As one moves quietly along the narrow lanes, enclosed on both sides by walls of trees, the lofty tops of which form a leafy vault overhead, he cannot fail to be impressed with the great breathless silence of the forest. The gloomy solitude seems pregnant with mysterious forces that draw the thoughts of the lonely wayfarer to far-off regions of blissful oblivion. Then, suddenly, a low, wailing cry of anguish rising in tremulous crescendo, but with liquid smoothness, smites the wanderer’s revery and brings him back to earth with palpitating heart and throbbing pulses; the whinny rapidly decreases in volume and dies with a few short sighs. “Something, perhaps the combination of all these, makes one feel as if he had been caught with his soul naked in his hands; when, in the midst of subdued and chastened revery, this spirit voice takes the words from his tongue and expresses so perfectly all the mystery, romance, and tragedy that the struggling, parasite-ridden forest diffuses through the damp shade.” It is the voice of the forest tinamou. The notes of several species of ant-thrush (_Grallaria_ and _Chamæza_) are remarkable for their quality and even beauty. One of them has a peculiar call resembling the words _compra pan_ (buy bread), and by this name it is known among the natives of Colombia. Another gives a very good imitation of a moon whistle, the song lasting fifty seconds at times, without the slightest intermission. These birds are very long-legged, almost tailless, and obscurely colored above; the breast is frequently streaked. They spend their entire lives in the damp gloom of the forest floor, and although the song may come from but a few feet away, it is impossible to get even the briefest glimpse of the bird in ninety-five per cent of the cases where it is heard.