MORNING IN SUMMER. 169 



The different species follow rapidly, one after another, 

 in the chorus, until the whole welkin rings with their 

 matin hymn of gladness. I have often wondered that 

 the almost simultaneous utterance of so many different 

 notes should produce no discords, and that they should 

 result in such complete harmony. In this multitudi- 

 nous confusion of voices, no two notes are confounded, 

 and none has sufficient duration to grate harshly with a 

 dissimilar sound. Though each performer sings only a 

 few strains and then makes a pause, the whole multi- 

 tude succeed each other with such rapidity that we hear 

 an uninterrupted flow of music, until the broad light of 

 day invites them to other employments. 



Before the birds can see well enough to fly, you may 

 observe, here and there, a single swallow perched on 

 the roof of a barn or shed, repeating two twittering 

 notes incessantly, with a quick turn and a hop at every 

 note he utters. It would seem to be the design of the 

 bird to attract the attention of his mate, and this 

 motion seems to be made to assist her in discovering 

 his position. As soon as there is sufficient light to 

 enable them to fly, this twittering strain is uttered 

 more like a continued song, as they flit rapidly through 

 the air. But at this later moment the martins have 

 commenced their more melodious chattering, so loudly 

 as to attract for a while the most of our attention. 

 There is not a sound in nature so cheering and animat- 

 ing as the voice of the purple martin, and none so well 

 calculated to drive away melancholy. Though not one 

 of the earliest voices to be heard, the chorus is percepti- 

 bly more loud and effective when this bird has united 

 with the choir. 



When the flush of morning has brightened into ver- 

 milion, and the place from which the sun is soon to 

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