IN THE HEMLOCKS. 65 



I sit down, he pauses to observe me, and extends his 

 pretty ramblings on all sides, apparently very much 

 engrossed with his own affairs, but never losing sight 

 of me. But few of the birds are walkers, most being 

 hoppers, like the robin. 



Satisfied that I have no hostile intentions, the 

 pretty pedestrian mounts a limb a few feet from the 

 ground, and gives me the benefit of one of his musi- 

 cal performances, a sort of accelerating chant. Com- 

 mencing in a very low key, which makes him seem 

 at a very uncertain distance, he grows louder and 

 louder, till his body quakes and his chant runs into a 

 shriek, ringing in my ear with a peculiar sharpness. 

 This lay may be represented thus : " Teacher, teacher, 

 TKACHER, TEACHER, TEACHER!" the ac- 

 cent on the first syllable and each word uttered with 

 increased force and shrillness. No writer with whom 

 I am acquainted gives him credit for more musical 

 ability than is displayed in this strain. Yet in this 

 the half is not told. He has a far rarer song, which 

 he reserves for some nymph whom he meets in the 

 air. Mounting by easy nights to the top of the tall- 

 est tree, he launches into the air with a sort of sus- 

 pended, hovering flight, like certain of the finches, 

 and bursts into a perfect ecstasy of song, clear, 

 ringing, copious, rivaling the goldfinch's in vivacity, 

 and the linnet's in melody. This strain is one of the 

 rarest bits of bird-melody to be heard, and is oftenest 

 indulged in late in the afternoon or after sundown. 

 Over the woods, hid from view, the ecstatic singer 



