stub along the edge of the water, so near that I 

 could see every flirt of his wings, could almost 

 count the big spots in his sides. Softly, calmly, 

 with the purest joy he sang, pausing at the end 

 of every few bars to preen and call. His song 

 was the soul of serenity, of all that is spiritual. 

 Accompanied by the lower, more continuous 

 notes from among the trees, it rose, a clear, pure, 

 wonderful soprano, lifting the whole wide chorus 

 nearer heaven. 



Farther along the creek, on the border of 

 the swamp, the red-shouldered blackbirds were 

 massed ; chiming in everywhere sang the cat- 

 birds, white-eyed vireos, yellow warblers, or- 

 chard-orioles, and Maryland yellowthroats ; and 

 at short intervals, soaring for a moment high 

 over the other voices, sounded the thrilling, 

 throbbing notes of the cardinal, broken suddenly 

 and drowned by the roll of the flicker, the wild, 

 weird cry of the great-crested flycatcher, or the 

 rapid, hay-rake rattle of the belted kingfisher. 



All at once a narrow breeze cut a swath through 

 the mist just across my bows, turned, spread, 

 caught the severed cloud in which I was drift- 

 ing, and whirled it up and away. The head of 

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