ARRIVAL OF THE BIRDS. 73 
what a rolling, rollicking little song it was, just as 
full of good cheer as bird song could be! He 
continued his vocal rehearsal for many minutes on 
that day, but afterward he and his fellows were as 
mute as the inmates of adeaf and dumb asylum. A 
purple finch once sang here in the fall; but the 
music was quite harsh and squeaking, very different 
from his springtime melody. 
One of the most beautiful birds that have a part 
in the vernal parade is the rose-breasted grossbeak, 
—a bird that you will recognize at once by his 
white-and-black coat and the rosy shield he so 
bravely bears on his bosom. In his summer home, 
farther north, I have often heard his vivacious 
music (this was in northern Indiana); but until 
the past spring he has always been silent as he 
passed through this neighborhood, save that he 
would sometimes utter his sharp, metallic Chip. 
However, on the fourteenth of May two of these 
grossbeaks sang a most vigorous duet in the grove 
near my house ; and I wish you could have heard it, 
for it would have made you almost leap for joy, it 
was so jolly and rollicksome. At first you may be 
disposed to think the grossbeak’s song much like 
the robin’s, but you will soon find that it is finer in 
several respects, the tones being clearer and fuller, 
the utterance more rapid and varied, and the whole 
song much more spirited; and that is saying a 
good deal, considering Cock Robin’s cheery carols. 
No one should fail to hear this rosy-breasted min- 
strel, whatever else he may miss. It will make him 
