SEEKING THE NEST. 115 



under my green screen I could look out into 

 a field golden with buttercups, with scattering 

 elms and maples, while behind me was the for- 

 est, the chosen haimt of this bird. Here, un- 

 seen, I listened to his song, — 



" matchless melody ! perfect art ! 

 lovely, lofty voice unfaltering ! " 



till my soul was filled with rapture, and a long- 

 ing to know him in his home relations took such 

 possession of me that the world seemed to hold 

 but one object of desire, a veery's nest. 



Yet though the woods were full of them, so 

 wary and so wise were the little builders that not 

 a nest could I find. I studied the descriptions 

 in the books ; I examined the nests in a collection 

 at hand. The books declared, and the speci- 

 mens confirmed the statement, that the cradle of 

 the tawny thrush would be found amid certain 

 surroundings. Many such places existed in the 

 woods, and I never passed one without seeking 

 a nest ; but always unsuccessfully, till, as June 

 days were rapidly passing, I came to have a 

 feeling something akin to despair when I heard 

 the veery notes. 



One day, — it was Sunday afternoon, — I was 

 still grieving over the lost, or rather the unf ound 

 nest, and my friend was sitting composedly on 

 the veranda writing letters, when restlessness 

 seized me, and I resolved to take a quiet walk. 



