216 HOMING WITH THE BIRDS 



tone of the scale, the other member of the common chord, 

 which so affinitizes with one and five, was passed over. 

 The next step was to insert this tone, which being done, the 

 employment of the remaining tones was simply a matter of 

 time. So it was, to my notion, that the birds learned to 

 sing." — Simeon Pease Cheney. 



The song of some of the birds at its present 

 state of evolution is such a rolling jumble of sound 

 that I never have heard any scientist or musician 

 attempt to translate it into our language — even 

 in the crudest form of syllables — or to set it in 

 notes on the musical staff. The best example of 

 this kind of music is that of the common house 

 wren. He is an indefatigable singer, yet no one 

 has ever tried to syllabify or register his notes on 

 the staff, to my knowledge. I doubt gravely if 

 anyone ever will. The wren is such a rollicking, 

 bubbling, little whiff of spontaneity, feathers, and 

 bones that his jumbled notes are hopeless of re- 

 production. He sings constantly around nesting 

 locations, aggressively during his courting season, 

 endlessly while at the joyous task of rearing his 

 brood. He sings while industriously searching 

 fruit trees for slugs, bugs, and spiders; he sings 

 past a beak crammed full of worms and insects; 

 he sings during heavy downpours of rain; he sings 

 in any location, under any condition, during the 

 entire time he remains with us. When he leaves 

 his nesting location, having his brood successfully 

 reared, and goes to the seclusion of the woods to 



