BIRDS OF THE PASTURE AND FOREST.

II.

THE HERMIT-THRUSH.

THE bird whose song I describe in this essay has always seemed to me to be the smallest of the Thrushes. But as I have never killed any bird for the purpose of learning its specific characters, I am liable to be mistaken in many points of 'identification. It has been my habit from my earliest years, whenever I heard a note that was new and striking, to watch day after day, until I discovered the songster, and, having always had excellent sight, I have never used a telescope. The bird whose notes I describe below, when I have seen it upon a tree or upon the ground, has seemed to conform more. nearly to the description given in books of the HermitThrush, both in size and color, than to that given of the Wood-Thrush.

The notes of this bird are not startling or readily distinguished. Some dull ears might not hear them, unless their attention was directed to the sounds. They are loud, liquid, and sonorous, and they fail to attract attention only on account of the long pauses between the different strains. We must link all these strains together to enjoy the full pleasure they are capable of affording, though any single one alone would entitle the bird to considerable reputation as a songster. He also sings as much at broad noonday as at any other time, differing in this respect from the Veery, who prefers the twilight of morn and even. In another important respect he differs

from the Veery, which is seldom heard except in swamps, while the Hermit almost invariably occupies high and dry woods.

The Hermit-Thrush delights in a shady retreat; he is indeed a true anchorite; he is evidently inspired by soli'tude, and sings no less in gloomy weather than in sunshine. Yet I think he is no lover of twilight, though pleased with the darkness of shady woods; for at the time when the Veery is most musical, he is generally silent. He is remarkable, also, for prolonging his musical season to near the end of summer. Late in August, when other birds have become silent, he is almost the only songster in the wood.

The song of the Hermit consists of several different strains, or bars, as they would be called in the gamut. I have not determined the exact number, but I am confident there are seven or eight, many of them remarkable for the clearness of their intonations. After each strain he makes a full pause, perhaps not more than three or four seconds, and the listener must be very attentive, or he will lose many of the notes. I think the effect of this sylvan music is somewhat diminished by the pauses or rests. It may be said, however, that during each pause our susceptibility is increased, and we are thus prepared to be more deeply affected by the next notes. Some of these are full and sonorous, like the sound of a fife; others lisping, and somewhat like the chink made by shaking a few thin metallic plates in your hand. This lisping strain always comes regularly in its course. I can imagine that if all these different strains were warbled continuously, they would not be equalled by the song of any bird with which I am acquainted.

Some parts of Nuttall's description of the song of the Hermit, if it be identical with the species called by him the Song-Thrush, are incorrect. It is not true that his

different strains or those of the Wood-Thrush "finally blend together in impressive and soothing harmony, becoming more mellow and sweet at every repetition." Any one strain never follows another, without a full pause between them. I think Nuttall has described the song of the Veery, mistaking it for a part of that of the Song-Thrush. One of the enunciations which he attributes to the Song-Thrush is equally remarkable and correct. I allude to "the sound of ai-ro-ee, peculiarly liquid, and followed by a trill." The song invariably begins. with a clear fife sound, as too, too, tillere illere, rising from the first about three musical tones to the second, and making the third and fourth words rather sharp and shrill. We seldom, however, hear more than one low note in a strain, as too, tillere illere; afterwards, beginning with the low note too, follows the sound of ai-ro-ee, like the notes of the common chord. The fourth bar is a lisping strain resembling the sounds made by shaking thin metallic plates in the hand; the fifth, a trilling like the notes of the Veery, — tillillil, tillillil, tillillil. There are several other bars consisting of a slight variation of some one of those I have described. I have not been able to determine the order in which the several strains succeed one another. I feel confident, however, that the bird never repeats any one strain, save after two or three others have intervened.

The Wood-Thrush is a larger bird than the Hermit, more common in our woods, having a similar song, containing fewer strains, delivered with less precision and moderation, and with shorter intervals between the high and the low notes. In their general habits the two species differ very slightly.

THE VEERY, OR WILSON'S THRUSH.

The Veery is perceptibly larger than the Hermit, and is marked in a similar manner, save that the back has more of an olive tinge. He arrives early in May, and is first heard to sing during some part of the second week of that month. He is not one of our familiar birds; and unless we live in close proximity to a wood that is haunted by a stream, we seldom hear his voice from our doors and windows. He sings neither in the orchard nor the garden. He shuns the town, and reserves his wild notes for those who live in cottages by the woodside. All who have once become familiar with his song await his arrival with impatience, and take note of his silence in midsummer with regret. Though his song has not the compass and variety of that of the Hermit, it is more continuous and delivered with more fervor. Until this little bird arrives, I feel as an audience do at a concert before the chief singer appears, while the other performers are vainly endeavoring to soothe them by their inferior attempts.

.

The Veery is more shy than any other important singingbird except the Hermit. His haunts are solitary woods, usually in the vicinity of a pond or a stream. Here, especially after sunset, he warbles his few brilliant but plaintive strains with a peculiar cadence, and fills the whole forest with music. It seems as if the echoes were delighted with his notes, and took pleasure in passing. them round with multiplied reverberations. I am confident that this little warbler refrains from singing when others are vocal, from the pleasure he feels in listening either to his own notes or to the melodious responses which others of his own kindred repeat in different parts of the wood. Hence, he chooses the dusk of evening for his tuneful hour, when the little chirping birds are silent, that their voices may not interrupt his chant.