8o FRANCIS ORPEN MORRIS 



Throstle. Who would not stand still to listen to 

 it in the tranquil summer evening, and look for 

 the place of the songster ? Presently you will 

 discover the delightful bird pouring forth his lay 

 from the top of some neighbouring tree ; you will 

 see his throat swelling with his love-song, and hear 

 it you may, if you choose to linger, till sable night 

 casts her dark mantle on all around, and wraps the 

 face of nature in the shroud. Begun with the dawn 

 of day, the Mavis has continued his clear and liquid 

 notes at intervals, ceasing only at midday, till now 

 that evening has come, when he must chant his 

 evening hymn, and remind you of your own orisons 

 to the great Creator. The calm eventide is the 

 hour at which he most delights to sing, and rich 

 and eloquent then, as always, are his strains. Un- 

 interruptably he warbles the full and harmonious 

 sounds, which now rise in strength, and now fall 

 in measured cadence, filling your ear with the 

 ravishing melody, and now die away so soft and 

 low that they are scarcely audible. If you alarm 

 him you break the charm ; he will suddenly cease, 

 and silently drop into the underwood beneath." 



The pleasant twittering of the Martin, too, was 

 one of those homely sounds which the author 

 delighted to describe. The note was a familiar one 

 to him, as the birds built up their lowly home aloft, 

 under the eaves of his roof, and in due time reared 

 their happy family, whose small and muffled chirp- 

 ings, as they lay huddled together in their snug cradle, 

 could be heard below sounds which were, as he 



