SWAMP WHITE-OAK BEND. 115 



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

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

 quent, and artistic effort. The surroundings make the 

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

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

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

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

 hopeful warble 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. Now he turns upon them, and breaking 

 a passage through their deep -closed ranks, reillumines 

 the darkened reaches of the creek, while the blushing 

 clouds retire. 



