SOME BIRDS THAT COME IN MAY 429 
enough to be heard at that distance, for the houses on 
the street back of us are quite a way off. 
Almost before I had done laughing, the voice came 
again, clear, musical, and strong — ‘‘ You’re a pretty 
bird. Where are you?” 
For several days I endured the suspense of waiting 
for time to investigate. Then I chased him up. There 
he was in the top of a walnut tree, his gorgeous attire tell- 
ing me immediately that he was a Rose-breasted Grosbeak. 
At the end of a week he varied his compliment to, 
“Pretty, pretty bird, where are you? Where are you?” 
with a kind of impatient jerk on the last “you.” 
He and his mate stayed near us all last summer, and 
though I heard him talk a hundred times, yet he always 
brought a feeling of gladness and a laugh. 
Our friend has come back again this spring. About 
May Ist I heard the same endearing compliment as before. 
Several of my friends whom I have told about him 
have asked, “Does he say the words plainly? Do you 
mean that he really talks?” My reply is, “He says 
them just as plainly as a bird ever says anything, so 
plainly, that even now I laugh whenever I hear him.” 
He is not very easily frightened, and sometimes talks 
quite a while when I am standing under the tree where 
he is. 
— Emity B. Pretiet, Worcester, Mass., in Bird-Lore. 
A SONG OF THE ROSE-BREASTED GROSBEAK 
Hark! Hark! 
From the elm-tree’s topmost spray, 
As the sun’s first spark 
O’erleaps the dark 
