ng, and proceeded to adorn tree
trunks, fences, buildings, etc., etc., relieving his labors by
questioning me about northern manners and customs. On another occasion
when I was looking anxiously to see a certain family of nestlings make
exit from the nest, a building that I supposed to be a shut-up
store-room was thrown open, a wash-tub appeared before the door, and I
found that a family of eight, including four children, had moved in, not
thirty feet from my chosen seat, and of course to the utter destruction
of any seclusion.

I could not select a single spot in the neighborhood, favorable to quiet
study, without having it made desolate or turned into a thoroughfare.
The loveliest place I found at all was a footpath passing for about
fifty feet through a fringe of low cedar, sweet gum trees, and shrubs
loaded with pink lily-of-the-valley shaped blossoms. Across the path ran
a brooklet, a mere thread of water, so shallow that small birds stood in
the middle to bathe, though it deepened into a pool below, where frogs
croaked and plunged. It was cool; it was quiet, far from the everywhere
present negro hut; there was no sound but the trickle of the streamlet
as it fell into the pool, and the softened roar of the ocean beyond the
wide salt marsh.

To this nook I went every day, always trying to surprise the birds at
their usual occupations, but never quite succeeding; for steal in
quietly as I might I always heard low remarks, a slight flutter of
wings, and usually saw a dark form or two departing near the ground
behind some shrub. Slowly and quietly, however, I took my seat on a bank
close under a thick bush,--while the silence around me was as profound
as if no wing had ever fluttered there,--and became as motionless as
circumstances would allow, for beside the birds there were other tenants
not half so shy.

After a few moments, when the ripple I caused had died away, sounds of
life began again; unknown water creatures made queer noises in the pool
below, low bird tones, unfamiliar scraps of song fell on the ear,
ordinary ways were resumed.

In this pleasant place I made acquaintance with the painted-finch, or
nonpareil, who was least frightened of the small birds, and stood
patiently on a cedar twig till I became quiet, then came down in plain
sight, waded up to the tops of his firm little legs in the water, and
deliberately took his bath before my very face. Here also I had a call
from Bob White, who cautiously