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 



