The Solitary Vireos 
the marginings of wings and tail broader and more purely white; the sides faintly 
tinged with yellow; also somewhat larger. Wing 80 (3.15); tail 58 (2.28); bill 11.2 
(.44); tarsus 19.8 (.78). 
Recognition Marks. —As in foregoing—grayer. 
Nesting. —Quite as in preceding form. 
Range of L. s. plumbeus .—Breeding in Rocky Mountain and intra-mountain 
districts from northern Nevada, northeastern Wyoming, etc., south through Arizona 
and southwestern Texas to Chihuahua and the mountains of Vera Cruz; wintering 
south to Oaxaca and Colima; accidental in California. 
Occurrence in California. —One record: an adult female taken near Fort 
Tejon, Aug. 1, 1875, by H. W. Henshaw. 
Authorities.—Henshaw (Vireo solitarius var. plumbeus ), Rep. Orn. Spec. 
Wheeler’s Surv., 1876, p. 236 (Ft. Tejon, Aug. 1, 1875, one spec.); Scott, Auk, vol. 
v., 1888, p. 32 (Ariz.; occurrence, habits); Mearns, Auk, vol. vii., 1890, p. 260 (Ariz.; 
habits, song, etc.). 
NOTHING so endears a bird to a human admirer as a frank exhi¬ 
bition of confidence. Overtures of friendship on the bird’s part may 
traverse all rules of caution and previous procedure, but henceforth there 
is a new relation established between them, bird and man, and the man, 
at least, is bound to live up to it. At the oncoming of a smart shower 
the bird-man once put into a fir-covered nook for shelter, and had not been 
there two minutes before a pair of Cassin Vireos entered for the same 
reason. They were not in the least disturbed by the man’s presence, but 
cheerfully accepted him as part of Things as They Are. Therefore, they 
proceeded to preen their dampened feathers at distances of four or five 
feet, while the bird-man sat with bated breath and glowing eyes. The 
birds roamed freely about the nook and once, I think he made a grimace 
behind the bird-man’s back; for when they came around in front again, 
I judged she was saying, “Ar’n’t you the wag!” while he tittered in droll 
recollection. 
These Vireos roam the half-open woods at all levels, like happy 
school children; and their childish curiosity is as little to be resented. If 
one hears a bird singing in the distance, he need only sit down and wait. 
Curiosity will get the better of the bird, and under pretense of chasing 
bugs it will edge over, singing carelessly now and then, by way of covering 
the inquisitive intent. At close range the song is stifled, and you feel 
for the ensuing moments as you do when you have overtaken and passed 
a bevy of ladies on a lonesome street, all hands and feet with a most 
atrocious swagger. Inspection done, the bird suddenly resumes the 
discarded melody, and you no longer have to ‘‘look pleasant.” 
Like most Vireos, Cassin sings as he works; and, as he works a good 
deal of the time, albeit in leisurely fashion, he sings in tiny phrases, 
separated by unembarrassed intervals of silence, a sort of soliloquizing 
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