WAITING FOR THE MUSIC 



I AM impatient for the concert to begin. It is 

 the 7th of February. For three weeks I have 

 been in Miami ; birds are plentiful ; the country, 

 one may almost say, is full of them ; the weather, 

 mostly a few shades too warm for a pedestrian's 

 comfort, seems to be all that birds could wish ; 

 but thus far there has been scarcely a sign of the 

 grand vernal awakening. Warm or cold, for the 

 birds it is still winter. Phoebes, to be sure, have 

 sung ever since my arrival, I cannot help won- 

 dering why ; and the same is true of white-eyed 

 vireos. It is impossible to walk through the ham- 

 mock woods without getting somewhat more than 

 one's fill of their saucily emphatic deliverances. 

 For aught I can see, they are quite as loqua- 

 cious now as they will be two or three months 

 hence. Once in a while, hardly of tener than once 

 a week, I should say, I have heard a mocking- 

 bird letting himself loose, and rather more fre- 

 quently, especially during the last few days, 

 cardinal grosbeaks have sweetened the air with 

 their whistle ; but for much the greater part the 

 birds are dumb. On the morning of February 1, 



