"When I finally arrived at the conclusion that music had attracted them, I sat down and began to hum, this time with an open sound instead of a closed tone, and in a second the little creatures were out again, standing perfectly still, as if the sound gave them delight. Gradually I swelled the tone, and yet they were undisturbed until I became too bold and gave a clear, sharp, full sound, and this at once frightened them. "_I experimented in this way for more than a month, never missing my audience once_, and by this time the little creatures, grown so fat and bold as to cause serious damage, were ruthlessly caught and killed. "I heard Kate Field, about four years ago, when, as the guest of Mr. Stedman, she told several interesting stories, relate an experience of her own, wherein, one night early in her life, she had leaned against the walls of the Campanile, gray and phantom-like in the moonlight, and, singing softly to herself, was surprised at discovering several little lizards lying about on the stones, their heads held alertly in the air as if entranced by the sound of her voice. She, too, experimented with the varying sounds, and from time to time, and evidently looked back upon the experiment as one of rare interest to herself." Tree lizards will listen completely entranced to the music of a good whistler, and will allow themselves to be captured while thus inthralled. Some lizards are fairly good musicians themselves, notably the tree lizards of the East Tennessee mountains. I have repeatedly heard them singing on the slopes of Chilhowie and adjacent peaks. Burroughs writes very entertainingly of a singing lizard, or, rather, salamander: "... Approach never so cautiously the spot from which the sound proceeds and it instantly ceases, and you may watch for an hour without hearing it again. 'Is it a frog,' I said--'the small tree-frog, the piper of the marshes--repeating his spring note but little changed amid the trees?' Doubtless it is, but I must see him in the very act. So I watched and waited, but to no purpose, till one day, while bee-hunting in the woods, I heard the sound proceeding from the leaves at my feet. Keeping entirely quiet, the little musician presently emerged, and lifting himself up on a small stick, his throat palpitated, and the plaintive note again came forth. 'The queerest frog that ever I saw,' said a youth who accompanied me and whom I had enlisted to help solve the mystery. No, it was no frog or toad at all, but the small red salamander commonly called lizard."[64] [64] Gibson, _Sharp Eyes_, pp. 105, 106; quotation. The sound of the piccolo is very pleasing to these little creatures, and I have frequently collected about me as many as ten or a dozen by sounding this instrument in the still depths of a wood which I knew these salamanders frequented.