The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1897-03-14


small MARBLE of the warbling vireo threads
its CHEEKY way from the tree tops over
hanging the sidewalk. Then there Is the
white-eyed vlreo whose strange white iris
foretells how snappily his song Will ring
in your ears-'Tuwhit tuWheeo! Many
day it will sound mockingly from the other
side of the creek; from the far side OF
the wood; from the valley below; from the
hill above. before the singer VIII disclose
his identity TO any but Old friends. over
tapping his final notes sounds vivacious,
inquSitive Which is ii? Which Is II! ana
the Maryland yellow-thro is here. Stimuli
taneously the red-eyed vireo will expound
his text Il say it. You hear IL? Do you
believe it?''-and all summer long. through
lazy mornings and hot noon hours, VIII
he labor with the cynical
Then wiry, breezy chant, Siding UP the
scale, viii draw you into the tangle OF vine
and bush, and after many scratch ana
scramble you will catch glimpse OF yel-
low breast whose sides are heavily streaked
with black, and will recognize your Old ac-
quaintance Of last summer the prairie
from the hilltop your tiresome climb Will
be rewarded by another newcomer, the
hooded warbler. Aside from his brief song,
his olive yellow coat and lustrous pIack
hood form a fascinating Identity.
With all these discoyerles near az n fi61i
come the tender tones OF The ilrSt WOOD
thrush. So faint and far the sound you
hardly feel sure till after brea the
pause the notes come again more sottiy
still. That day, too. you will see swain
sons beautiful thrush. who but tarries
here a brief space and utlerS no song. ISI-
hapS, too, pair OF Wilson thruSneS Will
gladden. the record for a week more.
While they reserve their song Tor the END
of the journey, they have been heard prac-
ticing q strange, hoarSe duet as though
performed upon some unstrung instrument.
April is not over yet, but there Will come
a morning whose breath will speak OF June
in the voice of the Baltimore oriole-mel-
low, round, clear and pretty, pretty,
pretty He has come again To hang his
colors from the tallest sycamore in the
rs -Tia lnacGpSSlDle.
Will not let you pet mis- babes, but he will
lavishly cast his orange notes upon your
ear and descend to market in your garden.
Close upon his song will follow the dashins
waltz song of his smaller cousin, the
orchard oriole. He is clad in mahogany
and black and his song lacks the slight
tinge of melancholy felt in that OF his
brilliant kinsman.
Then comes the summer tanager, his YER
million coat in radiant contrast TO ms vel
lowish mate. Their monotonous call note,
like slowly uttered "teeter-totter, VIII
or chary of mis- song. After red; blue; and
the indigo comes. He fiaunts his bhthe bit
of music gayly and cannot but win your
so much execution. But there is plain,
fawn-colored listener who looks up from
the bush below his perch, and, hearing his
gleeful strain, knows her mate to be the
most talented songster the world has heard.
Later, when the phoebe is plastering her
cup beneath the bridge, comes that wag-
gish fellow the chat, and from sheltered
hooks beside the road shouts witticisms
which almost make the trees TO smile. A
gifted comedian he, whose misdirected
talent makes you long TO see him in love.
that he may be inspired 10 sing just once
without introducing harlequin notes But
who knows, his mates ear may be as pc
culiarly fashioned "A is his mirthful tongue.
| Another bustling presence is upon US.
| the great-creSted fy-catcher, with wild
hair standing fercely erect, shouting
| through the wood and swapping his bill
ominously upon chance game. Will spring
time. even, not rifle those loud tones OF
their harshness? "A. pair of pretty king,
| silken white breasts in the stream. Next
a dainty pair of redstarts proclaim them
/ selves modestly with fine, swishing. hair
| like song, he in salmon and black she in
black and yellow. Will they build theil
| silvery cup in the same sweet-gum sapllne
| that cherished 1t last year?
! With a thrilling burst of song the Ken
| lucky warbler halls the spring. His tone:
are lovely as his garb, which Is a ricf
olive green, with sweeping yellow eye
brow and vest. Following him. a pair o.
tiny lovers. the Acadian fiy-catchers: 4
dainty hammock will soon engage thei
| efforts but now their peculiar call, pee-e
yuk, pee-e-yuk, continuously fills niche
in the sylvan medley. High above ii sounds
a sweet, mournful voice from the top of ;
dead tree, ''pee-a-wee, pee-a-wee,' Ions
drawn and minor. and the pensive pewe
has returned to build her Iichened cot.
Soon she is building her bower on th
crotch of a silvery beech; young blue
birds futtering their unwonted wings
| young woodcocks strutting cor2icall.
abroad. with wings widespread, like
| tight-rope walkers balancing pole-thei
| scantly feathered bodies pompously borne
| Baby song sparrows are being tended
baby towhees lie at the foot of the willow
| towsled young robins have quilted the mes
| to look like ragged overfed babies trottini
! closely after father and mother. Preco
cious young pheebes are out of the cradl
| and already swapping up n livelihood wher
we see none. one tiny nest Is full of make
young field sparrows, their wee dimension
almost transparent All the birds are a
| home: May has come and with il a new
| generation, which fifty ends the chronicl
| of the Old
ELIZABETH NUNEMACHER.