296 A MONTH'S MUSIC. 
mention, they, I am assured, are far too amia- 
ble to take offense at any such unintentional 
slight. Let me conclude, then, with transcribing 
from my note-book an evening entry or two. 
Music is never so sweet as at the twilight hour; 
and the extracts may serve at least as a con- 
venient and quasi-artistic ending for a paper 
which, so to speak, has run away with its 
writer. The first is under date of the 19th: — 
“ Walked, after dinner, in the Old Road, as I have 
done often of late, and sat for a while at the entrance 
to Pyrola Grove. A wood thrush was singing not 
far off, and in the midst a Swainson thrush vouchsafed 
a few measures. I wished the latter would continue, 
but was thankful for the little. A tanager called ex- 
citedly, Chip-cherr, moving from tree to tree mean- 
while, once to a birch in full sight, and then into the 
pine over my head. As it grew dark the crowd of 
warblers were still to be seen feeding busily, making 
the most of the lingering daylight. A small-billed 
water thrush was teetering along a willow-branch, 
while his congeners, the oven-birds, were practicing 
their aerial hymn. One of these went past me as I 
stood by the roadside, rising very gradually into the 
air and repeating all the way, Chip, chip, chip, chip, 
till at last he broke into the warble, which was a full 
half longer than usual. He was evidently doing his 
prettiest. No vireos sang after sunset. A Maryland 
yellow-throat piped once or twice (he is habitually an 
evening musician), and the black-throated greens were 
