THE BIRD OF SOLITUDE. 17 



"che-e-e" with a peculiar and indescribable 

 thrill in it. If you are near, however, you will 

 find the pauses filled with low notes, having, 

 apparently, no connection with the song. One 

 cannot but fancy them to be irrepressible words 

 of endearment, ineffably sweet and tender, and 

 wonderfully enhancing the charm of the per- 

 formance. 



He is not chary of his gift. He sings at all 

 hours of the day, excepting in the heat of noon ; 

 but he seems most keenly to enjoy the fading 

 light of afternoon and the evening, till long 

 after dark. Not a little of the mystery and 

 melancholy that poetical minds find in his 

 music is due to the thoughtful twilight hours 

 in which it is heard. It is in itself far from 

 sadness. Indeed, there can be no more perfect 

 picture of deep joy than this beautiful bird, 

 standing tranquilly on his branch, while giving 

 slow utterance to notes that thrill your soul. 



The weather is a matter of no moment to 

 the wood thrush ; he has a soul above externals. 

 Other birds may be full of song, or moping on 

 their perches ; be it wet or dry, sunshine or 

 shade, he sings, and sings, and sings. 



" Howsoe'er the world goes ill, 

 The thrushes still sing in it." 



The strongest attraction of a certain summer 

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