n the peacock's train do more?

This is the time to watch for the lines of ducks crossing the sky, and be
ready to find black ducks in the oddest places--even in insignificant rain
pools deep in the woods. In the early spring the great flocks of grackles
and redwings return, among the first to arrive as they were the last to
leave for the South.

Before the last fox sparrow goes, the hermit thrush comes, and these
birds, alike in certain superficialities, but so actually unrelated, for a
time seek their food in the same grove.

The hardier of the warblers pass us in April, stopping a few days before
continuing to the northward. We should make haste to identify them and to
learn all we can of their notes and habits, not only because of the short
stay which most of them make, but on account of the vast assemblage of
warbler species already on the move in the Southern States, which soon, in
panoply of rainbow hues, will crowd our groves and wear thin the warbler
pages of our bird books.

These April days we are sure to see flocks of myrtle, or yellow-rumped
warblers, and yellow palm warblers in their olive-green coats and chestnut
caps. The black-and-white creeper will always show himself true to his
name--a creeping bundle of black and white streaks. When we hear of the
parula warbler or of the Cape May warbler we get no idea of the appearance
of the bird, but when we know that the black-throated green warblers begin
to appear in April, the first good view of one of this species will
proclaim him as such.

We have marked the fox sparrow as being a great scratcher among dead
leaves. His habit is continued in the spring by the towhee, or chewink,
who uses the same methods, throwing both feet backward simultaneously. The
ordinary call note of this bird is a good example of how difficult it is
to translate bird songs into human words. Listen to the quick, double note
coming from the underbrush. Now he says "_towhee'!_" the next time
"_chewink'!_" You may change about at will, and the notes will always
correspond. Whatever is in our mind at the instant, that will seem to be
what the bird says. This should warn us of the danger of reading our
thoughts and theories too much into the minds and actions of birds. Their
mental processes, in many ways, correspond to ours. When a bird expresses
fear, hate, bravery, pain or pleasure, we can sympathise thoroughly with
it, but in studying their more complex actions we should endeavou