OUR BEST SINGERS 91 



and brilliant melodist in the world, the Night- 

 ingale not excepted." 



There is a quality in this song that appeals 

 directly to one's spiritual nature. It is limpid, 

 serene, uplifting, impossible to express in words. 

 Many have tried to convey some adequate idea 

 of its wonderful quality, but all, to my mind, 

 have failed. To be appreciated at its full, it 

 should be heard in its proper setting, the gloom 

 of the thick woods, as the afternoon shadows 

 are lengthening. Then you will often hear an 

 alternating duet, as it were, ringing back and 

 forth between these sweet singers, the very soul 

 of tuneful melody. 



There could scarcely be imagined a greater 

 contrast in song and habit than exists between 

 this "Swamp Angel," as he is well named, and 

 that minstrel of the meadow, the rollicking Bob- 

 oJink. The latter is distinctly a creature of the 

 sunshine and flower-strewn fields where, during 

 the long days of June, he pours forth his bubbling, 

 tinkling torrent of song which charms and de- 

 lights us with its very ecstasy. The life of the 

 Hermit, on the contrary, is secluded and seem- 

 ingly much less joyous. Like the Anchorite of 

 old, he seeks the silence and gloom of the ever- 

 green forest where he chants his hymn of praise, 

 a divine melody. I count myself very fortunate 

 that my boyhood was passed where this wonder- 

 ful wood-singer loved to dwell, and my heart is 

 filled with gratitude toward the Giver of all good 

 gifts for that great privilege. 



The Hermit builds on the ground, usually in 

 the woods, a nest of moss, coarse grass and 



