22 IN THE EOCKY MOUNTAINS. 



But on my first morning in the grove, what 

 was my dismay I may almost say despair 

 to find that the Western wood-pewee led the 

 matins ! Now, this bird has a peculiar voice. 

 It is loud, pervasive, and in quality of tone not 

 unlike our Eastern phosbe, lacking entirely the 

 sweet plaintiveness of our wood-pewee. A pewee 

 chorus is a droll and dismal affair. The poor 

 things do their best, no doubt, and they cannot 

 prevent the pessimistic effect it has upon us. 

 It is rhythmic, but not in the least musical, and 

 it has a weird power over the listener. This 

 morning hymn does not say, as does the robin's, 

 that life is cheerful, that another glorious day is 

 dawning. It says, " Rest is over ; another day 

 of toil is here ; come to work." It is monoto- 

 nous as a frog chorus, but there is a merry thrill 

 in the notes of the amphibian which are entirely 

 wanting in the song. If it were not for the 

 light-hearted tremolo of the chewink thrown in 

 now and then, and the loud, cheery ditty of the 

 summer yellow-bird, who begins soon after the 

 pewee, one would be almost superstitious about 

 so unnatural a greeting to the new day. The 

 evening call of the bird is different. He will 

 sit far up on a dead twig of an old pine-tree, 

 and utter a series of four notes, something like 

 " do, mi, mi, do," repeating them without paus- 

 ing till it is too dark to see him, all the time 



