IN THE HEMLOCKS 41 
He is one of our most common and widely dis- 
tributed birds. Approach any forest at any hour 
of the day, in any kind of weather, from May to 
August, in any of the Middle or Eastern districts, 
and the chances are that the first note you hear will 
be his. Rain or shine, before noon or after, in the 
deep forest or in the village grove, — when it is too 
hot for the thrushes or too cold and windy for the 
warblers, —it is never out of time or place for this 
little minstrel to indulge his cheerful strain. In 
the deep wilds of the Adirondacks, where few birds 
are seen and fewer heard, his note was almost con- 
stantly in my ear. Always busy, making it a point 
never to suspend for one moment his occupation to 
indulge his musical taste, his lay is that of industry 
and contentment. There is nothing plaintive or 
especially musical in his performance, but the senti- 
ment expressed is eminently that of cheerfulness. 
Indeed, the songs of most birds have some human 
significance, which, I think, is the source of the 
delight we take in them. The song of the bobolink 
to me expresses hilarity; the song sparrow’s, faith; 
the bluebird’s, love; the catbird’s, pride; the white- 
eyed flycatcher’s, self-consciousness; that of the 
hermit thrush, spiritual serenity: while there is 
something military in the call of the robin. 
The red-eye is classed among the flycatchers by 
some writers, but is much more of a worm-eater, 
and has few of the traits or habits of the Muscicapa 
or the true Sylvia. He resembles somewhat the 
warbling vireo, and the two birds are often con- 
