IMPRESSIONS OF SOME ENGLISH BIKDS 135 



but in the south of England it leads the choir. Its 

 voice can be heard above all others. But one 

 would never suspect it to be a thrush. It has none 

 of the flute-like melody and serene, devotional 

 quality of our thrush strains. It is a shrill whis- 

 tling polyglot. Its song is much after the manner 

 of that of our brown thrasher, made up of vocal 

 attitudes and poses. It is easy to translate its strain 

 into various words or short ejaculatory sentences. 

 It sings till the darkness begins to deepen, and I 

 could fancy what the young couple walking in the 

 gloaming would hear from the trees overhead. 

 "Kiss her, kiss her; do it, do it; be quick, be 

 quick; stick her to it, stick her to it; that was 

 neat, that Avas neat; that will do," with many other 

 calls not so explicit, and that might sometimes be 

 construed as approving nods or winks. Sometimes 

 it has a staccato whistle. Its performance is always 

 animated, loud, and clear, but never, to my ear, 

 melodious, as the poets so often have it. Even 

 Burns says, 



"The mavis mild and mellow." 

 Drayton hits it when he says, 



"The throstle with shrill sharps," etc. 

 Ben Jonson's "lusty throstle " is still better. It is 

 a song of great strength and unbounded good cheer; 

 it proceeds from a sound heart and a merry throat. 

 There is no touch of plaintiveness or melancholy in 

 it; it is as expressive of health and good digestion 

 as the crowing of the cock in the morning. When 

 I was hunting for the nightingale, the thrush fre- 



