ng low the white shows
conspicuously. If he passed over your head, you would note the delicate
flush under his wings.

That bit of bright scarlet on yonder dead hemlock, glowing like a live
coal against the dark background, seeming almost too brilliant for the
severe Northern climate, is his relative, the Scarlet Tanager. I
occasionally meet him in the deep hemlocks, and know no stronger
contrast in nature. I almost fear he will kindle the dry limb on which
he alights. He is quite a solitary bird, and in this section seems to
prefer the high, remote woods, even going quite to the mountain's top.
Indeed, the event of my last visit to the mountain was meeting one of
these brilliant creatures near the summit, in full song. The breeze
carried the notes far and wide. He seemed to enjoy the elevation, and I
imagined his song had more scope and freedom than usual. When he had
flown far down the mountain-side, the breeze still brought me his finest
notes. In plumage he is the most brilliant bird we have. The Bluebird is
not entirely blue; nor will the Indigo-bird bear a close inspection, nor
the Goldfinch, nor the Summer Redbird. But the Tanager loses nothing by
a near view; the deep scarlet of his body and the black of his wings and
tail are quite perfect. This is his holiday suit; in the fall he becomes
a dull green,--the color of the female the whole season.

One of the leading songsters in this choir of the old Barkpeeling is the
Purple Finch or Linnet. He sits somewhat apart, usually on a dead
hemlock, and warbles most exquisitely. He is one of our finest
songsters, and stands at the head of the Finches, as the Hermit at the
head of the Thrushes. His song approaches an ecstasy, and, with the
exception of the Winter Wren's, is the most rapid and copious strain to
be heard in these woods. It is quite destitute of the trills and the
liquid, silvery, bubbling notes that characterize the Wren's; but there
runs through it a round, richly modulated whistle, very sweet and very
pleasing. The call of the Robin is brought in at a certain point with
marked effect, and, throughout, the variety is so great and the strain
so rapid that the impression is as of two or three birds singing at the
same time. He is not common here, and I only find him in these or
similar woods. His color is peculiar, and looks as if it might have been
imparted by dipping a brown bird in diluted pokeberry juice. Two or
three more dippings would have made the