pencil were mine; for the flight of the sea-mew is not more impossible
to us than the power to picture forth the image of Nature in our souls,
when she reveals herself in one of those "special moments" which have
"special grace" in situations where her wild beauty has never been
spoiled by man.

At other hours and seasons the general aspect of the plain is
monotonous, and in spite of the unobstructed view, and the unfailing
verdure and sunshine, somewhat melancholy, although never sombre: and
doubtless the depressed and melancholy feeling the pampa inspires in
those who are unfamiliar with it is due in a great measure to the
paucity of life, and to the profound silence. The wind, as may well be
imagined on that extensive level area, is seldom at rest; there, as in
the forest, it is a "bard of many breathings," and the strings it
breathes upon give out an endless variety of sorrowful sounds, from the
sharp fitful sibilations of the dry wiry grasses on the barren places,
to the long mysterious moans that swell and die in the tall polished
rushes of the marsh. It is also curious to note that with a few
exceptions the resident birds are comparatively very silent, even those
belonging to groups which elsewhere are highly loquacious. The reason of
this is not far to seek. In woods and thickets, where birds abound
most, they are continually losing sight of each other, and are only
prevented from scattering by calling often; while the muffling effect on
sound of the close foliage, to' which may be added a spirit of emulation
where many voices are heard, incites most species, especially those that
are social, to exert their voices to the utmost pitch in singing,
calling, and screaming. On the open pampas, birds, which are not
compelled to live concealed on the surface, can see each other at long
distances, and perpetual calling is not needful: moreover, in that still
atmosphere sound travels far. As a rule their voices are strangely