Next to the humming-birds the Cotingas display the gayest plumage in the American woods. They are, however, not often seen, for they lead a solitary life in the moist and shadowy forests, where they feed on the various seeds and fruits of the woods. One species is attired in burning scarlet, others in purple and blue, but they are all so splendidly adorned that it would be difficult to say which of them deserves the prize for beauty. Most of the Cotingas have no song; the nearly related snow-white Campanero or bell-bird, however, amply makes up for the deficient voice of his cousins, by the singularity and sweetness of his note. He is about the size of a jay. On his forehead rises a singular spiral tube nearly three inches long. It is jet black, dotted all over with small white feathers. It has a communication with the palate, and when filled with air looks like a spire, when empty it becomes pendulous. His note is loud and clear, like the sound of a bell. ‘In the midst of the forests,’ says Waterton, ‘generally on the dried top of an aged mora, almost out of gun reach, you will see the Campanero. No sound or song from any of the winged inhabitants of the forest causes such astonishment as his toll. With many of the feathered race he pays the common tribute of a song to early morn, and even when the meridian sun has shut in silence the mouths of almost the whole of animated nature, the Campanero still cheers the forest; you hear his toll, and then a pause for a minute; then another toll, and then a pause again, and then a toll and again a pause. Then he is silent for six or eight minutes, and then another toll, and so on. Actæon would stop in mid-chase, Maria would defer her evening song, and Orpheus himself would drop his lute to listen to him, so sweet, so novel and romantic, is the toll of the pretty snow-white Campanero.’ The Tangaras resemble our finches, though they are far more splendidly attired. Their plumage is very rich and diversified, some of them boast six separate colours; others have the blue, purple, green, and black so finely blended into each other that it would be impossible to mark their boundaries; while others again exhibit them strong, distinct and abrupt. The flight of the Tangaras is rapid, their manners lively. They live upon insects, seeds, berries, and many of them have a fine song. Among their numerous species, spread over all the warmer regions of America, the scarlet Piranga is pre-eminent for beauty, and when in the blooming thickets, along the woody river’s banks, the meridian sun shows off his plumage in all its splendour, the huntsman pauses to admire the magnificent bird, and delays his murderous aim.