THE FORESTS OF OREGON 



Some of his notes are almost flutelike in 

 softness, while others prick and tingle like 

 thistles. He is the mockingbird of squirrels, 

 barking like a dog, screaming like a hawk, 

 whistling like a blackbird or linnet, while 

 in bluff, audacious noisiness he is a jay. A 

 small thing, but filling and animating all the 

 woods. 



Nor is there any lack of wings, notwith- 

 standing few are to be seen on short, noisy 

 rambles. The ousel sweetens the shady glens 

 and caiions where waterfalls abound, and 

 every grove or forest, however silent it may 

 seem when we chance to pay it a hasty visit, 

 has its singers, — thrushes, linnets, warblers, 

 — while hummingbirds glint and hover about 

 the fringing masses of bloom around stream 

 and meadow openings. But few of these will 

 show themselves or sing their songs to those 

 who are ever in haste and getting lost, going in 

 gangs formidable in color and accoutrements, 

 laughing, hallooing, breaking limbs off the 

 trees as they pass, awkwardly struggling 

 through briery thickets, entangled like blue- 

 bottles in spider-webs, and stopping from time 

 to time to fire off their guns and pistols for 

 the sake of the echoes, thus frightening all the 

 life about them for miles. It is this class of 

 hunters and travelers who report that there 



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