1891. England.
June 27
(No 9)
Chester. - In the evening after our usual 7 o'clock
dinner I took a tram-car to Grosvenor Park
and spent something over an hour there. There
was a good deal of wind and the weather was
cold with a clear sky. Three Thrushes were singing
steadily and I heard a few notes from a
Blackbird. Near the eastern end of the Park in
some dense shrubbery I heard a Robin and
a little later another struck up behind St. Johns
church. After going through the park again
and pausing for many minutes in a lane to
watch some Swifts go to bed under the eaves
of a brick house I started homeward along
the street below the church. The Robin was
still singing there although it was not nearly
dark. He sat on a dead branch 30 feet or 
more above the street which was literally crowded
with people and carts, his ruddy breast turned towards
the light in the west, pouring out his very 
soul in a rich flood of song. Like the birds
heard this afternoon he delivered his notes in
bars with brief intervals between but unlike them
he repeated the same sets of notes many times in
succession. His voice rose clear and strong above all
the noise and hubbub of the street. It was at
times too shrill and incisive to be wholly musical
but it held me spellbound, nevertheless, despite
the attention that my upturned face attracted.
I stayed in fact until the bird stopped singing
and flew down into a neighboring garden.
The Thrushes were still singing when I left.  They
are the latest of all the evening songsters here.