NIGHT MUSIC OF THE SWAMP 175 



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 ex- 

 pression 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 re- 

 tires within itself, as a turtle 'retreats within his 

 shell. With the exception 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 



