236 A BIRD-LOVER'S APRIL. 



the other, broke out into song. '' ' Infinite riches 

 in a little room,' " my note-book says, again ; and 

 truly the song is marvelous, — a prolonged and 

 varied warble, introduced and often broken into, 

 with delightful effect, by a wrennish chatter. 

 For fluency, smoothness, and ease, and especially 

 for purity and sweetness of tone, I have never 

 heard any bird-song that seemed to me more 

 nearly perfect. If the dainty creature would 

 bear confinement, — on which point I know 

 nothing, — he would make an ideal parlor song- 

 ster ; for his voice, while round and full, — in 

 contrast with the goldfinch's, for example, — is 

 yet, even at its loudest, of a wonderful softness 

 and delicacy. Nevertheless, I trust that nobody 

 will ever cage him. Better far go out-of-doors, 

 and drink in the exquisite sounds as they drop 

 from the thick of some tall pine, while you catch 

 now and then a glimpse of the tiny author, flit- 

 ting busily from branch to branch, warbling at 

 his work ; or, as you may oftener do, look and 

 listen to your heart's content, while he explores 

 some low cedar or a cluster of roadside birches, 

 too innocent and happy to heed your presence. 

 So you will carry home not the song only, but 

 " the river and sky." 



But if the kinglets were individually the best 

 singers, I must still confess that the goldfinches 

 gave the best concert. It was on a sunny after- 



