88 BIRDS AND POETS 
was in the case of a wood thrush. The bird sang, 
as did the sparrow, the whole season through, at 
the foot of my lot near the river. The song began 
correctly and ended correctly; but interjected into 
it about midway was a loud, piercing, artificial 
note, at utter variance with the rest of the strain. 
When my ear first caught this singular note, I 
started out, not a little puzzled, to make, as I sup- 
posed, a new acquaintance, but had not gone far 
when I discovered whence it proceeded. Brass amid 
gold, or pebbles amid pearls, are not more out of 
place than was this discordant scream or cry in the 
melodious strain of the wood thrush. It pained and 
startled the ear. It seemed as if the instrument of 
the bird was not under control, or else that one note 
was sadly out of tune, and, when its turn came, 
instead of giving forth one of those sounds that 
are indeed like pearls, it shocked the ear with a 
piercing discord. Yet the singer appeared entirely 
unconscious of the defect; or had he grown used to 
it, or had his friends persuaded him that it was a 
variation to be coveted? Sometimes, after the brood 
had hatched and the bird’s pride was at its full, he 
would make a little triumphal tour of the locality, 
coming from under the hill quite up to the house, 
and flaunting his cracked instrument in the face of 
whoever would listen. He did not return again the 
next season; or, if he did, the malformation of his 
song was gone. 
I have noticed that the bobolink does not sing 
the same in different localities. In New Jersey it 
