The Capitol grounds, with their fine large trees of many varieties draw many kinds of birds. In the rear of the building the extensive grounds are peculiarly attractive, being a gentle slope, warm and protected, and quite thickly wooded. Here in early spring I go to hear the robins, cat-birds, blackbirds, wrens, etc. In March the white-throated and white-crowned sparrows may be seen, hopping about on the flower-beds or peering slyly from the evergreens. The robin hops about freely upon the grass, notwithstanding the keeper's large-lettered warning, and at intervals, and especially at sunset, carols from the tree-tops his loud hearty strain. The king-bird and orchard starling remain the whole season, and breed in the tree-tops. The rich, copious song of the starling may be heard there all the forenoon. The song of some birds is like scarlet,--strong, intense, emphatic. This is the character of the orchard starlings; also of the tanagers and the various grossbeaks. On the other hand, the songs of other birds, as of certain of the thrushes, suggests the serene blue of the upper sky. In February, one may hear, in the Smithsonian grounds, the song of the fox-sparrow. It is a strong, richly modulated whistle,--the finest sparrow note I have ever heard. A curious and charming sound may be heard here in May. You are walking forth in the soft morning air, when suddenly there comes a burst of bobolink melody from some mysterious source. A score of throats pour out one brief, hilarious, tuneful jubilee, and are suddenly silent. There is a strange remoteness, and fascination about it. Presently you discover its source skyward, and a quick eye will detect the gay band pushing northward. They seem to scent the fragrant meadows afar off, and shout forth snatches of their songs in anticipation. The bobolink does not breed in the District, but usually pauses in his journey and feeds during the day in the grass-lands north of the city. When the season is backward, they tarry a week or ten days, singing freely and appearing quite at home. In large flocks they search over every inch of ground, and at intervals hover on the wing or alight in the tree-tops, all pouring forth their gladness at once, and filling the air with a multitudinous musical clamor. They continue to pass, traveling by night, and feeding by day, till after the middle of May, when they cease. In September, with numbers greatly increased, they are on their way back. I am first advised of their return by hearing their calls at night as they fly over the city. On certain nights the sound becomes quite noticeable. I have awakened in the middle of the night, and, through the open window, as I lay in bed, heard their faint notes. The warblers begin to return about the same time, and are clearly distinguished by their timid _yeaps_. On dark cloudy nights the birds seem confused by the lights of the city, and apparently wander about above it.