116 FRESH FIELDS 



the reed warbler, and the common wren, and 

 (locally) from the nightingale. There is no lack 

 of a burst of song in this country (except in the 

 remote forest solitudes) during the richest moment 

 of the spring, say from the 1st to the 20th of May, 

 and at times till near midsummer; moreover, more 

 bird- voices join in it, as I shall point out, than in 

 Britain; but it is probably more fitful and intermit- 

 tent, more confined to certain hours of the day, and 

 probably proceeds from throats less loud and viva- 

 cious than that with which our distinguished critic 

 was familiar. The ear hears best and easiest what 

 it has heard before. Properly to apprehend and 

 appreciate bird-songs, especially to disentangle them 

 from the confused murmur of nature, requires more 

 or less familiarity with them. If the duke had 

 passed a season with us in some one place in the 

 country, in New York or New England, he would 

 probably have modified his views about the silence 

 of our birds. 



One season, early in May, I discovered an Eng- 

 lish skylark in full song above a broad, low meadow 

 in the midst of a landscape that possessed features 

 attractive to a great variety of our birds. Every 

 morning for many days I used to go and sit on the 

 brow of a low hill that commanded the field, or else 

 upon a gentle swell in the midst of the meadow 

 itself, and listen to catch the song of the lark. 

 The maze and tangle of bird-voices and bird-cho- 

 ruses through which my ear groped its way search- 

 ing for the new song can be imagined when I say 



