18 IN THE FLAT-WOODS. 
ever listened. He was in the bushes close 
at my side, in the Franconia Notch, and de- 
livered his whole song, with all its customary 
length, intricacy, and speed, in a tone —a 
whisper, | may almost say — that ran along 
the very edge of silence. The unexpected 
proximity of a stranger may have had some- 
thing to do with his conduct, as it often 
appears to have with the thrasher’s; but, 
however that may be, the cases are not 
parallel with that of the pine-wood sparrow, _ 
inasmuch as the latter bird not merely sings 
under his breath on special occasions, whether 
on account of the nearness of a listener or 
for any other reason, but in his ordinary sing- 
ing uses louder and softer tones interchange- 
ably, almost exactly as human singers and 
players do; as if, in the practice of his art, 
he had learned to appreciate, consciously or 
unconsciously (and practice naturally goes 
before theory), the expressive value of what 
I believe is called musical dynamics. 
I spent many half-days in the pine lands 
(how gladly now would I spend another !), 
but never got far into them. (“Into their 
depths,” my pen was on the point of making 
me say; but that would have been a false 
