292 A MONTH'S MUSIC. 



been. Heretofore I had not realized that these 

 whistled notes were so strictly a song, and as 

 such set apart from all the rest of the chicka- 

 dee's repertory of sweet sounds ; and I was de- 

 lighted to find my tiny pet recognizing thus 

 unmistakably the difference between prose and 

 poetry. 



But we linger unduly with these lesser lights 

 of song. After the music of the Alice and the 

 Swainson thrushes, the chief distinction of May, 

 1884, as far as my Melrose woods were con- 

 cerned, was the entirely unexpected advent of a 

 colony of rose-breasted grosbeaks. For five sea- 

 sons I had called these hunting-grounds my own, 

 and during that time had seen perhaps about 

 the same number of specimens of this royal spe- 

 cies, always in the course of the vernal migra- 

 tion. The present year the first comer was ob- 

 served on the 15th — solitary and, except for an 

 occasional monosyllable, silent. Only one more 

 straggler, I assumed. But on the following 

 morning I saw four others, all of them males in 

 full plumage, and two of them in song. To one 

 of these I attended for some time. According 

 to my notes " he sang beautifully, although not 

 with any excitement, nor as if he were doing his 

 best. The tone was purer and smoother than 

 the robin's, more mellow and sympathetic, and 

 the strain was especially characterized by a drop- 



