FIVE DAYS ON MOUNT MANSFIELD. 99 
bark of that decayinglog. So, peradven- 
ture, may we ourselves be living in darkness 
without knowing it, while spiritual intelli- 
gences look on with wondering pity to see us 
so in love with our prison-house. Well, 
yonder panorama was beautiful to me, at all 
events, however it might look to more ex- 
alted beings, and, like my brother under the 
spruce-tree bark, I would make the best of 
life as I found it. 
This way my thoughts were running when 
all at once two birds dashed by me—a 
blackpoll warbler in hot pursuit of an olive- 
backed thrush. The thrush alighted in a 
tree and commenced singing, and the war- 
bler sat by and waited, following the univer- 
sal rule that a larger bird is never to be at- 
tacked except when on the wing. The thrush 
repeated his strain once or twice, and then 
flew to another tree, the little fellow after 
him with all speed. Again the olive-back 
perched and sang, and again the black-poll 
waited. Three times these manceuvres were 
repeated, before the birds passed out of my 
range. Some wrong-doing, real or fancied, 
on the part of the larger bird, had excited 
the ire of the warbler. Why should he be 
