218 THE HERMIT THRUSH. 
General Range.—E astern North America, breeding from the northern Alle- 
ghanies, the mountainous parts of southern New England, southern New York, 
northern Michigan, etc., northward, and wintering from the Northern States 
southward. 
Range in Ohio.—Abundant migrant. One breeding record, Cincinnati, by 
Chas. Dury. 
AS one passes through the woods in middle April, while the trees 
are still leafless and the forest floor brown with last fall’s harvest, a moving 
shape, a little browner still but scarcely outlined in the uncertain light, starts 
up from the ground with a low chuck, and pauses for a moment on a tiny 
stump. Before you have fairly made out definite characters the bird flits 
to a branch a little higher up and more removed, to stand motionless for a 
minute or so, or else to chuckle softly with each twinkle of the ready wings. 
By following quietly one may put the bird to a dozen short flights without 
once driving it out of range; and he may find that the tail is abruptly rufous in 
contrast with the olive-brown of the back, and that the breast is boldly 
spotted, but not so heavily as in the case of the Wood ‘Thrush. 
The Hermit Thrush is very common, almost abundant, along wooded 
streams and low-lying copses, from the middle of April to the fifth of May. 
The remarkable weather in the spring of 1903 brought one bird to Columbus 
on the nineteenth of March, and held the species at Oberlin until the eighth 
of May. Altho rather retiring and quite clever at escaping observation when 
desiring to, the birds are frequently seen in the back yard shrubbery, and 
share with Towhee and Cardinal the spoils hidden beneath the carpet of 
fallen raspberry leaves. In the fall they are not less abundant and linger as 
late as November 25th. 
Now and then a fortunate observer, lurking about in some secluded 
glen, catches a song—some foregleam of the glory which is one day to light up 
the hills of Laurentia. I have never heard it myself except in the mountains 
of Washington. For me the vicinity of a certain emerald stream, which 
passes, half pool, half spray, through the solemn woods which clothe 
Wright’s Peak, is forever sacred, because there, with a dear companion, I 
first heard the vesper hymn of the Hermit Thrush. We did not see the 
singer—that were sacrilege—but from some dim height there floated down 
to us a voice no longer tainted by the earth struggle, but heavenly pure, 
serene, exalted. It was the voice of an angel, such as haunt the groves of 
Paradise. ‘To recall but for an instant those ravishing notes is to call up the 
first promise of love, the mother’s prayers, and all the precious contents of that 
inner casket of the heart, which may not be opened until we present ourselves 
at Heaven's gate, and feel therein for the golden key. 
