marsh.

There seems to be a kinship between the voices of the marsh dwellers. Most
of them seem to have a muddy, aquatic note. The boom of the frog sounds
like some great stone dropped into the water; the little marsh wren's song
is the "babble and tinkle of water running out of a silver flask."

The blackbird seems to be the one connecting link between the highlands
and the lowlands. Seldom does one see other citizens of the marsh in the
upland. How glorious is the flight of a great blue heron from one
feeding-ground to another! He does not tarry over the foreign territory,
nor does he hurry. With neck and head furled close and legs straight out
behind, he pursues his course, swerving neither to the right nor the
left.

"Vainly the fowler's eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As darkly painted on the crimson sky
Thy figure floats along."

The blackbirds, however, are more neighbourly. They even forage in the
foreign territory, returning at night to sleep.

In nesting time the red-wing is indeed a citizen of the lowland. His voice
is as distinctive of the marsh as is the croak of the frog, and from a
distance it is one of the first sounds to greet the ear. How beautiful is
his clear whistle with its liquid break! Indeed one may say that he is the
most conspicuous singer of the marshlands. His is not a sustained song,
but the exuberant expression of a happy heart.

According to many writers the little marsh wren is without song. No song!
As well say that the farmer boy's whistling as he follows the plough, or
the sailor's song as he hoists the sail, is not music! All are the songs
of the lowly, the melody of those glad to be alive and out in the free
air.

When man goes into the marsh, the marsh retires within itself, as a turtle
retreats within his shell. With the exception of a few blackbirds and
marsh wrens, babbling away the nest secret, and an occasional frog's
croak, all the inhabitants have stealthily retired. The spotted turtle has
slid from the decayed log as the boat pushed through the reeds. At our
approach the heron has flown and the little Virginia rail has scuttled
away among the reeds.

Remain perfectly quiet, however, and give the marsh time to regain its
composure. One by one the tenants of the swamp will take up the trend of
their business where it was interrupted.

All about, the frogs rest on the green carpet of the lily pad