IN THE HEMLOCKS 67 



insects, but not destitute of a certain plaintive 

 cadence. It is one of the most languid, unhurried 

 sounds in all the woods. I feel like reclining upon 

 the dry leaves at once. Audubon says he has 

 never heard his love- song ; but this is all the love- 

 song he has, and he is evidently a very plain hero 

 with his little brown mistress. He assumes few 

 attitudes, and is not a bold and striking gymnast, 

 like many of his kindred. He has a preference for 

 dense woods of beech and maple, moves slowly amid 

 the lower branches and smaller growths, keeping 

 from eight to ten feet from the ground, and repeat- 

 ing now and then his listless, indolent strain. His 

 back and crown are dark blue; his throat and 

 breast, black; his belly, pure white; and he has a 

 white spot on each wing. 



Here and there I meet the black and white creep- 

 ing warbler, whose fine strain reminds me of hair- 

 wire. It is unquestionably the finest bird-song to 

 be heard. Few insect strains will compare with it 

 in this respect ; while it has none of the harsh, brassy 

 character of the latter, being very delicate and tender. 



That sharp, uninterrupted, but still continued 

 warble, which, before one has learned to discrim- 

 inate closely, he is apt to confound with the red- 

 eyed vireo's, is that of the solitary warbling vireo, 

 a bird slightly larger, much rarer, and with a 

 louder, less cheerful and happy strain. I see him 

 hopping along lengthwise of the limbs, and note 

 the orange tinge of his breast and sides and the 

 white circle around his eye. 



