SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE. 187 
small olive-brown bird, with an orange crown 
and a speckled breast. Then I knew him for 
the golden-crowned thrush ; but it was not for 
some time after this that I heard his famous 
evening song, and it was longer still before I 
found his curious roofed nest. 
“ Happy those early days,’ those days of 
childish innocence, — though I was a man 
grown, — when every bird seemed newly cre- 
ated, and even the redstart and the wood wag- 
tail were like rarities from the ends of the 
earth. Verily, my case was like unto Adam’s, 
when every fowl of the air was brought before 
him for a name. 
One evening, on my way back to the city 
after an afternoon ramble, I stopped just at 
dusk in a grove of hemlocks, and soon out of 
the tree-top overhead came a song, —a brief 
strain of about six notes, in a musical but 
rather rough voice, and in exquisite accord 
with the quiet solemnity of the hour. Again 
and again the sounds fell on my ear, and as 
often I endeavored to obtain a view of the 
singer; but he was in the thick of the upper 
branches, and I looked for him in vain. How 
delicious the music was! a _ perfect lullaby, 
drowsy and restful ; like the benediction of the 
wood on the spirit of a tired city-dweller. I 
blessed the unknown songster in return; and 
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