XII. 



THE SOLITAIRE. 



Give siinlight for the lark and robin, 

 Sun and sky, and mead and bloom ; 



But give for this rare throat to throb in, 



And this lonesome soul to sob in, 



Wildwoods with their green and gloom. 



CoATEs Kinney. 



For three years there lived in my house one 

 of the remarkable birds described in their native 

 land as "invisible, mysterious birds with the 

 heavenly song." I have hesitated to write of 

 him, because I feel unable to do justice either 

 to himself or to his musical abilities ; and, more- 

 over, I am certain that what I must say will 

 ai^pear extravagant. Yet when I find grave 

 scientific books indulging in a mild rapture over 

 him; when learned travelers, unsuspected of 

 sentimentality or exaggeration, rave over him; 

 when the literary man, studying the customs, 

 the history, and the government of a nation, 

 goes out of his way to eulogize the song of this 

 bird, I take heart, and dare try to tell of the 



