244 BESIDE THE GEE AT SALT LAKE. 



I reached an open place where I could overlook 

 the lower land, filled with clumps of willows with 

 their feet in the water, and rosebushes 



" O'erburdened with their weight of flowers, 

 And drooping 'neath their own sweet scent." 



A bird was singing as I took my seat, a gros- 

 beak, perhaps the one who had entertained me 

 in the field below, while I had waited hour after 

 hour for his calm-eyed mate to point out her 

 nest. He sang there from the top of a tall tree, 

 and she busied herself in the low bushes, but up 

 to that time they had kept their secret well. He 

 was a beautiful bird, in black and orange-brown 

 and gold, the black-headed grosbeak ; and his 

 song, besides being very pleasing, was interest- 

 ing because it seemed hard to get out. It was 

 as if he had conceived a brilliant and beautiful 

 strain, and found himself unable to execute it. 

 But if he felt the incompleteness of his perform- 

 ance as I did, he did not let it put an end to his 

 endeavor. I sat there listening, and he came 

 nearer, even to a low tree over my head ; and as 

 I had a glimpse or two of his mate in a tangle 

 of willow and roses far out in the wet land, I 

 concluded he was singing to her, and not to me. 

 Now that he was so near, I heard more than I 

 had before, certain low, sweet notes, plainly not 

 intended for the public ear. This undertone 

 song ended always in "sweet! sweet! sweet!" 



