20 AN IDLER ON MISSIONARY RIDGE. 



my intense delight. Soon two others are in 

 voice with him. Am I on Missionary Bidge 

 or in the Crawford Notch? I stand mo- 

 tionless, and listen and listen, but my enjoy- 

 ment is interrupted by a new pleasure. A 

 warbler, evidently a female, from a certain 

 quietness and plainness, and, as I take it, 

 a blue-winged yellow, though I have never 

 seen a female of that species (and only once 

 a male three days ago at Chickamauga), 

 comes to the edge of the pool, and in an- 

 other minute her mate is beside her. Him 

 there is no mistaking. They fly away in a 

 bit of lovers' quarrel, a favorite pastime 

 with mated birds. And look! there is a 

 scarlet tanager ; the same gorgeous fellow, 

 I suppose, that was here two days ago, and 

 the only one I have seen in this lower coun- 

 try. What a beauty he is ! One of the fin- 

 est ; handsomer, so I think, than the hand- 

 somest of his all-red cousins. Now he calls 

 chip-cherr, and now he breaks into song. 

 There he falls behind ; his cousin's voice is 

 less hoarse, and his style less labored and 

 jerky. 



Now straight before me, up a woody aisle, 

 an olive-backed thrush stands in full view 



