incipient or
would-be songsters in the spring. I find corroborative evidence of this
even in the crowing of the Cock. The flowering of the Maple is not so
obvious as that of the Magnolia; nevertheless, there is actual
inflorescence. Neither Wilson nor Audubon, I believe, awards any song to
that familiar little Sparrow, the _Socialis_; yet who that has observed
him sitting by the wayside, and repeating, with devout attitude, that
fine sliding chant, does not recognize the neglect? Who has heard the
Snow-Bird sing? Not the ornithologist, it seems; yet he has a lisping
warble very savory to the ear, I have heard him indulge in it even in
February.

Even the Cow-Bunting feels the musical tendency, and aspires to its
expression, with the rest. Perched upon the topmost branch beside his
mate or mates,--for he is quite a polygamist, and usually has two or
three demure little ladies in faded black beside him,--generally in the
early part of the day, he seems literally to vomit up his notes.
Apparently with much labor and effort, they gurgle and blubber up out of
him, falling on the ear with a peculiar subtile ring, as of turning
water from a glass jug, and not without a certain pleasing cadence.

Neither is the common Woodpecker entirely insensible to the wooing of
the spring, and, like the Partridge, testifies his appreciation of
melody after quite a primitive fashion. Passing through the woods, on
some clear, still morning in March, while the metallic ring and tension
of winter are still in the earth and air, the silence is suddenly broken
by long, resonant hammering upon a dry limb or stub. It is Downy beating
a reveille to Spring. In the utter stillness and amid the rigid forms we
listen with pleasure, and as it comes to my ear oftener at this season
than at any other, I freely exonerate the author of it from the
imputation of any gastronomic motives, and credit him with a genuine
musical performance.

It is to be expected, therefore, that "Yellow-Hammer" will respond to
the general tendency, and contribute his part to the spring chorus. His
April call is his finest touch, his most musical expression.

I recall an ancient Maple standing sentry to a large Sugar-Bush, that,
year after year, afforded protection, to a brood of Yellow-Hammers in
its decayed heart. A week or two before the nesting seemed actually to
have begun, three or four of these birds might be seen, on almost any
bright morning, gambolling and courting a