106 A GREEN MOUNTAIN CORN-FIELD. 



old tree had not been cut down for nothing), 

 birds of many kinds came and went about 

 me. Wordsworth's couplet would have 

 suited my case : 



" The birds around me hopped and played, 

 Their thoughts I cannot measure ; " 



but I could hardly have rounded out the 

 quotation ; for, joyful as I believed the crea- 

 tures to be, many of their motions were 

 plainly not " thrills of pleasure," but tokens 

 of fear. It was now the very heyday of 

 life with them, when they are at once hap- 

 piest and most wary. There were secrets 

 to be kept close ; eggs and little ones, whose 

 whereabouts must on no account be di- 

 vulged. For the birds, too, not less than 

 the corn, the bramble, and the cherry, not 

 less even than the saint, find this earthly 

 life a daily warfare. 



The artless ditty of the mourning warbler 

 came to my ears at intervals out of a tangle 

 of shrubbery, and once or twice he allowed 

 me glimpses of his quaint attire. I would 

 gladly have seen and heard much more of 

 him, but he evaded all my attempts at 

 familiarity. Nor could I blame him for his 

 furtive behavior. How was he to be cer- 



