CHAPTER VI 



PBOFESSIONAIi MUSICIANS 



'Tis always morning somewhere; and above 

 The awakening continents, from shore to shore. 

 Somewhere the birds are singing evermore. 



— Longfellow, 



OF all the brilliant endowments of birds, there 

 is none so much appreciated by man as their 

 wonderful art of music. The song birds are the 

 poets of the feathered tribe ; they are the bards and 

 troubadours of the world, for their songs are suited 

 to the passing moods and occasions, and are de- 

 termined thereby. The songs of the birds, being 

 improvised to express the peculiar emotion of the 

 moment, possess a spontaneity that human musi- 

 cians often strive in vain to acquire. 



The formal songs of man, perfect in art as many 

 of them are, still lack that charm that nature 

 brings — a wonderful essence of spiritual eflfect. 

 For, to express aU that the heart feels, to exhaust 

 the possibilities of a thought or emotion, to leave 

 nothing to the imagination of the hearer, is to of- 



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