120 MORNING IN THE NORTH WOODS. 



the one Baltimore oriole seen at Chicka- 

 mauga. I heard the familiar click, as of 

 rusty shears, and straightway took chase. 

 For some minutes my search was in vain, 

 and once I feared I had been fooled. A bird 

 flew out of the right tree, as I thought, but 

 showed yellow, and the next moment set up 

 the clippiticlip call of the summer tanager. 

 Could that bird have also a note like the 

 rose -breast's? It was not impossible, of 

 course, for one does not exhaust the vocabu- 

 lary of a bird in a month's acquaintance ; but 

 I could not think it likely, thick as tanagers 

 had been about me ; and soon the click was 

 repeated, and this time I put my eye on its 

 author, — a feminine rose-breast. Perhaps it 

 was nothing more than an accident that she 

 was my only specimen ; but so showy a bird, 

 with so lovely a song and so distinctive a 

 signal, could hardly have escaped notice had 

 it been in any degree common. 



Wood thrushes sang on all sides. They 

 had need to be abundant and free-hearted, 

 since they stand in that region for the whole 

 thrush family. Blue golden-winged war- 

 blers, too, were generously distributed, and, 

 as happens to me now and then in Massa- 



