magnificent prospects all the way. It was like walking on the ridge-pole
of Vermont, a truly exhilarating experience.

All in all, though the forenoon had been so rainy, I had lived a long
day, and now, if ever, could appreciate the singing of this
characteristic northern songster, himself such a lover of mountains as
never to be heard, here in New England, at least, and in summer-time,
except amid the dwindling spruce forests of the upper slopes. I have
never before seen him so familiar. On the Mount Washington range and on
Mount Lafayette it is easy enough to hear his music, but one rarely gets
more than a flying glimpse of the bird. Here, as I say, he was never out
of hearing, and seldom long out of sight, even from the door-step. The
young were already leaving the nest, and undoubtedly the birds had
disposed themselves for the season before the unpainted,
inoffensive-looking little hotel showed any signs of occupancy. The very
next year a friend of mine visited the place and could discover no trace
of them. They had found their human neighbors a vexation, perhaps, and
on returning from their winter's sojourn in Costa Rica, or where not,
had sought summer quarters on some less trodden peak.

Not so was it with the myrtle warblers, I venture to assert, though on
this point I have never taken my friend's testimony. Perfectly at home
as they are in the wildest and most desolate places, they manifest a
particular fondness for the immediate vicinity of houses, delighting
especially to fly about the gutters of the roof and against the window
panes. Here, at the Summit House, they were constantly to be seen
hawking back and forth against the side of the building, as barn
swallows are given to doing in the streets of cities. The rude structure
was doubly serviceable,--to me a shelter, and to the birds a fly-trap. I
have never observed any other warbler thus making free with human
habitations.

This yellow-rump, or myrtle bird, is one of the thrifty members of his
great family, and next to the black-poll is the most numerous
representative of his tribe in Massachusetts during the spring and fall
migrations; a beautiful little creature, with a characteristic flight
and call, and for a song a pretty trill suggestive of the snow-bird's.
Within two or three years he has been added to the summer fauna of
Massachusetts, and as a son of the Bay State I rejoice in his presence
and heartily bid him welcome. We shall never have too