A BIRD MEDLEY 87 



the eye it is there. Generally a few spears of dry 

 grass fall down from the turf above and form a slight 

 screen before it. How commonly and coarsely it 

 begins, blending with the debris that lies about, and 

 how it refines and comes into form as it approaches 

 the centre, which is modeled so perfectly and lined 

 so softly ! Then, when the full complement of eggs 

 is laid, and incubation has fairly begun, what a 

 sweet,, pleasing little mystery the silent old bank 

 holds! 



The song sparrow, whose nest I have been de- 

 scribing, displays a more marked individuality in 

 its song than any bird with which I am acquainted. 

 Birds of the same species generally all sing alike, 

 but I have observed numerous song sparrows with 

 songs peculiarly their own. Last season, the whole 

 swmmer through, one sang about my grounds like 

 this : swee-e-t, swee-e-t, swee-e-t, bitter. Day after 

 day, from May to September, I heard this strain, 

 which I thought a simple but very profound sum- 

 ming-up of life, and wondered how the little bird 

 had learned it so quickly. The present season, I 

 heard another with a song equally original, but not 

 so easUy worded. Among a large troop of them in 

 April, my attention was attracted to one that was a 

 master songster, — some Shelley or Tennyson among 

 his kiud. The strain was remarkably prolonged, 

 intricate, and animated, and far surpassed anything 

 I ever before heard from that source. 



But the most noticeable instance of departure 

 from the standard song of a species I ever knew of 



