THE WOODS EMPTY. 87 



After about ten days of watching the wren 

 family, we lost their lively chirpings, the witch- 

 ing song ceased, the place seemed empty of wren 

 life, and our charming acquaintance with them 

 a thing to be remembered only. At least so we 

 sadly thought, till nearly the end of July, when, 

 on sauntering through the old paths for almost 

 the last time (for me), we heard once more the 

 familiar music, as full, as fresh, as bewitching, 

 as in the spring. We sought the singer, eager 

 to see as well as hear. After a tramp over 

 underbrush and through a swamp, we saw him, 

 the same delightful bird, so far as we could 

 tell ; certainly he had sung the exact song that 

 charmed us in early June. He had probably 

 trained and started out in life his five babies, 

 and now had time as well as inclination to sing 

 again. 



During the three days that were left of my 

 stay I heard the enchanting voice every time I 

 went into the woods, 



" Channting his low impassioned vesper-hymn, 

 Clear as the silver treble of a stream." 



