THE SYMPHONY OF VOICES 



manner of flying to and fro. The Gaturamo, with yellow breast and 

 a yellow patch on the forehead, also belongs to this group. Unfor- 

 tunately I never heard it sing, although a pair had built a nest on 

 a palm-leaf in the monastery garden. 



The olive-green Greenlets, and the Sanha9us, of which I have 

 already spoken, are singing-birds, and so are the delightful blue Sahys 

 or Sugar-birds, which bear a resemblance to the Humming-birds 

 (Plate 28) . Of these birds the useful Sebito (which is not, however, 

 blue) has been mentioned more than once. Its song is like that of 

 the Goldfinch : zip zip zip zip zip-pfuit. Often one hears only the 

 ringing finale. 



There are singers of the highest rank among the Finches, and the 

 Pintasilgo, a yellow Siskin with black head and wings, is often kept 

 as a cage-bird for the sake of its song. There are in Brazil quite a 

 number of different species of finch. They play an important part 

 in the bird-life of the country, but are not easily seen, as they are 

 given to settling on the meadows and picking the seed from the 

 haulms of grasses, and on such occasions they alway join together 

 in flocks. The Brazilians call the most numerous of these finches, 

 a small grey bird with a black head and a black spot on its white 

 throat, Papa capim, that is, "the Grass-eater," while another grey, 

 white-bellied finch, which is distinguished by a strikingly massive 

 pink beak, is known as the Redbeak. This bird has a penetrating 

 plaintive call : 



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Another cries Curio, curio in a fine whistling tone ; others sing a 

 whole descending scale, like the European Wood-wren ; and all these 

 voices together swell to a delightful concert, which grows louder 

 as the sun nears the horizon. In March, in the monastery garden, 

 I heard this attractive music every evening; Nature was growing 

 green after a long spell of drought ; a cool breeze was springing up, 

 and all things were refreshed by the spring-like atmosphere. With 

 a light heart I strode through the prosperous landscape, and came 

 to a standstill before a bush from which a gay finch-like song was 

 ringing. High on the topmost twig sat the little "Gaboclinho," the 

 "Little Indian." This pretty finch has the complexion of an Indian, 

 with dark wings and a dark cap, which looks like a head of hair. 

 The song of this brown-headed bird is delightful ; it begins with a 



R 257 



