NOTE AND SONG OF THE BIRDS. 437 



whilst here, there is nothing more dazzling than our ruby-crested 

 humming-bird. On the one hand, the metal, on the other, the 

 gem, reflects the light, 



Let us acknowledge, nevertheless, that this luxuriousness does 

 not speak to the imagination, does not reach the heart, does not 

 move it. Our admiration is kept alive, but we yet commune 

 with this world, which it is so sweet to forget in the forest recess, 

 whilst the ear imbibes the plaintive notes of the nightingale ! 



Our forests are not, however, altogether silent, nor our copses 

 either. Often in the depth of our woods, our attention is awakened 

 by sound which reminds us of those of a bell. Hark ! those two 

 or three notes loudly and several times repeated, are those of the 

 averano, calling forth its mate from the summit of some tree tower- 

 ing to the clouds. The metallic tone, and the ampleness of 

 that bird's call, produce a complete illusion ; it resembles the toll 

 of a far ringing bell ; wherefore, the Spaniards have given it the 

 name of campanero, or bell-ringer. It perches chiefly on trees 

 which clothe the mountain-sides, and the sound of its voice re- 

 echoed by the adjoining mountains, so intermingle, that it 

 becomes difficult to find out precisely the spot occupied by the 

 bird itself. This, though a purely physical effect, the vulgar 

 assigns to the instinct of the averano, which thus modifies its note, 

 in order the better to conceal its retreat. 



Here, as elsewhere, our doves pour forth their tender moan, 

 thus rendering still more melancholy the stillness of our woods : 

 one of them particularly, the partridge, imparts to its cooing the 

 impress of sadness ; it resembles the complaint of suffering 

 humanity, so complete is the illusion. 



The early morn is welcomed by the qu'est-ce-qui-dit (Tyrannus 

 Pitanga) , whose song, or rather cry, though containing nothing of 

 melody, yet rings in sounds of pleasantness around our dwellings. 

 This cry is clear, and is answered by the voices of several others 

 of these birds, which are the better heard, as they perch at the 

 extremity of some branch. Sometimes the united notes become 

 a regular uproar, though far from being unpleasant. We hear, 

 without attending to them, the twittering of other smaller birds 

 that also welcome the dawning light. But our attention is still 

 attracted by the gay tumult of the qu'est-ce-qui-dit ; there is a 

 cheerfulness in their cry, and man is never more disposed to be 

 cheerful than in the morning. 



