<h2><SPAN name="BIRD_NOTES" id="BIRD_NOTES"></SPAN>BIRD NOTES.</h2>
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<p class="drop-cap">F. SCHUYLER MATHEWS
says, in an article in <i>Popular
Science</i>, that the bird not only
possesses an ear for music but
the mind to produce it. As our own conventional
conception of music does not
at all correspond with the wild bird's
song, we are apt to consider the latter as
foreign to art. If, however, we choose to
consider the bird's conception of music
a lawless one, we must show that he
ignores all fundamental principles.
This it is impossible to do, for he invariably
resolves his effort to a perfectly
intelligible, logical, musical idea.
His music is, therefore, an art at least
in part.</p>
<p>"There are," Mr. Mathews continues,
"three woodland singers who will perfectly
illustrate my idea of the underlying
principle of bird-music. These
are the chickadee, the white-throated
sparrow, and the hermit-thrush. The
chickadee sings, or I may say, calls his
mate, with a perfect musical third, or
with two notes separated by a complete
musical interval. One bird may
sing the third; another may answer in
two descending notes. The remarkable
thing about this simple example of
melody is that the intervals between
the notes are correctly measured. The
result of his effort is a combination of
tones in perfect accord with a law of
music, and we are bound to accept it
as an example of melody.</p>
<p>"The chickadee, too, it should be remembered,
is not a high type of bird;
there are many steps of progression
between him and his more gifted cousins,
the thrushes, who are, indeed, musicians
of a high order. But, just here
I might as well call attention to the
fact that bird-music should not be
overestimated. Its character is fragmentary,
and its unconventionality is
obvious. The wild songs of the woods
and fields are not musical compositions;
they are at best but detached bits of
melody imperfectly conceived, although
often replete with the suggestions of a
complete musical idea.</p>
<p>"For instance, the white-throated
sparrow or Peabody bird sings a perfect
musical phrase which we may harmonize
as we please, because it certainly
suggests harmony. This is absolutely
no more than the bird sings. The musical
intervals, the pitch, and the lengths
of the notes are all correctly sustained.
In other words the bird suggests a complete
musical idea. But the little Peabody
bird seldom attempts a more difficult
or elaborate task. He knows his
limitations, and keeping within these,
his attempts are musically both consistent
and perfect. But let us turn
our attention to the more gifted songster
of the northern woods, the hermit
thrush. His capacity for simple melody,
his technical mastery of tone intervals
and note values, his phrasing
and his brilliancy as a performer, are
certainly not exceeded by any vocalist
of nature.</p>
<p>"But we must again studiously heed
the limitations of the bird's idea of music.
We are still in the presence of
the untamed singer, who is amenable
only to his own elastic laws. The hermit
thrush starts his song with a prolonged
keynote (often it is A) and then
springs upwards in thirds and fifths
with such rapidity and ease that we are
amazed at the accuracy of the performance.
Not only are the tones correctly
given, but they are embellished with
subsidiary or tributary tones.</p>
<p>"The last note, C, too faint to be heard
at any distance, is rendered in a gyrating,
suppressed way, impossible to describe,
but comparable to the soft tones
of a harmonicon. This note is an excellent
example of bird lawlessness regarding
music. It is quite antipodal
in character to the initial note (A) with
which the bird slowly begins, as if desirous
to found upon it a solid musical
phrase; but he fails most utterly at the
last and subsides into an exquisite,
elusive, compound tone—I do not know
what else to call it—which he rounds
off in a plaintive pianissimo. He is
not satisfied; he begins the same strain
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</SPAN></span>
again, now in another key, and with no
better success in the final than in his
first effort. So he starts again with a
variation, this time striking an initial
note higher than before. Then he
makes another attempt; but still he
seems dissatisfied and, after a short
rest, three tiny high notes come from
his throat, full of perfect melody, as
simple as that of the chickadee."</p>
<p>The bird is a transcendentalist, ever
attempting what he cannot satisfactorily
accomplish, but failing, only to delight
us with the strange sweetness of
the imperfect performance. The highest
form of bird-music is unquestionably
revealed in the songs of the
thrushes. Here we have not only a
simple fundamental rule, amply demonstrated,
but also a partially developed
series of musical ideas, strung together
with a well-chosen relationship.
Of course, musically considered, the
development of the melody and the
connection of the phrases are more or
less imperfect; but that does not matter.
The truth is, the bird is an accomplished
singer who cares less for conventional
rules than he does for the essence,
or the soul of the music; but
above all he succeeds in inspiring his
listener. What more, may I ask, could
be expected of a musician?—<i>School
Journal.</i></p>
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