28o 



Cfir/'sfmas 

 Carol 



ice, tumbling over each other in a quiet 

 ecstasy of harmony; mellow as the song of 

 C^ the hermit thrush, but much softer, as if he 



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feared lest any should hear but her to whom 

 he sang. Those who know the music of the 

 rose-breasted grosbeak (not his robin-like 

 song of spring, but the exquisitely soft warble 

 to his brooding mate) may multiply its sweet- 

 ness indefinitely, and so form an idea of what 

 the pine-grosbeak's song is like. 



But sometimes he forgets himself in his 

 winter visit, and sings as other birds do, just 

 because his world is bright; and then, once 

 in a lifetime, a New England bird lover hears 

 him, and remembers; and regrets for the 

 rest of his life that the grosbeak's northern 

 country life has made him so shy a visitor. 



One Christmas morning, a few years ago, 

 the new-fallen snow lay white and pure over 



all the woods 

 and fields. It 

 was soft and 

 clinging as it 





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irH~" V 



