IN THE HEMLOCKS. 69 



Jie mountain- side, the breeze still brought me hig 

 finest notes. In plumage he is the most brilliant bird 

 we have. The bluebird is not entirely blue ; nor will 

 the indigo-bird bear a close inspection, nor the gold- 

 finch, nor the summer redbird. But the tanager loses 

 nothing by a near view; the deep scarlet of his body 

 and the black of his wings and tail are quite perfect. 

 This is his holiday suit ; in the fall he becomes a dull 

 yellowish-green, the color of the female the whole 

 season. 



One of the leading songsters in this choir of the 

 old Barkpeeling is the purple finch or linnet. He 

 sits somewhat apart, usually on a dead hemlock, and 

 warbles most exquisitely. He is one of our finest 

 songsters, and stands at the head of the finches, as 

 the hermit at the head of the thrushes. His song 

 approaches an ecstasy, and, with the exception of the 

 winter- wren's, is the most rapid and copious strain to 

 be heard in these woods. It is quite destitute of the 

 trills and the liquid, silvery, bubbling notes that char- 

 acterize the wren's ; but there runs through it a 

 round, richly modulated whistle, very sweet and very 

 pleasing. The call of the robin is brought in at a 

 certain point with marked effect, and, throughout, 

 the variety is so great and the strain so rapiu that 

 he impression is as of two or three birds singing at 

 the same time. He is not common here, and 1 only 

 find him in these or similar woods His color is pe- 

 culiar, and looks as if it might have been imparted 

 Sy dipping a brown b ; rd in diluted pokeberry juice. 



