4 FIELD COLUMBIAN MUSEUM ORNITHOLOGY, VOL. i. 



that gradually yet steadily carried me to a higher altitude. For seven 

 hours under a burning sun along the divide between the rivers Jaina 

 and Izabel and in that distance and time not one drop of water is 

 seen. 



All along the road all through this part of the country there is 

 a considerable population, yet just where to find a. house one can 

 never tell. The road we followed is merely a well-worn path there 

 are no carts or wagon roads in San Domingo; all freighting is done 

 by pack mules, and here and there you see paths, only a little less 

 well worn, leading to this side or that. If one of these paths be fol- 

 lowed it will usually be found to terminate at some sort of human 

 habitation. 



A good many people were passed along the road but the only 

 thing characteristic about those I met was the huge pipe the women 

 all carry. It is here the women seem to be the inveterate smokers 

 and a pipe is preferred. 



After the first seven hours' ride I crossed a small stream, a tribu- 

 tary of the Izabel. After that the country becomes more broken and 

 one climbs faster. Up to this point there had been no forest and 

 trees were only seen in scattering clusters, far to the right or left in 

 direction of either the Jaina or the Izabel. Now the clumps of trees 

 marking the water course became more common and soon we entered 

 the forest, fringing the foothills of the mountains. 



I made Catare my head-quarters from January 21 to February 6 

 and later from March 2 to March 7. It is at an altitude of about 

 1,500 feet, just in the foothill of the central mountain range, north- 

 west of San Domingo City. 



During the years spent in Central America I constantly wondered 

 why any one could ever speak of the birds of the tropics as being 

 voiceless or songless ; but my experience at Catare and in San 

 Domingo in general gave me abundant solution of the problem, and 

 if the popular notion of the songlessness of birds of the tropics comes 

 from observations made in the West Indies, I can easily understand 

 how well it was founded. At Catare, where I did my first collecting, 

 the most striking peculiarity to me about the region was the utter 

 silence of the forest. I would walk for hours and scarce hear a bird 

 note. Birds were common enough, but in the semi-twilight of the 

 forest they flitted noiselessly from branch to branch, restless and 

 active, searching for their insect prey; but all the time not a note or 

 piping sound broke their silence. In the open savannas and along the 

 edges of the forest the mocking birds are almost always singing, but 

 the forest itself is silent save on those rare occasions when that 



