RIFE WITH BIRDS. 153 
parents sang were cheerful and engaging, in spite of 
the fact that some critic has pronounced the min- 
strelsy of the warbling vireo tiresome. ‘Tiresome, 
forsooth! ‘Truth to tell, the more closely you listen 
to it the sweeter it grows. All day long, from peep 
of dawn to evening twilight, those quaint, continuous 
lays could be heard, now subdued and desultory, 
now almost as vigorous as a robin’s carol. 
It sometimes seemed as if the vireos and orchard 
orioles were rival vocalists. If so, a prize should be 
awarded to both, — to the vireos for persistency, for . 
never letting up; to the orioles for richness and 
melody of tone. Many a rollicking two-part con- 
cert they gave. 
But there were other voices frequently heard in 
the chorus, though not so continuously as those of 
the birds just mentioned. A song-sparrow, which 
had built a dainty cot in a bush not two rods from 
the veranda, sometimes trilled an interlude of en- 
trancing sweetness, taking the bays for real tunefui- 
ness from every rival. Then, to my surprise, a 
Maryland yellow-throat, shy little fellow in other 
places, would frequently sing his heart out in the 
small trees and silver maples of the front yard. He 
did not fly off or discontinue his song when an 
auditor stood right beneath his perch, but would 
throw back his masked head, distend his golden 
throat, and deliver his trill to his own and every- 
body else’s satisfaction. Very often, too, the indigo- 
bird, just returned from a bath in the cerulean 
depths, would enrich the harmony with the most 
