62 EVERYDAY BIRDS 
The bird rises gradually to a considerable height, 
and presently drops like a stone almost to the 
ground. At the last moment it arrests itself sud- 
denly, and then is heard a very peculiar “ boom- 
ing” noise, whether produced by the wings or 
by the voice, I will not presume to say. 
The most attractive feature of the nighthawk, 
to my eye, is its beautiful and peculiar fight — 
a marvel of ease and grace, and sufficient to dis- 
tinguish it at a glance from every other New 
England bird. It is a creature of the upper air, 
never skimming the ground, so far as I know, 
and as it passes overhead you may easily see the 
large white patch in the middle of each long 
wing —a beauty spot, by the way, which is 
common to both sexes, and is wanting in the 
whip-poor-will. 
The whip-poor-will’s chief distinction is its 
song —a song by itself, and familiar to every 
one. Some people call it mournful, and I fear 
there are still a few superstitious souls who listen 
to it with a kind of trembling. I have heard of 
the bird’s being shot because the inhabitants of a 
house could not bear its doleful and boding ery, 
as they were pleased to consider it. To my ears 
it is sweet music. I take many an evening stroll 
on purpose to enjoy it, and am perennially thank- 
ful to Audubon for saying that he found the 

