, 1919-10-23
Overheard
in Already
Copyright
BY A c. ABBOTT

"Ah, well-a-day, what eye may see
The forest tops of Arcady?"
1 have seen daily not only the for
est tops of my Already, but have known
the way since childhood. My own
feet have worn the path thither. and
whatever the season, whether the dog
star RACES or winter rules the world,
it is always Already under the old oaks.
My sense of hearing distinctly gains
by lending no other to its assistance.
Blind TO all about me, not a sound but
is more distinct and few escape recog
milton. So, comfortably seated, l close
my yes and listen. Then it is that
charming tales are overheard in Ar
cady and only then do those whisper
ings reach the ear that are not in
tended for other delectation than that
of the w%hisperer. There are the songs
of birds free to all the world, and those
meditative melodies on so low a key
that only a favored few have overheard
them.
Probably the first time my atten-
ton was called to the whisper songs
of birds vas forty years ago, when,
brisk March morning, 1 recorded of
a foxy sparrow that ut was whispering
to a withered oak leaf" As 1 look now
at the tattered and stained page of the
old notebook / wildly recall the day.
But a truce to comparisons, the bane
alike Of profitable meditation and of ac-
curate description. The simple fact
was, a foxy sparrow very near me be-
gan singing In so low a tone that 1
was In doubt whether 1t were a bird
or a musical vesper mouse sitting in
the doorway OF his bush nest. 1 had
to look long to make sure of my first
impression. 1t was a sparrow, and,
as l then wrote. 1t was whispering to
an a leaf" So 1t seemed, that is ;
but let that pass. 1t was singing to
itself. Surely not a note was loud
enough to be heard half a rod away.
There was little variation in the sound
as L heard 1t 1t was a humming rather
than singing, and pore no resemblance
to that delightful sunset hymn so char
acteristic of the bird. My single i'm
preston of 1t was that of personal
qualification. The bird was in a medi-
tative mood. Its thoughts ran to mu-
sic, as we should say of ourselves, re-
calling the words of some familiar
song. AS this is no trait
among mankind, I do not see why the
same habit should not be INDUCED in
by birds.
Twice / have witnessed under most
favorable circumstances the move
ments of a cardinal grosbeak when
uttering what / venture to call his
meditations, or whisper song. The
nam counts for little, because all de-
scription must fail In accurately por-
traying this feature of bird life.
In the early summer of 1896 l had a
disabled rose-breasted grosbeak in a
cage. 1t o o became contented with
its surroundings and was o startled
by the near approach of any of the
family. Every morning, commencing
soon after sunrise, 1t sang as vigorous
ly as any of its kind flying about the
yard; and this is with us a common
bird, nesting On the hillside and in the
orchard. Again at evening the bird
was given to singing in It's matchless
way, and I could detect no difference
between its song and that of those
about the premises. Besides this ordi-
nary song of the rose breast, / was
frequently treated to a widely different
one, heard only when all was quiet.
1t vas truly a whispered song. 1t bore
little resemblance to the grand out
burst of melody intended for all the
world to hear. 1t can be described
best, I think, by calling it the echo of
a distant flute. That the bird was
intensely absorbed by its own music
appeared evident from the swaying
motion of the body at the time and an
occasional trembling, accompanied by
a rufhing of the feathers and nervous
twitching of the tail. No wood notes
wild" that ! have ever heard are COM
parable to this wonderful whispered
song of the rose breast.
All observers are familiar with the
incessant chirping of migrating birds,
and many are the sweet songs when
the red wings throng the marshes and
clouds of grakles sweep across the
meadows. These birds are each a
merry race, nowise akin, but lovers
of the same scenes, and they have set
the October landscapes to a lively tune.
At times among the trees we hear the
countless voices of some passing flock,
perhaps of purple finches, the warblers,
wax wings, cow-pen birds, or larks.
These are forever coming and going
during delightful autumn days and add
a joy to every hour of the mellow sun
shine. Not n of these birds that I
have named is ave- mute or moody,
and now. II we are alert and quick OF
ear, 1t will be found that they often
twitter In so low a tom that 1t "a
be only intended for disqualification.
1t is moi whispering to a neighbor. for
single birds separated from the flock
are constantly chirping in that quiet
way so suggestive of meditation. The