a slight drooping of the wings, and tail a little
elevated, which gives him a very smart, bantam-like appearance. His song
is fine and hurried, and not much of itself, but has its place in the
general chorus.

A far sweeter strain, falling on the ear with the true sylvan cadence,
is that of the Black-throated Green-backed Warbler, whom I meet at
various points. He has no superiors among the true _Sylvia_. His song is
very plain and simple, but remarkably pure and tender, and might be
indicated by straight lines, thus, ---- ----\/----; the first two marks
representing two sweet, silvery notes, in the same pitch of voice, and
quite unaccented; the latter marks, the concluding notes, wherein the
tone and inflection are changed. The throat and breast of the male are a
rich black, like velvet, his face yellow, and his back a yellowish
green.

Beyond the Barkpeeling, where the woods are mingled hemlock, beech, and
birch, the languid midsummer note of the Black-throated Blue-Back falls
on my ear. "Twea, twea, twea-e-e!" in the upward slide, and with the
peculiar _z-ing_ of certain insects, but not destitute of a certain
plaintive cadence. It is one of the most languid, unhurried sounds in
all the woods. I feel like reclining upon the dry leaves at once.
Audubon says he has never heard his love-song; but this is all the
love-song he has, and he is evidently a very plain hero with his little
brown mistress. He is not the bird you would send to the princess to
"cheep and twitter twenty million loves"; she would go to sleep while he
was piping. He assumes few attitudes, and is not a bold and striking
gymnast, like many of his kindred. He has a preference for dense woods
of beech and maple, moves slowly amid the lower branches and smaller
growths, keeping from eight to ten feet from the ground, and repeating
now and then his listless, indolent strain. His back and crown are dark
blue; his throat and breast, black; his belly, pure white; and he has a
white spot on each wing.

Here and there I meet the Black and White Creeping-Warbler, whose fine
strain reminds me of hair-wire. It is unquestionably the finest
bird-song to be heard. Few insect strains will compare with it in this
respect; while it has none of the harsh, brassy character of the latter,
being very delicate and tender.

That sharp, interrupted, but still continued warble, which, before one
has learned to discriminate closely, he is apt to confound with the
Red-eyed