120 AMERIOAN ORNITHOLOGY. 



surface of the river in which the great fair moon, well risen, was now 

 reflected from the depths. In the moonlight I tried in vain to find or 

 see the creature that was stirring the gurgling water. 



Soon its wild sweet music poured forth again. I quote from the 

 note-book. "I am able to translate some of it into English, Bobwhite, 

 Bobwhite, it says; but it belies itself, for no Bobwhite would be 

 Avhistling there at this hour, 'Wickiup, wickiup;" but probably this 

 Ijird has never seen an Indian wickiup or wigwam. 'Whew! whew! 

 >( Well, the night is growing cold). And so it goes, but as I take a 

 boat to find the bird, the music ceases and I listen in vain. 



A Night Heron croaks harshly: A Snipe flies wheezing down the 

 meadow and a Great Horned Owl hoots from the swamp. These honest 

 creatures are unmusical but intelligible: not so my invisible serenader. 



Again the strange notes burst forth. The voice seems to have the 

 quality of ventriloquism. Now close at hand; now up the shore; now 

 down; now far in air. Now comes the sound of the rushing wings of a 

 bird in flight high over the stream, but probably they are those of some 

 night-bird flying by." 



The serenade was continued with intermissions for about two hours. 

 I heard it last after eleven o'clock; but briefly and rather petulantly and 

 lessvaried than before as if the bird were sleepy, and ready to retire 

 for the night. 



The next morning, I was out bright and early. Soon the same note 

 came up from the shore, but somewhat subdued and chastened as if 

 the bird were abashed by the glare of day. Cautiously I crept to the 

 spot and was soon listening to the dulcet sounds as they came from 

 the water-brush a rod away. I searched every inch of the thicket with 

 my glass and scanned the pickerel weed and lily pads; but could see 

 nothing, though I heard faint plashing now and then. Finally I raised 

 my head slowly to look over a leaning tree-trunk. There was a 

 sudden splash as of some heavy body plunging into the stream, some 

 circling widening ripples — and that was all, I never saw the bird nor 

 heard it again. 



It looked like a case of suicide for fear of discovery. 



I have described the notes to Mr. William Brewster, whose experi- 

 ence is much more extended than mine, and he cannot suggest an 

 explanation of them. 



By elimination, we may arrive at the conclusion that the sounds were 

 produced by some kind of a rail, but I have listened to rail notes north, 

 south, east and west and have never heard anything like this. 



What was it that I heard that moon-light night on the banks of the 

 Musketaquid? 



