CHAPTER XII. 



HOME OF THE HUMMING BIRDS. 



A flood of bird music — The razor grinder's song— Birds with ven- 

 triloquial calls— A plunge into a pool — The screen of flow- 

 ers — Evolutions in midair — Whitethroats and saber wings. 



A PERFECT flood of soiig greeted me one morning 

 about mid-April, seemingly poured forth from a 

 thousand throats: of finches, sparrows, blackbirds, 

 bluebirds, thrushes, and many more. This hosanna 

 was a welcome to the rain which, as in the North, 

 distinguishes the month of April from the other 

 months. The first scattered drops had fallen, but the 

 season of heavy rains did not begin before the month 

 of June. 



I arose before the deep shadows of night had 

 been fairly dissipated ; stars gleamed out of the sky 

 and were reflected in the still sea ; the hush of early 

 dawn was upon everything ; but before I had finished 

 my bath in the pond there burst forth a chorus of 

 sounds. The wren, the little " God bird," who, like 

 the pewee, had taken up his abode beneath my roof, 

 was the first to break the stillness, then the mocking 

 bird, followed by the flycatchers. The " mocker " 

 took upon himself the office of master of ceremonies ; 



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