134 tEtnantu of tiie JEvttn 



tender notes of the Baltimore oriole, 

 which is the true robin, stole out on the 

 morning stillness. Louder and louder 

 the song swelled, until I could imagine 

 the heaving breast of the songster under 

 his orange coat. For the space of thirty 

 seconds there was absolute silence in the 

 thicket, and then a song sparrow rattled 

 out a shower of notes, like the patter of 

 April rain, clear as a piccolo, and won- 

 derfully phrased. 



Had all the birds of the countryside 

 congregated in this alder bush, just to 

 give me a sample of their respective 

 songs ? I was quite agreeable, so held 

 my breath and listened. 



I could have tumbled into the brook 

 with astonishment when the lightning 

 crescendo of the bobolink, pure as the 

 clink of crystal, and rich as love's own 

 wordless ditty, fell like a rhapsody from 



