t place, I
must see to; and, after that, I have an
engagement among these old hawthorns
to serenade till morning."

"Good night, kind bird," replied the
Dewdrop, turning in politeness half
round on its pillow; "thank you for
thinking of me in my loneliness."
And away the songster flew, first to his
home, and then, after some outstanding
duties and civilities, over to his thicket
among the May blossoms. The extreme
beauty of the night seemed to
dispel all care, and to have a decidedly
inspiring effect on his nerves. I cannot
tell whether he had really any such
ambitious thought, but it almost
seemed, from the gush of song, an
attempt was made that every star in
the heavens might at all events hear, if
they could not appreciate his melodies.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER THE SECOND.

It was now morning. The
mist still slept drowsily in the
valley; in some places so
dense, that the smoke of the early fires
in the hamlet could scarcely pierce it.
Already our friend the Thrush had completed
both toilet and breakfast, and had
issued forth on his round of daily work
and pleasure; as active and busy as
the thrush family always are. When
he first rose from bed, he was not
exactly in the very best of humours;
for he had, what was always a cross to
him when it occurred (though that was
rarely), a disturbed night. Shall I tell
you how his rest came thus to be
invaded? Why, the Nightingale, on
his way from the rose-leaf, had, perhaps
somewhat inconsiderately, tapped at
his door, to inform him that all he
could get out of the Dewdrop was
(a very incomprehensible sentiment to
a sleepy bird), that he was a tear wept
by the Sky when it lost the Sun; and
he was bound in all sincerity to add,
that it seemed rather a dull and uninteresting
tear to boot.

"I know better," growled the Thrush.
(I have used the word "growl," because
I can find no better to describe the
reality.) Growling, I am well aware, is a
very uncommon demonstration of feeling
in the case of a warbler. At all
events, if it was not a growl, it was the
nearest approach his beak could make
to one, as he turned on the pillow
which had been thus rudely disturbed.
After, however, dozing for a few more
hours, breakfast over, and his family
seen to, off he sped with all his former
cheerfulness and activity, till he found
himself perched on a branch of the
very tallest elm-tree he could pick out,
and one, too, right above where the
rose and th