A Book on Birds 



something to do with this. Throughout 

 my whole acquaintance with him I have 

 at no time heard him utter any semblance 

 of a song. Indeed, I might just as well 

 have said ^'any semblance of a sound''; 

 for in his smooth and stealthy gliding 

 about from twig to twig, and tree to tree 

 (his every motion furtive, yet calm and 

 dignified, too) he is absolutely noiseless, 

 as far as I have been able to discover. 



And then his color-scheme also adds to 

 the weird impression he creates — although, 

 be it said in justice to him, he is never- 

 theless, after his ovv^n exceptional kind, a 

 most striking and shapel}^ fellow. It con- 

 sists of several dull, unnamable shades 

 of brown, the darkest on his fine topknot 

 or crest (which, to be exact, is neither of 

 these, but, rather, a broad though abbre- 

 viated plume) and the Hghtest upon his 

 breast and rump. 



His other colors, however, are not dull 

 or quiet by any means, but most conspic- 

 uous — from the bright yellow border across 

 the end of his tail to the brilliant carmine 



[1461 



