THE VEEEY A HUMOEIST. 127 



repeated, makes me, at least, feel like a robber 

 and a murderer, and no number of "facts " to be 

 gained will compensate me for the suffering thus 

 caused. 



One more phase of veery character I was sur- 

 prised and delighted to learn. Sitting on a log 

 in the edge of the woods one evening, just at 

 sunset, I listened to the singing of one of these 

 birds quite close to me, but hidden from sight. 

 I had never been so near a singer, and I was 

 surprised to hear, after every repetition of his 

 song, alow response, a sort of whispered "chee." 

 Was it his mate answering, or criticising his 

 music? Was it the first note of his newly- 

 fledged offspring? Or could it be sotto voce 

 remarks of the bird himself ? It was impossible 

 to decide, and I went home much puzzled to ac- 

 count for it ; but a day or two later the mystery 

 was solved, the, thrush showed himself to be a 

 humorist. 



The odd performance by which I discovered 

 this fact I saw through my closed blind. The 

 bird was in plain sight on a small dead tree, but 

 it was a retired spot, where he was accustomed 

 to see no one, and he evidently did not suspect 

 that he had a listener. 



He had eaten his fill from a cluster of elder- 

 berries I had hung on the tree, and he lingered 

 to sing a little, as he often did. First he ut- 



