18 THE BIRD OF SOLITUDE. 



home in the heart of the Allegheny Mountains 

 is the song of this bird. Around the house 

 feathered visitors are always numerous, but no 

 wood thrush is ever seen. Late in the after- 

 noon, however, when other songsters are set- 

 tling themselves for the night, and, save the 

 robin chatter, no sound of bird is heard, out of 

 the deep woods which surround the small clear- 

 ing comes the stirring evening hymn of the 

 thrush. It begins with a clear, far-off prelude 

 of three notes on an ascending scale; then a 

 deliberate rest, followed by three other and 

 different notes, and ending in a rapturous trill. 

 After a decorous pause another takes up the 

 strain. There is no haste, no interruption, 

 never a clamor of song. Each one enjoys his 

 full length of time, and though there may be a 

 dozen singers within hearing, there is no con- 

 fusion. Each rich solo is a complete whole, 

 perfect as a pearl. To sit on a balcony of that 

 house through the long, tranquil hours of ap- 

 proaching night, listening to the grand and lofty 

 symphony, is a never-to-be-forgotten experi- 

 ence ; lifting the soul above the earth, into 

 regions of poetry and dreams. 



The wood thrush is said to be so enamored 

 of solitude and deep woods that he may be 

 often heard, but seldom seen. This is simply 

 because few know how to look for him. He 



