1 62 Idle Days in Patagonia. 



produce agreeable sensations in the healthy : the 

 patter of rain on the forest leaves, the murmur of 

 the wind, the lowing of kine, the dash of waves on 

 the beach; and so, coming to birds, the piercing 

 tones of the sand piper, and wail of the curlew ; the 

 cries of passing migrants ; the cawing of rooks in 

 the elms, and hooting of owls, and the startling 

 scream of the jay in the wood, give us pleasure, 

 scarcely less than that produced by the set song of 

 any melodist. There is a charm in the infinite 

 variety of bird sounds heard in the forests and 

 marshes of southern South America, where birds 

 are perhaps most abundant, exceeding that of many 

 monotonously melodious voices ; the listener would 

 not willingly lose any of the indescribable sounds 

 emitted by the smaller species, nor the screams and 

 human-like calls, or solemn deep boomings and 

 drummings of the larger kinds, or even the piercing 

 shrieks A^hich may be heard miles away. Those 

 tremendous voices, that never break the quiet and 

 almost silence of an English woodland, affect us 

 like the sight of mountains, and torrents, and the 

 sound of thunder and of billows breaking on the 

 shore ; we are amazed at the boundless energy and 

 overflowing joy of wild bird life. The bird-language 

 of an English wood or orchard, made up in most 

 part of melodious tones, may be compared to a band 

 composed entirely of small wind instruments with 

 a limited range of sound, and which ^^I'oduces no 

 storms of noise, eccentric flights, and violent con- 

 trasts, nor anything to startle the listener — a sweet 



