136 FRESH FIELDS 



quently made such a din just at dusk as to be a 

 great annoyance. At Kew, where I passed a few 

 weeks, its shrill pipe usually woke me in the 

 morning. 



A thrush of a much mellower strain is the black- 

 bird, which is our robin cut in ebony. His golden 

 bill gives a golden touch to his song. It was the 

 most leisurely strain I heard. Amid the loud, 

 vivacious, workaday chorus, it had an easeful, dolce 

 far niente effect. I place the song before that of 

 our robin, where it belongs in quality, but it falls 

 short in some other respects. It constantly seemed 

 to me as if the bird was a learner and had not yet 

 mastered his art. The tone is fine, but the execu- 

 tion is labored; the musician does not handle his 

 instrument with deftness and confidence. It seems 

 as if the bird were trying to whistle some simple 

 air, and never quite succeeding. Parts of the song 

 are languid and feeble, and the whole strain is 

 wanting in the decision and easy fulfillment of our 

 robin's song. The bird is noisy and tuneful in the 

 twilight like his American congener. 



Such British writers on birds and bird life as I 

 have been able to consult do not, it seems to me, 

 properly discriminate and appreciate the qualities 

 and merits of their own songsters. The most melo- 

 dious strain I heard, and the only one that exhib- 

 ited to the full the best qualities of the American 

 songsters, proceeded from a bird quite unknown to 

 fame, in the British Islands at least. I refer to 

 the willow' warbler, or willow wren, as it is also 



