SWAMP WHITE-OAK BEND. 115 



tions, and rejoice in being able to derive as miicli pleas- 

 ure from a simple ditty as from the most varied, elo- 

 quent, and artistic effort. The surroundings make the 

 sonir. Is not the wild scream of the hawk, as it hovers 

 on the edge of a storm-cloud, answering the rattling 

 thunder with its defiant cry, akin to music ? The whis- 

 tle of the cardinal, in crystal-clear midwinter days ; the 

 hopeful ^varble of the bluebird, as it hints of spring ; 

 the cheery call of the crested tit ; the faint lisping of 

 restless cedar-birds ; simple sounds that we hear at in- 

 tervals, months after the grosbeak, the orioles, and the 

 warblers have departed ; are they not as delightful to 

 the ear, as soothing and suggestive as any summer song 

 of nesting thrushes ? 



It is the homely " air" that we habitually hum, when 

 in a meditative mood, that is dearest to our hearts ; 

 some simple song, first heard in infancy, it may be, that 

 we never forget, and always prize far beyond the intri- 

 cate maze of scientific opera. So the unpretending ef- 

 forts of the song-sparrow, the grass-finch, and all the host 

 of " minor songsters," afford, I believe, at least as much 

 pleasure as the wonderful performances of the masters 

 of melody. 



A glorious sunset closed the day. The feathery 

 clouds that for hours had been floating westward 

 crowded the sun's path, as though they would dispute 

 his progress. Kow he tui-ns upon them, and breaking 

 a passage through their deep -closed ranks, reillumines 

 the darkened reaches of the creek, while the blushing 

 clouds retire. 



