130 Birds of Buzzard's Roost 



her and sings his sweetest notes. Quite often he flies to the 

 entrance to the nest and looks in, as much as to say, "How is 

 it with you, my dear?" As one writer has said, "Their speech 

 is a revelation of supreme content, a liquid, flexible measure 

 with ripples and cascades bubbling through and over a dash 

 of pure color. There are hours when he sings with such force 

 that his whole little body catches the keynote and natural 

 rhythm ; the melody becomes compounded of his very sub- 

 stance, body of his body and soul of his soul. It is an inunda- 

 tion of musical notes, cascadic, cataclysmic, the tide of song 

 rising till it drowns his personality ; he is no longer a bird but 

 an animated song." And this reminds me of the words of Mr. 

 Simeon Peace Cheney. He says, "The horse neighs, the bull 

 bellows, the lion roars, the tiger growls, the world is full of 

 vocal sounds ; only the birds sing. They are Nature's finest 

 artists, whose lives and works are above the earth. They have 

 not learned of us; it is our delight to learn of them. To no 

 other living things are man's mind and heart so greatly in- 

 debted. Myriads of these beautiful creatures, journeying 

 thousands of miles over oceans and continents, much of the 

 way by night to avoid murderers ! return, unfailingly as the 

 spring, prompt even to the day and hour, to build their cun- 

 ning nests and rear their young in our orchards and door- 

 yards, to delight us with their beauty and grace of movement, 

 and, far above all, to pour over the world the glory of their 

 song." 



