SUMPSISE OF FREEDOM. 169 



and endeared himself by his gentle and lovely 

 disposition. No harsh sound was ever heard 

 from him, there was no intrusion upon the 

 rights of others, and no vulgar quarrels dis- 

 turbed his serene soul. But as spring began to 

 stir his blood he changed a little; he grew 

 somewhat belligerent, refused to let any one 

 alight in his chosen places, and even drove oth- 

 ers away from his side of the room. Now, too, 

 he added to his already melting song an inde- 

 scribable trill, something so spiritual, so charged 

 with the wildness of the woods, that no words 

 — even of a poet — can do it justice. Now, 

 too, he began to turn longing glances out of the 

 window, and evidently his heart was no longer 

 with us. So, on the first perfect day in May 

 he was taken to a secluded nook in a park and 

 his door set open. His first flight was to a low 

 tree, twenty feet from the silent spectator, who 

 waited, anxious to see if his year's captivity 

 had unfitted him for freedom. 



Perching on the lowest branch, the thrush 

 instantly crouched in an attitude of surprise 

 and readiness for anything, which was common 

 with him, his bill pointed up at an angle of 

 forty-five degrees, head sunk in the shoulders, 

 and tail standing out stiffly, thus forming a per- 

 fectly straight line from the point of his beak 

 to the tip of his tail. There he stood, perfectly 



