IN THE HEMLOCKS 46 



From those tall hemlocks proceeds a very fine 

 insect-like warble, and occasionally I see a spray 

 tremble, or catch the flit of a wing. I watch and 

 watch till my head grows dizzy and my neck is in 

 danger of permanent displacement, and still do not 

 get a good view. Presently the bird darts, or, as 

 it seems, falls down a few feet in pursuit of a fly 

 or a moth, and I see the whole of it, but in the 

 dim light am undecided. It is for such emergen- 

 cies that I have brought my gun. A bird in the 

 hand is worth half a dozen in the bush, even for 

 ornithological purposes; and no sure and rapid pro- 

 gress can be made in the study without taking life, 

 without procuring specimens. This bird is a war- 

 bler, plainly enough, from his habits and manner; 

 but what kind of warbler 1 Look on him and name 

 him: a deep orange or flame-colored throat and 

 breast; the same color showing also in a line over 

 the eye and in his crown; back variegated black 

 and white. The female is less marked and bril- 

 liant. The orange- throated warbler would seem to 

 be his right name, his characteristic cognomen; but 

 no, he is doomed to wear the name of some discov- 

 erer, perhaps the first who robbed his nest or rifled 

 him of his mate, Blackburn ; hence Blackburnian 

 warbler. The burn seems appropriate enough, for 

 in these dark evergreens his throat and breast show 

 like flame. He has a very fine warble, suggesting 

 that of the redstart, but not especially musical. I 

 find him in no other woods in this vicinity. 



I am attracted by another warble in the same 



