*nets again there—I descried some smallish

bird in one of the topmost branches of a tall old poplar across the field. My opera-*glass brought him nearer, but still not near enough, till presently he turned and took an attitude. "Ah, yes," said I; "a purple finch." Attitude and gait, though there may be nothing definable about them, are often almost as good as color and feature for purposes of identification. I had barely named the bird before he commenced singing, and as he moved into a slightly better light (the sky being clouded) I saw that he was a red one. He seemed to be not yet in full voice; perhaps he was not in full spirits; but he ran through with his long, rapid, intricate, sweetly modulated warble with perfect fluency, and very much to my pleasure. It was the first song of spring. The linnet is of the true way of thinking; spring, with him, begins with the turn of the month.

Purple finches, by the bye, are among the birds of which it has been said—by Minot, and perhaps by others—that both sexes sing. I hope the statement is true; I could never