— ^92 — 



From those tall hemlocks proceeds a very fine insect-like 

 warble, and occasionally I see a spray tremble, or catch the 

 flit of a wing. I watch and watch till my head grows dizzy 

 and my neck is in danger of permanent displacement, and 

 still do not get a good view. Presently the bird darts, or, as 

 it seems, falls down a few feet in pursuit of a fly or a moth, 

 and I see the whole of it, but in the dim light am undecided. 

 It is for such emergencies that I have brought my gun. A 

 bird in the hand is worth half a dozen in the bush, even for 

 ornithological purposes ; and no sure and rapid progress can 

 be made in the study without taking life, without procuring 

 specimens. The bird is a warbler, plainly enough, from his 

 habits and manner ; but what kind of warbler ? Look on him 

 and name him : a deep, orange or flame-colored throat and 

 breast ; the same color showing also in a line over the eye 

 and in his crown ; back, variegated black and white. The 

 female is less marked and brilliant. The Orange-throated 

 Warbler would seem to be his right name, his characteristic 

 cognomen ; but no, he is destined to wear the name of some 

 discoverer, perhaps the first who robbed his nest or rifled him 

 of his mate, — Blackburn ; hence, Blackburnian Warbler. The 

 burn seems appropriate enough for in these dark evergreens 

 his throat and breast show like flame , 



" Ever since I entered the woods, even whilst listening to 

 the lesser songsters, or contemplating the silent forms about 

 me, a strain has reached my ear from out the depths of the 

 forest that to me is the finest sound in nature, the song of 

 the Hermit-Thrush. I often hear him thus a long way off, 

 sometimes, over a quarter of a mile away, when only the 

 stronger and more perfect parts of his music reach me ; and 

 through the general chorus of wrens and warblers I detect 

 this sound rising pure and serene, as if a spirit from some 

 remote height were slowly chanting a divine accompaniment. 

 This song appeals to the sentiment of the beautiful in me, 

 and suggests a serene religious beatitude as no other sound 

 in nature does. It is perhaps more of an evening than a 

 morning hymn, though I hear it at all hours of the day. It is 

 very simple, and 1 can hardly tell the secret of its charm. 

 " Speral, spheral ! " he seems to say ; " holy, holy ! 

 clear away, clear away ! clear up, clear up ! " interspersed 

 with the finest trills and the most delicate preludes. It is 

 not a proud, gorgeous strain like the Tanager's or the Gros- 

 beak's j suggesting no passion or emotion, nothing personal, 

 but seems to be the voice of that calm, sweet solemnity one 

 attains to in his best moments. 



" It realizes a peace and a deep solemn joy that only the 

 finest souls may know. A few nights ago I ascended a moun- 

 tain to see the world by moonlight ; and when near the 

 summit, the Hermit commenced his evening hymn a few rods 



