I have thus given partial descriptions of four of the principal tribes of Tropical Birds. I hope the reader has not been so wearied that he will not kindly suffer me to draw this article to a close by a brief notice of those two birds most remarkable for their peculiar notes. The one pours forth a stream of rich melody, which surpasses the far-famed song of the nightingale, and is, likewise, celebrated for its peculiar power of imitating the tones of almost every fellow-songster. The other utters only one sound, but so strange and solemn as to inspire the mind of the hearer with a religious awe. The natural music of the one is as gay, cheerful and enlivening as that of the other is mournful and soul-subduing. The first to which I allude is the Matthews of the woods, THE MOCKING-BIRD. This species abound in all parts of the Western Indies; they are found in great numbers near the sea-shore. From the trees which grow on the beaches float their rich songs, more melodious than strains of flute, or bugle, or any “cunningly devised instrument;” and, in mellowness, in modulation and gradation, in extent of compass and rapidity and brilliancy of execution, outrivalling the most magnificent bravuras of a Sontag or a Malibran. When confined in cages and brought to our cold climate, for the amusement of man, the bird loses, in the loneliness of its captivity, half the richness of its voice. Though it delights to mimic other plumed minstrels, this astonishing faculty is feeble, in its most miraculous exhibition, when compared with its own delicious song; but he who would listen to it in its perfection, must go to those regions where the great magnolia shoots up its majestic trunk, covered with evergreen leaves, and decorated with a thousand flowers, where the forests and fields are buried in blossoms of every hue, and where the golden orange decorates the gardens and the groves. The bird whose note is so melancholy is called by the Indians campanero; by the Spaniards arapongo or guirapongo, and by the English the bell-bird. It is extremely rare. I was so fortunate as to see a single specimen. It is of about the size of a Barbary dove, but more gracefully shaped, with a larger head. It is of a snowy whiteness. From the forehead there rises a spiral tube of about a bodkin’s length. This tube, it is said, is raised and depressed at pleasure; it is black, dotted with white feathers, and, as it is hollow, and communicates with the palate, it is probably elevated when filled with air, and becomes pendulous when empty. That strange sound, for which it is remarkable, is probably produced by the raising and depressing of this tube. It resembles the tolling of a bell, and is very loud and distinct. It is heard morning and evening in the woods, and one might fancy its toll to proceed from some hidden convent, calling to matins and vespers.