of a less romantic nature?

Bearing this in mind, we may be able to account, in part at least, for
the inexperienced observer's disappointment when, fresh from the perusal
of (for example) the thirteenth chapter of Darwin's "Descent of Man," he
goes into the woods to look about for himself. He expects to find here
and there two or three songsters, each in turn doing his utmost to
surpass the brilliancy and power of the other's music; while a feminine
auditor sits in full view, preparing to render her verdict, and reward
the successful competitor with her own precious self. This would be a
pretty picture. Unfortunately, it is looked for in vain. The two or
three singers may be found, likely enough; but the female, if she be
indeed within hearing, is modestly hidden away somewhere in the bushes,
and our student is none the wiser. Let him watch as long as he please,
he will hardly see the prize awarded.

Nevertheless he need not grudge the time thus employed; not, at any
rate, if he be sensitive to music. For it will be found that birds have
at least one attribute of genius: they can do their best only on great
occasions. Our brown thrush, for instance, is a magnificent singer,
albeit he is not of the best school, being too "sensational" to suit the
most exacting taste. His song is a grand improvisation: a good deal
jumbled, to be sure, and without any recognizable form or theme; and
yet, like a Liszt rhapsody, it perfectly answers its purpose,--that is,
it gives the performer full scope to show what he can do with his
instrument. You may laugh a little, if you like, at an occasional
grotesque or overwrought passage, but unless you are well used to it you
will surely be astonished. Such power and range of voice; such startling
transitions; such endless variety! And withal such boundless enthusiasm
and almost incredible endurance! Regarded as pure music, one strain of
the hermit thrush is to my mind worth the whole of it; just as a single
movement of Beethoven's is better than a world of Liszt transcriptions.
But in its own way it is unsurpassable.

Still, though this is a meagre and quite unexaggerated account of the
ordinary song of the brown thrush, I have discovered that even he can be
outdone--by himself. One morning in early May I came upon three birds of
this species, all singing at once, in a kind of jealous frenzy. As they
sang they continually shifted from tree to tree, and one in particular
(the one nearest to