THE WOOD-PEWEE. nar 
Most birds fall occasionally into a kind of ecstasy 
of song, and the wood-pewee is no exception. One 
evening, after it had grown almost dark, a pewee 
flew out into the air directly above my head from 
a tree by the wayside, and began to sing in a per- 
fect transport as he wheeled about; then he swung 
back into the tree, keeping up his song in a con- 
tinuous strain, and in sweet, half-caressing tones, 
until finally it died away, as if the bird had fallen 
into a doze during his vocal recital. I lingered 
about for some time, but he did not sing again. 
Why should he repeat his good-night song? 
I have frequently heard young pewees in mid- 
summer singing in a continuous way, instead of 
whistling the intermittent song of their elders. It 
sounds very droll, giving you the impression that 
the little neophyte has begun to turn the crank of 
his music-box and can’t stop. His voice is quite 
sweet, but his execution is very crude. Wait, 
however, until he is eight or nine months older, 
and he will show you what a winged Orpheus can 
do. My notes say that on the thirtieth of July, 
1891, I heard a “ pewee’s quaint, prolonged whistle, 
interlarded with his ordinary notes.” Thus it will 
be seen that he is a somewhat versatile songster, 
proving the poet’s lines half true and half untrue : — 
“The birds but repeat without ending 
The same old traditional notes, 
Which some, by more happily blending, 
Seem to make over new in their throats.” 
