248 HOMING WITH THE BIRDS 



take them to his location, which he hugs very 

 closely. He is one of the latest birds to arrive, 

 nests but once with me, and although he comes 

 late he immediately takes a cold, which persists 

 throughout the season. The manner of his song 

 suggests the robin, with nothing like the robin's 

 cheerily inflected tones. The tanager is a serene, 

 lazy bird alike in lovemaking, nesting, paternity, 

 and above all in his song. He never voices his 

 utterances with a touch of the joy of the song 

 sparrow or the goldfinch, and as for the emphasis 

 of the cardinal, there is no such vim in his system. 

 I know no combination of syllables that will give 

 an idea of his song, for to reproduce his notes a 

 human being would be compelled to hum and 

 whistle at the same time. Any syllabication 

 that could be strung together would abound in 

 r's and suggest Spanish rather than pure Ameri- 

 can. 



In all my experience afield, no one bird, which I 

 might have expected to meet frequently, has been 

 so scarce with me as the cedar waxwing, which I 

 have met only once while the bird was on a poke- 

 berry debauch. His nest I never have found. I 

 knew him well in my childhood. He was one of 

 the most frequent feeders on our cherry trees, and 

 I once had a living specimen, slightly winged, in 

 my fingers, and had the privilege of minutely 

 examining the soft, exquisitely shaded feathers 

 of his back and breast — not grey, not brown, not 



