THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
171 
we were most delightfully regaled with the sweetest 
strains I ever heard, from innumerable feathered 
choristers. Having concluded our repast, we wan- 
dered about, some searching for plants, others 
watching the fish as they jumped above the water to 
catch the flies, and a few reclined beneath a spread- 
ing ash, as if " lost in lonely musing, in the dream 
confused, of careless solitude,'^ when our ears were 
again delighted with the music of the groves; a 
hundred voices seemed to join in concert, but there 
was no singing out of tune, or out of time ; the qui- 
vering voice was heard warbling the varying notes, 
and " the woodlands round, applied their choir, and 
winds and waters flowed in consonance." 
My friends who had brought their instruments 
returned them to their cases, ashamed to contend 
with such heaven-taught performers; and as we 
strolled about, sometimes picking blackberries or 
wild flowers, I fancied I heard a doleful chirping 
of a bird. Having looked about for a considerable 
time without ascertaining whence the sound pro- 
ceeded, at length I discovered the remains of a 
bird's nest scattered about ; it instantly occurred to 
me that some cruel boy had wantonly robbed a poor 
