88 IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 



first be able to tell the one from the otlier. He 

 has never heard them, he protests ; which is 

 true enough, for he never goes into the woods 

 of his own town, or, if by chance he does, he 

 leaves his ears behind him in the shop. His 

 case is not peculiar. Men and women gaze 

 enraptured at New Hampshire sunsets. How 

 glorious they are, to be sure ! What a pity the 

 sun does not sometimes set in Massachusetts ! 



As a musician the olive-back is certainly in- 

 ferior to the hermit, and, according to my taste, 

 he is surpassed also by the wood thrush and the 

 Wilson ; but he is a magnificent singer, for all 

 that, and when he is heard in the absence of 

 the others it is often hard to believe that any 

 one of them could do better. A good idea of the 

 rhythm and length of his song may be gained 

 by pronouncing somewhat rapidly the words, 

 " I love, I love, I love you," or, as it sometimes 

 runs, " I love, I love, I love you truly." How 

 literal this translation is I am not scholar 

 enough to determine, but without question it 

 gives the sense substantially. 



The winter wrens were less numerous than 

 the thrushes, I think, but, like them, they sang 

 at all hours of the day, and seemed to be well 

 distributed throughout the woods. We can 

 hardly help asking how it is that two birds so 

 very closely related as the house wren and the 



