es, is all
unknown to me. That is his song now,--"twe-twea-twe-e-e-a," with a
peculiar summer languor and plaintiveness, and issuing from the lower
branches and growths. Presently we--for I have been joined by a
companion--discover the bird, a male, insecting in the top of a newly
fallen hemlock. The black, white, and blue of his uniform are seen at a
glance. His movements are quite slow compared with some of the warblers.
If he will only betray the locality of that little domicile where his
plainly clad mate is evidently sitting, it is all we will ask of him.
But this he seems in no wise disposed to do. Here and there, and up and
down, we follow him, often losing him, and as often refinding him by his
song; but the clew to his nest, how shall we get it? Does he never go
home to see how things are getting on, or to see if his presence is not
needed, or to take madam a morsel of food? No doubt he keeps within
earshot, and a cry of distress or alarm from the mother bird would bring
him to the spot in an instant. Would that some evil fate would make her
cry, then! Presently he encounters a rival. His feeding-ground infringes
upon that of another, and the two birds regard each other threateningly.
This is a good sign, for their nests are evidently near.

Their battle-cry is a low, peculiar chirp, not very fierce, but
bantering and confident. They quickly come to blows, but it is a very
fantastic battle, and, as it would seem, indulged in more to satisfy
their sense of honor than to hurt each other, for neither party gets the
better of the other, and they separate a few paces and sing, and squeak,
and challenge each other in a very happy frame of mind. The gauntlet is
no sooner thrown down than it is again taken up by one or the other, and
in the course of fifteen or twenty minutes they have three or four
encounters, separating a little, then provoked to return again like two
cocks, till finally they withdraw beyond hearing of each other,--both,
no doubt, claiming the victory. But the secret of the nest is still
kept. Once I think I have it. I catch a glimpse of a bird which looks
like the female, and near by, in a small hemlock about eight feet from
the ground, my eye detects a nest. But as I come up under it, I can see
daylight through it, and that it is empty,--evidently only partly
finished, not lined or padded yet. Now if the bird will only return and
claim it, the point will be gained. But we wait and watch in vain. The