Mr. Minot describes the Blackburnian Warbler's summer song as resembling the syllables _wee-see-wee-see_, while in the spring its notes may be likened to _wee-see-wee-see, tsee, tsee, tsee_, repeated, the latter syllables being on ascending scale, the very last shrill and fine. THE LOST MATE. Shine! Shine! Shine! Pour down your warmth, great Sun! While we bask--we two together. Two together! Winds blow south, or winds blow north, Day come white, or night come black, Home, or rivers and mountains from home, Singing all time, minding no time, If we two but keep together. Till of a sudden, May be killed, unknown to her mate, One forenoon the she-bird crouched not on the nest, Nor returned that afternoon, nor the next, Nor ever appeared again. And thence forward, all summer, in the sound of the sea, And at night, under the full of moon, in calmer weather, Over the hoarse surging of the sea, Or flitting from briar to briar by day, I saw, I heard at intervals, the remaining one. Blow! blow! blow! Blow up, sea-winds, along Paumanok's shore! I wait and I wait, till you blow my mate to me. --WALT WHITMAN. [Illustration: From col. F. M. Woodruff. GOLDFINCH. Copyrighted by Nature Study Pub. Co., 1897, Chicago.] THE AMERICAN GOLDFINCH. "Look, Mamma, look!" cried a little boy, as one day late in June my mate and I alighted on a thistle already going to seed. "Such a lovely bird! How jolly he looks, with that black velvet hat drawn over his eyes!" "That's a Goldfinch," replied his mamma; "sometimes called the Jolly Bird, the Thistle Bird, the Wild Canary, and the Yellow Bird. He belongs to the family of Weed Warriors, and is very useful." "He sings like a Canary," said Bobbie. "Just hear him talking to that little brown bird alongside of him." That was my mate, you see, who _is_ rather plain looking, so to please him I sang my best song, "_Per-chic-o-ree, per-chic-o-ree_." "That sounds a great deal better," said Bobbie; "because it's not sung by a little prisoner behind cage bars, I guess." "It certainly is wilder and more joyous," said his mamma. "He is very happy just now, for he and his mate are preparing for housekeeping. Later on, he will shed his lemon-yellow coat, and then you won't be able to tell him from his mate and little ones." "How they are gobbling up that thistle-down," cried Bobbie. "Just look!" "Yes," said his mamma, "the fluff carries the seed, like a sail to which the seed is fastened. By eating the seed, which otherwise would be carried by the wind all over the place, these birds do a great amount of good. The down they will use to line their nests." "How I should like to peep into their nest," said Bobbie; "just to peep, you know; not to rob it of its eggs, as boys do who are not well brought up."