THE TOWNSEND SOLITAIRE. 327 
road cut near Renton, altitude 200 feet. We describe to our friends the beauty 
of its song—they go to its sanctuaries and the bird is silent. A bird of such 
dainty mould should winter in the South. It does,—at times. It also winters 
at Sumas on our northern border. This poet of the solitudes, he should avoid 
the haunts of men. He does, 
usually. But another time he 
may be seen hopping from bush 
to log in a suburban swamp, or 
moping under the edge of a 
new sidewalk. Indeed, I once 
saw a Solitaire flutter up from 
under a passenger coach, as it 
lay in station. He had hap- 
pened to spy some bread 
crumbs and there was nothing 
to hinder save the conductor’s 
brisk “‘all aboard.” Surely such 
a bundle of contradictions you 
never did see—and all belied by 
an expression of lamb-like art- 
lessness and dolce far niente, 
which would do credit to a 
rag-doll. 
All observers testify to the 
vocal powers of the Solitaire, 
and some are most extravagant 
in the bird’s praises. My own 
notes are very meager. A song 
heard on Church Mountain, in 
Whatcom County, May 12, 
1905, is characterized as “a 
dulcet strain of varied notes. 
It reminds one strongly of the 
Sage Thrasher, but it is some- 
what less impetuous.” In view 
of this meagerness, I venture 
to quote at length two older ac- TOWNSEND'S SOLITAIRE. 
counts, now hidden away in 
volumes not easily accessible. Dr. J. S. Newberry first encountered the Soli- 
taire in the cafion of the Mptolyas River, at the base of Mount Jefferson (Or. ), 
and declared its song to be full, rich, and melodious, like that of a Mimus* 
dwekeps bac RoR, Sutve, Vol) Vil. 1857, p: ‘82. 
