THE GALA DAYS OF BIRDS 127 



vision that a certain song brings is different to 

 each one of us. 



To me, the lament of the wood pewee brings to 

 mind deep, moist places in the Pennsylvania back- 

 woods; the crescendo of the oven bird awakens 

 memories of the oaks of the Orange mountains; 

 when a loon or an olive-sided flycatcher or a white- 

 throat calls, the lakes and forests of Nova Scotia 

 come vividly to mind; the cry of a sea-swallow 

 makes real again the white beaches of Virginia; 

 to me a cardinal has in its song the feathery 

 lagoons of Florida's Indian Eiver, while the 

 shriek of a macaw and its antithesis, the silvery, 

 interlacing melodies of the solitaire, spell the 

 farthest barrancas of Mexico, with the vultures 

 ever circling overhead, and the smoke clouds of 

 the volcano in the distance. 



So sweet, so sweet the calling of the thrushes, 

 The calling, cooing, wooing, everywhere; 



So sweet the water's song through reeds and rushes, 

 The plover's piping note, now here, now there. 



NORA PERRY. 



