BIRD SONG— Continued from page 41. 



with exactness, will deceive Mistress 

 Pullet herself. 



To carry the idea further, we will 

 take the notes of some of the birds 

 depicted in this number of Birds. 

 The Osprey, or Fish-Hawk, has been 

 carefully observed, and his only dis- 

 covered note is a high, rapidly repeated 

 whistle, very plaintive. Doubtless 

 this noise is agreeable and intelligible 

 to his mate, but cannot^e called a song, 

 and has no significance to the listener. 



The Vulture utters a low, hissing 

 sound when disturbed. This is its 

 only note. Not so with the Bald 

 Eagle, whose scream emulates the rage 

 of the tempest, and implies courage, 

 the quality which associates him with 

 patriotism and freedom. In the notes 

 of the Partridge there is a meaning 

 recognizable by every one. After the 

 nesting season, when the birds are in 

 bevies, their notes are changed to what 

 sportsmen term " scatter calls.'' Not 

 long after a bevy has been flushed, 

 and perhaps widely scattered, the 

 members of the disunited family may 

 be heard signaling to one another in 

 sweet minor calls of two and three 

 notes, and in excitement, they utter 

 low, twittering notes. 



Of the Sora Rails, Mr. Chapman 

 says, " knowing their calls, you have 

 only to pass a May or June evening 

 near a marsh to learn whether they 

 inhabit it. If there, they will greet 

 you late in the afternoon with a clear 

 whistled ker-ivee^ which soon comes 

 from dozens of invisible birds about 

 you, and long after night has fallen, it 

 continues like a springtime chorus of 

 piping hylas. Now and again it is 

 interrupted by a high-voiced, rolling 

 whinney, which, like a call of alarm, 

 is taken up and repeated by difierent 

 birds all over the marsh." 



Poor Red-breasted Merganser ! He 

 has only one note, a croak. Perhaps 



it was of him that Bryant was think- 

 ing when he wrote the stanzas " To a 

 Water- Fowl.'' 



" The sentiment of feeling awakened 

 by any of the aquatic fowls is pre- 

 eminently one of loneliness," says John 

 Burroughs. " The Wood Duck (see 

 July Birds) which you approach, 

 starts from the pond or the marsh, the 

 Loon neighing down out of the April 

 sky, the Wild Goose, the Curlew, the 

 Stork, the Bittern, the Sandpiper, etc., 

 awaken quite a different train of emo- 

 tions from those awakened by the land 

 birds. They all have clinging to them 

 some reminiscence and suggestion of 

 the sea. Their cries echo its wildness 

 and desolation ; their wings are the 

 shape of its billows." 



But the Evening Grosbeak, the 

 Kentucky Warbler, the Skylark, land 

 birds all, are singers. They have 

 music in their throats and in their 

 souls, though of varying quality. The 

 Grosbeak's note is described by differ- 

 ent observers as a shrill cheepy tee and 

 a frog-like pcep^ while one writer re- 

 marks that the males have a single 

 metallic cry like the note of a trumpet, 

 and the females a loud chattering like 

 the large Cherry Birds. 



The Kentucky Warbler's song is 

 entirely unlike that of any other 

 Warbler, and is a loud, clearly whis- 

 tled performance of five, six, or seven 

 notes, tiirdlc, turdle^ Uirdle^ resembling 

 in tone some of the calls of the Caro- 

 lina Wren. He is so persistent in his 

 singing, however, that the Red-Breasted 

 Merganser's simple croak would some- 

 times be preferable to it. 



But the Skylark— 



"All the earth and air 



With thj' voice is loud, 

 As, when night is bare 

 From one lonely cloud 

 The moon rains out her beams and heaven is 

 over-flowed." 



— C. C. Marble. 



57 



