The Birds’ Calendar 
repertoire of short songs, which from some 
conspicuous point of a tree it pours forth, not 
in a spirit of vanity, but because it is too full of 
melody to be restrained. One of its melodies 
has a distinctly martial accent. With the ex- 
ception of the thrushes, and perhaps of the pur- 
ple finch, it is probably the most enjoyable 
songster one can hear in this latitude. It has 
an equally engaging manner, carrying no lofty 
airs like the cardinal grosbeak, but coming down 
to the honest, democratic basis of the robin. 
Neither timid nor bold, it has the demeanor of 
modest frankness, and seems possessed of a good 
stock of that indefinable quality which in the 
human race is called ‘‘common sense,’’ whose 
existence cannot be controverted by the fact 
that it is generally difficult to designate the 
specific act that betrays it. 
With perhaps no sins of omission charged 
against him, his only transgression is a some- 
what pardonable fondness for fruit blossoms, al- 
though in the act of robbery he unquestion- 
ably forms a picture that is worth the price of 
the fruit, as in flaming plumage he sits on the 
bough of some tree that is white with bloom, 
and gracefully drawing blossom after blossom 
toward him, deftly holds it with his foot while 
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