304 In Touch with Nature. 



birds are not crowded out, but they are transient 

 visitors ; for the time being, the white-throats and 

 I are at home. 



The charm of this sparrow's song lies in the 

 evident satisfaction of the tone. There is not a 

 trace of longing, but a superabundance of content. 

 It recalls some of the old people whom I have 

 known, who occasionally gave way to whistling a 

 few notes, looking into the far-distant past as they 

 did^ so, and then coming back to real life with a 

 frightened look. Such people remark, " Oh, ex- 

 cuse me ; I was thinking !" as if they needed an 

 excuse. So with the white-throats; they seem 

 always to be thinking, and they are. But of what ? 

 Has the painted hill-side and the gilded meadow 

 aught to do with it ? Is it the haze and shimmer- 

 ing that softens every angle and blends the harshest 

 clustering to a beauteous whole ? This, I fancy, 

 gives color to their thoughts and its dreamy ex- 

 pression ; for " let sage or cynic prattle as he 

 will," the surroundings have to do with a bird's 

 ways in all directions. It is not a valid objection, 

 either, that in summer there is not the same dreamy 

 surroundings, but all the activity and merriment 



