A MONTH'S MUSIC. 287 
tion which might have driven a timid suitor 
desperate. He posed before her, puffing out his 
feathers, spreading his tail, and crying hysteri- 
cally, Yip, yip, yaah, —the last note a down- 
right whine or snarl, worthy of the cat-bird. 
Poor soul! he was well-nigh beside himself, and 
could not take no for an answer, even when the 
word was emphasized with an ugly dab of his 
beloved’s beak. The pair shortly disappeared 
in the swamp, and I was not privileged to wit- 
ness the upshot of the battle; but I consoled 
myself with believing that Phyllis knew how 
far she could prudently carry her resistance, 
and would have the discretion to yield before 
her adorer’s heart was irremediably broken. 
In this instance there was no misconceiy- 
ing the meaning of the action; but whoever 
watches birds in the pairing season is often at 
his wit’s end to know what to make of their 
demonstrations. One morning a linnet chased 
another past me down the road, flying at the 
very top of his speed, and singing as he flew; 
not, to be sure, the full and copious warble such 
as is heard when the bird hovers, but still a 
lively tune. I looked on in astonishment. It 
seemed incredible that any creature could sing 
while putting forth such tremendous muscular 
exertions; and yet, as if to show that this was 
a mere nothing to him, the finch had no sooner 
