in
all sorts of niches and crannies about the houses, often sits calmly on
a telegraph wire and preens its iridescent plumes, and sometimes utters
a weak and squeaky little trill, which, no doubt, passes for first-rate
music in swallowdom, whatever we human critics might think of it. Before
man came and settled in those valleys, the violet-greens found the
crevices of rocks well enough adapted to their needs for nesting sites,
but now they prefer cosey niches and crannies in human dwellings, and
appear to appreciate the society of human beings.

For over a week we made Georgetown our headquarters, going off every day
to the regions round about. Among my most treasured finds here was the
nest of Audubon's warbler--my first. It was saddled in the crotch of a
small pine a short distance up an acclivity, and was prettily roofed
over with a thick network of branches and twigs. Four white, daintily
speckled eggs lay in the bottom of the cup. While I was sitting in the
shadow of the pine, some motion of mine caused the little owner to
spring from her nest, and this led to its discovery. As she flitted
about in the bushes, she uttered a sharp _chip_, sometimes consisting of
a double note. The nest was about four feet from the ground, its walls
built of grasses and weed-stems, and its concave little floor carpeted
with cotton and feathers. A cosey cottage it was, fit for the little
poets that erected it. Subsequently I made many long and tiresome
efforts to find nests of the Audubons, but all these efforts were
futile.

One enchanting day--the twenty-fourth of June--was spent in making a
trip, with butterfly-net and field-glass, to Green Lake, an emerald gem
set in the mountains at an altitude of ten thousand feet, a few miles
from Georgetown. Before leaving the town, our first gray-headed junco
for this expedition was seen. He had come to town for his breakfast, and
was flitting about on the lawns and in the trees bordering the street,
helping himself to such dainties as pleased his palate. It may be said
here that the gray-headed juncos were observed at various places all
along the way from Georgetown to Green Lake and far above that body of
water. Not so with the broad-tailed hummers, which were not seen above
about eight thousand five hundred feet, while the last warbling vireo of
the day was seen and heard at an altitude of nine thousand feet,
possibly a little more, when he decided that the air was as rare as was
good fo