girls. If we have no
associations with these sounds, they will mean very little to us.
Their merit as musical performances is very slight. It is as signs of
joy and love in nature, as heralds of spring, and as the spirit of the
woods and fields made audible, that they appeal to us. The drumming of
the woodpeckers and of the ruffed grouse give great pleasure to a
countryman, though these sounds have not the quality of real music. It
is the same with the call of the migrating geese or the voice of any
wild thing: our pleasure in them is entirely apart from any
considerations of music. Why does the wild flower, as we chance upon
it in the woods or bogs, give us more pleasure than the more elaborate
flower of the garden or lawn? Because it comes as a surprise, offers a
greater contrast with its surroundings, and suggests a spirit in wild
nature that seems to take thought of itself and to aspire to beautiful
forms.

The songs of caged birds are always disappointing, because such birds
have nothing but their musical qualities to recommend them to us. We
have separated them from that which gives quality and, meaning to
their songs. One recalls Emerson's lines:--

"I thought the sparrow's note from heaven,
Singing at dawn on the alder bough;
I brought him home, in his nest, at even;
He sings the song, but it cheers not now,
For I did not bring home the river and sky;--
He sang to my ear,--they sang to my eye."

I have never yet seen a caged bird that I wanted,--at least, not on
account of its song,--nor a wild flower that I wished to transfer to
my garden. A caged skylark will sing its song sitting on a bit of
turf in the bottom of the cage; but you want to stop your ears, it is
so harsh and sibilant and penetrating. But up there against the
morning sky, and above the wide expanse of fields, what delight we
have in it! It is not the concord of sweet sounds: it is the soaring
spirit of gladness and ecstasy raining down upon us from "heaven's
gate."

Then, if to the time and the place one could only add the association,
or hear the bird through the vista of the years, the song touched with
the magic of youthful memories! One season a friend in England sent me
a score of skylarks in a cage. I gave them their liberty in a field
near my place. They drifted away, and I never heard them or saw them
again. But one Sunday a Scotchman from a neighboring city called upon
me, and declared with visible excitement that on