(he is
habitually an evening musician), and the black-throated greens were
in tune, but the rest of the warblers were otherwise engaged.
Finally, just as a distant whippoorwill began to call, a towhee sang
once from the woods; and a moment later the stillness was broken by
the sudden outburst of a thrasher. 'Now then,' he seemed to say, 'if
the rest of you are quite done, I will see what _I_ can do.' He kept
on for two or three minutes in his best manner, and at the same time
a pair of cat-birds were whispering love together in the thicket.
Then an ill-timed carriage came rattling along the road, and when it
had passed, every bird's voice was hushed. The hyla's tremulous cry
was the only musical sound to be heard. As I started away, one of
these tree-frogs hopped out of my path, and I picked him up at the
second or third attempt. What did he think, I wonder, when I turned
him on his back to look at the disks at his finger-tips? Probably he
supposed that his hour was come; but I had no evil designs upon
him,--he was not to be drowned in alcohol at present. Walking
homeward I heard the robin's scream now and again; but the
thrasher's was the last _song_, as it deserved to be."

Two days later I find the following:--

"Into the woods by the Old Road. As I approached them, a little
after sundown, a chipper was trilling, and song sparrows and golden
warblers were singing,--as were the black-throated greens also, and
the Maryland yellow-throats. A wood thrush called brusquely, but
offered no further salute to the god of day at his departure.
Oven-birds were taking to wing on the right and left. Then, as it
grew dark, it grew silent,--except for the hylas,--till suddenly a
field sparrow gave out his sweet strain once. After that all was
quiet for another interval, till a thrasher from the hillside began
to sing. He ceased, and once more there was stillness. All at once
the tanager broke forth in a strangely excited way, blurting out his
phrase two or three times and subsiding as abruptly as he had
commenced. Some crisis in his love-making, I imagined. Now the last
oven-bird launched into the air and let fall a little shower of
melody, and a whippoorwill took up his chant afar off. This should
have been the end; but a robin across the meadow thought otherwise,
and set at work as if determ