An ear cultivated to melody is one of the soul's luxuries. Attuned to sweet and varied sound, it may become the guide to bird secrets never imparted to the eye.
Sitting in the close shrubbery of a home garden, or crouching moveless in a forest, one may catch whispers of bird language never imparted to human ears when the listener is moving about or talking with a comrade.
If one has accidentally or by patience discovered the evening resort of shy birds, let him precede the birds by half an hour. Sitting low among rocks or fallen trees, having the forethought to wear plainly colored clothes, and as moveless as the neighboring objects, one may be treated to such a feast of sounds as will both surprise and entertain him. The birds will come close, and even hop over one's coat sleeves and shoes, though so much as a full-fledged wink may dissipate the charm.
Just before bedtime there are whisperings, and salutes, and low-voiced conversations, and love notes, and "O's" and "Ah's" at sight of a belated insect, and lullaby ditties, and if one be possessed of a good deal of imagination, "evening prayers."
Birds that fly from their night-time perches in the thick shrubbery in the morning dusk with a whirr, and a scream, or emphatic call-note, in evening time just whisper or sing in half-articulate tones.
To be out in their haunts late in the day and very early in the dawn is to learn things about birds one never forgets. And if one chance to remain late at night, one may often hear some feathered person mumble, or talk, or scold, or complain, or sing a short melody, in his sleep. Some students of bird-lore suggest that all-night singers, like the mockers, and some thrushes, do "talk in their sleep," instead of from intent and choice. If one will watch a tame canary in its cage one may hear a very low, sweet warble from the bird while its head is tucked under its feathers. This act wakens the little creature, and it may be seen to finish its note while it looks about in the lamp-light in a half-bewildered way.
Take our domestic fowls! Go noiselessly out to the chicken roost and stand stock-still for a while. Now and then some hen or cock will speak a few words in its own language, in a rambling, dozing way. Then the suggestion passes on, and perhaps half a dozen individuals engage in nocturnal conversation. One, more "nervous" from yesterday's overwork perhaps, actually has a nightmare, and cackles in fright. All this has no connection with the usual time for the head of the family to give his warning crow that midnight or daytime is close at hand and there is scarcely time for another wink of sleep.
Once in the secret of bird notes, even a blind person may locate the immediate vicinity of a nest. And he may identify species by the call-notes and songs. We have a blind girl neighbor who declares she would rather have her hearing than her sight, she has learned so well to hear what her sight might deprive her of.
When once the ear has learned its better lessons, glimpses, so to speak, of bird life flutter to it as naturally as leaves flutter to the sward in autumn. It is the continual chatter, chatter, that deprives many of us of the best enjoyments of life. We talk when we should listen. Nature speaks low more often than she shouts. A taciturn child or person finds out things that are worth the habit of keeping still to know.
These remarks are in the interest of singing birds. A bird is sometimes interrupted, and comes to a sudden stop. A footstep, a word, a laugh, and the very next note is swallowed by the singer. By studying our songsters one may come to know for one's self how individuals differ even among the same species.