freshest of ferns, so luxuriant that they were brushed
aside in passing, and closed behind as if to conceal one's footsteps.
Shrubs and trees met overhead; here and there a blooming dogbane or an
elder, "foamed o'er with blossoms white as snow," and tall wild roses
wherever they could find space to grow.

Nearly down to the spring, I seated myself under the bushes and waited.
At first, until the bustle of my coming was hushed, all was silent; but
soon bird notes began,--soft little "pips" and "chur-r-r's," and other
sounds I could not trace to their authors, but plainly expressing
disapproval of a spy among them. Catbirds complained with a soft liquid
"chuck" or their more decided "mew;" kingbirds peeped out to see what
was the excitement, and then settled in the bushes in plain sight, at
leisure now since their decorous little folk were educated and taking
care of themselves; and other birds came whispering about behind my
back, while I dared not turn to see, lest I send everybody off in a
panic. An oriole,

"Like an orange tulip flaked with black,"

dropped in as he passed, but left in haste, as if averse to company,
with his customary shyness while training the young; for this brilliant
bird, during nesting so fearless everywhere, manages to disappear
completely after the young leave the nest. Now and then he may be seen
going about near the ground, silent, and absorbed in his arduous task of
teaching those clamorous urchins to get their own living; or in the
early morning, engaged in picking open the hideous nests of the
tent-caterpillars and quietly taking his breakfast therefrom. Later,
when bantlings are off his mind, he reappears in his favorite haunts,
and sings a little before bidding us adieu for the season; although
occasionally this supplementary song is a dismal failure, and the oriole
discovers, as have other singers before him, that one cannot neglect his
music, even for the best of reasons, and take it up again where he left
off.

[Illustration: FEEDING THE BABY--THE BALTIMORE ORIOLE]

[Sidenote: _EXCITEMENT AMONG THE ORIOLES._]

As I passed under an apple-tree, one morning, on my way to the ferny
path, I heard the domestic cry of the oriole, uttered, I think, only
when rearing the young, a tender "yeap." I paused instantly, and soon
heard a very low baby cry, a soft "chur-r-r" exactly like the first note
of the young oriole when he comes up to the edge of the nest, only
subdued almost to a wh