64 IN THE CAT-BIRD'S NOOK. 



pausing on the edge to see what I would do 

 next, then retiring to a short distance under 

 the trees, and having a lively frolic with last 

 year's leaves, digging into them with great 

 spirit, and throwing them far over his head. 

 Suddenly he rose on wing, and flew, with tail 

 wide spread, across the walk into an althea 

 bush, where he disappeared. 



I was about to pass on, when, fancying I 

 heard a faint twittering in the shrub, I ap- 

 proached quietly till near enough to put my 

 hand on him, before I saw him. There he sat 

 on a branch about as high as my head, looking 

 at me very sharply with his intelligent black 

 eyes, but not in the least agitated. I stood 

 still, and he went on with his song. It was a 

 most extraordinary performance. The sweet- 

 est solo given with every trill and turn the bird 

 can execute, with swelling throat and jerking 

 tail, yet not a note louder than a whisper ! I 

 had to listen to catch the sound, although I 

 could touch him where I stood. It was a genu- 

 ine soliloquy. When he had finished he flew 

 out the other side of the bush, and pushing my 

 way between the althea and a close-growing 

 wigelia, I found myself in his nook, a charm- 

 ing sunny spot, running down to the lake. 



Though burdened with an undeserved and 

 offensive name, and having somehow become 



