60 



TWEITTIETH CENTUEY CLASSICS 



flights to the top of the tallest tree, he launches into the 

 air with a sort of suspended, hovering flight, and bursts 

 into a perfect ecstacj of song — clear, ringing, copious, 

 rivaling the Goldfinch's in vivacity, and the Linnet's in 

 melody. This strain is one of the rarest bits of bird mel- 

 ody to be heard. Over the woods, hid from view, the 

 ecstatic singer warbles his finest strains. In the song, you 

 instantly detect his relationship to the Water Wagtail 

 (Seiurus novehoracensis) — erroneously called Water- 

 Thrush — whose song is likewise a sudden burst, full and 

 ringing, and with a tone of youthful joyousness in it, as if 

 the bird had just had some unexpected good fortune. 

 For nearly two years, this strain of the pretty warbler 

 was little more than a disembodied vioce to me, and I 

 was puzzled by it as Thoreau was by his mysterious Night 

 Warbler, which, by the way, I suspect was no new bird at 

 all, but one he was otherwise familiar with. The little 

 bird himself seems disposed to keep the matter secret, 

 and improves every opportunity to repeat before you his 

 shrill, accelerating lay, as if it were quite enough, and all 

 he laid claim to. -Still, I trust I am betraying no confi- 

 dence in making the matter public here. I think this is 

 preeminently his love song, as I hear it oftenest about the 

 mating season. I have caught half-suppressed bursts of it 

 from two males, chasing each other with fearful speed 

 through the forest.' " 



Eeader, if you wish to hear this love song in its fullest 

 power, visit the deep woods in the early summer, as the 

 shades of night deepen, and most of the diurnal birds 

 have retired, for it is then that its lively, resonant voice 

 falls upon the ear unbroken, save by the silvery flute-like 



