Where Town and Country Meet 



and heard a robin's early carol. The song 

 presently adjusted itself in my drowsy 

 brain to an amusing but very expressive 

 and exactly imitative English jingle, as fol- 

 lows: 



"Amelia Chow-chow, 

 Amelia Chow-chow, 

 Pretty Amelia, 

 Pretty Amelia, 

 Pretty Amelia Chow-chow !" 



Now and then the bird varied its song by 

 reversing the order of phrases. It would 

 cry with sweet, ringing resonance, "Chow- 

 chow!" Then there would be a pause, fol- 

 lowed by "Amelia," or "Pretty Amelia." 

 But the song was always some combination 

 of the phrases I have named. 



I have often tried to make English of the 

 impassioned, choking melody of the bobo- 

 link, whose flute seems overfull of music, so 

 that the notes trip over each other's heels as 

 they rush out. But the bird's language is 

 too rapid for distinct enunciation in any 

 tongue. He is like a feathered Demos- 

 thenes with pebbles in his mouth. But, 

 fortunately, there is no other strain like his 

 in all birddom, so that it does not need 

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