A DAY IN JUNE 127 



liead on some errand, announcing himself as 

 lie goes. There is no need for him to speak 

 twice. Then come three warblers, — a Nash- 

 ville, a magnolia, and a blue yellow-back ; 

 and after them a piece of larger game, a 

 smallish hawk. He breaks out of the dense 

 wood behind me, perches for half a minute 

 in an open maple, where I can see that he 

 has prey of some kind in his talons, and 

 then, taking wing, ascends in circles into the 

 sky, and so disappears. That is locomo- 

 tion of a sort to make a man and his um- 

 brella envious. 



A rose-breasted grosbeak, invisible (but 

 I can see him), is warbling not far off. 

 He has taken the tanager's tune — which is 

 the robin's as well — and smoothed it and 

 smoothed it, and sweetened it and sweetened 

 it, till it is smoother than oil and sweeter 

 than honey. I admire it for what it is, a 

 miracle of mellifluency ; if you call it per- 

 fect, I can only acquiesce ; but I cannot say 

 that it stirs or kindles me. Perhaps I have n't 

 a sweet ear. And hark ! the wood thrush 

 gives voice : only a few strains, but enough 

 to show him still present. Now I am free 



