Hark! again, to that clanking sound away up in the air; metallic
ringing, like the tones of a bell. It is the call of the cock of the
woods as he flies, rising and falling, glancing upward and downward in
his billowy flight across the lake. Hark! to that dull sound, like
blows upon some soft, hollow, half sonorous substance, slow and
measured at first, but increasing in rapidity, until it rolls like the
beat of a muffled drum, or the low growl of the far-off thunder. It is
the partridge drumming upon his log Hark! still again, to that
quavering note, resembling somewhat the voice of the tree-frog when
the storm is gathering, but not so clear and shrill. It is the call of
the raccoon, as he clambers up some old forest tree, and seats himself
among the lowest of its great limbs. Listen to the almost human
halloo, the "hoo! hohoo, hoo!" that comes out from the clustering
foliage of an ancient hemlock. It is the solemn call of the owl, as he
sits among the limbs, looking out from between the branches with his
great round grey eyes. Listen again and you will hear the voice of the
catbird, the brown thrush, the chervink, the little chickadee, the
wood robin, the blue-jay, the wood sparrow, and a hundred other
nameless birds that live and build their nests and sing among these
old woods.
But go a little nearer the lake, and you will have a concert that will
drown all these voices in its tumultuous roar.
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