is unquestionably the finest
bird-song to be heard. Few insect strains will compare with it in
this respect; while it has none of the harsh, brassy character of
the latter, being very delicate and tender.

That sharp, uninterrupted, but still continued warble, which, before
one has learned to discriminate closely, he is apt to confound with
the red-eyed vireo's, is that of the solitary warbling vireo,--a
bird slightly larger, much rarer, and with a louder, less cheerful
and happy strain. I see him hopping along lengthwise of the limbs,
and note the orange tinge of his breast and sides and the white
circle around his eye.

But the declining sun and the deepening shadows admonish me that
this ramble must be brought to a close, even though only the leading
characters in this chorus of forty songsters have been described,
and only a small portion of the venerable old woods explored. In a
secluded swampy corner of the old Barkpeeling, where I find the
great purple orchis in bloom, and where the foot of man or beast
seems never to have trod, I linger long, contemplating the wonderful
display of lichens and mosses that overrun both the smaller and the
larger growths. Every bush and branch and sprig is dressed up in the
most rich and fantastic of liveries; and, crowning all, the long
bearded moss festoons the branches or sways gracefully from the
limbs. Every twig looks a century old, though green leaves tip the
end of it. A young yellow birch has a venerable, patriarchal look,
and seems ill at ease under such premature honors. A decayed hemlock
is draped as if by hands for some solemn festival.

Mounting toward the upland again, I pause reverently as the hush and
stillness of twilight come upon the woods. It is the sweetest,
ripest hour of the day. And as the hermit's evening hymn goes up
from the deep solitude below me, I experience that serene exaltation
of sentiment of which music, literature, and religion are but the
faint types and symbols.

1865.

V

BIRDS'-NESTS

How alert and vigilant the birds are, even when absorbed in building
their nests! In an open space in the woods I see a pair of
cedar-birds collecting moss from the top of a dead tree. Following
the direction in which they fly, I soon discover the nest placed in
the fork of a small soft maple, which stands amid a thick growth of
wild cherry-trees and young beeches. Carefully concealing myself
beneath it, without any fear that the workmen wil