Even donkeys betray tendencies toward musical efforts, and seem to be aroused by music at least temporarily to a higher mental plane than Balaam was inclined to ascribe to his wise ass. Not all of them sing equally well, but in Arizona the donkey is known as the "desert canary." If you were to spend a few glorious days in the Hopi village of Araibi, you would hear through the still, silent night their long nasal bray or song, and you would be convinced that the term is quite appropriate. You may not exactly like the tune, but you will concede that they sing! Society is just awakening to the joy and the significance of community art. This is everywhere indicated by the great growing group of people who come together for a common music, either as a chorus or an orchestra or both. But in this field man has not yet attained such unity of communal effort as have the frogs. In the great swamps of the world myriads of them gather from miles around, conscious of one purpose, and by a marvellous understanding and co-operation create for themselves a symphony with beauties and harmonies of its own, and such as to stand unrivalled in man's musical world. In the great chorus are voices from the lowest bass of the croaking bullfrog, squatting in the marshes, to the myriads of tiny green tree tenors, between which are millions of altos, contraltos, sopranos, coloraturas and other voices not yet in our musical vocabulary. These are accompanied by all the sounds of our orchestra and innumerable others of such delicate shades and gradations as to defy the ear of man. If we listen to one of these concerts, we will quickly recognise the tones of every familiar instrument, such as the drum, pipe, horn, trombone, oboe, piccolo, 'cello, and violin. The greatest of these musical festivals directly precedes the mating season, and is a dramatic instance of a manifestation of an inner rhythm which corresponds to an external periodicity. Among the oldest traditions of the Eastern world are those of snake-charming by means of music. I have long been interested in this strange phenomenon of Nature, and in company with a brilliant young violinist visited a zoological park recently, and after securing permission from the head keeper, entered the snake-house. The violinist began by playing a few most sympathetic chords, first delicate and soft, then sad, then gay, slow or tremulous. Near us, coiled in his immense cage, was a large cobra--the snake which all legend claims is most easily influenced by music. Almost immediately after the music began, the cobra raised himself in a listening attitude, steadily gazed at us as though he were viewing the future, spread his immense hood, and slowly began to shake his head from side to side, as if he were trying to keep time to the music. As soon as the music would change, his attitude changed accordingly. Only after the music had ceased did he resume his normal position.