A MADDENING PUBSUIT. 181 



wherever we found anything of interest to de- 

 tain us. 



On this Fourth of July we were in search of 

 a warbler, — one of the most tantalizing, mad- 

 dening pursuits a sensible human being can en- 

 gage in. Fancy the difficulty of dragging one's 

 self, not to mention the flying gown, camp-stool, 

 opera-glass, note-book and other impedimenta 

 through brush and brier, over logs, under fallen 

 trees, in the swamp and through the tangle, to 

 follow the eccentric movements of a scrap of a 

 bird the size of one's finger, who proceeds by 

 wings and not by feet, who goes over and not 

 through all this growth. 



The corner to which we had traced our "black- 

 throated blue," and where we suspected he had 

 a nest, presented a little worse than the usual 

 snarl of saplings and fallen branches and other 

 hindrances, and the morning was warm. My 

 heart failed me ; and as my leader turned from 

 the path I deserted. "You go in, if you like," 

 I said; "I '11 wait for you here." 



I seated myself, and she went on. For a few 

 minutes I heard the cracking of twigs, the rustle 

 of her movements against the bushes, the heavy 

 tread of her big dog, and then all was silent. 



It was — did I say it was a fair morning? — 

 not a breath of air was stirring. My seat was 

 in a rather open spot at the foot of a big butter- 



