xceptions (and these, it is a pleasure to add, not singers), the very
least of them is literally faithful unto death. Here and there, in the
notes of some collector, we are told of a difficulty he has had in
securing a coveted specimen: the tiny creature, whose mate had been
already "collected," would persist in hovering so closely about the
invader's head that it was impossible to shoot him without spoiling him
for the cabinet by blowing him to pieces!

Need there be any mystery about the singing of such a lover? Is it
surprising if at times he is so enraptured that he can no longer sit
tamely on the branch, but must dart into the air, and go circling round
and round, caroling as he flies?

So far as song is the voice of emotion, it will of necessity vary with
the emotion; and every one who has ears must have heard once in a while
bird music of quite unusual fervor. For example, I have often seen the
least flycatcher (a very unromantic-looking body, surely) when he was
almost beside himself; flying in a circle, and repeating breathlessly
his emphatic _chebec_. And once I found a wood pewee in a somewhat
similar mood. He was more quiet than the least flycatcher; but he too
sang on the wing, and I have never heard notes which seemed more
expressive of happiness. Many of them were entirely new and strange,
although the familiar _pewee_ was introduced among the rest. As I
listened, I felt it to be an occasion for thankfulness that the
delighted creature had never studied anatomy, and did not know that the
structure of his throat made it improper for him to sing. In this
connection, also, I recall a cardinal grosbeak, whom I heard several
years ago, on the bank of the Potomac River. An old soldier had taken me
to visit the Great Falls, and as we were clambering over the rocks this
grosbeak began to sing; and soon, without any hint from me, and without
knowing who the invisible musician was, my companion remarked upon the
uncommon beauty of the song. The cardinal is always a great singer,
having a voice which, as European writers say, is almost equal to the
nightingale's; but in this case the more stirring, martial quality of
the strain had given place to an exquisite mellowness, as if it were,
what I have no doubt it was, a song of love.

Every kind of bird has notes of its own, so that a thoroughly practiced
ear would be able to discriminate the different species with nearly as
much certainty as Professor Baird would fee