of having heard the Wood-Thrush in the forests of
Northern Maine, where the law of geographical distribution would lead
one to look for only the Hermit.

The song of this Thrush is of unparalleled sweetness and sublimity.
There is a calmness and solemnity about it that suggests in Nature
perpetual Sabbath and perennial joy. How vain seem our hurry and
ambition! Clear and serene, strong and melodious, falling softly, yet
flowing far, these notes inspire me with a calm, sacred enthusiasm. I
hear him most in the afternoon, but occasionally at nightfall he "pours
his pure soprano,"

"Deepening the silence with diviner calm."

I have known one to sit for hours in the upper branches of a tall Maple
in an opening in a remote wood, and sing till all other birds seemed as
if pausing to listen. Attempting to approach him at such times, I have
called to my aid numerous devices,--such as keeping the range of a tree,
skulking close to the ground, carrying a large bush in front of me,--but
all to no purpose. Suddenly the strain would cease, and while waiting
for him to commence again, I would see him dart off to a lower tree, or
into a thick undergrowth of Witch-Hazel. When I had withdrawn, he would
resume his perch and again take up his song. At other times I have come
abruptly upon him while singing on a low stump, without his seeming to
notice me at all.

I think his song, in form and manner, is precisely that of the
Wood-Thrush,--differing from it in being more wild and ethereal, as well
as stronger and clearer. It is not the execution of the piece so much as
the tone of the instrument that is superior. In the subdued trills and
quavers that occur between the main bars, you think his tongue must be
more resonant and of finer metal. In uttering the tinkling, bead-like
_de, de, de_, he is more facile and exquisite; in the longer notes he
possesses greater compass and power, and is more prodigal of his finer
tones. How delicately he syllables the minor parts, weaving, as it were,
the finest of silver embroideries to the main texture of his song!

Those who have heard only the Wood-Thrush commit a very pardonable error
in placing him first on the list of our songsters. He is truly a royal
minstrel, and, considering his liberal distribution throughout our
Atlantic seaboard, perhaps contributes more than any other bird to our
sylvan melody. One may object, that he spends a little too much time in
tuning his instrument, yet hi