56 WAKE-ROBIN 



know no stronger contrast in nature. I almost feai 

 he will kindle the dry limb on which he alights. 

 He is quite a solitary bird, and in this section seems 

 to prefer the high, remote woods, even going quite 

 to the mountain's top. Indeed, the event of my 

 last visit to the mountain was meeting one of these 

 brilliant creatures near the summit, in full song. 

 The breeze carried the notes far and wide. He 

 seemed to enjoy the elevation, and I imagined his 

 song had more scope and freedom than usual. When 

 he had flown far down the mountain-side, the breeze 

 still brought me his finest notes. In plumage he 

 is the most brilliant bird we have. The bluebird 

 is not entirely blue; nor will the indigo-bird bear a 

 close inspection, nor the goldfinch, nor the summer 

 redbird. But the tanager loses nothing by a near 

 view; the deep scarlet of his body and the black 

 of his wings and tail are quite perfect. This is his 

 holiday suit; in the fall he becomes a dull yellowish 

 green, — the color of the female the whole season. 



One of the leading songsters in this choir of the 

 old Barkpeeling is the purple finch or linnet. He 

 sits somewhat apart, usually on a dead hemlock, and 

 warbles most exquisitely. He is one of our finest 

 songsters, and stands at the head of the finches, as 

 the hermit at the head of the thrushes. His song 

 approaches an ecstasy, and, with the exception of the 

 winter wren's, is the most rapid and copious strain 

 to be heard in these woods. It is quite destitute 

 of the trills and the liquid, silvery, bubbling notes 

 that characterize the wren's; but there runs through 



