2 WOOD NOTES WILD. 



the birds are considered in every other point, when we 

 come to their music, — that is, to the very life, the spirit, 

 — we must take our choice between silence and error. 

 A modern English writer says, for example, " There is 

 no music in Nature, neither melody nor harmony." 

 What is melody but a succession of simple sounds dif- 

 fering in length and pitch? How then can it be said 

 that bird-songs are not melodies ? And if melodies, 

 that they are not music ? A melody may be of greater 

 or less length. I think we shall find that the little 

 bird-songs are melodies, containing something of all we 

 know of melody, and more too; and this in most ex- 

 quisite forms. 



The writer just quoted observes further that " the cuc- 

 koo, who often sings a true third and sometimes a sharp 

 third or even a fourth, is the nearest approach to music 

 in Nature." I am not sure how it is in England, but 

 with us the cuckoo's skill is slight for so wide a reputa- 

 tion. Of all the songs of our birds, his song has per- 

 haps the least melody. It is as monotonous as it is 

 protracted, hugging the tonic all the way, save an occa- 

 sional drop of a minor second, the smallest interval in 

 our scale. The cuckoo of New England never sings a 

 third of any kind. 



" No music in Nature " ! The very mice sing ; the 

 toads, too ; and the frogs make " music on the waters." 

 The summer grass about our feet is alive with little 

 musicians. 



