126 Idle Days in Patagonia. 



with wild pathos, are heard from the leafless willows 

 fringing the river. Meanwhile, in the bosky up- 

 lands, one hears the songs of many passerine 

 species; and always amongst them, with lively 

 hurried notes, the black-headed Magellamc siskin. 

 The scarlet-breasted or military starling sings on 

 the coldest days and during the most boisterous 

 weather : nor can the rainiest sky cheat the grey 

 finches, Diuca minor, of their morning and evening 

 hymns, sung by many individuals in joyous concert. 

 The common mocking-bird is still more indefatig- 

 able, and sheltering himself from the cold blast 

 continues till after dark warbling out snatches of 

 song from his inexhaustible repertory; his own 

 music being apparently necessary as food and air 

 to his existence. 



Warm lovely days succeeded the snowfall. Rising 

 each morning I could reverently exclaim with the 

 human singer, 



O gift of G-od ! perfect day ! 

 Whereon should no man work but play. 



Days windless and serene to their very end, bright 

 with a cloudless sky, and sunshine sweet and 

 pleasant to behold, making the grey solitudes smile 

 as if conscious of the heavenly influence. It is a 

 common saying in this country that "once in a 

 hundred years, a man dies in Patagonia." I do 

 not think any other region of the globe can boast 

 of a saying to equal that ; though it has been ill- 

 naturedly suggested that the proverb might owe its 



