::::::::3t£ TWO BIRD-LOVERS IN MEXICO le-""" 



form flapping slowly past, with sharp-keeled tail sjjread 

 wide behind. Their voices were surprisingly musical — 

 for grackles — and contrasted strongly with the harsh 

 utterances of the other blackbirds and cowbirds. 



One of the sweetest of bird voices was heard about 

 the adobe houses of the city every day — the drop- 

 ping song of the Mexican Canyon Wren, but, as in the 

 song of a caged bird, something seemed lacking, some 

 quality which we knew should be in the strain, although 

 we now heard it for the first time. These little dark- 

 feathered bundles of tireless energy would creep like 

 mice up the adobe walls, and from the top tlie white 

 throats would pour forth the gushing floods of melody. 

 Later, on our camping trips to the wild barrancas and 

 gorges, we heard the Canyon Wren in his true home 

 and his song" at its best — a dominant strain in the 

 melody of Mexican Nature. The beauty of the birds' 

 natural wild environment gave to them and to their 

 sons; a charm which was absent in the birds of Guada- 

 lajara. After our return to the city, memory always 

 supplied the rocks, the ferns, the accomjjaniment of 

 falling water, the — something lacking. Once, shortly 

 before we said good-bye to the country of which we 

 have grown so fond, when " Seiiorita " was overcome 

 by the heat, a Canyon Wren flew into the open patio 

 window, perched on a chair-back, and sang his little 

 song with all his might — soothing pain with a flood 

 of pleasant memories. 



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