110 FRESH FIELDS 



with his friends, with open windows, listening to 

 the strain. He said he had tried several times to 

 hold his hreath as long as the bird did in uttering 

 certain notes, but could not do it. This, I knew, 

 was an exaggeration ; but I waited eagerly for night- 

 fall, and, when it came, paced the street like a patrol- 

 man, and paced other streets, and lingered about 

 other likely localities, but caught nothing but 

 neuralgic pains in my shoulder. I had no better 

 success in the morning, and here gave over the 

 pursuit, saying to myself. It matters little, after 

 all; I have seen the country and had some object 

 for a walk, and that is sufficient. 



Altogether I heard the bird less than five min- 

 utes, and only a few bars of its song, but enough 

 to satisfy me of the surprising quality of the strain. 



It had the master tone as clearly as Tennyson 

 or any great prima donna or famous orator has it. 

 Indeed, it was just the same. Here is the com- 

 plete artist, of whom all these other birds are but 

 hints and studies. Bright, startling, assured, of 

 great compass and power, it easily dominates all 

 other notes; the harsher chur-r-r-r-rg notes serve 

 as foil to her surpassing brilliancy. Wordsworth, 

 among the poets, has hit off the song nearest : — 



"Those notes of thine, — they pierce and pierce; 

 Tumultuous harmony and tierce ! " 



I could easily understand that this bird might 

 keep people awake at night by singing near their 

 houses, as I was assured it frequently does; there 

 is something in the strain so startling and awaken- 



