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! like 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 quality 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 
36 
