F. SCHUYLER MATHEWS says, in an article in Popular Science, 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.

"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.

"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.

"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.

"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.

"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 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."

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?—School Journal.