BIRDS IN THE GARDEN 267 



And if we cannot have nightingales we all have 

 thrushes, and in one respect the song of the thrush is 

 a greater addition to the garden than the song of the 

 nightingale. The nightingale is with us for a very- 

 short time, the thrush is with us always, and his song 

 not only lasts all day, and in summer far into the 

 night, but he begins it again with the earliest dawn. 

 This early song of the birds is, I think, one of the 

 most charming of the mysteries of bird-life. A good 

 hour before dawn the thrush sings out his morning 

 song of praise, his laudes matutince, and then he seems 

 to go to sleep again and not to wake till the sun has 

 risen, and then he begins his full rich song, and con- 

 tinues at it more or less all the day. But I must say 

 no more on the song of birds ; the subject is much too 

 large. 



There is another side of the whole question. The 

 American poet Emerson was once asked the use of the 

 beautiful Rhodora growing in wild places far away 

 from the sight of men. His answer was : — 



' Why thou art there, thou rival of the rose, 



I never thought to ask, I never knew, 

 But in my simple ignorance suppose, 



The self-same Power that brought me here, brought you,' 



The longer I live, and the more I study my garden, 

 the more I feel the truth that underlies the poet's 



