106 
ferns and cool mosses. Here the sunlight, 
broken by the sieve of leaves, falls in a golden 
shower, and the tiny brook creeping through 
the cresses lingers as if loth to leave. Here, 
as in the pines, is a solemn stillness, but in this 
case animate Nature seems not to intrude. 
Here the rat-tat-tat of the woodpecker, the 
ceaseless warbling of the vireo, the rustling 
whisper of the wind, the barking of the squir- 
rels, even the lowing of cattle, seem each to 
have its place and to add to and become a part 
of the beauty of the spot. At the foot of the 
elm, shadowed with ferns and hairbells, is a 
still pool of crystal water; it is the bathing 
place of the fairies. Well our friend knows 
the spot, bordered by verdant shores of moss, 
and often of an early morning may he be sur- 
prised here at his toilet. 
The last of May comes on apace; visions of 
a summer home arise before the thrush, for al- 
ready the oven bird has claimed the woods as 
his, and it is tine to move. 
Did you, when you heard him before, think 
this to be the finest musician the world has 
ever seen? New your decision is doubly, 
triply confirmed. From the shores of the lake 
the bluffs rise, covered with cedars and firs. 
As evening approaches a single liquid note is 
heard close at hand; a moment’s pause, and it 
is answered farther on. Then rises the grand 
anthem as before, richened and completed by 
the ripening fires of love. Far down the cliff 
another replies, then another and another, un- 
til the air trembles with the melody. Little by 
little it becomes less intense, one by one the 
performers are silent, until at last, with the 
rising of the moon, perfect stillness broods 
over the land. 
The summer wears on; domestic cares si- 
NATURE'S REALM. 
lence the musician, for such earnest hard work 
as he is now called upon to do is incompatible 
with song. The youngsters manifest a per- 
plexing disposition to place themselves in dan- 
gerous positions, from which it is necessary 
that they should be extricated. Their mouths 
are always open; they must be guided in their 
early aerial efforts. Altogether the situation is 
so worrisome that it is no wonder that his for- 
mer cheerful note is changed to a harsh pwe, 
delivered in an inquiring tone of voice that is 
positively ludicrous. His anxiety is such that 
he will decoy with the greatest of haste for al- 
most any kind of a ‘‘screeping” noise. Grad- 
ually the youth of the family acquire a knowl- 
edge of the world and its ways, and before long 
are as well able to take care of themselves as 
are their parents. 
The southward migration begins about as we 
would wish to return home ourselves, so we 
are thus enabled to watch him in the closing 
scene of the year. His homes are now on the 
sere hillsides, where the trees have dropped 
their leaves, where the grouse rises with a 
mighty roar. In thinking of the hermit thrush 
in fall a certain scene always rises to my mind. 
It is the side of a long, wooded slope. Here 
and there stands a scrub oak, the dried leaves 
rustling in the wind; the thrush is always a 
little in advance, striking an attitude on a cross 
limb, flitting so silently on that his figure is 
almost elf-like in its strangeness. On all sides 
are these phantom shapes, always silent and 
watchful. One day they disappear, and the 
year with the hermit thrush is ended. In his 
southern home, no doubt, he enjoys life as 
well, but for us alone he keeps the sweetest, 
most beautiful phases of his life. 
