The Birds’ Calendar 
as to be entertained, so that when they are gone 
you feel that the obligation is rather on your 
own side. 
Occasionally it is worth while to glance even 
at a flock of English sparrows, for one morning I 
found among them a purple finch. To be sure, 
sparrows are finches, and, as the German ex- 
pressed it, ‘‘ birds mit one fedder go mit dem- 
selves ;’’ but cousinship is a bond that is con- 
veniently played ‘‘ fast and loose,’’ according 
to the social plane of the parties themselves, and 
birds can be just as aristocratic and exclusive 
as their human neighbors. 
In full plumage the purple finch is more car- 
mine than purple, but at this season it is quite 
nondescript, as if a large sparrow had been 
dipped ina purplish carmine tincture and then 
been washed off in streaks. It was very shy at 
my approach, and between my anxiety to get 
as near as possible, and my fear that it would 
be frightened quite away, I was inastrait. As 
it paused a moment, in flying from tree to tree, 
it lured me on with that delicious carol that has 
established its reputation as one of the finest of 
finch songsters—a warble that suggests that 
of the robin and bluebird, but more prolonged. 
Some one has likened its song to that of the 
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