hey were in sight I had felt no uncertainty
whatever as to their identity. The bill alone, of which I had taken
particular note, ought in all reason to be held conclusive. So much for
one side of the case. On the other hand, however, the second trio were
unmistakably crossbills. (They had been joined on the wing by several
others, as I ought to have mentioned, and with their characteristic
chattering cry had swept out of sight up the mountain). It was certainly
a curious coincidence: three grosbeaks--two males and a female--had
dropped out of a tree into the undergrowth; and then, five minutes
later, three crossbills--two males and a female--had risen out of the
same undergrowth, and taken almost the very perch which the others had
quitted! Had this strange thing happened? Or had my eyes deceived me?
This was my dilemma, on the sharp horns of which I tried alternately for
the next eight days to make myself comfortable.

During all that time, the weather rendered mountain climbing
impracticable. But the morning of the 28th was clear and cold, and I set
out forthwith for the Eagle Lakes. If the grosbeaks were there, I meant
to see them, though I should have to spend all day in the attempt. My
botanist had returned home, leaving me quite alone at the hotel; but, as
good fortune would have it, before I reached the Profile House, I was
overtaken unexpectedly by a young ornithological friend, who needed no
urging to try the Lafayette path. We were creeping laboriously up the
long, steep shoulder beyond the Eagle Cliff gorge, and drawing near the
lakes, when all at once a peculiarly sweet, flowing warble fell upon
our ears. "A pine grosbeak!" said I, in a tone of full assurance,
although this was my first hearing of the song. The younger man plunged
into the forest, in the direction of the voice, while I, knowing pretty
well how the land lay, hastened on toward the lakes, in hopes to find
the singer visible from that point. Just as I ran down the little
incline into the open, a bird flew past me across the water, and
alighted in a dead spruce (it might have been the very tree of nine days
before), where it sat in full sight, and at once broke into song,--"like
the purple finch's," says my notebook; "less fluent, but, as it seemed
to me, sweeter and more expressive. I think it was not louder." Before
many minutes, my comrade came running down the path in high glee,
calling, "Pine grosbeaks!" He had got directly under a tree in w