in plain view before me, and I
may watch him either with or without my glass; he has a short, conical
bill; his upper parts are gray or olive-gray; cervical patch of a
greenish tinge; under parts whitish, spotted with dusk or brown. The
bill is white or horn-color, and is quite heavy, I should say heavier
than that of any sparrow I know. The bird continued to sing for a long
time and at frequent intervals, not even stopping when the engine near
at hand blew off steam, although he turned his head and looked a little
startled." I saw this species nowhere else in my Colorado rambles, and
can find no description in the systematic manuals that helps to clear up
the mystery, and so an _avis incognita_ he must remain for the present.

Has mention been made of a few house-finches that were seen in
Georgetown? Only a few, however, for they prefer the towns and cities of
the plain. Several house-wrens were also seen in the vicinity of the
Georgetown Loop as well as elsewhere in the valley. The "Loop," although
a monumental work of human genius and daring, has its peculiar
attractions for the student of natural history, for in the canyon itself,
which is somewhat open and not without bushy haunts, and on the
precipitous mountain sides, a few birds set up their Lares and Penates,
and mingle their songs of domestic felicity with the roar of the torrent
and the passing trains. Darting like zigzag lightning about the cliffs,
the broad-tailed humming-bird cuts the air with his sharp, defiant buzz,
until you exclaim with the poet:

"Is it a monster bee,
Or is it a midget bird,
Or yet an air-born mystery
That now yon marigold has stirred?"

[Illustration: "_Solo singing in the thrush realm_"]

Among the birds that dwell on the steep mountain sides above the "Loop"
hollow are the melodious green-tailed towhees, lisping their chansons of
good-will to breeze and torrent, while in the copse of asps in the
hollow itself the warbling vireo and the western flycatcher hold sway,
the former rehearsing his recitative all the day long, and the latter
chirping his protest at every human intrusion. On a pine-clad shelf
between the second fold of the "Loop" and what is known as the "Great
Fill" I settled (at least, to my own satisfaction) a long-disputed
point in regard to the vocalization of the mountain hermit thrush.
Again and again I had noticed a peculiarity about the hermit's
minstrelsy--whenever the music reached my ea