o I walked home in a very self-confident frame of mind. A
few days later I heard another song lilting down from the upper branches
of a small tree. "Surely that is the lazuli again," I muttered. "I know
that voice." For a while I eyed the tree, and presently caught sight of
the little triller, and behold, it was--a summer warbler! All my
self-complacency vanished in a moment; I wasn't cock-sure of anything;
and I am obliged to confess that I was led astray in a similar manner
more than once afterward. It may indicate an odd psychological condition
to make the claim; but, absurd or not, I am disposed to believe that,
whenever I really heard the lazuli, I was able to recognize his song
with a fair degree of certainty, but when I heard the summer warbler I
was thrown into more or less confusion, not being quite sure whether it
was that bird or the other.

The most satisfactory lazuli song I heard was on the western side of the
range, at the resort called Glenwood. This time, as was usually the
case, I heard the little triller before seeing him, and was sure it was
_Passerina amoena_, as the bunting strains were plainly discernible.
He was sitting on a telephone wire, and did not flit away as I stood
below and peered at him through my glass, and admired his trig and
handsome form. I studied his song, and tried to fix the peculiar
intonations in my mind, and felt positive that I could never be caught
again--but I was.[8]

[8] In the foregoing remarks the lazuli finches have been
represented as excessively shy. So they were in 1899 in the
neighborhoods then visited. Strangely enough, in the vicinity of
Denver in 1901, these birds were abundant and as easily approached
and studied as are the indigoes of the East. See the chapter
entitled, "Plains and Foothills."

The lazuli finch does not venture very high into the mountains, seldom
reaching an altitude of more than seven thousand feet. He is a lover of
the plains, the foothills, and the lower ranges of the mountains. In
this respect he differs from some other little birds, which seek a
summer home in the higher regions. On the southern slope of Pike's Peak,
a little below the timber-line, I found a dainty little bird which was a
stranger to me. It was Audubon's warbler. At first sight I decided that
he must be the myrtle warbler, but was compelled to change my conclusion
when I got a glimpse of his throat, which was golden yellow, whereas the
throat