20 A SUMMER BOATING TRIP 



during the night. The whip-poor-will was piping when 

 I lay down, and I still heard one when I woke up after 

 midnight. I heard the song sparrow and the kingbird 

 also, like watchers calling the hour, and several times 

 I heard the cuckoo. Indeed, I am convinced that our 

 cuckoo is to a considerable extent a night bird, and 

 that he moves about freely from tree to tree. His pecu- 

 liar guttural note, now here, now there, may be heard 

 almost any summer night, in any part of the country, 

 and occasionally his better known cuckoo call. He is 

 a great recluse by day, but seems to wander abroad 

 freely by night. 



The birds do indeed begin with the day. The farmer 

 who is in the field at work while he can yet see stars 

 catches their first matin hymns. In the longest June 

 days the robin strikes up about half past three o'clock, 

 and is quickly followed by the song sparrow, the oriole, 

 the catbird, the wren, the wood thrush, and all the rest 

 of the tuneful choir. Along the Potomac I have heard 

 the Virginia cardinal whistle so loudly and persistently 

 in the treetops above, that sleeping after four o'clock 

 was out of the question. Just before the sun is up, 

 there is a marked lull, during which, I imagine, the 

 birds are at breakfast. While building their nest, it is 

 very early in the morning that they put in their big 

 strokes; the back of their day's work is broken before 

 you have begun yours. 



A lady once asked me if there was any individuality 

 among the birds, or if those of the same kind were as 

 near alike as two peas. I was obliged to answer that 

 to the eye those of the same species were as near alike 

 as two peas, but that in their songs there were often 

 marks of originality. Caged or domesticated birds 



