FINCHES 



39 



thologist, says, " the bird does not utter anythine; 

 remotely resembling Peabodv while in Ohio," 

 nor anywhere else, he might have made bold 

 to add. 



From a New England farmer, Bradford 

 Torrey had the following story of the origin of 

 another eti'ort to put the song into words : 



"A farmer named Peverly was walking about 

 his fields one spring morning, trying to make 

 up his mind whether the time had come to put 

 in his wheat. The question was important, and 

 he was still in a deep (piandary, when a bird 

 spoke up out of the wood and --aid, ' Sow wheat, 

 Peverly, Peverly, Peverly !' That settled the 

 matter. The wheat was sown and in the fall a 

 most abundant harvest was gathered ; and ever 

 since then this little feathered oracle has been 

 known as the Peverly bird." ( Birds in fhr Push ). 



The fault with all of these attem[)tcd trans- 

 literations, as has been said, is that thev quite 

 fail to convey the real genius of the song. Its 

 two commoner forms are reduced to musical 

 notation bv Mr. Mathews as follows: 





tt 



^ 



Old <Sd m Tesbody. Peabody, Pedbody. 

 ^J- ores. 



W^ 



ishfe* 



mdemto. '^'■^■^• 



*t: 



^ 1 ctrrTr i rrr-a 



rue bird img] ^°'^ '^hedt, Peverly,' Peverly, Peverly. 



twice 8vd. 



^^ 



mm 



rile piano conveys only a verv faint sugges- 

 tinn of the truly ethereal quality with whicli the 

 singer invests this simple little phrase. Played 

 with a \ery skillfully executed tremolo effect well 

 up on the K string of a fine violin, the notes 

 cmney a somewhat more definite idea of the 

 Ming, though the bird's tone is not that of the 

 \iolin. Kssentially the song is a lament — a la- 

 ment which is wistful and ineffably plaintive, but 

 in which there is no despair, only sweet hope- 

 fulness. Stewart Edward White in his book. 

 riw Forest, has a singularlv faithful rqiprecia- 

 tion of this quality in the song, .\scending from 

 jest to eloquent earnest, he writes: 



rile \\"hite-throated Sparrow sings nine dif- 

 terent variations of the same song. He may sing 

 more, but that is all I have counted. . . . One 

 man 1 knew he nearly dro\-e crazv. To that man 

 he was always saying. 'And he never heard the 



man say drink and the .' Toward the last 



my frien<l used wildly to otTer a thousan<l dol- 

 lars if he wtiuld. if lie only would, finish that 

 sentence. 



Rut occasionally, in just the jiroper circum- 

 st.ances, he forgets his stump corners, his vines, 

 his jolly sunlight, and his delightful bugs to be- 

 come an intimate voice of the wilds. It is night, 

 very still, very dark. The subdued murmur of 

 the forest ebbs and flows with the voices of the 

 furtive folk, an undertone fearful to lireak the 

 )iight calm. Suddenly across the dusk of silence 

 flashes a single thread of silver, vibrating, 

 trembling with some unguessed ecstasv of emo- 

 tion. '.\h ! [loor Canada, Canada, Canad.a ' it 

 mourns passionately, and falls silent. That is 

 all." George Claddex. 



Pike many of the .members of its family, this 

 S])arrow is a great destroyer of weed seed and 

 has an especial fondness for the seeds of the 

 r;igweed and birdweed. It consumes, also, a 

 great many wild berries and a goodlv number of 

 insects. Its food habits in general place it 

 among the useftfl birds of the farm. 



