ber had anticipated us.

Slowly we took our way home, resolved to ask no more help, but to seek
for ourselves, for the nest that is _known_ is the nest that is robbed.
So the next morning, armed with camp-chairs and alpenstocks,
drinking-cups and notebooks, we started up the mountain, where we could
at least find solitude, and the fresh air of the hills. We climbed till
we were tired, and then, as was our custom, sat down to rest and
breathe, and see who lived in that part of the world. Without thought of
the height we had reached, we turned our backs to the mountain, rising
bare and steep before us, and behold! the outlook struck us dumb.

There at our feet lay the village, smothered in orchards and
shade-trees, the locusts, just then huge bouquets of graceful bloom and
delicious odor, buzzing with hundreds of bees and humming-birds; beyond
was a stretch of cultivated fields in various shades of green and brown;
and then the lake,--beautiful and wonderful Salt Lake,--glowing with
exquisite colors, now hyacinth blue, changing in places to tender green
or golden brown, again sparkling like a vast bed of diamonds. In the
foreground lay Antelope Island, in hues of purple and bronze, with its
chain of hills and graceful sky-line; and resting on the horizon beyond
were the peaks of the grand Oquirrhs, capped with snow. Well might we
forget our quest while gazing on this impressive scene, trying to fix
its various features in our memories, to be an eternal possession.

We were recalled to the business in hand by the sudden appearance on the
top of a tree below us of one of the birds we sought. The branch bent
and swayed as the heavy fellow settled upon it, and in a moment a
comrade came, calling vigorously, and alighted on a neighboring branch.
A few minutes they remained, with flirting tails, conversing in
garrulous tones, then together they rose on broad wings, and passed
away--away over the fields, almost out of sight, before they dropped
into a patch of oak-brush. After them appeared others, and we sat there
a long time, hoping to see at least one that had its home within our
reach. But every bird that passed over turned its face to the mountains;
some seemed to head for the dim Oquirrhs across the lake, while others
disappeared over the top of the Wasatch behind us; not one paused in
our neighborhood, excepting long enough to look at us, and express its
opinion in loud and not very polite tones.

It was then and there