96 Bird-Land Echoes. 



a harsh cJmck that tells you of their presence long 

 before you see the birds, and on the same day they 

 depart. Perhaps the red thrushes, as my neighbors 

 call them, are less methodical when away from civ- 

 ilization, for they are found far from human habi- 

 tations ; but those in and about my door-yard are 

 painfully regular in their habits. 



Like many another descendant of the followers of 

 George Fox, I have often wondered what the Friends 

 really thought, years and years ago, of music ; nor 

 is this strange, for they were an inconsistent people, 

 as are all of us at this day, and among them precept 

 and practice did not always go hand in hand. 

 Doubtless, in those early days, if some great-grand- 

 father condescended to look at a thrush, he com- 

 mended the snuff-brown coat, though he must have 

 gazed disapprovingly at the spotted waistcoat ; but 

 what were his thoughts when the bird flooded his 

 fields with ravishing music ? These good men did 

 not presume to criticise Providence, but it looks as if 

 some of them wanted to do so. Now, those who 

 assume to know all about Quakerism will probably 

 assert that this is far-fetched and absurd, but, unfortu- 

 nately for them and many a Friend, it is true. There 

 was, is, and always will be inconsistency throughout. 

 Fanaticism in all directions, save dollars and good 

 dinners, is an unfair definition, but enthusiastic in- 

 terest in bird-music has been disapproved of in open 

 meeting in Arch Street, Philadelphia, from the fear 

 that it might call forth a love of melody in children. 

 Yet how often has it happened that two Friends, 



