254 HOMING WITH THE BIRDS 



thrush, a bird which I love to call the "bell bird" 

 on account of the exquisite bell-toned sweetness 

 of his notes. His home is in a spice thicket over 

 and surrounding a pool in the deepest woods be- 

 hind the ice-house. I am very familiar with this 

 bird, as a number of times I have set up my camera 

 in front of his nest. The tribal call is a wispy whis- 

 per. The song, as nearly as it can be expressed, 

 is: "A-e-o-lee." Each note is dropped into the dim 

 green of our woods like a pearl slowly slipping from 

 a thread of pure gold. No bird of field or forest 

 can surpass him, with the exception of the hermit 

 thrush. The hermit is his relative, not quite so 

 highly coloured as the wood thrush, even shyer, 

 and more timid, seeking deeper woods and more 

 seclusion for his nest. Many people consider the 

 hermit's song the purest, loveliest bird notes. A 

 free translation of what he sings might be summed 

 up : " Oh fear all ! Oh holy ! Oh holy ! Oh Kler- 

 ah-wah! Kler-ah!" The wood thrushes sing in 

 slightly faster time, with a touch of passion's more 

 colourful note at nesting time, and I think this also 

 is true of the hermits ; but when they sing the latter 

 part of August from four in the afternoon to six in 

 the evening, their notes are pure, cool, high, and 

 passionless so that no other bird's song surpasses 

 them. 



One of our earliest arrivals and one that remains 

 with us until late in the fall is an ever-welcome 

 signal of spring with me. I am quite sure that 



