up under the tree he casts his eye down at me, but continues his
song. This bird is said to be quite common in the Northwest, but he
is rare in the Eastern districts. His beak is disproportionately
large and heavy, like a huge nose, which slightly mars his good
looks; but Nature has made it up to him in a blush rose upon his
breast, and the most delicate of pink linings to the under side of
his wings. His back is variegated black and white, and when flying
low the white shows conspicuously. If he passed over your head, you
would note the delicate flush under his wings.

That bit of bright scarlet on yonder dead hemlock, glowing like a
live coal against the dark background, seeming almost too brilliant
for the severe northern climate, is his relative, the scarlet
tanager. I occasionally meet him in the deep hemlocks, and know no
stronger contrast in nature. I almost fear he will kindle the dry
limb on which he alights. He is quite a solitary bird, and in this
section seems to prefer the high, remote woods, even going quite to
the mountain's top. Indeed, the event of my last visit to the
mountain was meeting one of these brilliant creatures near the
summit, in full song. The breeze carried the notes far and wide. He
seemed to enjoy the elevation, and I imagined his song had more
scope and freedom than usual. When he had flown far down the
mountain-side, the breeze still brought me his finest notes. In
plumage he is the most brilliant bird we have. The bluebird is not
entirely blue; nor will the indigo-bird bear a close inspection,
nor the goldfinch, nor the summer redbird. But the tanager loses
nothing by a near view; the deep scarlet of his body and the black
of his wings and tail are quite perfect. This is his holiday suit;
in the fall he becomes a dull yellowish green,--the color of the
female the whole season.