74 IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. 



dainty wind-sown garden, I sought the singer, 

 who proved to be a small brown bird with a 

 conspicuous white throat, flitting about on the 

 face of the rock, apparently quite at home, and 

 constantly repeating his few notes. His song 

 was tender and bewitching in its effect, though 

 it was really simple in construction, being 

 merely nine notes, the first uttered twice, and 

 the remaining eight in descending chromatic 

 scale. 



Now and then the tiny songster disappeared 

 in what looked like a slight crack in the wall, 

 but instantly reappeared, and resumed his siren 

 strains. Spellbound I stood, looking and listen- 

 ing ; but alas ! the hour was late, the way was 

 long, and others were waiting ; I needs must 

 tear myself away. "To-morrow I will come 

 again," I said, as I turned back. " To-morrow 

 I shall be here alone, and spend the whole day 

 with the canon wren." 



Then we retraced our steps of the morning, 

 lingering among the pleasant groves of cotton- 

 wood, oak, and aspen ; pausing to admire the 

 cactus display of gorgeous yellow, with petals 

 widespread, yet so wedded to their wildness that 

 they resented the touch of a human hand, re- 

 sisting their ravisher with needle-like barbs, 

 and then sullenly drawing together their satin 

 petals and refusing to open them more; past 



