1 30 BY- WA YS AND BIRD-NO TES. 



ers of song joined well witn the flower-de-luce 

 and the wild geranium. Their racy fragrance 

 was of kin to the leaf-smell and resin odor. 

 Will s voice seemed, in some mysterious way, 

 to become the expression of the mood of Na 

 ture. A dream came upon me. I leaned 

 against the wall of reeds and felt the coolness 

 of their sappy stalks steal all through my frame. 

 My sketch faded from my sight and I but 

 vaguely noted the restless movements of my 

 captive shrike. 



There are times when hearing a true lyric 

 read aloud is the quintessence of all rapture- 

 ful music. It is the expression of everything 

 ariose and thrillingly sweet which has ever 

 been played or written or sung, from Terpan- 

 der to Remenyi, from Anacreon to Aldrich. 

 I said something of this sort to Will in reply to 

 a kindred suggestion from him touching the 

 idyls. He arose and strung his bow, then, 

 holding his ear close to the cord, he twanged 

 it softly and replied : &quot; You hear that low note. 

 Well, how many ages ago did man first hear 

 it? The piano, the violin, the lyre, every 

 stringed instrument is a growth from the long 

 bow. So some poet away off in yesterdays let 

 fall the first perfect seed of song, and its kind 

 will go on increasing in vigor and multiplying 

 in number forever.&quot; 



Somewhere, in the depths of the brake, a 

 cat-bird began to trill and warble, and a big 

 bass leaped above the water of the river, beside 

 a half submerged log. The sun crept on and 

 rolled down the west. As the shadows length 

 ened the heat withdrew, giving place to re 

 freshing coolness. We watched the little 

 flurries of wind rimple the river s face. Great 



