226 A BIRD-LOVER'S APRIL. 



out of a tangle of underbrush behind a dilapi- 

 dated stone-wall, a spot for all the world 

 congenial to this tiny recluse, whose whole life, 

 we may say, is one long game of hide-and-seek. 

 Altogether the song was repeated twenty times 

 at least, and to my thinking I had never heard 

 it given with greater brilliancy and fervor. 

 The darling little minstrel !, he will never know 

 how grateful I felt. I even forgave him when 

 he sang thrice from a living bush, albeit in so 

 doing he spoiled a sentence which I had al- 

 ready committed to "the permanency of print." 

 Birds of all kinds will play such tricks upon us ; 

 but whether the fault be chargeable to fickle- 

 ness or a mischievous spirit on their part, rather 

 than to undue haste on the part of us their re- 

 porters, is a matter about which I am perhaps 

 not sufficiently disinterested to judge. In this 

 instance, however, it was reasonably certain 

 ' that the singer did not show himself intention- 

 ally ; for unless the whole tenor of his life belies 

 him, the winter wren's motto is, Little birds 

 should be heard, and not seen. 



Two days afterward I was favored again in 

 like manner. But not by the same bird, I 

 think ; unless my hearing was at. fault (the 

 singer was further off than before), this one's 

 tune was in places somewhat broken and hesi- 

 tating, as if he were practicing a lesson not 

 yet fully learned. 



