ow, flitting from stump to
stump and from root to root, dodging in and out of his hiding-places,
and watching all intruders with a suspicious eye. He has a very pert,
almost comical look. His tail stands more that perpendicular: it
points straight toward his head. He is the least ostentatious singer I
know of. He does not strike an attitude, and lift up his head in
preparation, and, as it were, clear his throat; but sits there on a
log and pours out his music, looking straight before him, or even down
at the ground. As a songster, he has but few superiors. I do not hear
him after the first week in July.

While sitting on this soft-cushioned log, tasting the pungent
acidulous wood-sorrel, the blossoms of which, large and pink-veined,
rise everywhere above the moss, a rufous-colored bird flies quickly
past, and, alighting on a low limb a few rods off, salutes me with
"Whew! Whew!" or "Whoit! Whoit!" almost as you would whistle for your
dog. I see by his impulsive, graceful movement, and his dimly speckled
breast, that it is a thrush. Presently he utters a few soft, mellow,
flute-like notes, one of the most simple expressions of melody to be
heard, and scuds away, and I see it is the veery, or Wilson's thrush.
He is the least of the thrushes in size, being about that of the
common bluebird, and he may be distinguished from his relatives by the
dimness of the spots upon his breast. The wood thrush has very clear,
distinct oval spots on a white ground; in the hermit, the spots run
more into lines, on a ground of a faint bluish white; in the veery,
the marks are almost obsolete, and a few rods off his breast presents
only a dull yellowish appearance. To get a good view of him you have
only to sit down in his haunts, as in such cases he seems equally
anxious to get a good view of you.

From those tall hemlocks proceeds a very fine insect-like warble, and
occasionally I see a spray tremble, or catch the flit of a wing. I
watch and watch till my head grows dizzy and my neck is in danger of
permanent displacement, and still do not get a good view. Presently
the bird darts, or, as it seems, falls down a few feet in pursuit of a
fly or a moth, and I see the whole of it, but in the dim light am
undecided. It is for such emergencies that I have brought my gun. A
bird in the hand is worth half a dozen in the bush, even for
ornithological purposes; and no sure and rapid-progress can be made
in the study without taking life, without p