28 BIRD-LAND ECHOES. 



doors. In this bird we have an instance of a creat- 

 ure winning its way to our regard without any effort 

 on its part other than the general loveliness of its 

 disposition. It performs no great feats of flight like 

 the swallow ; it builds no conspicuous nest like the 

 oriole ; it sings but the simplest ditty of all our birds ; 

 but it does come to our doors ; it does salute us with 

 a cheerful song ; it offers to be friendly, and so wins 

 our hearts. A homely little bird, I admit, but do 

 our best friends always resemble Apollo Belvidere or 

 Venus Anadyomene ? "But it don't sing," whines 

 some poor town-cooped mortal who has seen no 

 birds beyond a caged canary or a broiled chicken. 

 So much the better. Is there no music in a child's 

 prattling or the merry laugh of congregated young 

 people or the shout of a boy just out of school? 

 In all our language there is no such abused word as 

 "music." Ask the old man who hears a "chippy" 

 for the first time in twenty years, and, as he listens, 

 sees the old homestead as plainly as his hands before 

 him, ask him if there is music in the simple song 

 of this little sparrow, and he will give you the truest 

 possible definition of the word. 



Turning in another direction to where there are 

 meadows instead of fields and marshy tracts with 

 quicksands and all manner of treacherous bogs and 

 tangled growths that hide half-stagnant water ; here, 

 with wildness everywhere, many a gentle bird finds 

 a congenial home. In truth, there is nothing for- 

 bidding in these waste places. Although unsuited 

 to man's needs as a home or as land to cultivate, 



