AN IDLEE ON MISSIONARY RIDGE. 5 



my presence, yet affecting to ignore it ; car- 

 rying themselves with an indescribable and 

 pretty demureness, as if a nest were some- 

 thing never dreamed of by birds of their 

 kind ; the female, nevertheless, having at 

 that moment her beak bristling with straws, 

 while the male, a proud young husband, 

 hovered officiously about her with a con- 

 tinual sweetly possessive manner and an 

 occasional burst of song. Till yesterday 

 Bewick's wren had been nothing but a name 

 to me. Then, somewhere after crossing the 

 state line, the train stopped at a station, and 

 suddenly through the open window came a 

 song. " That 's a Bewick wren," I said to 

 myself, as I stepped across the aisle to look 

 out ; and there he stood, on the fence beside 

 the track, his long tail striking the eye on 

 the instant. He sang again, and once again, 

 before the train started. Tennessee was 

 beginning well with a visiting bird-gazer. 



There must be some wrennish quality 

 about the Bewick's song, it would seem : 

 else how did I recognize it so promptly? 

 And yet, so far as I am able to give an 

 account of my own impressions, it had in 

 my ears no resemblance to any wren song I 



