130 IN BIRD LAND. 
get farther than the end of the first syllable. The 
song seems to be cut off short, as if the notes had 
stuck fast in the singer’s throat, or as if something 
had occurred to divert his mind from the song. 
Perhaps this hiatus is caused by the sudden appear- 
ance of an insect glancing by, which attracts the 
musician’s attention. ‘This bird usually chooses a 
dead twig or limb in the woods as a perch, on which 
he sits and sings, turning his head from side to side, 
so that no flitting moth may escape him. 
And what a persistent singer he is! He sings 
not only in the spring when other vocalists are in 
full tune, but also all summer long, never growing 
disheartened, even when the mercury rises far up 
into the nineties. What a pleasant companion he 
has been in my midsummer strolls as I have wearily 
patrolled the woods! On the sultriest August days, 
when all other birds were glad to keep mute, sitting 
on their shady perches with open mandibles and 
drooping wings, the dreamful, far-away strain of 
the wood-pewee has drifted, a welcome sound, to 
my ears through the dim aisles. He seems to be a 
friend in need. How often, when the heat has 
almost overcome me, as I pursued my daily beat, 
that song has put new vigor into my veins! When 
Mr. Lowell wrote that 
“The phoebe scarce whistles 
Once an hour to his fellow,” 
he must have been listening to a far lazier specimen 
than those with which I am acquainted. 
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