Dinner at Noon. 101 



The great crested flycatcher can do nothing 

 but cacophonously screech, and it teases more 

 than any ear-piercing fife, but when the sound 

 is mingled with the rustling of leaves, the united 

 voices of summer warbler, redstart, and yellow- 

 throat, or of Carolina wren or cardinal red-bird, 

 it adds a decided flavor of wildness to the whole, 

 and so is quite acceptable. All music is to me 

 mere sound, if not suggestive, and many a noise 

 that is crude and disagreeable in one locality 

 may be pleasing in another. The roar of Ni- 

 agara is readily imitated, but without Niagara is 

 nothing but noise. The common crow's con- 

 siderable vocabulary is but a series of harsh 

 cries if the poor bird is caged at the Zoo ; but 

 given a crisp October morning, with the forest 

 draped in scarlet and the far-off skies of incom- 

 parable blue, hear this same crow now, when 

 perched on some tall tree-top, its rhythmic call 

 keeping time to the dropping of nuts and rus- 

 tling of falling leaves, hear then this much- 

 maligned bird, and you are listening to music 

 that will linger long in your memory. 



To become the better acquainted with our 

 birds, for no second-hand knowledge is so un- 



