A DAY IN JUNE 127 



head on some errand, announcing himself as 

 he goes. There is no need for him to speak 

 twice. Then come three warblers, a Nash- 

 ville, a magnolia, and a blue yellow-back; 

 and after them a piece of larger game, a 

 smallish hawk. He breaks out of the dense 

 wood behind me, perches for half a minute 

 in an open maple, where I can see that he 

 has prey of some kind in his talons, and 

 then, taking wing, ascends in circles into the 

 sky, and so disappears. That is locomo- 

 tion of a sort to make a man and his um- 

 brella envious. 



A rose-breasted grosbeak, invisible (but 

 I can see him), is warbling not far off. 

 He has taken the tanager's tune which is 

 the robin's as well and smoothed it and 

 smoothed it, and sweetened it and sweetened 

 it, till it is smoother than oil and sweeter 

 than honey. I admire it for what it is, a 

 miracle of mellifluency ; if you call it per- 

 fect, I can only acquiesce ; but I cannot say 

 that it stirs or kindles me. Perhaps I have n't 

 a sweet ear. And hark ! the wood thrush 

 gives voice : only a few strains, but enough 

 to show him still present. Now I am free 



