and lake, and every village spire is burnished with their
splendor.

At length, through crimsoned vapors, we behold the sun's broad disk,
rising with a countenance so serene that every eye may view him ere he
arrays himself in his meridian brightness. Not many people who live in
towns are aware of the pleasure attending a ramble near the woods and
orchards at daybreak in the early part of summer. The drowsiness we feel
on rising from our beds is gradually dispelled by the clear and healthful
breezes of early day, and we soon experience an unusual amount of vigor
and elasticity.

During the night, the stillness of all things is the circumstance that
most powerfully attracts our notice, rendering us peculiarly sensitive to
every accidental sound that meets the ear. In the morning, at this time of
year, on the contrary, we are overpowered by the vocal and multitudinous
chorus of the feathered tribe. If you would hear the commencement of this
grand anthem of nature, you must rise at the very first appearance of
dawn, before the twilight has formed a complete semicircle above the
eastern porch of heaven.

The first note that proceeds from the little warbling host, is the shrill
chirp of the hairbird,--occasionally vocal at an hours on a warm summer
night. This strain, which is a continued trilling sound, is repeated with
diminishing intervals, until it becomes almost incessant. But ere the
hairbird has uttered many notes, a single robin begins to warble from a
neighboring orchard, soon followed by others, increasing in numbers until,
by the time the eastern sky is flushed with crimson, every male, robin in
the country round is singing with fervor.

It would be difficult to note the exact order in which the different birds
successively begin their parts in this performance; but the bluebird,
whose song is only a short, mellow warble, is heard nearly at the same
time with the robin, and the song sparrow joins them soon after with his
brief but finely modulated strain. The different species follow rapidly,
one after another, in the chorus, until the whole welkin rings with their
matin hymn of gladness.

I have often wondered that the almost simultaneous utterance of so many
different notes should produce no discords, and that they should result in
such complete harmony. In this multitudinous confusion of voices, no two
notes are confounded, and none has sufficient duration to grate harshly
with a dissimilar sound. Though e