AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 109 



A SONG AT EVENTIDE. 



It was on the eve of May 4th. I was sitting near a small stream 

 alone with Nature. I had sat there an hour watching the outdoor 

 world go to sleep. As the sun neared the western horizon, the birds 

 had dropped out of their choir one by one. A pair of chats that were 

 so boisterous a moment ago had now sought out their retreats for the 

 night; a cardinal, from the top of stately sycamore had whistled his 

 last "what cheer;" an indigo bunting mounted laboriously into the air 

 chanting his little ditty and then dropped abruptly into the thicket, even 

 the dickcissel that is ever ready to display his dry parched voice, did 

 not offer to break the stillness which now reigned supreme. Once a 

 rabbitt, made bold by the silence, ventured from cover. Spying me 

 he sat up and regarded me long and silently with his great bulging 

 eyes; seemingly satisfied he dropped on all fours, nibbled mincingly at 

 the tender grass, then, without any apparent reason, darted into the 

 under-brush. 



The pink and yellow glow of the western sky was fast dying out. 

 The air — it seemed as though there was none — it was so still. 



Just then a voice broke the silence; low and clear — inexpressible in 

 its sweetness — inimitable in its simplicity. It seemed as if Nature 

 murmured in her sleep. As it had begun, the little song ceased sud- 

 denly in a confused jumble of notes. As I glanced around the singer, 

 a Harris sparrow, flitted from it's perch, the topmost bough of a brush- 

 heap, and disappeared in the gloaming. 



Edgar Boyeb. 



