warbler is an intermediate form, nearest the Pacific coast bird
which is distinguished as the pileolated warbler."

While I was stalking about in the low, boggy part of the hollow, my
attention was attracted by an odd little song that came rolling down
from the pines on the mountain side. At length, time was found to go to
the place whence the song came. What could the gay little minstrel be?
Somewhere I had heard such minstrelsy--but where? There were runs in it
that bore some resemblance to certain strains of the Carolina wren's
vigorous lays, but this songster's voice was of a finer quality and had
less volume than that of the Carolina. The little bird was found
flitting among the pines, and continued to sing his gay little ballad
with as much vigor as before. Indeed, my presence seemed to inspire him
to redouble his efforts and to sing with more snap and challenge. He
acted somewhat like a wren, but was smaller than any species of that
family with which I was acquainted, and no part of his plumage was
barred with brown and white.

Now the midget in feathers leaped up the alternating branches of a pine,
and now he flew down and fluttered amid the chaos of dead logs and
boughs on the ground, all the while rolling his ditty from his limber
tongue. Beginning with an exceedingly fine whistle, which could not
be heard far away, he descanted in sounds that it is impossible to
convey in syllables. The best literation of his song that I was
able to make was the following: "Tse-e-ek, tse-e-ek, tse-e-e-ek,
cholly-cholly-cholly, che-che-che, pur-tie, pur-tie, pur-tie!" the
_pur-tie_ accented strongly on the second syllable and the whole
performance closing with an interrogative inflection.

For a long time I watched the little acrobat, but could not settle his
identity. Some hours later, while stalking along the other side of the
valley, I heard the song duplicated; this time the singer elevated his
crest feathers, and at once I recognized him; he was the ruby-crowned
kinglet, of course, of course! It was a shame not to identify him at
first sight. In Ohio I had often heard his song during the migrating
season, and now remembered it well; but never dreaming that the
ruby-crown would be found in these alpine districts, I was completely
thrown off my reckoning on hearing his quaint melodies.

[Illustration: _Ruby-Crowned Kinglet_

"_The singer elevated his crest feathers_"]

The ruby-crowned kinglet migrates to these