204 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS. 



were blossoming. Pushing up through the dead 

 leaves hundreds of yellow adder tongues turned 

 back their petals and darted out their red sta- 

 mens ; colonies of spring beauties were springing 

 up in the woods, raising their tiny pearl stems, 

 spreading out their two slender green leaves, and 

 opening their delicate crowning cups of pure 

 white or delicate rose. At the foot of the tree 

 trunks clusters of " ladies and gentlemen," 

 " squirrels' corn," some call them looked from 

 their luxuriant cover of green leaf filaments. 

 And close to the ground lay the children's shin- 

 ing red fungus " cups and saucers " to light up 

 the woods. But in the midst of all this mute 

 loveliness the minstrel of the forest came to sing 

 for the flowers their lay of the spring. Sitting 

 almost motionless on the dead branch of a fallen 

 tree top, the thrush poured forth his oh'-tir-a-lee- 

 lee in ever varying tone and melody, till the woods 

 seemed enriched by the marvellous song. 



Each bird seems to voice some phase of nature. 

 The bobolink sings for the sunny meadow, the 

 vireo for the shaded tree top, the goldfinch for 

 the blue sky, the indigo -bird for the passing 

 breezes, and the whippoorwill for the night ; but 

 the hermit thrush chants the forest Te Deums 

 for sunrise and sunset. Ever since I was a child, 

 in the long summer evenings we have walked 

 through the woods to " William Miller Hill," to 

 see the sunset and listen to the hermit's vespers. 



