AT NATURAL BEIDGE 265 



what those broad root -leaves were, as I 

 passed them here and there in the woods. 

 The present was only my second sight of 

 the blossom in a wild state, the first one 

 having been on the battlefield of Chicka- 

 mauga. It is matter for thankfulness, an 

 enrichment of the memory, when a pretty 

 flower is thus associated with a famous 

 place. 



Among the old trees on the Heights a 

 cerulean warbler and a blue yellow-back 

 were singing nearly in the same breath. If 

 I did not become lastingly familiar with the 

 distinction between the two songs, it was not 

 to be the birds' fault. A second cerulean 

 (or possibly the same one ; it was impossible 

 to be certain on that point, nor did it mat- 

 ter) was near the grapevine tangle, and at 

 the moment of my approach was holding a 

 controversy with a creeper. He had re- 

 served the spot, as it appeared, and was 

 insisting upon his claim. My spirits rose. 

 It was this clump of shrubbery that I had 

 come to sit beside, on the chance of seeing 

 again, and tracking to her nest, the female 

 whose behavior had so excited my hopes the 

 afternoon before. "Nest small and neat, 



