Even when that has called attention, the colour of his
back so little differs from the colour of bark that if he is some height
up the tree it is not easy to detect him.
The days go on and the hedges become green--the sun shines, and the
blackbirds whistle in the trees. They leave the hedge, and mount into
the elm or ash to deliver their song; then, after a pause, dive down
again to the bushes. Up from the pale green corn that is yet but a few
inches high rises a little brown bird, mounting till he has attained to
the elevation of the adjacent oak. Then, beginning his song, he extends
his wings, lifts his tail, and gradually descends slanting
forward--slowly, like a parachute--sing, sing, singing all the while
till the little legs, that can be seen against the sky somewhat
depending, touch the earth and the wheat hides him. Still from the clod
comes the finishing bar of his music.
In a short time up he rises again, and this time from the summit of his
flight sinks in a similar manner singing to a branch of the oak. There
he sings again; and, again rising, comes back almost to the same bough
singing as he descends. But he is not alone: from an elm hard by come
the same notes, and from yet another tree they are also repeated. They
cannot rest--now one flits from the topmost bough of an elm to another
topmost bough; now a second comes up from feeding, and cries from the
branches.
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