Song Birds and Water Fowl 



ing off his irritation over some recent disagree- 

 able experience. But his temper sweetens as 

 the season advances, and in mid-summer he 

 breathes the serenity of his native wilds, where 

 waving trees and purling brooks are chanting 

 restful undertones to the clear, melodic phrases 

 of this noble singer. His call-note is but the 

 chrysalis of his song — at first soft and seldom 

 heard, but gradually becoming louder and more 

 frequent, until at length he breaks out into a rich 

 and finely modulated chant. On the other hand, 

 the very loudest and richest sound of the wood 

 thrush is his call-note, commonly repeated two or 

 three times, marvellously vigorous, sparkling and 

 delicious. Its fiery animation is really startling. 

 If his song were proportionally splendid, he 

 would almost rival the finest human voice ; and 

 would certainly make every other bird-song 

 seem insipid. Before leaving the thrush family, 

 I must do that somewhat ostracized member, 

 the catbird — the black sheep of the family — the 

 justice to say that he was never more conspicu- 

 ously on his good behavior, in action and song, 

 than on this occasion. I cannot but recollect, 

 however, that these are his courtship days ; and 

 the sly scamp is shrewd enough to know that it 

 would be very impolitic and disastrous for him 



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