A BIRD MEDLEY 89 



has one song; on the Hudson, a slight variation of 

 the same ; and on the high grass-lands of the interior 

 of the State, quite a different strain, — clearer, more 

 distinctly articulated, and running off with more 

 sparkle and liltingness. It reminds one of the 

 clearer mountain air and the translucent spring- 

 water of those localities. I never could make out 

 ■what the bobolink says in New Jersey, but in cer- 

 tain districts in this State his enunciation is quite 

 distinct. Sometimes he begins with the word gegue, 

 gegue. Then again, more fully, be true to me, 

 Clarsy, he true to me, Clarsy, Glarsy, thence full 

 tilt into his inimitable song, interspersed in which 

 the words kick your slipper, kick your slipper, 

 and temperance, temperance (the last with a pecul- 

 iar nasal resonance), are plainly heard. At its best, 

 it is a remarkable performance, a unique performance, 

 as it contains not the slightest hint or suggestion, 

 either in tone or manner or effect, of any other bird- 

 song to be heard. The bobolink has no mate or 

 parallel in any part of the world. He stands alone. 

 There is no closely allied species. He is not a lark, 

 nor a finch, nor a warbler, nor a thrush, nor a star- 

 ling (though classed with the starlings by late natu- 

 ralists). He is an exception to many well-known 

 rules. He is the only ground-bird known to me of 

 marked and conspicuous plumage. He is the only 

 black and white field-bird we have east of the Mis- 

 sissippi, and, what is still more odd, he is black be- 

 neath and white above, — the reverse of the fact in 

 all other cases. Preeminently a bird of the meadow 



