IN THE HEMLOCKS. 79 



istic attitude of the male during this season is a slight 

 drooping of the wings, and tail a little elevated, which 

 gives him a very smart, bantam-like appearance. His 

 song is fine and hurried, and not much of itself, bu k , 

 has its place in the general chorus. 



A far sweeter strain, falling on the ear with the 

 true sylvan cadence, is that of the black-throated 

 green-backed warbler, whom I meet at various points. 

 lie has no superiors among the true Sylvia. His 

 song is very plain and simple, but remarkably pure 

 and tender, and might be indicated by straight lines, 

 thus, : V 5 tne fi rst two marks repre- 

 senting two sweet, silvery notes, in the same pitch of 

 voice, and quite unaccented ; the latter marks, the 

 concluding notes, wherein the tone and inflection are 

 changed. The throat and breast of the male are a 

 rich black like velvet, his face yellow, and his back a 

 yellowish green. 



Beyond the Barkpeeling, where the woods are 

 mingled hemlock, beech, and birch, the languid mid- 

 summer note of the black-throated blue-back falls on 

 my ear. " Twea, twea, twea-e-e ! " in the upward 

 slide, and with the peculiar z-ing of summer 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- 

 ong ; but this is all the love-song he has, and he is 

 evidently a very plain hero with his little brown mis- 

 tress. He assumes few attitudes, and is not a bold 

 and striking gymnast, like many of his kindred. He 



