SONGS OF THE 

 WOODS 



We are drawn ever by the voices of birds. Even 

 such as might be called monotonous and unmelo- 

 dious arc none the less significant and welcome. 

 The fine lisping notes of warblers, as they indus- 

 triously hunt for their food, seem expressive of the 

 contentment of their minds. All over the hemlock 

 swamp I hear the voices of black-throated green 

 warblers. Not one may appear in view, but for 

 hours together their musical conversation continues 

 in the treetops. From somewhere in the branches 

 above comes the call of a nuthatch, his speech 

 wholly dissimilar from the rest, as if he might be 

 an inhabitant of a very different world. Almost 

 in the ear sounds the thin wiry note of a black- 

 and-white creeper, as he winds around the trunk 

 of a pine and approaches with his accustomed so- 

 ciability. High above the others, the trill of the 

 pine-warbler rings clear and sweet — a more reso- 

 nant instrument surely. These voices all affedt us 

 agreeably, and bring us in immediate contadt with 

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