THE EQUIPMENT OF THE AVIARY 



ERY frequently I hear it said: "There are 

 no birds in California; one so seldom hears a 

 bird song." This is, and is not true. The 

 feathered folk are inclined to make their 

 homes in localities where trees and shrubbery 

 are plentiful, and many portions of California are practically 

 treeless, but even then they are not entirely devoid of song- 

 sters, for everywhere one finds the meadow-lark with its 

 glorious hymn of praise for sunshine and sweet air. In all 

 localities where plantations of trees have been made I find 

 that the wild birds immediately take up an abode and be- 

 come a factor in the community. 



Do you remember how the birds sing "Sweet, sweet, 

 sweet," over in the Elysian fields? One hears such tender 

 little stories these lovely spring-time days as one passes 

 through the shrubberies in the wilder parts of the park, and 

 any one who wills may learn the bird language. There is 

 the eager chirp, the tender trill, the low twittering of the 

 tiny lovers, and then — alas that I must chronicle it! — these 

 feathered folk have harsher notes, and there are coarse, 

 discordant sounds that reveal depths of tempestuous feeling, 

 and cruel, jealous tones that prove that here, too, the course 

 of true love runs not always smooth. I have fancied at times 



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