WAYS OF NATURE 



theme that I could detect, — like the lark's song in 

 this respect; all the notes of the field and forest 

 appeared to be the gift of this bird, but what tone! 

 what accent ! Uke that of a great poet ! 



Nearly every May I am seized with an impulse to 

 go back to the scenes of my youth, and hear the 

 bobolinks in the home meadows once more. I am 

 sure they sing there better than anywhere else. They 

 probably drink nothing but dew, and the dew dis- 

 tilled in those high pastoral regions has surprising 

 virtues. It gives a clear, full, vibrant quahty to the 

 birds' voices that I have never heard elsewhere. The 

 night of my arrival, I leave my southern window 

 open, so that the meadow chorus may come pour- 

 ing in before I am up in the morning. How it does 

 transport me athwart the years, and make me a 

 boy again, sheltered by the paternal wing ! On one 

 occasion, the third morning after my arrival, a bobo- 

 link appeared with a new note in his song. The 

 note sounded like the word " baby " uttered with a 

 peculiar, tender resonance: but it was clearly an 

 interpolation; it did not belong there; it had no 

 relation to the rest of the song. Yet the bird never 

 failed to utter it with the same joy and confidence as 

 the rest of his song. Maybe it was the beginning 

 of a variation that will in time result in an entirely 

 new bobolink song. 



On my last spring visit to my native hills, my 

 attention was attracted to another songster not seen 



