A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL. 291 
there a flock ; but in some way—lI should be 
glad to have anybody tell me how — the word 
had passed from company to company that after 
sundown Friday night all hands would set out 
once more on their northward journey. There 
was one man, at least, who missed them, and 
in the comparative silence which followed their 
departure appreciated anew how much they had 
contributed to fill the wet and chilly April morn- 
ings with melody and good cheer. 
The snow-birds tarried longer, but from this 
date became less and less abundant. For the 
first third of the month they had been as nu- 
merous, I calculated, as all other species put 
together. On one occasion I saw a large com- 
pany of them chasing an albino, the latter dash- 
ing wildly round a pine-tree, with the whole 
flock in furious pursuit. They drove him off, 
across an impassable morass, before I could get 
close enough really to see him, but I presumed 
him to be of their own kind. As far as I could 
make out he was entirely white. For the mo- 
ment it lasted, it was an exciting scene; and I 
was especially gratified to notice with what ex- 
treme heartiness and unanimity the birds dis- 
countenanced their wayward brother’s hetero- 
doxy. I agreed with them that one who cannot 
be content to dress like other people ought not 
to be allowed to live with them. The world is 
large, — let him go to Rhode Island! 
