_May 14._--Home again; down temporarily in the Jersey woods. Between 8
and 9 A.M. a full concert of birds, from different quarters, in keeping
with the fresh scent, the peace, the naturalness all around me. I am
lately noticing the russet-back, size of the robin or a trifle less,
light breast and shoulders, with irregular dark stripes--tail long--sits
hunch'd up by the hour these days, top of a tall bush, or some tree,
singing blithely. I often get near and listen, as he seems tame; I like
to watch the working of his bill and throat, the quaint sidle of his
body, and flex of his long tail. I hear the woodpecker, and night and
early morning the shuttle of the whip-poor-will--noons, the gurgle of
thrush delicious, and _meo-o-ow_ of the cat-bird. Many I cannot name;
but I do not very particularly seek information. (You must not know too
much, or be too precise or scientific about birds and trees and flowers
and water-craft; a certain free margin, and even vagueness--perhaps
ignorance, credulity--helps your enjoyment of these things, and of the
sentiment of feather'd, wooded, river, or marine Nature generally. I
repeat it--don't want to know too exactly, or the reasons why. My own
notes have been written off-hand in the latitude of middle New Jersey.
Though they describe what I saw--what appear'd to me--I dare say the
expert ornithologist, botanist or entomologist will detect more than one
slip in them.)