WAITING FOR THE MUSIC 109 



I should love to walk through the hammock and 

 hear them all whistling together, a chorus a good 

 mile in length and no rod without a bird. 



Loggerhead shrikes are paired or pairing. 

 The other day I saw one fly up from the ground 

 and feed another perched on a telegraph wire. 

 He was doing no more than was meet, her cool- 

 appearing, unresponsive manner seemed to say. 

 Mockingbirds, also, though singing little, are be- 

 ginning to manifest symptoms of jealousy. If all 

 the mockers and all the cardinals should break 

 into voice at once, the air itself would hardly 

 contain the music. 



Two pileated woodpeckers that I see every 

 few days at a particular spot in the hammock 

 have already come to an understanding, or so I 

 fancy from certain bits of conduct that I have 

 been privileged to witness. This morning I stood 

 watching the female as she hammered to pieces 

 a decayed branch close by me, when all at once 

 her mate called in the distance. Instantly she 

 held up her head, as much as to say, " Hark ! 

 Was that he ? " and the next moment she was 

 gone. Then I heard low conversational notes, 

 followed presently by loud drumming on a reso- 

 nant stub or branch. I thought of what I have 

 heard preachers say, that Heaven is a state, not 

 a place. 



