the Merganser's part may be the more readily comprehended by one who has observed how a Cormorant, when it takes wing from a harbor stake in calm weather, is obliged to 'wet its tail,' as the fishermen say, before it can get fairly

under way.

Several times we tried the experiment of leaving the camera set close to the nest, with a covering of green branches, and with a long thread attached to the shutter. Upon one such occasion, I was drifting in a rowboat out on the lake, in order to observe the bird's return. Presently I saw her come flying in straight toward the bank, and rise to a level with its top; but, at the last instant before alighting, she stopped in mid-air and hovered for a moment or two almost in the manner of a Kingfisher. As if not satisfied with the appearances about the nest, she turned and came to rest offshore. It was not long, however, before she winged her way in again, and this time alighted on the bank beside the nest. I felt safe in concluding that she had no land-trail leading to her home under the arborvitæ.

We were dismayed, one morning, to discover that both bird and eggs had disappeared from sight; but a little closer investigation of the apparently empty nest revealed that she had merely arranged a neat covering of down over the eggs, before setting out for a fishing-trip on the lake. One would hardly expect an instinct for concealing the eggs in such a way to have been developed in a species that typically nests in holes; in the present case, however, the device both served what was probably its original purpose in preventing the eggs. from becoming chilled during the bird's absence, and also kept them safe from the greedy eyes of Crows and Gulls.

The male not only failed to share in the incubation, but did not even come into sight during our stay; and, as appeared later, he probably manifested no interest in the welfare of the young.

I am much indebted to the warden for the use of the careful notes which he made on this Merganser at various times during a period of more than seven weeks. The following extracts (which have been freely paraphrased) make evident the very long period of incubation, and also touch upon one or two points of interest in regard to the development of the young and the mother's care of them. "On June 16, a nest with five eggs was discovered on House Island. Four of the five eggs had hatched by July 14. No further observations were made on the Merganser until July 18, when she was seen with the four young on the south shore of House Island. The mother was very timid, and swam rapidly out into the lake, diving often, while the young seemed to run over the water. They were noticed on several different dates thereafter, being finally seen on August 5 near High Island; the young then dove with the mother."

Impressions of the Voices of Tropical Birds

By LOUIS AGASSIZ FUERTES

Illustrated by the Author

FIFTH PAPER.-TOUCANS, CUCKOOS, TROGONS, MOTMOTS, AND THEIR ALLIES

T

HE principal sensation one gets in the tropical forest is the mystery of

the unknown voices. Many of these remain forever mysteries unless one stays long and seeks diligently. I am very sure that many sounds I now tentatively attribute to certain birds really belong to others, though several are among the striking sounds.

The Toucans are all noisy birds, and for the most part they are all very boldly marked with strongly contrasting colors, all but the small green members of the genus Aulacorhamphus being brightly dashed with black, yellow, red, white or blue, with bills as bizarre as they are huge. Andigena is commonly called the "Siete-color”-seven color-from his Joseph's coat of black, blue, red, yellow, chestnut, green, and white. Pteroglossus, as an entire group, is garbed in the most strikingly contrasting patterns of black, yellow, red, and green, with bills of enormous relative size and painted like a barber's pole. Rhamphastos, containing the biggest of all Toucans, with beaks like elongated lobster-claws, of all imaginable and many unimaginable designs in black and yellow, white, red, blue, green, or orange, are themselves principally black, trimmed with a yellow or white throat and breast, and lesser patches of red and white or yellow at the base of the tail. One would naturally suppose that with these flashy colors and their noisy habits and large size, Toucans would be among the easiest of birds to find; but this is ar from the case. I think we all found them to be as hard to locate, after their calls had given us their general whereabouts, as any of the birds we encountered. The little green snarlers of the genus Aulacorhamphus, whose harsh voice seemed to me to sound like the slow tearing of a yard of oil-cloth, were in many places quite common; but only those whose movements disclosed them ever fell into our hands, for it was about hopeless to discover them when they were sitting quiet among the leafage. The blue-breasted group, Andigena, we encountered only once or twice. The only one I saw I got from the steep trail in the Central Andes, and it was to the rattling accompaniment of horns of some fifty packoxen we were passing on the narrow road. The excitement the shot caused among the startled beasts gave me other things to think of, at the moment, and I do not now remember whether my "siete-color" had a voice or not. When I finally retrieved him, he was some forty yards or more down the steep and tangled mountain-side. In this connection, it may not be out of place to offer one suggestion in explanation of the great difficulty of locating these large and apparently gaudily colored birds in the tropical woods, and in retrieving them when shot.

To our northern eyes, used only to green leaves seldom larger than our hand,

the extravagant wealth of size, form and color in tropical vegetation offers quite as much wonderment and occupation as do the birds themselves; and here we have a diversion of the attention, however unconscious it may be, that certainly has its effect. Added to this, there are actual variations in the accustomed color of the foliage that repeat with greatest suggestiveness any red, yellow, blue, green, orange, or other color, that may be present on a bird. No Toucan's throat is yellower than the light shining through a thin leaf, and when leaf-forms are further complicated like those of the Dendrophilum creepers, by having great holes that let through patches of the dark background or the blue sky, no black-patched Toucan in the foreground looks more velvety than do these leaf-interstices. As for the bizarre bills, they only serve to make it harder; for they bear no resemblance to bill or bird, and simply merge their brilliancy with that of the whole picture they sit in. I don't know how many times I have searched and searched and scrutinized, to find the author of some raucous carping, only to see one of the large Toucans burst away from a perch in plain sight, where he had been all the time. This has happened to me so frequently that I am sure other students must have had the same experience. Perched on a dead stub above the sky line, Toucans, like everything else, are conspicuous in the extreme; sitting quietly within the shade of the forest cover, however varied their patchwork coat, they melt tantalizingly into their setting.

The big, black Toucans of Rhamphastos are generally called by the natives Dios te de or Dios te ve-meaning God will give to you, or God sees you. This is not a confession of faith on the part of the simple native, but a free and lilting transcription of the bird's call. It gives the rhythm and general shape of the sound fairly well. I could analyze it a little more closely by calling it a loud, hoarse whistle, with the words Tios-to-to or Tios, to, to, to. It has something of the queer quality of a Yellow-billed Cuckoo's song, only, of course, it is much larger and louder. R. tocard is the "Dios te de;" but the name fairly well fits, and is generally applied, to the whole group of heavy-billed Toucans.

The only other group we encountered was Pteroglossus, the Aracari Toucans. These are small Toucans, all joints and angles, much given to going around in noisy troops, like Jays. Skilful and jerky acrobats, they are the very extreme of bow-legged angularity. Curious as Jays, they jerk and perk their way up into the branches of some dead tree, their great clumsy beaks and thin pointed tails complementing each other at odd angles. Toucans are all great tail-jerkers, and the Aracaris the most switchy of all. Their harsh mobbing-cries recall some similar sounds made by Jays, but are even louder and much more prolonged. Both are a great nuisance to the hunter, as they follow endlessly, their curious prying screeches and squawks effectually chasing out all the birds requiring more finesse in their approach. I should call their most characteristic noise a rattling, throaty squawk. In any case, it will not take a green hunter long to identify these birds, as they are restless and their

motion will soon catch the eye. I strongly suspect all the Toucans of the habit and ability to slip noiselessly and rapidly away, in case their curiosity is satisfied or their fear aroused. They are capable of making long leaps from branch to branch with their wings closed, like Jays and Cuckoos, only more so. What with their looks, their noises, and their actions, no group of birds has more amusing and interesting new sensations to offer than the Toucans.

The family of Cuckoos has some very interesting developments in the American Tropics. The little Four-wing-Diplopterus-heard in the sunny river-bottoms and lower brushy slopes-such places as a Brown Thrasher

would affect has perhaps the most insistent voice in his habitat. The commonest is an ascending couplet of notes a semitone apart: E, F. This is a sharp, piercing whistle, that gets to be as much a part of the shimmering landscape as a Hyla's notes do of a northern meadow-bog in March. Indeed, the Fourwing's fuller song, which is a long, piercing note, followed after a short pause by an ascending series of shorter notes, awoke a strangely familiar chord, which I afterward attached to the very similar pond-toad call at home. The name Four-wing arises from the curious over-development of the false-wing, or thumb plumes, which in this queer little bird form a sharply defined and separately distensible fan of black, which the bird displays with a curious ducking motion.

The larger brown Cuckoos of the genus Piaya, which the natives rather aptly call 'squirrel birds,' from their color and the slippery way they glide