266 SOLITARY THE THRUSH. 



It was a glorious day, and, as usual, the two 

 bird-lovers turned their steps toward the woods. 

 Everything seemed at rest and silent. We 

 paused a while in a part of the forest in which 

 we had seen some strange phases of bird life, 

 and had christened the "Bewitched Corner." 

 A gentle breeze set all the leaves to fluttering; 

 far off a woodpecker drummed his salute to his 

 fellows; beyond the trees we could hear the 

 indigo bird singing; but nothing about us was 

 stirring. The wood-pewee was unheard, and 

 even the vireo seemed to have finished his end- 

 less song and gone his way. 



We passed on a few rods to a favorite rest- 

 ing place of our daily rounds, where my com- 

 rade always liked to stretch herself upon the big 

 bole of a fallen tree in the broad sunshine, and 

 I to seat myself at the foot of another tree in 

 the shade. It was a sppt 



" where hours went their way 

 As softly as sweet dreams go down the night." 



As we approached this place a sound reached 

 us that struck us dumb ; it was a hermit thrush 

 not far off. Silently we stole up the gentle hill 

 and seated ourselves. 



"At last! at last! " 1 cried in my heart, as I 

 leaned back against my tree to listen. 



Then the glorious anthem began again ; it rose 

 and swelled upon the air ; it filled the woods, 



