THE SUBMERGED TENTH 



open lake which was frequented by a pair of 

 Horned Grebes, I was able to trace to their author- 

 ship certain loud cries of whose origin I had been 

 uncertain. The sounds began as a quick chatter, 

 ending with several prolonged notes that I can only 

 describe as yells. They seemed to keep up this 

 noise all night, for I often lay awake listening to it, 

 not disturbed, but thoroughly enjoying it, thinking 

 how fortunate I was to be living in such good com- 

 pany ! By day, when the water was calm, I could 

 see flocks of Grebes out on the larger lake near by, 

 and hear from them the same or similar quaverings. 

 First one would cry out, then another would take 

 up the strain, and still others, until there was noise 

 enough for the most ardent lover of bird-choruses. 

 And no less peculiar are the cries of the big 

 Western Grebe, which I heard on all sides as I 

 waded about through their colony in the canes. 

 They are utterly different from the notes just de- 

 scribed a shrill, grating trill, not nearly so loud, 

 with a metallic quality, all in one key, like an 

 " anvil chorus," or even the tinkle of a small alarm 

 clock. 



My experiences with Grebes in the East have 

 been of a very different order from those of the 

 prairie sloughs of the West. Here I have known 

 them largely as migrants, or winterers on our bleak 

 coast. The exception to this was a delightful 

 sojourn among the Horned Grebes in their summer 

 haunts on the Magdalen Islands, in the ponds near 

 " East Point " which Audubon refers to in his 



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