SONG OF THE KINGBIRD. 15 



has not arisen from his ; when the air is sweet 

 and fresh, and as free from the dust of man's 

 coming and going as if his tumults did not exist. 

 It was so still that the flit of a wing was almost 

 startling. The water lapped softly against the 

 shore; but who can 



" Write in a book the morning's prime, 

 Or match with words that tender sky " ? 



The song that had called me up was a sweet 

 though simple strain, and it was repeated every 

 morning while his mate was separated from him 

 by her nest duties. I can find no mention of it 

 in books, but I had many opportunities to study 

 it, and thus it was. It began with a low king- 

 bird u Kr-r-r" (or rolling sound impossible to 

 express by letters), without which I should not 

 have identified it at first, and it ended with a 

 very sweet call of two notes, five tones apart, 

 the lower first, after a manner suggestive of the 

 phoebe something like this: " Kr-r-r-r-r-ree- 

 be ! Kr-r-r-r-r-ree-be ! " In the outset, and I 

 think I heard the very first attempt, it resem- 

 bled the initial efforts of cage -birds, when 

 spring tunes their throats. The notes seemed 

 hard to get out; they were weak, uncertain, 

 fluttering, as if the singer were practicing some- 

 thing quite new. But as the days went by they 

 grew strong and assured, and at last were a joy- 

 ous and loud morning greeting. I don't know 



