melody the day through. The wood thrush with his few figures used them, and them only, not inventing recklessly, but employing his well-learned themes with apparent purpose.

When I turned from the wood thrush to study the song of his smaller cousin, the hermit thrush, I found a far harder task confronting me. Hermit thrushes sang with untiring persistence, sometimes for an hour or more at a stretch, and at all times of the day, but they were generally much shyer than the wood thrushes, harder to approach, and more restless, often changing from tree to tree while in song. Then, too, they were seldom at all gregarious, being found at considerable distances one from another, whereas wood thrushes seemed to prefer to nest in little colonies; so I had to tramp through wide stretches of New England and Canadian pastures and forests, and row many miles along the shores of Canadian lakes, in order to learn to know even a few of these singers very well. Only on very rare occasions did I succeed in taking notes from a few yards; as a rule, my studies were necessarily carried on at a respectful distance from the invisible performers, as they perched in the thick green of hemlocks or spruces, or among the foliage of great sugar maples.

Each thrush, it appeared, had from eight to eleven separate phrases, and these, unlike the figures of the wood thrush, were in several different keys, and were all approximately of the same form. This typical hermit thrush theme consisted of a long opening note, followed by two or more groups of rapid notes higher on the scale, as in the following example:

be similar to the foregoing, and each would generally begin on a different note, which, as it was deliberate, loud, and penetrating, was not difficult to determine with the pitch-pipe. The rapid figures, however, were altogether too lively to be analyzed in this way, and had to be guessed at from their apparent intervals. It was my impression, not ventured as an unqualified statement, that the songforms adhered rather closely to the major or minor scale; at all events, after listening to scores of birds and taking voluminous notes upon two or three singers, that was the way it appeared. Of course the birds sang off the pitch with freedom, just as did the wood thrushes; but nevertheless, the impression produced was of an approximation to the conventional scale.

Assuming that such was the case, it followed that each phrase was in a key of its own, which was determined generally by the opening note; and from a mass of observations the fact soon appeared that the opening notes of these phrases formed part of a definite scale. A certain bird, for instance, as in the case to be noted below, had nine phrases, and these were always in the following keys:

Others were in sharps, but, however arranged, these opening notes always formed some scale. No doubt the actual sounds did not conform entirely; some were a shade too low, others too high, but the pitch-pipe never failed to record a series surprisingly close to some conventional scale. This meant that all of the hermit thrush utterances were related in a much more elaborate manner than were any of the wood thrush phrases. In some cases it followed that the bird sang in just those keys marked by the opening notes. Here is an ex

notation, liking to jump by fifths and octaves, and seeming to avoid with great care the utterance of successive phrases at or near the same pitch.

The "sugar woods" thrush, however, surpassed the "camp" thrush in the interest of his song order, for he had certain definitely marked preferences. After the first phrase in B flat major he sang the octave phrase more than half the time, and the E flat phrase most of the remainder; after the phrase in D major, he sang the phrase beginning with A, the eighth in the notation, the phrase in B flat major, the phrase in E minor beginning on G,― the sixth in the notation, and no others. So each might be taken in succession, and it would be found that the bird had a certain favorite order, with a limited range of variation. Now and then he would sing his ten phrases in succession, but far oftener his choice of alternatives prevented such a conclusion and led to repetitions. The notation above represents, however, an actual sequence. The matter may be summed up by saying that beneath an apparently haphazard utterance, clear signs were found of permanent preferences in each bird. Like the wood thrush, the hermit tried to produce continual variety, without repetition of phrases near the same pitch, and without violent contrasts. It will be seen that most of the sequences are in related keys; and when the bird varies from flats to sharps the change is made easy by the form. See, for instance, how the sugar woods" thrush, having sung a minor phrase beginning with B flat, the fifth, follows it with one beginning with G natural, which is a rather harsh sequence in itself, but rendered inconspicuous here by the fact that it is a precise echo of the B flat phrase.

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After that a pause, and then a high phrase in metallic tones.

And finally a high C, thin and tinkling,

And so it would go on, a half hour at a stretch, continual contrast in pitch and timbre, continual progression, continual variation in the order, piquing the interest with never-failing change, long after a sparrow or a bobolink would have become utterly familiar.

Why the hermit thrushes should use sets of musical themes whose initial notes fall into a scale, why they should employ these themes so as to secure pleasing contrast, or why they should prefer certain sequences to others, does not appear. Whatever the true explanation may be, the effect upon the listener is that of personality; every one of the little olive and russet singers seems to be exercising æsthetic judgment.

A few times during this search it was my good fortune to hear these two thrushes simultaneously, twice on a mountain side in Canada, and several times in the brook valleys of the Berkshire hills in Massachusetts. On one memorable occasion fine singers of the two species, those called here the "pasture" wood thrush and the "pasture" hermit thrush, sang in full voice not over fifty yards apart; and while I drank in the sounds, it seemed to me that the superior beauty of the wood thrush's best tones was undeniable. There was a liquid fullness, and that pulsation like an organ tremolo on the final note of the first two phrases, which was not equaled by his rival. The hermit's low phrases were clear and ringing, but lacked the color of the larger bird's. In the middle and upper registers the two were more nearly on an equality, and, in fact, could scarcely be distinguished except for the form; but here, also, it seemed to me that the wood thrush was rather sweeter and

more flowing. On the other hand, the hermit's voice was more penetrating, more vibrant with overtones; its sweetness was piercing instead of liquid, and at any distance it rang with a silvery chime; while the wood thrush's short phrases sounded, by comparison, muffled and dull.

Although birds differ very much in vocal quality, and some hermits are vastly superior, not only in penetration but in sweetness, to a great many wood thrushes, yet on the whole the contrast of these two birds seemed typical; and were it a question of vocal sweetness alone, the hermit thrush would have to be ranked below his larger cousin. But in songform, in execution, and in general effect, the contrast was undeniably, it seemed to me, in favor of the hermit thrush. The wood thrush had a clear, liquid modulation, sudden and striking, and a brilliant arpeggio, but the hermit had a more elaborate figure, greater delicacy of utterance, and a manner of delivery which no wood thrush equaled. His long opening note in each phrase swelled gradually, the first group of rapid notes came louder, like a sparkling shower, and the next one diminished, fading away into a silvery whisper. When the two sang together, the wood thrush's phrases seemed beautiful, but fragmentary, the hermit thrush's a finished performance. He did not sing louder than the wood thrush, but his voice and delivery marked him out amid the full chorus of early summer, which at that time made the fields and woods vocal. Over the chirping of sparrows or warblers, the tinkle of wrens, the bubble and sparkle of bobolinks, the flowing warble of robins or grosbeaks, through the chiming of veeries, even through the liquid notes of the wood thrush, the steady, swinging phrases of the hermit thrush pierced their way, now high and clear, now low and ringing, always individual, strong, delicate, and aspiring. He was the master artist of the Northern woods. Theodore Clarke Smith.