n these woods, as in all the woods about. He is one of the rarest
and handsomest of the warblers; his white breast and throat,
chestnut sides, and yellow crown show conspicuously. Last year I
found the nest of one in an uplying beech wood, in a low bush near
the roadside, where cows passed and browsed daily. Things went on
smoothly till the cow bunting stole her egg into it, when other
mishaps followed, and the nest was soon empty. A characteristic
attitude of the male during this season is a slight drooping of the
wings, and tail a little elevated, which gives him a very smart,
bantam-like appearance. His song is fine and hurried, and not much
of itself, but has its place in the general chorus.

A far sweeter strain, falling on the ear with the true sylvan
cadence, is that of the black-throated green-backed warbler, whom I
meet at various points. He has no superiors among the true _Sylvia_.
His song is very plain and simple, but remarkably pure and tender,
and might be indicated by straight lines, thus, ---- ---- \/--; the
first two marks representing two sweet, silvery notes, in the same
pitch of voice, and quite unaccented; the latter marks, the
concluding notes, wherein the tone and inflection are changed. The
throat and breast of the male are a rich black like velvet, his face
yellow, and his back a yellowish green.

Beyond the Barkpeeling, where the woods are mingled hemlock, beech,
and birch, the languid midsummer note of the black-throated
blue-back falls on my ear. "Twea, twea, twea-e-e!" in the upward
slide, and with the peculiar _z-ing_ of summer insects, but not
destitute of a certain plaintive cadence. It is one of the most
languid, unhurried sounds in all the woods. I feel like reclining
upon the dry leaves at once. Audubon says he has never heard his
love-song; but this is all the love-song he has, and he is evidently
a very plain hero with his little brown mistress. He assumes few
attitudes, and is not a bold and striking gymnast, like many of his
kindred. He has a preference for dense woods of beech and maple,
moves slowly amid the lower branches and smaller growths, keeping
from eight to ten feet from the ground, and repeating now and then
his listless, indolent strain. His back and crown are dark blue; his
throat and breast, black; his belly, pure white; and he has a white
spot on each wing.

Here and there I meet the black and white creeping warbler, whose
fine strain reminds me of hair-wire. It