one being G, and the key of the other being D, a fifth 
above G, what could have been more natural than for 
these two voices to unite, either on D or G, or both, and 
to vibrate into one? This accomplished, the bondage of 
monotony and chaos was broken forever, and progress 
assured; the first strain of the marvellous harmony of the 
future was sounded, the song of the birds was begun. 
One can almost hear those rude, rising geniuses exercising 
their voices with increased fervor, vibrating from one to 
five and five to one of the scale,— pushing on up the glad 
way of liberty and melody. With each vibration from 
one to five and from five to one, the leading tone of the 
scale, the other member of the common chord, which so 
affinitizes with one and five, was passed over. The next 
step was to insert this tone, which being done, the em- 
ployment of the remaining tones was simply a matter of 
time. So it was, to my notion, that the birds learned to 
sing. 
To say that the music of the birds is similar in struc- 
ture to our own, is not to say that they use no intervals 
less than our least. They do this, and I am well aware 
that not all of their music can be written. Many of 
their rhythmical and melodic performances are difficult 
of comprehension, to say nothing of committing them 
to paper. The song of the bobolink is an instance in 
point. Indeed, one cannot listen to any singing-bird 
without hearing something inimitable and indescribable. 
Who shall attempt a description of the ¢remolo in the 
song of the meadow lark, the graceful shading and sliding 
of the tones of the thrushes? But these ornaments, be 
