BIRD NOTES. 63 
fume. And yet, as in the buzzing insect din of the August fields, 
how few of us ever seek to analyze the units of the complex 
unison! Here is this great bird-symphony which fills the June 
morning of a continent with unceasing harmony, while only the 
notes of a few prominent performers are relieved against the vast 
perspective of sound. Our own immediate choir extends even 
to the horizon’s brim, many of these perfectly audible ripples of 
sound doubtless finding their vocal centre on the hill a half a 
mile or more away: all intermingled and entangled, and though 
never arrested or swerved in their course, only an occasional note 
more penetrating than the rest reaching our imperfect ears un- 
broken; while from the nearer woods below, the neighboring or- 
chard, the meadow, and the sky, each contributes its faithful voice 
to the ever-precious medley. 
Few people would seem to master the art of seeing with their 
ears—perceiving, locating the precise source of sound—for the 
analytical resources of the second sense are not fully appreciated. 
The eye may view the panorama as a unit, and yet revel in its 
elements at will. Even so the ear, while sensitive to the unison, 
may resolve the same to its units of sound. Indeed, a trained 
musical ear detects, almost without effort, the various parts in a 
harmony, while an immortal Beethoven, even though humanly 
deaf, traces from the music of his exalted interior vision the ele- 
ments of a vast overwhelming unison, apportioning to each crude 
instrumentalist the orchestral score by which less favored hu- 
manity may hear the echo of that divine inspiration. In a more 
modest degree, this analytical power may be brought to bear 
upon the oratorio of the birds. 
On these June mornings I have repeatedly asked my more or 
less ornithological friend to name such individual songs as he 
can detect, the result being generally a list of from seven to ten 
of the more prominent vocalists, prominent generally because of 
their proximity. “Do you know the song of the purple finch?” I 
ask. “Yes, perfectly,” is the reply. “Can you not hear it now 
almost continually?” But careful listening fails to detect the 
song. Focus your ear on the summit of yonder spruce by the 
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