102 FRESH FIELDS 



nightingales, too! Three- and- sixpence ; two shil- 

 lings for the bed and one-and-six for service. I was 

 out at five in the morning, before any one inside 

 was astir. After much trying of bars and doors, I 

 made my exit into a paved court, from which a 

 covered way led into the street. A man opened a 

 window and directed me how to undo the great 

 door, and forth I started, still hoping to catch my 

 bird at her matins. I took the route of the day 

 before. On the edge of the beautiful plowed field, 

 looking down through the trees and bushes into the 

 gleam of the river twenty rods below, I was arrested 

 by the note I longed to hear. It came up from 

 near the water, and made my ears tingle. I folded 

 up my rubber coat and sat down upon it, saying, 

 Now we will take our fill. But — the bird ceased, 

 and, tarry though I did for an hour, not another 

 note reached me. The prize seemed destined to 

 elude me each time just as I thought it mine. 

 Still, I treasured what little I had heard. 



It was enough to convince me of the superior 

 quality of the song, and make me more desirous 

 than ever to hear the complete strain. I continued 

 my rambles, and in the early morning once more 

 hung about the Shackerford copses and loitered 

 along the highways. Two schoolboys pointed out 

 a tree to me in which they had heard the nightin- 

 gale, on their way for milk, two hours before. But 

 I could only repeat Emerson's lines: — 



"Right good-will my sinews strung, 

 But no speed of mine avails 

 To hunt up their shining trails." 



