f blackbirds. The open, sunlit valleys of the upper
mountains, watered by the brawling streams, are much more to the liking
of many birds, especially the mountain song-sparrows, the white-crowned
sparrows, the green-tailed towhees, and Audubon's and Wilson's warblers.
Up, up, for many miles the double-headed train crept, tooting and
puffing hard, until at length it reached the highest point on the route,
which is Tennessee Pass, through the tunnel of which it swept with a
sullen roar, issuing into daylight on the eastern side, where the waters
of the streams flow eastward instead of westward. The elevation of this
tunnel is ten thousand four hundred and eighteen feet, which is still
about a thousand feet below the timber-line. A minute after emerging
from the tunnel's mouth I caught sight of a red-shafted flicker which
went bolting across the narrow valley. The train swept down the valley
for some miles, stopped long enough to have another engine coupled to
the one that had brought us down from the tunnel, then wheeled to the
left and began the ascent to the city of Leadville. This city is
situated on a sloping plain on the mountain side, in full view of many
bald mountain peaks whose gorges are filled with deep snow-drifts
throughout the summer. For some purposes Leadville may be an exceedingly
desirable city, but it has few attractions for the ornithologist. I took
a long walk through a part of the city, and, whether you will believe it
or not, I did not see a single bird outside of a cage, not even a
house-finch or an English sparrow, nor did I see one tree in my entire
stroll along the busy streets. The caged birds seen were a canary and a
cardinal, and, oddly enough, both of them were singing, mayhap for very
homesickness.

Why should a bird student tarry here? What was there to keep him in a
birdless place like this? I decided to leave at once, and so, checking
my baggage through to Buena Vista, I started afoot down the mountain
side, determined to walk to Malta, a station five miles below, observing
the birds along the way. Not a feathered lilter was seen until I had
gone about a mile from Leadville, when a disconsolate robin appeared
among some scraggy pine bushes, not uttering so much as a chirp by way
of greeting.

A few minutes later I heard a vigorous and musical chirping in the pine
bushes, and, turning aside, found a flock of small, finch-like birds.
They flitted about so rapidly that it was impossible to