s beloved solitude by inhabiting
the craters of extinct volcanoes.

In sprightliness of manner this bird of solitude reminds one of the
catbird, whom he also greatly resembles in looks. He has the
quick-darting movements of the flycatchers, and at the same time a
strange, preoccupied air, that seems to make him oblivious of people,
although they may be within a few feet of him.

Passing one of these peculiarly lonely places one day in his wanderings,
Mr. Ober heard the note of the siffleur close at hand. He crept
cautiously through the trees until he saw the bird, who had ceased
singing, and was eating berries from a tall shrub, clinging to its
hanging branches.

He soon finished his repast, flew to a dead branch, plumed his feathers,
and after a few moments resumed his singing. He uttered a few trills of
a rare musical quality that held his listener spellbound, then lightly
flew to another branch overhanging the little ravine, at the bottom of
which a babbling brook made music,--"not so liquid as siffleurs,"--says
the historian. Here a few more strains fell from him, then he flitted to
a swinging vine, repeated his bewitching note, and in a moment
disappeared. The tones, says Mr. Ober, "are thrilling with solemn music
and indescribably impressive." They have also a ventriloquial quality,
and many tunes had he vainly searched for the singer, until a note of
another sort betrayed his position, which was sometimes almost over the
observer's head.

One morning a captive siffleur was dragged out of the trousers pocket of
one of his "ragged brigade" and presented to the chronicler. These
boys, whose help was indispensable to the collector, were a study in
themselves. They were familiar with the habits, songs, and food of every
bird in the woods, as well as expert in imitating the note of each one,
and by this means drawing him to the fatal limed twigs. The interesting
birds of the mountains, the siffleur, the trembleur, and others, they
attracted by a peculiar hissing noise.

[Sidenote: _THE BIRD INSULTED._]

The bird brought to Mr. Ober had been caught by bird-lime and was
unhurt, but greatly mortified and insulted by his treatment. He seemed
at first dazed, and utterly silent. But after a while he gave utterance
to a cry of distress, which he repeated at intervals on that first
morning, particularly when people came too near him. Before night he
evidently realized the uselessness of protests, and became silent. He