The woods were extensive, and full of deep, dark tangles, and
looking for any particular nest seemed about as hopeless a task as
searching for a needle in a haystack, as the old saying is. Where to
begin, and how? But the principle is the same as in looking for a hen's
nest,--first find your bird, then watch its movements.

The bird is in these woods, for I have seen him scores of times, but
whether he builds high or low, on the ground or in the trees, is all
unknown to me. That is his song now,--"twe-twea-twe-e-e-a," with a
peculiar summer languor and plaintiveness, and issuing from the lower
branches and growths. Presently we--for I have been joined by a
companion--discover the bird, a male, insecting in the top of a newly
fallen hemlock. The black, white, and blue of his uniform are seen at a
glance. His movements are quite slow compared with some of the
warblers. If he will only betray the locality of that little domicile
where his plainly clad mate is evidently sitting, it is all we will ask
of him. But this he seems in no wise disposed to do. Here and there,
and up and down; we follow him, often losing him, and as often
refinding him by his song; but the clew to his nest, how shall we get
it? Does he never go home to see how things are getting on, or to see
if his presence is not needed, or to take madam a morsel of food? No
doubt he keeps within earshot, and a cry of distress or alarm from the
mother bird would bring him to the spot in an instant. Would that some
evil fate would make her cry, then! Presently he encounters a rival.
His feeding-ground infringes upon that of another, and the two birds
regard each other threateningly. This is a good sign, for their nests
are evidently near.

Their battle-cry is a low, peculiar chirp, not very fierce, but
bantering and confident. They quickly come to blows, but it is a very
fantastic battle, and, as it would seem, indulged in more to satisfy
their sense of honor than to hurt each other, for neither party gets
the better of the other, and they separate a few paces and sing, and
squeak, and challenge each other in a very happy frame of mind. The
gauntlet is no sooner thrown down than it is again taken up by one or
the other, and in the course of fifteen or twenty minutes they have
three or four encounters, separating a little, then provoked to return
again like two cocks, till finally they withdraw beyond hearing of each
other,--both, no doubt, claiming the victory. B