294 AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 



the rasping alarm-call of the old birds in time of peril, the youngsters 

 would rush up to him in the greatest terror, though no enemy was in 

 sight, and, squatting at his feet, would endeavor to conceal themselves 

 by thrusting their heads and long necks up his trousers. This would 

 seem to prove the heridity had infused into the younglings the element 

 of fear as soon as they heard the warning call of their parents, and that 

 it was so strongly intrenched in their nature as to respond even when 

 they had never heard the call of their real parents. 



One of the most characteristic birds of the pampas is the crested 

 sceamer, called "chakar" in the vernacular. It is the size of a swan 

 and its shape and appearance are those of a lapwing, save that it has 

 a powerful curved gallinaceous beak. Its name, screamer, is given it 

 on account of its habit of screaming loudly at intervals much like the 

 domestic peacock of the north; but, in spite of this disagreeable vocal 

 out-burst, the bird has real musical talent. Both the male and the 

 female sing, often rendering a striking duet, the two parts differing 

 from each other, but fusing together in a kind of harmony. The cha- 

 kar soften gather in large flocks, and engage in concert singing that is 

 marvellous to hear. Suppose we let Dr. Hudson describe one or two 

 of these concerts in his own language. 



There is something strangely impressive in these spontaneous out- 

 bursts of melody so powerful from one of these large flocks, and, though 

 accustomed to hearing these birds from childhood, I have often been 

 astonished at some new effect produced by a large multitude singing 

 under certain conditions. Travelling alone one summer day, I came at 

 noon to a lake on the pampas called Kakel— a sheet of water narrow 

 enough for one to see across. Chakars in countless numbers were 

 gathered along its shores, but they were all ranged in well-defined 

 flocks, averaging about five hundred birds in each flock. These flocks 

 seemed to extend all around the lake, and had probably been driven by 

 the drought from all the plains around this spot. Presently one flock 

 near me began singing, and continued their powerful chant for three or 

 four minutes; when they ceased, the next flock took up the strains, and 

 after it the next, and so on until the notes of the flocks on the opposite 

 shore came floating strong and clear across the water: then passed away, 

 growing fainter and fainter, until once more the sound approached me 

 traveling around to my side again. The effect was very curious, and I 

 was astonished at the orderly way with which each flock awaited its 

 turn to sing, instead of a general outburst taking place after the first 

 flock had given the signal. 



"On another occasion I was still more impressed, for here the largest 

 number of of birds I have ever found congregated at one place all sang 



