harmonious of the sylvan folk. They are pugnacious, harsh-voiced,
angular in form and movement, with flexible tails and broad, flat,
bristling beaks that stand to the face at the angle of a turn-up
nose, and most of them wear a black cap pulled well down over their
eyes. Their heads are large, neck and legs short, and elbows sharp.
The wild Irishman of them all is the great crested flycatcher, a
large, leather-colored or sandy-complexioned bird that prowls
through the woods, uttering its harsh, uncanny note and waging
fierce warfare upon its fellows.
The exquisite of the family, and the braggart of the orchard, is
the kingbird, a bully that loves to strip the feathers off its more
timid neighbors such as the bluebird, that feeds on the stingless
bees of the hive, the drones, and earns the reputation of great
boldness by teasing large hawks, while it gives a wide berth to
little ones.

The best beloved of them all is the phoebe-bird, one of the
firstlings of the spring, of whom so many of our poets have made
affectionate mention.

The wood pewee is the sweetest voiced, and, notwithstanding the
ungracious things I have said of it and of its relations, merits to
the full all Trowbridge's pleasant fancies. His poem is indeed a
very careful study of the bird and its haunts, and is good poetry
as well as good ornithology:--

"The listening Dryads hushed the woods;
The boughs were thick, and thin and few
The golden ribbons fluttering through;
Their sun-embroidered, leafy hoods