eye and in
his crown; back variegated black and white. The female is less marked
and brilliant. The Orange-throated Warbler would seem to be his right
name, his characteristic cognomen; but no, he is doomed to wear the name
of some discoverer, perhaps the first who robbed his nest or rifled him
of his mate,--Blackburn; hence, Blackburnian Warbler. The _burn_ seems
appropriate enough, for in these dark evergreens his throat and breast
show like flame. He has a very fine warble, suggesting that of the
Redstart, but not especially musical. I find him in no other woods in
this vicinity.

I am attracted by another warble in the same locality, and experience a
like difficulty in getting a good view of the author of it. It is quite
a noticeable strain, sharp and sibilant, and sounds well amid the old
trees. In the upland woods of beech and maple it is a more familiar
sound than in these solitudes. On taking the bird in your hand, even if
you are not a young lady, you will probably exclaim, "How beautiful!" So
tiny and elegant, the smallest of the Warblers; a delicate blue back,
with a slight bronze-colored triangular spot between the shoulders;
upper mandible black; lower mandible yellow as gold; throat yellow,
becoming a dark bronze on the breast. Blue Yellow-Back he is called,
though the yellow is much nearer a bronze. He is remarkably delicate and
beautiful,--the handsomest, as he is the smallest, of the Warblers known
to me. It is never without surprise that I find amid these rugged,
savage aspects of Nature creatures so fairy and delicate. But such is
the law. Go to the sea or climb the mountain, and with the ruggedest and
the savagest you will find likewise the fairest and the most delicate.
The greatness and the minuteness of Nature pass all understanding.

Ever since I entered the woods, even while listening to the lesser
songsters, or contemplating the silent forms about me, a strain has
reached my ear from out the depths of the forest that to me is the
finest sound in nature,--the song of the Hermit-Thrush. I often hear him
thus a long way off, sometimes over a quarter of a mile away, when only
the stronger and more perfect parts of his music reach me; and through
the general chorus of Wrens and Warblers I detect this sound rising pure
and serene, as if a spirit from some remote height were slowly chanting
a divine accompaniment. This song appeals to the sentiment of the
beautiful in me, and suggests a serene relig