wildness they have when heard in June in our deep
northern forests. A day or two afterward, in the same tree, I heard
for the first time the song of the ruby-crowned wren, or kinglet,--the
same liquid bubble and cadence which characterize the wren-songs
generally, but much finer and more delicate than the song of any other
variety known to me; beginning in a fine, round, needle-like note, and
rising into a full, sustained warble, [SYMBOL DELETED] a strain, on
whole, remarkably exquisite and pleasing, the singer being all the
while as busy as a bee, catching some kind of insects. It is certainly
on of our most beautiful bird-songs, and Audubon's enthusiasm
concerning its song, as he heard it in the wilds of Labrador, is not a
bit extravagant. The song of the kinglet is the only characteristic
that allies it to the wrens.

The Capitol grounds, with their fine large trees of many varieties,
draw many kinds of birds. In the rear of the building the extensive
grounds are peculiarly attractive, being a gentle slope, warm and
protected, and quite thickly wooded. Here in early spring I go to hear
the robins, catbirds, blackbirds, wrens, etc. In March the
white-throated and white-crowned sparrows may be seen, hopping about
on the flower-beds or peering slyly from the evergreens. The robin
hops about freely upon the grass, notwithstanding the keepers
large-lettered warning, and at intervals, and especially at sunset,
carols from the treetops his loud, hearty strain.

The kingbird and orchard starling remain the whole season, and breed
in the treetops. The rich, copious song of the starling may be heard
there all the forenoon. The song of some birds is like
scarlet,--strong, intense, emphatic. This is the character of the
orchard starlings, also the tanagers and the various grosbeaks. On the
other hand, the songs of other birds, as of certain of the thrushes,
suggest the serene blue of the upper sky.

In February one may hear, in the Smithsonian grounds, the song of the
fox sparrow. It is a strong, richly modulated whistle,--the finest
sparrow note I have ever heard.

A curious and charming sound may be heard here in May. You are
walking forth in the soft morning air, when suddenly there comes a
burst of bobolink melody form some mysterious source. A score of
throats pour out one brief, hilarious, tuneful jubilee and are
suddenly s