1 86 Music of the Swamp [SECOND WEEK 



In nesting time the red-wing is indeed a citizen of the 

 lowland. His voice is as distinctive of the marsh as is 

 the croak of the frog, and from a distance it is one of the 

 first sounds to greet the ear. How beautiful is his clear 

 whistle with its liquid break! Indeed one may say that 

 he is the most conspicuous singer of the marshlands. His 

 is not a sustained song, but the exuberant expression of 

 a happy heart. 



According to many writers the little marsh wren is 

 without song. No song! As well say that the farmer 

 boy's whistling as he follows the plough, or the sailor's 

 song as he hoists the sail, is not music ! All are the songs 

 of the lowly, the melody of those glad to be alive and out 

 in the free air. 



When man goes into the marsh, the marsh retires within 

 itself, as a turtle retreats within his shell. With the ex- 

 ception of a few blackbirds and marsh wrens, babbling 

 away the nest secret, and an occasional frog's croak, all 

 the inhabitants have stealthily retired. The spotted turtle 

 has slid from the decayed log as the boat pushed through 

 the reeds. At our approach the heron has flown and the 

 little Virginia rail has scuttled away among the reeds. 



Remain perfectly quiet, however, and give the marsh 

 time to regain its composure. One by one the tenants of 

 the swamp will take up the trend of their business where 

 it was interrupted. 



All about, the frogs rest on the green carpet of the 

 lily pads, basking in the sun. The little rail again runs 

 among the reeds, searching for food in the form of small 

 snails. The blackbirds and wrens, most domestic in char- 



