The bluebirds are good neighbors, never quarreling nor troubling other birds. In the late fall his note changes to a plaintive one, as if he were mourning for the dear, delightful days of summer-time and nursery joys. It is now that he, with his large family, may be seen on weed stalks in the open country, looking for belated insects and searching for beetles and spiders among the stones.
In darting for winged insects the bluebird does not take a sudden flight, but sways leisurely, as if he would not frighten his treasure by quick movements.
Besides this particular bluebird, so well known all over North America, there are two other members of the family, differing only slightly in coloring and similar in habits. These are the Western and the Arctic bluebirds.
The bluebirds are the morning-glories of our country. They are companions of the violet of spring and the asters in autumn. They belong to the blue sky and the country home and the city suburbs. When the English sparrow is weary of being made into pot-pie and baby-broth, it will go on its way to the North Pole or the Southern Ocean, and our darling in blue will have no enemy in all the land.
When all the gay scenes of the summer are o'er, And autumn slow enters, so silent and sallow, And millions of warblers that charmed us before Have fled in the train of the sun-seeking swallow, The bluebird, forsaken, yet true to his home, Still lingers and looks for a milder to-morrow; Till forced by the horrors of winter to roam, He sings his adieu in a lone note of sorrow.
"Magic bird, but rarely seen, Phœnix in our forest green, Plumed with fire, and quick as flame-- Phœnix, else thou hast no name."
It is a large tribe, of numerous species in America, but the scarlet tanager alone may well be termed the Red Man of the forest. Native of the New World, shy, a gypsy in his way, harmless to agriculture, a hunter by nature, fascinating to all eyes that light on him.
It is as if Nature had a surplus of red and black the day she painted him, and was determined to dip her brush in nothing else. This contrast of color has made him one of our most familiar birds. But, as with many another of striking hue, the scarlet tanager has an indifferent song. Among our flowers like the scarlet geraniums and hibiscus, we do not look for the fragrance that distinguishes the pale violet or wild rose. It is as if the bright tint of bird or blossom is sufficient of itself, and nature would not bestow all virtues upon one individual.