even in June, July, and August. One can
easily imagine some of the eastern and western residents meeting in the
autumn on the plains at the southern extremity of the mountain range,
dwelling together in some southern locality throughout the winter, and
then, when spring approaches, taking their separate routes, part going
east and part west of the range, for their breeding haunts in the North.
More than likely they do not meet again until the following autumn.
There are individuals, doubtless, that never catch a glimpse of the
western side of the great American watershed, while others are deprived
of the privilege of looking upon the majestic panoramas of the eastern
side.

What has just been said applies, of course, only to those species that
prefer to dwell in the lower altitudes. There are other species that
find habitats to their taste in the most elevated localities, ranging
at will in the summer time over the bald summits in the regions of
perpetual snow. Among these may be mentioned the brown-capped
leucostictes, the American pipits, the ravens, and Brewer's blackbirds.
These species will often have the privilege of looking upon the scenery
on both sides of the range, and you and I can scarcely repress a feeling
of envy when we think of their happy freedom, and their frequent
opportunities to go sightseeing.

While taking an early morning stroll along one of the streets of
Glenwood, I caught sight of a new member of the phoebe family, its
reddish breast and sides differentiating it from the familiar phoebe
of the East. Afterwards I identified it as Say's phoebe, a distinctly
western species. Its habits are like those of its eastern relative. A
pair of Say's phoebes had placed their nest on a beam of a veranda,
near the roof, where they could be seen carrying food to their young. My
notes say nothing of their singing a tune or even uttering a chirp. This
was my first observation of Say's phoebe, although, as will be seen, I
subsequently saw one under somewhat peculiar circumstances.

Having spent all the time I could spare at Glenwood, one morning I
boarded the eastward-bound train, and was soon whirling up through the
sublime canyons of Grand and Eagle Rivers, keeping on the alert for such
birds as I could see from the car-window. Few birds, as has been said,
can be seen in the dark gorges of the mountains, the species that are
most frequently descried being the turtle doves, with now and then a
small flock o