aid merrily across their invisible cathe. His musical 
melody has awakened echoes in the inner places of their 
souls, and made them forget that miles might still lie be- 
tween them and the spot where they iat to find ao and 
rest. 
Yet a hunter was heard to give a prosaic interpretation : 7 
to this vibrating troll of the forest when he said, “That bird 
song makes me think of an ungreased wagon wheel, scrap- — 
- ing around in its hub, when strongly braked.’’ Well, there 
are people who would find Melba dull and who could not 
thrill to the trained fingers of Paderewski. Thank God 
for understanding bits of the music of the spheres. No 
matter how dark the day, nor how lonely the height, one 
can always exult when this pygmy fills a circular mile with 
his interpretation of life, for his voice is large beyond com-— 
parison with the size of the little brown dwarf. Long may 
his short barred tail wave us a friendly greeting as it follows 
the whims of a Western Winter Wren. 
A boat pushed along the channels teondine the waving 
rushes on the edge of some fresh or salt water bay may in- 
troduce you to a new world. In such places, many sounds 
will tickle your tympanum, but none will fill you so full oh 
mirth as the tinkling refrain which seems to come from 
dozens of pairs of fairy cymbals. The sharp explosions will 
fill you with desire to unravel a mystery. Now on one side, 
now on another, the brassy ringing is varied by little runs 
of mocking, sputtering sounds, which are almost too muffled 
for mortal ears to catch. | 
Some spring dawn, if you carry a es ene and move 
| warily, you may catch the maker of this mischief in the very 
act as he slides down a trembling reed to vanish into-well, 
where did he disappear? Keep cool and alert, for the fay 
is just as curious as you are, and will presently climb from 
nowhere up a slanting willow stem to look for you. Who 
_ is afraid on such a morning? Surely not the Tule Wren in 
his own home territory. 
54 
