w nothing,--he
would make an ideal parlor songster; for his voice, while round and
full,--in contrast with the goldfinch's, for example,--is yet, even at
its loudest, of a wonderful softness and delicacy. Nevertheless, I trust
that nobody will ever cage him. Better far go out-of-doors, and drink in
the exquisite sounds as they drop from the thick of some tall pine,
while you catch now and then a glimpse of the tiny author, flitting
busily from branch to branch, warbling at his work; or, as you may
oftener do, look and listen to your heart's content, while he explores
some low cedar or a cluster of roadside birches, too innocent and happy
to heed your presence. So you will carry home not the song only, but
"the river and sky."

But if the kinglets were individually the best singers, I must still
confess that the goldfinches gave the best concert. It was on a sunny
afternoon,--the 27th,--and in a small grove of tall pitch-pines. How
many birds there were I could form little estimate, but when fifteen
flew away for a minute or two the chorus was not perceptibly diminished.
All were singing, twittering, and calling together; some of them
directly over my head, the rest scattered throughout the wood. No one
voice predominated in the least; all sang softly, and with an
indescribable tenderness and beauty. Any who do not know how sweet the
goldfinch's note is may get some conception of the effect of such a
concert if they will imagine fifty canaries thus engaged out-of-doors. I
declared then that I had never heard anything so enchanting, and I am
not certain even now that I was over-enthusiastic.

A pine-creeping warbler, I remember, broke in upon the choir two or
three times with his loud, precise trill. Foolish bird! His is a pretty
song by itself, but set in contrast with music so full of imagination
and poetry, it sounded painfully abrupt and prosaic.

I discovered the first signs of nest-building on the 13th, while
investigating the question of a bird's ambi-dexterity. It happened that
I had just been watching a chickadee, as he picked chip after chip from
a dead branch, and held them fast with one claw, while he broke them in
pieces with his beak; and walking away, it occurred to me to ask whether
or not he could probably use both feet equally well for such a purpose.
Accordingly, seeing another go into an apple-tree, I drew near to take
his testimony on that point. But when I came to look for him he was
nowhere in si