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The case of that one in the large number of my cousins whom we have seen to be so incomparably the most interesting was of course anything but the usual; yet the Albany origin, the woodnote wild, sounded out even amid her various voices and kept her true, in her way, to something we could only have called local, or perhaps family, type.

Again the songs in Beaumont and Fletcher stand very high, perhaps highest of all next to Shakespere's in respect of the "woodnote wild."

We cower before th' heart-searching eye    In rapture as its pain; E'en wedded Love, till Thou be nigh,    Dares not believe her gain: Then in the air she fearless springs, The breath of Heaven beneath her wings, And leaves her woodnote wild, and sings    A tuned and measured strain.