In pleasant, sunshiny weather, the Bobolink seldom flies without singing, often hovering on the wing over the place where his mate is sitting upon her ground-built nest, and pouring forth his notes with great loudness and fluency.  The Bobolink is one of our social birds, one of those species that follow in the footsteps of man, and multiply with the progress of agriculture.  He is not a frequenter of the woods; he seems to have no taste for solitude.  He loves the orchard and the mowing-field, and many are the nests which are exposed by the scythe of the haymaker, if the mowing be done early in the season.  Previously to the settlement of America, these birds must have been comparatively rare in the New England States, and were probably confined to the open prairies and savannas in the northwestern territory.

THE O’LINCON FAMILY.

  A flock of merry singing-birds were sporting in the grove;
  Some were warbling cheerily, and some were making love: 
  There were Bobolincon, Wadolincon, Winterseeble, Conquedle,—­
  A livelier set was never led by tabor, pipe, or fiddle,—­
  Crying, “Phew, shew, Wadolincon, see, see, Bobolincon,
  Down among the tickletops, hiding in the buttercups! 
  I know the saucy chap, I see his shining cap
  Bobbing in the clover there,—­see, see, see!”

  Up flies Bobolincon, perching on an apple-tree,
  Startled by his rival’s song, quickened by his raillery. 
  Soon he spies the rogue afloat, curvetting in the air,
  And merrily he turns about, and warns him to beware! 
  “’Tis you that would a-wooing go, down among the rushes O! 
  But wait a week, till flowers are cheery,—­wait a week, and, ere you
    marry,
  Be sure of a house wherein to tarry! 
  Wadolink, Whiskodink, Tom Denny, wait, wait, wait!”

  Every one’s a funny fellow; every one’s a little mellow;
  Follow, follow, follow, follow, o’er the hill and in the hollow! 
  Merrily, merrily, there they hie; now they rise and now they fly;
  They cross and turn, and in and out, and down in the middle, and
    wheel about,—­
  With a “Phew, shew, Wadolincon! listen to me Bobolincon!—­
  Happy’s the wooing that’s speedily doing, that’s speedily doing,
  That’s merry and over with the bloom of the clover! 
  Bobolincon, Wadolincon, Winterseeble, follow, follow me!”

  Oh, what a happy life they lead, over the hill and in the mead! 
  How they sing, and how they play!  See, they fly away, away! 
  Now they gambol o’er the clearing,—­off again, and then appearing;
  Poised aloft on quivering wing, now they soar, and now they sing:—­
  “We must all be merry and moving; we must all be happy and loving;
  For when the midsummer has come, and the grain has ripened its ear,
  The haymakers scatter our young, and we mourn for the rest of the
    year. 
  Then Bobolincon, Wadolincon, Winterseeble, haste, haste, away!”