Of all the thrushes the Hermit is my favorite. Not because he is a namesake, but for the reason that his is one of the beautiful bird-songs woven into the memory of my boyhood days. I see him here only in migration. The last of March or first of April, I see the bird, and hear the sweet "Tu-le, tu-li-le." A beautiful strain, but only the prelude to the true song, which is seldom heard away from their summer home. Years ago I wrote the following description of the song of the hermit-thrush :
"To me the song of the hermit-thrush is the sweetest sound in nature. It is not a plaintive, pensive, or tender strain, but satisfies the senses and clings to the memory like the recollection of some great joy.
"I shall never forget a song I once heard in the woods of northern Maine. I was in a bark-peeling camp at the time. A rainy day had sent the crew to their homes in the settlement until the next morning; and I was left alone.
"The rain poured down in torrents. The wind howled and roared through the tree-tops, flinging great sheets of water on to the bark roof of the camp. My spirits were depressed and gloomy. Financial troubles, the loss of a cherished home, had disheartened me, and life seemed hardly worth living.
"Just before night the rain suddenly ceased. The sun burst through the clouds, and the wind completely died out. Save for the sound of dropping water, the forest was silent and solemn. A glowing sunset, painting all the clouds of the western sky, aroused me from my miserable thoughts. Just then the song of the hermit-thrush floated up from a neighboring swamp. Clear and pure the flute-like notes slowly echoed through the silent woods. The moist and hollow atmosphere magnified the slightest sound, and I could distinguish the fine trills which form a part of this famous song. 'O, phee-re-al, phee-re-al!' represents the strain as near as I can give it in words.
"I would that I were able to express in fitting language the feelings with which I am inspired when I listen to the song of the hermit-thrush. It satisfies my sense of the beautiful as no other song can. And yet I am never quite satisfied. There is something I do not understand. Something beyond me, a shadowy mystery. After I have listened to the strain, and while its memory still lingers, I find myself longing to know the whole secret of its charm. However, years ago I settled the matter in my mind and note-book, as the following entry will show: 'The song of the hermit-thrush is the Spirit of Nature chanting the mystery of life. When the mystery is solved we shall understand the song.'
"Day faded into twilight, and twilight into night, and still that exalted anthem solemnly pealed through the forest. It was after ten o'clock when the strain died out in a few broken notes.