All the females I found and watched behaved as my captive had done. They were no more active, and preferred to be at a good height above the {151} ground--eighteen inches or two feet--when quietly listening. One day I watched one perched on the topmost spray of a heath-bush in her listening attitude: clouds came over the sun, and the wind grew colder and stronger, and the singers ceased singing. And at last, finding that the silence continued, and doubtless feeling uncomfortable on that spray where the wind blew on and swayed her about, she slowly climbed down and settled herself in a horizontal position on the sheltered side of the plant; and when the sun broke out and shone on her she tipped over on one side, stretched her hind legs out, and rested motionless in that position, exactly like a fowl lying in her dusting-place luxuriating in the heat. But at last, despite that air of repose which is her chief characteristic, she is so wrought upon by that perpetual, shrill, irresistible music that she can no longer endure to sit still, but is drawn to it. She goes to her charmers, one may say, to remind them by her presence that the minstrelsy in which they are so absorbed is not itself an end but a means. Brisk or lively she cannot be, but it is plain that when she follows up or settles herself down near her forgetful knights, she is greatly excited, and waiting to be taken in marriage. That she distinguishes one singer above others, or exercises "selection" in the Darwinian sense, seems unlikely: it strikes one, on the contrary, that having so long suffered neglect she is only too willing to be claimed by any one of them. And this is just what they decline to {152} do--for some time, at any rate. Again and again I have observed when the female had followed and placed herself close to a couple of these rival musicians, that they took not the least notice of her; and that when, in the course of the alarums and excursions, one of them found himself close to her, the sight of her appeared to disconcert him, and he made all haste to get away from her. It looked to human eyes as if her large portly figure had not corresponded to his ideal, and had even moved him to repugnance. But the Ann of Cleves in a green gown is an exceedingly patient person, and very persistent, and though often denied, she will not be denied, or take No for an answer. But it is altogether a curious business, for not only is the wooing process reversed, as many think it is in the cuckoo, but it lasts an unconscionable time in a creature whose life, in the perfect stage, is limited to a season. But the female _viridissima_ has not the power and swiftness of that feathered lady who boldly pursues her singer (in love with nothing but his own voice), and compels him to take her. {153} CHAPTER VIII