Green leaves! Green leaves! Summer! summer! summer!'

"It was monotonous, but every word came from the singer's heart, which
is not always the case. Thenceforward, though he slept near the ground,
he went up every day to this pine, as to some sacred high place, and
sang the same song, of which neither he nor I were ever weary.

"Let one be ever so inoffensive, however, one is not long left in peace
in this world, even in a wood. The thrush sang too loudly of his simple
happiness, and some boys from the town heard him and snared him, and
took him away in a dirty cloth cap, where he was nearly smothered. The
world is certainly not exclusively composed of sunshine, and green
woods, and odorous pines. He became almost senseless during the hot
dusty walk that led to the town. It was a seaport town, about two miles
from the wood, a town of narrow, steep streets, picturesque old houses,
and odours compounded of tar, dead fish, and many other scents less
agreeable than forest perfumes. The thrush was put into a small
wicker-cage in an upper room, in one of the narrowest and steepest of
the streets. "'I shall die to-night,' he piped. But he did not. He
lived that night, and for several nights and days following. The boys
took small care of him, however. He was often left without food,
without water, and always with too little air. Two or three times they
tried to sell him, but he was not bought, for no one could hear him
sing. One day he was hung outside the window, and partly owing to the
sun and fresh air, and partly because a woman was singing in the
street, he began to carol his old song.

"The woman was a street singer. She was even paler, thinner, and more
destitute-looking than such women usually are. In some past time there
had been beauty and feeling in her face, but the traces of both were