WAITING FOR THE MUSIC 107 



so to speak, an " object of interest," like the 

 gumbo-limbos, the air-plants, and the blossoming 

 lime trees. Three times, at least, I have over- 

 heard a driver describing me to his fares as " the 

 man who comes down through this hanunock 

 eoery day" — with strong emphasis on the last 

 two words. One passenger was good enough to 

 surmise, quite audibly, that I might be a botanist, 

 while another loudly proclaimed his belief that 

 I must be " a sort of a bird fiend." So much 

 for being useful in one's day and generation. 

 The tourist mind — Kke the tourist stomach — 

 abhors a vacuum. It must have something to 

 browse upon. And the drivers know it. It is a 

 bad day for the cow when she loses her cud. 



In sober truth the hammock is weU worth a 

 daily visit ; and almost as often as I am here it 

 comes over me what a glorious concert haU it will 

 be when aU. these thousands of birds find their 

 voices, if they ever do ; for it may be, I know, 

 that the great majority will start on their jour- 

 ney northward before that happy day arrives. 

 Here — to name only some of the more common 

 species — here are mockingbirds, catbirds, cardi- 

 nals, house wrens, Carolina wrens, ruby-crowned 

 kinglets, palm warblers, myrtle warblers, parula 

 warblers, prairie warblers, black-and-white war- 

 blers, Florida yellow-throats, oven-birds, blue- 



