40 



JOURNAL OF MAINE ORNITHOLOGICAL SOCIETY. 



CONCERNING THE ROSE-BREAST- 

 ED GROSBEAK. 



Like many of our song birds the 

 rose-breasted grosbeak came early to 

 the woods around Pittsfield this 

 spring, and in much greater numbers 

 than usual. So numerous were they 

 that many of the school children, at- 

 tracted either by the peculiar marking 

 of its plumage or by its sweet song, 

 brought me more or less accurate de- 

 scription for identification. 



Very few seemed to be acquainted 

 with the bird, but their enthusiasm 

 was soon aroused sufficiently to incite 

 them to tramp across the fields in the 

 early morning to a neighboring grove 

 and sit for an hour waiting that they 

 might catch a glimpse of the singer or 

 a note of its song. 



A student of nature study, if he is 

 truly interested, soon learns that he 

 must wait for the beautiful things to 

 come to him and when they come, 

 finds himself far better prepared to 

 receive them because of an hour's 

 communion with the restless green of 

 the wood and placid blue of the sky. 



The frequent visits of the grosbeaks 

 to a nearby grove call to my mind 

 forceablythe days when I first made its 

 acquaintance. 



Early one bright June morning my 

 brother and I started to row slowly up 

 the Sabasticook for no other reason 

 than to hear the woodlands resound 

 with the voices of many birds and to 

 learn which of the favorites had re- 

 turned to their familiar haunts. It 

 was a still morning — the surface of the 

 lake was as placid as a mirror and no 

 leaflet stirred. 



Suddenly we stopped rowing and I 

 was directed to listen; I was soon able 

 to pick nut a new strange song among 

 the many voices. When it was clear- 

 ly and distinctly heard we rowed near 

 enough to the shore to distinguish che 



singer. "That,' said my brother in re- 

 ply to my question, "is the rose-breast- 

 ed song grosbeak, the sweetest singer 

 of the Maine woods." 



By that name we afterward called it 

 and I knew that a very dear acquaint- 

 ance had been made. 



When returning from school, one 

 night in early June, I was called into 

 a neighbor's house to see one of these 

 birds that had been found fluttering 

 beside the road with a broken wing. 

 The bird uttered frequent uistressed 

 cries, the gentleman said, until it was 

 captured and its broken wing bound in 

 place by a slender cord. It remained 

 in the cage, evidently well contented, 

 but repaid its benefactors by no real 

 song but by a melodious note whica 

 it uttered frequently. It displayed a 

 relish for such food as was provided 

 for it, showing preference for apples 

 and crackers, though it ate readily al- 

 most anything from the table. It en- 

 joyed cool fresh water and would 

 bathe in a helpless sort of way but 

 with evident satisfaction. When 

 strangers came to see it, it showed no 

 sign of fear unless one attempted to 

 touch its cage. It ate readily from the 

 hand of the lady of the house, who 

 spent much time with it as she was an 

 invalid; It seemed to appreciate any 

 care its broken wing received. 



Its low note was uttered when the 

 organ was played and apparently tie 

 music was much enjoyefi. 



It had been in captivity perhaps 

 three weeks and its wing seemed to 

 be healing well when, one day, its 

 usual note ended with a pathetic, 

 plaintive little wail and the sweetest 

 singer of the Maine woods lay on the 

 bottom of its cage, dead. 



The marks on its body told no tale 

 and we shall never know whether it 

 died from the effects of its wounds or 

 whether shut away from its wild free 

 woodland life, crippled from ever 



