LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. 33 



these were not tlie cerulean's trees. None 

 but enthusiasts in the same line will be able 

 to appreciate the delight of such innocent 

 "collecting," — birds in the memory instead 

 of specimens in a bag. Even on one's home 

 beat it quickens the blood ; how much more, 

 then, in a new field, where a man is almost a 

 stranger to himself, and rarities and novelties 

 seem but the order of the day. Again and 

 again, morning and afternoon, I traversed 

 the little wood, leaving it between whiles for 

 a rest under the big oaks on the edge of the 

 cliffs, whence, through green vistas, I gazed 

 upon the farms of Lookout Valley and 

 the mountains beyond. A scarlet tanager 

 called, — my second one here, — wood thrush 

 voices rang through the mountain side forest, 

 a single thrasher was doing his bravest from 

 the tip of a pine (our " brown mocking- 

 bird " is anything but a skulker when the 

 lyrical mood is on him), while wood pewees, 

 red-eyed vireos, yellow-throated vireos, black- 

 and-white creepers, and I do not remember 

 what else, joined in the chorus. Just after 

 noon an oven-bird gave out his famous aerial 

 warble. To an aspiring soul even a moun- 

 tain top is but a perch, a place from which 

 to take wing. 



