The Music of the Marsh 



closes the luarsli tliere is sliort time for pause be- 

 fore the singers of darkness hft their Aoiee.s. The 

 frogs begin A\'ith renewed energy. Before the The 

 moon silvers the water and bhickens the shadows ^^""f" 



naders 



comes the Avhip-poor-«'iirs cry. It is not unmu- 

 sical, ])iit it comprises peculiar notes; they are 

 emmciated so clearly, and with sucli insistence, and 

 mingled ah\'ays M'ith the mystery of the dark. Not 

 mystery l)ecause the moon looks on anything 

 different from the sun, l)ut because we are in 

 darkness; and when we liear and can not see, 

 we dread. 



Xear tlie same time the night jar lifts his 

 voice, and lie is a veritable screamer. AN'liat a cry 

 he can utter! A^'e sliudder invohmtarily. But 

 what of tlie mate he calls!' Did you ever ])ause 

 to thiidv that to her perha])s tlie cry means: 

 "Awake! Come, sail with me through the forest 

 and over tlie marsli! Let us search for food 

 and enjoy life!" Is there not more in that to 

 arouse sympathy than repulsion in the human 

 heart ? 



The maestro of all night musicians is the great 

 horned owl. The big hollow sycamores and the im- 

 2)enetral)le thickets around tlie marsh are his birth- 

 right. His music echoes tlu-ougliout tlie year and 

 belongs to his location as the M'hite mantle of win- 

 ter and the green of summer. It is not that his 

 cry is harsh or unmusical, but that coupled with 



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