The Cassin Auk let 



cry. As one gives attention to an individual performer, however, and 

 seeks to locate him in his burrow, the mystery and strangeness of it grows. 

 The vocalist is complaining bitterly of we know not what wrongs. We 

 must be within three feet of the noise as we stoop at the burrow's mouth ; 

 the volume of it is ear- filling; yet its source seems furlongs off. Now it is 

 like the squealing of a pig in a distant slaughter pen. We lift our heads 



Taken in Washington 



CASSIN AUKLET. ADULT AND YOUNG 



Photo by the Author 



and the stock yards are reeling with the prayers and cries of a thousand 

 victims. And now the complaint falls into a cadence, "Let meee out, let 

 meee out, let me out." A thousand dolorous voices take up the chorus. The 

 uproar gets upon the nerves. Is this a bird lunatic asylum? Have we 

 stumbled upon an avian mad-house here in the lone Pacific? And are 

 these inmates appealing to the moon, their absent mistress? 



Nay, rather, it is the eternal infant. It is the voice of elemental 

 hunger we hear, and we are powerless to answer. Oh, the unwearying 

 importunity of the hungry child ! Earth nor heaven shall forget him while 



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