Where Town and Country Meet 



The Baltimore oriole has a fine, clear note, 

 but his song is of little variety. He sits in 

 an elm-tree, near his pendent nest, where 

 the hidden female broods her eggs, and re- 

 peats, "Chuckie, chuckle, chuckle," all the 

 beautiful June day. One wishes those ex- 

 quisite notes could be prolonged into a song 

 of greater extent and variety. Yet, even in 

 their persistent monotony they add an in- 

 expressible charm to the soft, fragrant air 

 and blue skies of early summer. 



Our night singer, the whip-poor-will, re- 

 peats a phrase which no one can mistake. I 

 do not see how any one could imagine other 

 syllables for it than those which have given 

 the bird its name. Yet there are certain 

 elided or obscured syllables in the song that 

 are distinguishable only when the bird is 

 singing near at hand rough breathings, as 

 it were, which, I find, many students of bird- 

 language have never heard at all. While 

 camping in the woods, I have often heard 

 the whip-poor-will break into song within a 

 few yards of my lean-to, and have marked 

 without difficulty the grace-notes in its song. 

 In its completeness, the whip-poor-will's lay 

 goes as follows: Whip (ah) -poor-will (ah). 

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