RED CROSSBILL 267 



April 3, 1858. Going down-town this morning, I am 

 surprised by the rich strain of the purple finch from the 

 elms. Three or four have arrived and lodged against 

 the elms of our street, which runs east and west across 

 their course, and they are now mingling their loud and 

 rich strains with that of the tree sparrows, robins, 

 bluebirds, etc. The hearing of this note implies some 

 improvement in the acoustics of the air. It reminds 

 me of that genial state of the air when the elms are in 

 bloom. They sit still over the street and make a busi- 

 ness of warbling. They advertise me surely of some 

 additional warmth and serenity. How their note rings 

 over the roofs of the village! You wonder that even 

 the sleepers are not awakened by it to inquire who is 

 there, and yet probably not another than myself in all 

 the town observes their coming, and not half a dozen 

 ever distinguished them in their lives. And yet the very 

 mob of the town know the hard names of Germanians 

 or Swiss families which once sang here or elsewhere. 



RED CROSSBILL 



April 13, 1860. At first I had felt disinclined to 

 make this excursion up the Assabet, but it distinctly oc- 

 curred to me that, perhaps, if I came against my will, 

 as it were, to look at the sweet-gale as a matter of 

 business, I might discover something else interesting, 

 as when I discovered the sheldrake. As I was paddling 

 past the uppermost hemlocks I saw two peculiar and 

 plump birds near me on the bank there which reminded 

 me of the cow blackbird and of the oriole at first. I 

 saw at once that they were new to me, and guessed 



