A HERMIT'S WILD FRIENDS 



louder than usual. When the old thrush had 

 ceased, one young bird after another took up 

 the strain. Some would give one note, others 

 two or three notes. Some notes would be 

 hoarse, others would be shrill. After awhile 

 the birds would forget the lesson and drop 

 out one after the other. When all were silent, 

 the old thrush would again give them the right 

 pitch and tone, and again the young thrushes 

 tried to imitate the singer. For two hours we 

 sat there and listened. The lady had to admit 

 that the old bird was giving the young birds 

 a lesson. Yet she claimed that the thrush 

 was an exception. I was glad that she was 

 ready to admit that one bird of a species was 

 intelligent. I told her that when she had 

 devoted two hours to all the other birds she 

 would be converted to my faith. 



Of all the thrushes the Hermit is my fa- 

 vorite. Not because he is a namesake, but 

 for the reason that his is one of the beautiful 

 bird-songs woven into the memory of my boy- 

 hood days. I see him here only in migration. 

 The last of March or first of April, I see 

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