ue," says I, "but
if I'd the money for another cage, I wouldn't use this;" and I never
will again. Poor, bird! it was a sweet singer.' And he turned his face
aside.

"'It may have the sense to come back,' said one of the crew. The sailor
scratched his head, and shook it sadly.

"'Noah's bird came back to him, when she found no rest,' he said, 'but
I don't think mine will, Tom.'

"He was right. The thrush returned no more. He did not know how wide
was the difference between his own strength and that of the bird he
followed. The sea-fowl cut the air with wings of tenfold power: he
swooped up and down, he stooped to fish, he rested on the ridges of the
dancing waves, and then, with one steady flight, he disappeared, and
the thrush was left alone. Other birds passed him, and flew about him,
and fished, and rocked upon the waters near him, but he held steadily
on. Ships passed him also, but too far away for him to rest upon;
whales spouted in the distance, and strange fowl screamed; but not a
familiar object broke the expanse of the cold sea. He did not know what
course he was taking. He hoped against hope that he was going home.
Although he was more faint and weary than he had ever yet been, he felt
no pain. The intensity of his hope to reach the old wood made
everything seem light; even at the last, when his wings were almost
powerless, he believed that they would bear him home, and was happy.
Already he seemed to rest upon the trees, the waters sounded in his
ears like the rustling of leaves, and the familiar scent of the
pine-tree seemed to him to come upon the breeze.

"In this he was not wrong. A country of pine-woods was near; and land
was in sight, though too far away for him to reach it now. Not home,
but yet a land of wondrous summer beauty; of woods, and flowers, and
sun-flecked leaves--of sunshine more glowing than he had ever known--of
larger ferns, and deeper mosses, and clearer skies--a land, of balmy
summer nights, where the stars shine brighter than with us, and where
fireflies appear and vanish, like stars of a lower firmament, amid the
trees. As the sun broke out, the scent of pines came strong upon the
land breeze. A strange land, but the thrush thought it was his own.

"'I smell woods,' he chirped faintly; 'I see the sun. This is home!'

"All round him, the noisy crests of the fresh waves seemed to carol the
song he could no longer sing--'Home, home! fresh water and green woods,
ambrosial sunshine