VEERT 225 



deft, admirably coordinated, and as it stands motionless again, 

 "in russet mantle clad," poised on its long, slender, wire-slim legs, it 

 makes a delicate picture against the dark of the forest, like a lovely 

 woodland nymph. 



Voice. — The song of the veery is one of the strangest sounds in 

 nature. The rendering "whree-u, whree-u, whree-u, whree-u," as written 

 by J. H. Langille (1884), suggests the form of the song well, a series 

 of four or five downward -inflected phrases with a smooth transition in 

 pitch, the final note prolonged and rolling, and each phrase a little 

 lower than the one before it. 



Perhaps because of its strangeness, the song is regarded variously 

 by different observers; some considering it inferior to the other 

 thrushes' songs; one, Ora Willis Knight (1908), passing it off as neg- 

 ligible, "if you can call it singing," he says; others perceiving in it 

 qualities that raise it high above the song of any other bird. 



We cannot think of it as a song in the sense of its being an expression 

 of joy ; it seems to express a calmer, deeper, holier emotion, like a hymn 

 or a prayer. Bradford Torrey (1885) expands this thought in a de- 

 lightful little essay on the veery 's song: 



To this same hemlock grove I was in the habit, in those days of going now and 

 then to listen to the evening hymn of the veery, or Wilson thrush. Here, if no- 

 where else, might be heard music fit to be called sacred. Nor did it seem a dis- 

 advantage, but rather the contrary, when, as sometimes happened, I was compelled 

 to take my seat in the edge of the wood, and wait quietly, in the gathering darkness, 

 for vespers to begin. The veery's mood is not so lofty as the hermit's, nor is his 

 music to be compared for brilliancy and fullness with that of the wood thrush; 

 but more than any other bird-song known to me, the veery's has, if I may say so, 

 the accent of sanctity. Nothing is here of self-consciousness; nothing of earthly 

 pride or passion. * * * 



And yet, for all the unstudied ease and simplicity of the veery's strain, he is a 

 great master of technique. In his own artless way he does what I have never heard 

 any other bird attempt: he gives to his melody all the force of harmony. How 

 this unique and curious effect, this vocal double-stopping, as a violinist might term 

 it, is produced, is not certainly known; but it would seem that it must be by an 

 arpeggio, struck with such consummate quickness and precision that the ear is 

 unable to follow it, and is conscious of nothing but the resultant chord. At any 

 rate, the thing itself is indisputable, and has often been commented on. 



Moreover, this is only half the veery's technical proficiency. Once in a while, 

 at least, he will favor you with a delightful feat of ventriloquism; beginning to sing 

 in single voice, as usual, and anon, without any noticeable increase in the loudness 

 of the tones, diffusing the music throughout the wood, as if there were a bird in 

 every tree, all singing together in the strictest time. I am not sure that all mem- 

 bers of the species possess this power, and I have never seen the performance alluded 

 to in print; but I have heard it when the illusion was complete, and the effect most 

 beautiful. 



Music so devout and unostentatious as the veery's does not appeal to the hur- 

 ried or the preoccupied. If you would enjoy it you must bring an ear to hear. I 

 have sometimes pleased myself with imagining a resemblance between it and the 



