IN THE HEMLOCKS. 5 1 



in nature, — the song of the hermit-thrush. I often 

 hear him thus a long way off, sometimes over a quarter 

 of a mile away, when only the stronger and more per- 

 fect parts of his music reach me ; and through the gen- 

 eral chorus of wrens and warblers I detect this sound 

 rising pure and serene, as if a spirit from some remote 

 height were slowly chanting a divine accompaniment. 

 This song appeals to the sentiment of the beautiful in 

 me, and suggests a serene religious beatitude as no 

 other sound in nature does. It is perhaps more of an 

 evening than a morning hymn, though I hear it at all 

 hours of the day. It is very simple, and I can hardly 

 tell the secret of its charm. " O spheral, spheral ! " he 

 seems to say ; " O holy, holy ! O clear away, clear away ! 

 O clear up, clear up ! " interspersed with the finest trills 

 and the most delicate preludes. It is not a proud, gor- 

 geous strain, like the tanager's or the grosbeak's ; sug- 

 gests no passion or emotion, — nothing personal, — but 

 seems to be the voice of that calm sweet solemnity 

 one attains to in his best moments. It realizes a peace 

 and a deep solemn joy that only the finest souls may 

 know. A few nights ago I ascended a mountain to see 

 the world by moonlight ; and when near the summit 

 the hermit commenced his evening hymn a few rods 

 from me. Listening to this strain on the lone moun- 

 tain, with the full moon just rounded from the horizon, 

 the pomp of your cities and the pride of your civiliza- 

 tion seemed trivial and cheap. 



I have seldom known two of these birds to be sing- 



