A DISMAL WAIL. 37 



dumpy infant had taken flight, and then secured 

 with the branchlet it was built upon. It was in 

 a young oak, not more than twelve feet from the 

 ground, occupying a perpendicular fork, where it 

 was concealed and shaded by no less than six- 

 teen twigs, standing upright, and loaded with 

 leaves. The graceful cup itself, to judge by its 

 looks, might be made of white floss silk, I 

 have no curiosity to know the actual material, 

 and is cushioned inside with downy fibres from 

 the cottonwood-tree. It is dainty enough for a 

 fairy's cradle. 



The wood-pewee, in dress and manners nearly 

 resembling his Eastern brother, 



" The pewee of the loneliest woods, 

 Sole singer in the solitudes," 



has a strange and decidedly original utterance. 

 While much louder and more continuous, it 

 lacks the sweetness of our bird's notes ; indeed, 

 it resembles in quality of tone the voice of our 

 phoebe, or his beautiful relative, the great-crested 

 flycatcher. The Westerner has a great deal to 

 say for himself. On alighting, he announces 

 the fact by a single note, which is a habit also 

 of our phoabe ; he sings the sun up in the morn- 

 ing, and he sings it down in the evening, and he 

 would be a delightful neighbor if only his voice 

 were pleasing. But there is little charm in the 

 music, for it is in truth a dismal chant, with the 



