AN OWDS HEAD HOLIDAY. 265 



in the darkness of daylight. So difficult is it, 

 we may suppose, for even an owl to put himself 

 in another's place and see with another's eyes. 



This little episode over, I turned again to 

 the birch-tree, and fortunately the warbler's 

 throat was of too fiery a color to remain long 

 concealed ; though it was at once a pleasure 

 and an annoyance to find myself still unac- 

 quainted with at least one song out of the 

 Blackbnrnian's repertory. In times past I had 

 carefully attended to his music, and within only 

 a few days, in the White Mountain Notch, I 

 had taken note of two of its variations ; but 

 here was still another, which neither began 

 with zillup, zillup, nor ended with zip, zip, 

 notes which I had come to look upon as the 

 Blackburnian's sign-vocal. Yet it must have 

 been my fault, not his, that I failed to recognize 

 him ; for every bird's voice has something char- 

 acteristic about it, just as every human voice 

 has tones and inflections which those who are 

 sufficiently familiar with its owner will infalli- 

 bly detect. The ear feels them, although words 

 cannot describe them. Articulate speech is but 

 a modern invention, as it were, in comparison 

 with the five senses ; and since practice makes 

 perfect, it is natural enough that every one of 

 the five should easily, and as a matter of course, 

 perceive shades of difference so slight that Ian- 



