The Wood-warbler. 169 



the voice retreated as I neared it. I thought of 

 a certain morning in the Alps, and of a provoking 

 and futile hunt after Bonelli's Warbler ; but push- 

 ing on a little further into a small open space, I 

 stopped once more, and then firmly resolved not 

 to move again. 



I had a long time to wait. Sometimes the 

 plaintive voice, but oftener the sibilant notes, 

 would be uttered quite close to me, and the singer 

 would stay for some time in the same bush, hidden 

 from my sight, but near at hand. And at last, as 

 a fisherman sees the surface of the smooth black 

 pool in an instant broken, and then feels his fish, I 

 caught sight of a momentary motion in the leaves 

 not ten yards away from me. A minute later I 

 saw the bird, and knew at once that I had the 

 Wood-warbler before me. There was nothing now 

 to do but to stand motionless and see more of it. 



By degrees it seemed to grow used to my 

 presence, and showed itself to me without any 

 sign of alarm. What can be more delightful than 

 to watch in perfect solitude and security the bird 

 you have been looking for so long ? There was 

 the yellow throat, the delicate white breast, the 



