162 "MY WOODS IN SONG." 



sweep or crescendo, which began low, gathered 

 force as he went on, and then gradually died out ; 

 all in one long slur, without a defined or stac- 

 cato note, making a wonderful resemblance to 

 wind sounds, as Emerson expresses it : 

 " His music was the Southwind's sigh." 



The song of the veery was quite different, 

 low, rapid, interspersed with a louder, wild- 

 sounding cry, or, as aptly described by a lis- 

 tener, like the gurgling sounds made by blow- 

 ing through a tube into soft water, with occa- 

 sional little explosions. The soft, whispered 

 warble of a brown thrush added a certain under- 

 tone which combined and harmonized both 

 these, forming with them a rhapsody of a rip- 

 pling, bubbling character impossible to de- 

 scribe, but constantly reminding one of running 

 streams, and gentle water-falls, and coming 

 nearer to " put my woods in song " than any 

 other bird-notes whatever. Neither of the per- 

 formers opened his mouth, so that the trio was 

 very low, a true whisper-song. 



It was somewhat curious that with one ex- 

 ception all the birds in the room through 

 these months sang whisper-songs also, without 

 opening the bill. There were six of them, and 

 every one delighted in singing; the three 

 thrushes, a bluebird, a female orchard oriole, 

 and a Mexican clarin. To the thrushes, music 



