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Bird - Lore 



fully repaid me for the search. My hopes 

 were yet to be realized. A neighbor re- 

 ported on August 20 that a white bird had 

 been seen in his garden in company with 

 Robins. It had been several days since it 

 had been seen; however, if it reappeared I 

 would be called on the 'phone at once to 

 see it. On September i, just about sun- 

 set, I received the 'phone call with the 

 assurance that I might view the 'White 

 Robin' if I wished to do so. Of course I 

 lost no time in reaching the spot, and, on 

 arriving, found a perfectly white Wood 

 Thrush retired for the night in the dense 

 foliage of a small cherry tree. A positive 

 identification could not be made from this 

 view, as only the head and one-half of the 

 body could be seen; so the tree was slightly 

 jarred to make the bird move. He flew to 

 a nearby tree and gave his whit-whit, end- 

 ing in the familiar rolling call-note, thus 

 giving a positive identification. Have 

 there been previous reports of an Albino 

 of this species? I do not recall having 

 seen one. — G. G. Reeves, Winston-Salem, 

 N.C. 



Night Voices 



Mysterious night! Nor have I ever 

 been alone in the opinion. I shall never 

 forget the strange &pell under which I 

 fell when I -first heard the geese passing 

 over me in the cool, quiet night. I could 

 not see them, yet I knew they were there, 

 and there was a wonderful strangeness 

 about it all that has never left me. 



Since then I have tried to forget, at 

 least partly, the mystery of those voices, 

 and tried to look at them in a matter- 

 of-fact way. Of course, the geese were 

 migrating, they were flying both day and 

 night that they might arrive at their des- 

 tination as soon as possible. There was 

 not nearly so much mystery about it 

 after all. 



And then I met other deep night voices, 

 these too, mysterious. Screech Owls were 

 common — I knew their small size, and had 

 seen them often, so there was not much 

 mystery about them, but oh ! when I heard 

 my first Barred Owl and then my first 

 Great-horned Owl, I was again under that 



strange spell, this time not simply because 

 it was vague, but because it was terrible ! 

 I knew that these birds were no toys, they 

 were not far up, out of reach, and sailing 

 away as fast as their wings could take 

 them, but here they were on my earth, in 

 my kingdom, and, worse still, I was in 

 theirs. I felt rather small ! Then, bravely, 

 I thought how much larger I was than a 

 field mouse or even a Bob-white, and 

 knew there was nothing to fear, when all 

 at once the hollow hoot would sound two or 

 three blocks nearer and I would feel almost 

 out of place. That is, I felt that there were 

 places better suited to me. 



The feeling of fear has long left, but 

 the wonder remains. I have never re- 

 gretted a night spent in the woods. To my 

 surprise I have found that there are hosts 

 of night voices, not strange wild wood- 

 tyrants, but ordinary day voices echoed 

 at night. 



Thus there seem to be the three classes 

 of night voices: the migrating ones, 

 which call to one another as they journey 

 along, the hunting ones, that make the 

 woods shiver, and, finally the truly mys- 

 terious ones — our own little day singers — 

 about whom it would seem there should be 

 the least mystery, and yet for me about 

 whom hangs the greatest. 



The first of these that I heard was the 

 famous Mocker. When I landed in Texas, 

 I was soon told to listen for the night 

 Mocker. I listened, of course, and 

 strangely, perhaps, it did not seem very 

 wonderful that he should be singing. 

 He was a Mockingbird, and Mocking- 

 birds sing that way, so why should I 

 wonder? But after two weeks I found my- 

 self seeking a reason. I determined to find 

 why, if I could, he should spend his sleep- 

 ing hours working like that. The first 

 step I took in my study was to spend the 

 night with the Mockers. 



He had sung all day, and I thought 

 he would have been tired. I thought 

 that he had done enough jumping up in 

 the air and tumbling down on singing 

 wings, to last for at least one day, so I 

 was not surprised when I saw him start 

 off on a flight across the prairies to his 



