88 BIRDS AND POETS 



was in the case of a wood thrush. The bird sang, 

 as did the sparrow, the whole season through, at 

 the foot of my lot near the river. The song began 

 correctly and ended correctly; but interjected into 

 it about midway was a loud, piercing, artificial 

 note, at utter variance with the rest of the strain. 

 When my ear first caught this singular note, I 

 started out, not a little puzzled, to make, as I sup- 

 posed, a new acquaintance, but had not gone far 

 when I discovered whence it proceeded. Brass amid 

 gold, or pebbles amid pearls, are not more out of 

 place than was this discordant scream or cry in the 

 melodious strain of the wood thrush. It jDained and 

 startled the ear. It seemed as if the instrument of 

 the bird was not under control, or else that one note 

 was sadly out of tune, and, when its turn came, 

 instead of giving forth one of those sounds that 

 are indefed like pearls, it shocked the ear with a 

 piercing discord. Yet the singer appeared entirely 

 unconscious of the defect; or had he grown used to 

 it, or had his friends persuaded him that it was a 

 variation to be coveted ? Sometimes, after the brood 

 had hatched and the bird's pride was at its full, he 

 would make a little triumphal tour of the locality, 

 coming from under the hill quite up to the house, 

 and flaunting his cracked instrument in the face of 

 whoever would listen. He did not return again the 

 next season; or, if he did, the malformation of his 

 song was gone. 



I have noticed that the bobolink does not sing 

 the same in different localities. In New Jersey it 



