130 IN BIRD LAND. 



get farther than the end of the first syllable. The 

 song seems to be cut off short, as if the notes had 

 stuck fast in the singer's throat, or as if something 

 had occurred to divert his mind from the song. 

 Perhaps this hiatus is caused by the sudden appear- 

 ance of an insect glancing by, which attracts the 

 musician's attention. This bird usually chooses a 

 dead twig or limb in the woods as a perch, on which 

 he sits and sings, turning his head from side to side, 

 so that no flitting moth may escape him. 



And what a persistent singer he is ! He sings 

 not only in the spring when other vocalists are in 

 full tune, but also all summer long, never growing 

 disheartened, even when the mercury rises far up 

 into the nineties. What a pleasant companion he 

 has been in my midsummer strolls as I have wearily 

 patrolled the woods 1 On the sultriest August days, 

 when all other birds were glad to keep mute, sitting 

 on their shady perches with open mandibles and 

 drooping wings, the dreamful, far-away strain of 

 the wood-pewee has drifted, a welcome sound, to 

 my ears through the dim aisles. He seems to be a 

 friend in need. How often, when the heat has 

 almost overcome me, as I pursued my daily beat, 

 that song has put new vigor into my veins ! When 

 Mr. Lowell wrote that 



"The phcebe scarce whistles 

 Once an hour to his fellow," 



he must have been listening to a far lazier specimen 

 than those with which I am acquainted. 



