BIKDS AT A SUMMER RESOET. 



They were delightfully numerous — tlie 

 birds met with at a pleasant summer resort 

 in northern Indiana. We — that is, some 

 friends and myself — were living for a few 

 weeks in a tent placed beneath the shade 

 trees; and thus we dwelt right among the 

 birds, which caroled gayly around us and 

 woke us early from our morning slumbers. 

 Although it was the latter part of July, some 

 species were almost as songful as in May and 

 June. This was especially true of the song 

 sparrows, which trilled their roundels in the 

 trees about the tent and in the arbor and 

 bushes that circled the pond a few paces away. 



For many years I had been listening to 

 these delightful lowland trillers, and yet that 

 summer they sang some new tunes that were 

 enchanting. One day one of these songsters, 

 perched in a sapling, broke into a run that 

 bubbled up from his throat in a tremulous 

 tone, as if he had taken a little water into his 

 windpipe and were gurgling it. I said to my 



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