I recall the altogether admirable and shining family which Thoreau dreamed he saw in the upper chambers4 of Spaulding's woods, which Spaulding did not know lived there, and which were not put out when Spaulding, whistling, drove his team through their lower halls. They did not go into society in the village; they were quite well; they had sons and daughters; they neither wove nor spun5; there was a sound as of suppressed hilarity6.
I take it for granted that the forester was only saying a pretty thing of the birds, though I have observed that it does sometimes annoy them when Spaulding's cart rumbles7 through their house. Generally, however, they are as unconscious of Spaulding as Spaulding is of them.
Walking the other day in an old hemlock8 wood, I counted over forty varieties of these summer visitants, many of the common to other woods in the vicinity, but quite a number peculiar9 to these ancient solitudes10, and not a few that are rare in any locality. It is quite unusual to find so large a number abiding12 in one forest,—and that not a large one,—most of them nesting and spending the summer there. Many of those I observed commonly pass this season much farther north. But the geographical13 distribution of birds is rather a climatical one. The same temperature, though under different parallels, usually attracts the same birds; difference in altitude being equivalent to the difference in latitude14. A given height above sea-level under the parallel of thirty degrees may have the same climate as places under that of thirty-five degrees, and similar flora15 and fauna16. At the head-waters of the Delaware, where I write, the latitude is that of Boston, but the region has a much greater elevation17, and hence a climate that compares better with the northern part of the State and of New England. Half a day's drive to the southeast brings me down into quite a different temperature, with an older geological formation, different forest timber, and different birds,—even with different mammals. Neither the little gray rabbit nor the little gray fox is found in my locality, but the great northern hare and the red fox are. In the last century, a colony of beavers18 dwelt here, though the oldest inhabitant cannot now point to even the traditional site of their dams. The ancient hemlocks19, whither I propose to take the reader, are rich in many things besides birds. Indeed, their wealth in this respect is owing mainly, no doubt, to their rank vegetable growth, their fruitful swamps, and their dark, sheltered retreats.
Their history is of an heroic cast. Ravished and torn by the tanner in his thirst for bark, preyed21 upon by the lumberman, assaulted and beaten back by the settler, still their spirit has never been broken, their energies never paralyzed. Not many years ago a public highway passed through them, but it was at no time a tolerable road; trees fell across it, mud and limbs choked it up, till finally travelers took the hint and went around; and now, walking along its deserted22 course, I see only the footprints of coons, foxes, and squirrels.
Nature loves such woods, and places her own seal upon them. Here she show me what can be done with ferns and mosses23 and lichens25. The soil is marrowy26 and full of innumerable forests. Standing27 in these fragrant28 aisles29, I feel the strength of the vegetable kingdom, and am awed30 by the deep and inscrutable processes of life going on so silently about me.
No hostile forms with axe31 or spud now visit these solitudes. The cows have half-hidden ways through them, and know where the best browsing32 is to be had. In spring, the farmer repairs to their bordering of maples34 to make sugar; in July and August women and boys from all the country about penetrate35 the old Barkpeelings for raspberries and blackberries; and I know a youth who wonderingly follows their languid stream casting for trout36.
In like spirit, alert and buoyant, on this bright June morning go I also to reap my harvest,—pursuing a sweet more delectable37 than sugar, fruit more savory38 than berries, and game for another palate than that tickled39 by trout.
June, of all the months, the student of ornithology40 can least afford to lose. Most birds are nesting then, and in full song and plumage. And what is a bird without its song? Do we not wait for the stranger to speak? It seems to me that I do not know a bird till I have heard its voice; then I come nearer it at once, and it possesses a human interest to me. I have met the gray-cheeked thrush in the woods, and held him in my hand; still I do not know him. The silence of the cedar-bird throws a mystery about him which neither his good looks nor his petty larcenies41 in cheery time can dispel42. A bird's song contains a clew to its life, and establishes a sympathy, an understanding, between itself and the listener.
I descend43 a steep hill, and approach the hemlocks through a large sugar-bush. When twenty rods distant, I hear all along the line of the forest the incessant44 warble of the red-eyed vireo, cheerful and happy as the merry whistle of a schoolboy. He is one of our most common and widely distributed birds. Approach any forest at any hour of the day, in any kind of weather, from May to August, in any of the Middle or Eastern districts, and the chances are that the first note you hear will be his. Rain or shine, before noon or after, in the deep forest or in the village grove,—when it is too hot for the thrushes or too cold and windy for the warblers,—it is never out of time or place for this little minstrel to indulge his cheerful strain. In the deep wilds of the Adirondacks, where few birds are seen and fewer heard, his note was almost constantly in my ear. Always busy, making it a point never to suspend for one moment his occupation to indulge his musical taste, his lay is that of industry and contentment. There is nothing plaintive45 or especially musical in his performance, but the sentiment expressed is eminently46 that of cheerfulness. Indeed, the songs of most birds have some human significance, which, I think, is the source of the delight we take in them. The song of the bobolink to me expresses hilarity; the song sparrow's, faith; the bluebird's, love; the catbird's, pride; the white-eyed flycatcher's, self-consciousness; that of the hermit47 thrush spiritual serenity48: while there is something military in the call of the robin49.
The red-eye is classed among the flycatchers by some writers, but is much more of a worm-eater, and has few of the traits or habits of the Muscicapa or the true Sylvia. He resembles somewhat the warbling vireo, and the two birds are often confounded by careless observers. Both warble in the same cheerful strain, but the latter more continuously and rapidly. The red-eye is a larger, slimmer bird, with a faint bluish crown, and a light line over the eye. His movements are peculiar. You may see him hopping50 among the limbs, exploring then under side of the leaves, peering to the right and left, now flitting a few feet, now hopping as many, and warbling incessantly51, occasionally in a subdued52 tone, which sounds from a very indefinite distance. When he has found a worm to his liking53, he turns lengthwise of the limb and and bruises54 its head with his beak55 before devouring56 it.
As I enter the woods the slate-colored snowbird starts up before me and chirps57 sharply. His protest when thus disturbed is almost metallic58 in its sharpness. He breeds here, and is not esteemed59 a snowbird at all, as he disappears at the near approach of winter, and returns again in spring, like the song sparrow, and is not in any way associated with the cold and snow. So different are the habits of birds in different localities. Even the crow does not winter here, and is seldom seen after December or before March.
The snowbird, or "black chipping-bird," as it is known among the farmers, is the finest architect of any of the ground-builders known to me. The site of its nest is usually some low bank by the roadside, near a wood. In a slight excavation60, with a partially61 concealed62 entrance, the exquisite63 structure is placed. Horse and cow hair are plentifully64 used, imparting to the interior of the nest great symmetry and firmness as well as softness.
Passing down through the maple33 arches, barely pausing to observe the antics of a trio of squirrels,—two gray ones and a black one,—I cross an ancient brush fence and am fairly within the old hemlocks, and in one of the most primitive65, undisturbed nooks. In the deep moss24 I tread as with muffled66 feet, and the pupils of my eyes dilate67 in the dim, almost religious light. The irreverent red squirrels, however, run and snicker at my approach, or mock the solitude11 with their ridiculous chattering68 and frisking.
This nook is the chosen haunt of the winter wren69. This is the only place and these the only woods in which I find him in this vicinity. His voice fills these dim aisles, as if aided by some marvelous sounding-board. Indeed, his song is very strong for so small a bird, and unites in a remarkable70 degree brilliancy and plaintiveness71. I think of a tremulous vibrating tongue of silver. You may know it is the song of a wren, from its gushing72 lyrical character; but you must needs look sharp to see the little minstrel, especially while in the act of singing. He is nearly the color of the ground and the leaves; he never ascends73 the tall trees, but keeps low, flitting from stump74 to stump and from root to root, dodging75 in and out of his hiding-places, and watching all intruders with a suspicious eye. He has a very pert, almost comical look. His tail stands more that perpendicular76: it points straight toward his head. He is the least ostentatious singer I know of. He does not strike an attitude, and lift up his head in preparation, and, as it were, clear his throat; but sits there on a log and pours out his music, looking straight before him, or even down at the ground. As a songster, he has but few superiors. I do not hear him after the first week in July.
While sitting on this soft-cushioned log, tasting the pungent77 acidulous78 wood-sorrel, the blossoms of which, large and pink-veined, rise everywhere above the moss, a rufous-colored bird flies quickly past, and, alighting on a low limb a few rods off, salutes79 me with "Whew! Whew!" or "Whoit! Whoit!" almost as you would whistle for your dog. I see by his impulsive80, graceful81 movement, and his dimly speckled breast, that it is a thrush. Presently he utters a few soft, mellow82, flute-like notes, one of the most simple expressions of melody to be heard, and scuds83 away, and I see it is the veery, or Wilson's thrush. He is the least of the thrushes in size, being about that of the common bluebird, and he may be distinguished84 from his relatives by the dimness of the spots upon his breast. The wood thrush has very clear, distinct oval spots on a white ground; in the hermit, the spots run more into lines, on a ground of a faint bluish white; in the veery, the marks are almost obsolete85, and a few rods off his breast presents only a dull yellowish appearance. To get a good view of him you have only to sit down in his haunts, as in such cases he seems equally anxious to get a good view of you.
From those tall hemlocks proceeds a very fine insect-like warble, and occasionally I see a spray tremble, or catch the flit of a wing. I watch and watch till my head grows dizzy and my neck is in danger of permanent displacement86, and still do not get a good view. Presently the bird darts87, or, as it seems, falls down a few feet in pursuit of a fly or a moth88, and I see the whole of it, but in the dim light am undecided. It is for such emergencies that I have brought my gun. A bird in the hand is worth half a dozen in the bush, even for ornithological90 purposes; and no sure and rapid-progress can be made in the study without taking life, without procuring91 specimens92. This bird is a warbler, plainly enough, from his habits and manner; but what kind of warbler? Look on him and name him: a deep orange or flame-colored throat and breast; the same color showing also in a line over the eye and in his crown; back variegated93 black and white. The female is less marked and brilliant. The orange-throated warbler would seem to be his right name, his characteristic cognomen94; but no, he is doomed95 to wear the name of some discoverer, perhaps the first who rifled his nest or robbed him of his mate,—Blackburn; hence Blackburnian warbler. The burn seems appropriate enough, for in these dark evergreens96 his throat and breast show like flame. He has a very fine warble, suggesting that of the redstart, but not especially musical. I find him in not other woods in this vicinity.
I am attracted by another warble in the same locality, and experience a like difficulty in getting a good view of the author of it. It is quite a noticeable strain, sharp and sibilant, and sounds well amid the the old trees. In the upland woods of beech97 and maple it is a more familiar sound than in these solitudes. On taking the bird in hand, one can not help exclaiming, "How beautiful!" So tiny and elegant, the smallest of the warblers; a delicate blue back, with a slight bronze-colored triangular98 spot between the shoulders; upper mandible black; lower mandible yellow as gold; throat yellow, becoming a dark bronze on the breast. Blue yellow-back he is called, though the yellow is much nearer a bronze. He is remarkably99 delicate and beautiful,—the handsomest as he is the smallest of the warblers known to me. It is never without surprise that I find amid these rugged100, savage101 aspects of nature creatures so fairy and delicate. But such is the law. Go to the sea or climb the mountain, and with the ruggedest and the savagest you will find likewise the fairest and the most delicate. The greatness and the minuteness of nature pass all understanding.
Ever since I entered the woods, even while listening to the lesser102 songsters, or contemplating103 the silent forms about me, a strain has reached my ears from out of the depths of the forest that to me is the finest sound in nature,—the song of the hermit thrush. I often hear him thus a long way off, sometimes over a quarter of a mile away, when only the stronger and more perfect parts of his music reach me; and through the general chorus of wrens104 and warblers I detect this sound rising pure and serene105, as if a spirit from some remote height were slowly chanting a divine accompaniment. This song appeals to the sentiment of the beautiful in me, and suggests a serene religious beatitude as no other sound in nature does. It is perhaps more of an evening than a morning hymn106,
though I hear it at all hours of the day. It is very simple, and I can hardly tell the secret of its charm. "O spheral, spheral!" he seems to say; "O holy, holy! O clear away, clear away! O clear up, clear up!" interspersed107 with the finest trills and the most delicate preludes108. It is not a proud, gorgeous strain, like the tanager's or the grosbeak's; suggests no passion or emotion,—nothing personal,—but seems to be the voice of that calm, sweet solemnity one attains110 to in his best moments. It realizes a peace and a deep, solemn joy that only the finest souls may know. A few nights ago I ascended111 a mountain to see the world by moonlight, and when near the summit the hermit commenced his evening hymn a few rods from me. Listening to this strain on the lone112 mountain, with the full moon just rounded from the horizon, the pomp of your cities and the pride of your civilization seemed trivial and cheap.
I have seldom known two of these birds to be singing at the same time in the same locality, rivaling each other, like the wood thrush or the veery. Shooting one from a tree, I have observed another take up the strain from almost the identical perch113 in less than ten minutes afterward114. Later in the day, when I had penetrated115 the heart of the old Barkpeeling, I came suddenly upon one singing from a low stump, and for a wonder he did not seem alarmed, but lifted up his divine voice as if his privacy was undisturbed. I open his beak and find the inside yellow as gold. I was prepared to find it inlaid with pearls and diamonds, or to see an angel issue from it.
He is not much in the books. Indeed, I am acquainted with scarcely any writer on ornithology whose head is not muddled116 on the subject of our three prevailing117 song-thrushes, confounding either their figures or their songs. A writer in the "Atlantic" [Footnote: For December, 1853] gravely tells us the wood thrush is sometimes called the hermit, and then, after describing the song of the hermit with great beauty and correctness, cooly ascribes it to the veery! The new Cyclopaedia, fresh from the study of Audubon, says the hermit's song consists of a single plaintive note, and that the veery's resembles that of the wood thrush! The hermit thrush may be easily identified by his color; his back being a clear olive-brown becoming rufous on his rum and tail. A quill118 from his wing placed beside one from his tail on a dark ground presents quite a marked contrast.
I walk along the old road, and note the tracks in the thin layer of mud. When do these creatures travel here? I have never yet chanced to meet one. Here a partridge has set its foot; there, a woodcock; here, a squirrel or mink119; thee, a skunk120; there, a fox. What a clear, nervous track reynard makes! how easy to distinguish it from that of a little dog,—it is so sharply cut and defined! A dog's track is coarse and clumsy beside it. There is as much wildness in the track of an animal as in its voice. Is a deer's track like a sheep's or a goat's? What winged-footed fleetness and agility121 may be inferred from the sharp, braided track of the gray squirrel upon the new snow! Ah! in nature is the best discipline. How wood-life sharpens the senses, giving a new power to the eye, the ear, the nose! And are not the rarest and most exquisite songsters wood-birds?
Everywhere in these solitudes I am greeted with the pensive122, almost pathetic not of the wood pewee. The pewees are the true flycatchers, and are easily identified. They are very characteristic birds, have strong family traits and pugnacious123 dispositions124. They are the least attractive or elegant birds of our fields or forests. Sharp-shouldered, big-headed, short-legged, of no particular color, of little elegance125 in flight or movement, with a disagreeable flirt126 of the tail, always quarreling with their neighbors and with one another, no birds are so little calculated to excite pleasurable emotions in the beholder127, or to become objects of human interest and affection. The kingbird is the best dressed member of the family, but he is a braggart128; and, though always snubbing his neighbors, is an arrant129 coward, and shows the white feather at the slightest display of pluck in his antagonist130. I have seen him turn tail to a swallow, and have known the little pewee in question to whip him beautifully. From the great-crested to the little green flycatcher, their ways and general habits are the same. Slow in flying from point to point, they yet have a wonderful quickness, and snap up the fleetest insects with little apparent effort. There is a constant play of quick, nervous movements underneath131 their outer show of calmness and stolidity132. They do not scour133 the limbs and trees like the warblers, but, perched upon the middle branches, wait, like true hunters, for the game to come along. There is often a very audible snap of the beak as they seize their prey20.
The wood pewee, the prevailing species in this locality, arrests your attention by his sweet, pathetic cry. There is room for it also in the deep woods, as well as for the more prolonged and elevated strains.
Its relative, the phoebe-bird, builds an exquisite nest of moss on the side of some shelving cliff or overhanging rock. The other day, passing by a ledge134, near the top of a mountain in a singularly desolate135 locality, my eye rested upon one of these structures, looking precisely136 as if it grew there, so in keeping was it with the mossy character of the rock, and I have had a growing affection for the bird ever since. The rock seemed to love the nest and claim it as its own. I said, what a lesson in architecture is here! Here is a house that was built, but with such loving care and such beautiful adaptation of the means to the end, that it looks like a product of nature. The same wise economy is noticeable in the nests of all birds. No bird could paint its house white or red, or add aught for show.
At one point in the grayest, most shaggy part of the woods, I come suddenly upon a brood of screech137 owls138, full grown, sitting together upon a dry, moss-draped limb, but a few feet from the ground. I pause within four or five yards of them and am looking about me, when my eye lights upon these, gray, motionless figures. They sit perfectly139 upright, some with their backs and some with their breasts toward me, but every head turned squarely in my direction. Their eyes are closed to a mere140 black line; though this crack they are watching me, evidently thinking themselves unobserved. The spectacle is weird141 and grotesque142. It is a new effect, the night side of the woods by daylight. After observing them a moment I take a single step toward them, when, quick as thought, their eyes fly wide open, their attitude is changed, they bend, some this way, some that, and, instinct with life and motion, stare wildly about them. Another step, and they all take flight but one, which stoops low on the branch, and with the look of a frightened cat regards me for a few seconds over its shoulder. They fly swiftly and softly, and disperse143 through the trees. I shoot one, which is of a tawny144 red tint145, like that figured by Wilson. It is a singular fact that the plumage of these owls presents two totally distinct phases which "have no relation to sex, age, or season," one being an ashen146 gray, the other a bright rufous.
Coming to a drier and less mossy place in the woods, I am amused with the golden-crowned thrush,—which, however, is no thrush at all, but a warbler. He walks on the ground ahead of me with such an easy, gliding147 motion, and with such an unconscious, preoccupied148 air, jerking his head like a hen or a partridge, now hurrying, now slackening his pace, that I pause to observe him. I sit down, he pauses to observe me, and extends his pretty ramblings on all sides, apparently149 very much engrossed150 with his own affairs, but never losing sight of me. But few of the birds are walkers, most being hoppers, like the robin.
Satisfied that I have no hostile intentions, the pretty pedestrian mounts a limb a few feet from the ground, and gives me the benefit of one of his musical performances, a sort of accelerating chant. Commencing in a very low key, which makes him seem at a very uncertain distance, he grows louder and louder till his body quakes and his chant runs into a shriek151, ringing in my ear, with a peculiar sharpness. This lay may be represented thus:
[TRANSCRIBISTS NOTE: ORIGINAL BOOK USES FONT SHIFTS TO ILLUSTRATE152 AN INCREASE IN VOLUME]
"Teacher, Teacher, Teacher, Teacher, Teacher!"—the accent on the first syllable153 and each word uttered with increased force and shrillness154. No writer with whom I am acquainted gives him credit for more musical ability than is displayed in this strain. Yet in this the half is not told. He has a far rarer song, which he reserves for some nymph whom he meets in the air. Mounting by easy flights to the top of the tallest tree, he launches into the air with a sort of suspended, hovering156 flight, like certain of the finches, and bursts into a perfect ecstasy158 of song,—clear, ringing, copious159, rivaling the goldfinch's in vivacity160, and the linnet's in melody. This strain is one of the rarest bits of bird melody to be heard, and is oftenest indulged in late in the afternoon or after sundown. Over the woods, hid from view, the ecstatic singer warbles his finest strain. In this song you instantly detect his relationship to the water-wagtail,—erroneously called water-thrush,—whose song is likewise a sudden burst, full and ringing, and with a tone of youthful joyousness161 in it, as if the bird had just had some unexpected good fortune. For nearly two years this strain of the pretty walker was little more than a disembodied voice to me, and I was puzzled by it as Thoreau by his mysterious night-warbler, which, by the way, I suspect was no new bird at all, but one he was otherwise familiar with. The little bird himself seems disposed to keep the matter a secret, and improves every opportunity to repeat before you his shrill155, accelerating lay, as if this were quite enough and all he laid claim to. Still, I trust I am betraying no confidence in making the matter public here. I think this is preëminently his love-song, as I hear it oftenest about the mating season. I have caught half-suppressed bursts of it from two males chasing each other with fearful speed through the forest.
Turning to the left from the old road, I wander over soft logs and gray yielding débris, across the little trout brook163, until I emerge in the overgrown Barkpeeling,—pausing now and then on the way to admire a small, solitary164 now and then on the way to admire a small, solitary white flower which rises above the moss, with radical165, heart-shaped leaves, and a blossom precisely like the liverwort except in color, but which is not put down in my botany,—or to observe the ferns, of which I count six varieties, some gigantic ones nearly shoulder-high.
At the foot of a rough, scraggly yellow birch, on a bank of club-moss, so richly inlaid with partridge-berry and curious shining leaves—with here and there in the bordering a spire166 of false wintergreen strung with faint pink flowers and exhaling167 the breath of a May orchard—that it looks too costly168 a couch for such an idler, I recline to note what transpires169. The sun is just past the meridian170, and the afternoon chorus is not yet in full tune162. Most birds sing with the greatest spirit and vivacity in the forenoon, though there are occasional bursts later in the day in which nearly all voices join; while it is not till the twilight171 that the full power and solemnity of the thrush's hymn is felt.
My attention is soon arrested by a pair of hummingbirds172, the ruby-throated, disporting173 themselves in a low bush a few yards from me. The female takes shelter amid the branches, and squeaks174 exultingly175 as the male, circling above, dives down as if to dislodge her. Seeing me, he drops like a feather on a slender twig176, and in a moment both are gone. Then as if by a preconcerted signal, the throats are all atune. I lie on my back with eyes half closed, and analyze177 the chorus of warblers, thrushes, finches, and flycatchers; while, soaring above all, a little withdrawn178 and alone rises the divine contralto of the hermit. That richly modulated179 warble proceeding180 from the top of yonder birch, and which unpracticed ears would mistake for the voice of the scarlet181 tanager, comes from that rare visitant, the rose-breasted grosbeak. It is a strong, vivacious182 strain, a bright noonday song, full of health and assurance, indicating fine talents in the performer, but not a genius. As I come 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 linings183 to the under side of his wings. His back is variegated black and white, and when flying low the white shows conspicuously184. If he passed over your head, you would not 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 kindle185 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 entirely186 blue; nor will the indigo-bird bear a close inspection187, 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 be becomes a dull yellowish green,—the color of the female the whole season.
One of the leading songsters in this choir188 of the old Barkpeeling is the purple finch157 or linnet. He sits somewhat apart, usually on a dead hemlock, and warbles most exquisitely189. He is one of our finest songsters, and stands at the head of the finches, as the hermit at the head of the thrushes. His song approaches an ecstasy, and, with the exception of the winter wren's, is the most rapid and copious strain to be heard in these woods. It is quite destitute190 of the trills and the liquid, silvery, bubbling notes that characterize the wren's; but there runs through it a round, richly modulated whistle, very sweet and very pleasing. The call of the robin is brought in at a certain point with marked effect, and, throughout, the variety is so great and the strain so rapid that the impression is as of two or three birds singing at the same time. He is not common here, and I only find him in these or similar woods. His color is peculiar, and looks as if it might have been imparted by dipping a brown bird in diluted191 pokeberry juice. Two or three more dipping would have made the purple complete. The female is the color of the song sparrow, a little larger, with heavier beak, and tail much more forked.
In a little opening quite free from brush and trees, I step down to bath my hands in the brook, when a small, light slate-colored bird flutters out of the bank, not three feet from my head, as I stoop down, and, as if severely192 lamed193 or injured, flutters through the grass and into the nearest bush. As I do not follow, but remain near the nest, she chips sharply, which brings the male, and I see it is the speckled Canada warbler. I find no authority in the books for this bird to build upon the ground, yet here is the nest, made chiefly of dry grass, set in a slight excavation in the bank not two feet from the water, and looking a little perilous194 to anything but ducklings or sandpipers. There are two young birds and one little speckled egg just pipped. But how is this? what mystery is here? One nestling is much larger than the other, monopolizes195 most of the nest, and lifts its open mouth far above that of its companion, though obviously both are of the same age, not more than a day old. Ah! I see; the old trick of the cow bunting, with a stinging human significance. Taking the interloper by the nape of the neck, I deliberately196 drop it into the water, but not without a pang197, as I see its naked form, convulsed with chills, float downstream. Cruel? So is Nature cruel. I take one life to save two. In less than two days this pot-bellied intruder would have caused the death of the two rightful occupants of the nest; so I step in and turn things into their proper channel again.
It is a similar freak of nature, this instinct which prompts one bird to lay its eggs in the nests of others, and thus shirk the responsibility of rearing its own young. The cow buntings always resort to this cunning trick; and when one reflects upon their numbers, it is evident that these little tragedies are quite frequent. In Europe the parallel case is that of the cuckoo, and occasionally our own cuckoo imposes upon a robin or a thrush in the same manner. The cow bunting seems to have no conscience about the matter, and, so far as I have observed, invariable selects the nest of a bird smaller than itself. Its egg is usually the first to hatch; its young overreaches all the rest when food is brought; it grow with great rapidity, spreads and fills the nest, and the starved and crowded occupants soon perish, when the parent bird removes their dead bodies, giving its whole energy and care to the foster-child.
The warblers and smaller flycatchers are generally the sufferers, though I sometimes see the slate-colored snowbird unconsciously duped in like manner; and the other day, in a tall tree in the woods, I discovered the black-throated green-backed warbler devoting itself to this dusky, over-grown foundling. An old farmer to whom I pointed198 out the fact was much surprised that such things should happen in his woods without his knowledge.
These birds may be seen prowling through all parts of the woods at this season, watching for an opportunity to steal their egg into some nest. One day while sitting on a log, I saw one moving by short flights through the trees and gradually nearing the ground. Its movements were hurried and stealthy. About fifty yards from me it disappeared behind some low brush, and had evidently alighted upon the ground.
After waiting a few moments I cautiously walked in the direction. When about halfway199 I accidentally made a slight noise, when the bird flew up, and seeing me, hurried out of the woods. Arrived at the place, I found a simple nest of dry grass and leaves partially concealed under a prostrate200 branch. I took it to be the nest of a sparrow. There were three eggs in a nest, and one lying about a foot below it as if it had been rolled out, as of course it had. It suggested the thought that perhaps, when the cowbird finds the full complement201 of eggs in a nest, it throws out one and deposits its own instead. I revisited the nest a few days afterward and found an egg again cast out, but none had been put in its place. The nest had been abandoned by its owner and the eggs were stale.
In all cases where I have found this egg, I have observed both male and female cowbird lingering near, the former uttering his peculiar liquid, glassy note from the tops of the trees.
In July, the young which have been reared in the same neighborhood, and which are now of a dull fawn202 color, begin to collect in small flocks, which grow to be quite large in autumn.
The specked Canada is a very superior warbler, having a lively, animated203 strain, reminding you of certain parts of the canary's, though quite broken and incomplete; the bird, the while, hopping amid the branches with increased liveliness, and indulging in fine sibilant chirps, too happy to keep silent.
His manners are quite marked. He has a habit of courtesying when he discovers you which is very pretty. In form he is an elegant bird, somewhat slender, his back of a bluish lead-color becoming nearly black on his crown: the under part of his body, from his throat down, is of a light, delicate yellow, with a belt of black dots across his breast. He has a fine eye, surrounded by a light yellow ring.
The parent birds are much disturbed by my presence, and keep up a loud emphatic204 chirping205, which attracts the attention of their sympathetic neighbors, and one after another they come to see what has happened. The chestnut206-sided and the Blackburnian come in company. The black and yellow warbler pauses a moment and hastens away; the Maryland yellow-throat peeps shyly from the lower bushes and utters his "Fip! fip!" in sympathy; the wood pewee comes straight to the tree overhead, and the red-eyed vireo lingers and lingers, eyeing me with a curious innocent look, evidently much puzzled. But all disappear again, one by one, apparently without a word of condolence or encouragement to the distressed207 pair. I have often noticed among birds this show of sympathy,—if indeed it be sympathy, and not merely curiosity, or desire to be forewarned of the approach of a common danger.
An hour afterward I approach the place, find all still, and the mother bird upon her nest. As I draw near she seems to sit closer, her eyes growing large with an inexpressibly wild, beautiful look. She keeps her place till I am within two paces of her, when she flutters away as at first. In the brief interval208 the remaining egg has hatched, and the two little nestling lift their heads without being jostled or overreached by any strange bedfellow. A week afterward and they were flown away,—so brief is the infancy209 of birds. And the wonder is that they escape, even for this short time, the skunks210 and minks211 and muskrats212 that abound213 here, and that have a decided89 partiality for such tidbits.
I pass on through the old Barkpeeling, now threading an obscure cow-path or an overgrown wood-road; now clambering over soft and decayed logs, or forcing my way through a network of briers and hazels; now entering a perfect bower214 of wild cherry, beech, and soft maple; now emerging into a grassy215 lane, golden with buttercups or white with daisies, or wading216 waist-deep in the red raspberry-bushes.
Whir! whir! whir! and a brood of half-grown partridges start up like an explosion, a few paces from me, and, scattering217, disappear in the bushes on all sides. Let me sit down here behind the screen of ferns and briers, and hear this wild hen of the woods call together her brood. At what an early age the partridge flies! Nature seems to concentrate her energies on the wing, making the safety of a bird a point to be looked after first; and while the body is covered with down, and no signs of feathers are visible, the wing-quills sprout218 and unfold, and in an incredibly short time the young make fair headway in flying.
The same rapid development of wing may be observed in chickens and turkeys, but not in water-fowls, nor in birds that are safely housed in the nest till full-fledged. The other day, by a brook, I came suddenly upon a young sandpiper, a most beautiful creature, enveloped219 in a soft gray down, swift and nimble and apparently a week or two old, but with no signs of plumage either of body or wing. And it needed none, for it escaped me by taking to the water as readily as if it had flown with wings.
Hark! there arises over there in the brush a soft persuasive220 cooing, a sound so subtle and wild and unobtrusive that it requires the most alert and watchful221 ear to hear it. How gentle and solicitous222 and full of yearning223 love! It is the voice of the mother hen. Presently a faint timid "Yeap!" which almost eludes109 the ear, is heard in various direction,—the young responding. As no danger seems near, the cooing of the parent bird is soon a very audible clucking call, and the young move cautiously in the direction. Let me step never to carefully from my hiding-place, and all sounds instantly cease, and I search in vain for either parent or young.
The partridge is one of our most native and characteristic birds. The woods seem good to be in where I find him. He gives a habitable air to the forest, and one feels as if the rightful occupant was really at home. The woods where I do not find him seem to want something, as if suffering from some neglect of Nature. And then he is such a splendid success, so hardy224 and vigorous. I think he enjoys the cold and the snow. His wings seem to rustle225 with more fervency226 in midwinter. If the snow falls very fast, and promises a heavy storm he will complacently227 sit down allow himself to be snowed under. Approaching him at such times, he suddenly bursts out of the snow at your feet, scattering the flakes228 in all directions, and goes humming away through the woods like a bombshell,—a picture of native spirit and success.
His drum is one of the most welcome and beautiful sounds of spring. Scarcely have the trees expanded their buds, when, in the still April mornings, or toward nightfall, you hear the hum of his devoted229 wings. He selects not, as you would predict, a dry and resinous230 log, but a decayed and crumbling231 one, seeming to give the preference to old oak-logs that are partly blended with the soil. If a log to his taste cannot be found, he sets up his alter on a rock, which becomes resonant232 beneath his fervent233 blows. Who has seen the partridge drum? It is the next thing to catching234 a weasel asleep, though by much caution and tact235 it may be done. He does not hug the log, but stands very erect236, expands his ruff, gives two introductory blows, pauses half a second, and then resumes, striking faster and faster till the sound becomes a continuous, unbroken whir, the whole lasting237 less than half a minute. The tips of his wings barely brush the log, so that the sound is produced rather by the force of the blows upon the air and upon his own body as in flying. One log will be used for many years, though not by the same drummer. It seems to be a sort of temple and held in great respect. The bird always approaches on foot, and leaves it in the same quiet manner, unless rudely disturbed. He is very cunning, though his wit is not profound. It is difficult to approach him by stealth, you will try many times before succeeding; but seem to pass by him in a great hurry, making all the noise possible, and with plumage furled, he stands as immovable as a know, allowing you a good view, and a good shot if you are a sportsman.
Passing along one of the old Barkpeelers' roads which wander aimlessly about, I am attracted by a singularly brilliant and emphatic warble, proceeding from the low bushes, and quickly suggesting the voice of the Maryland yellow-throat. Presently the singer hops238 up on a dry twig, and gives me a good view: lead-colored head and neck, becoming nearly black on the breast; clear olive-green back, and yellow belly239. From his habit of keeping near the ground, even hopping upon it occasionally, I know him to be a ground warbler; from his dark breast the ornithologist240 has added the expletive mourning, hence the mourning ground warbler.
Of this bird both Wilson and Audubon confessed their comparative ignorance, neither ever having seen its nest or become acquainted with its haunts and general habits. Its song is quite striking and novel, though its voice at once suggests the class of warblers to which it belongs. It is very shy and wary241, flying but a few feet at a time, and studiously concealing242 itself from your view. I discover but one pair here. The female has food in her beak, but carefully avoids betraying the locality of her nest. The ground warblers all have one notable feature,—very beautiful legs, as white and delicate as if they had always worn silk stockings and satin slippers243. High tree warblers have dark brown or black legs and more brilliant plumage, but less musical ability.
The chestnut-sided belongs to the latter class. He is quite common in 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 browsed244 daily. Things went on smoothly245 till the cow bunting stole her egg into it, when other mishaps246 followed, and the nest was soon empty. A characteristic attitude of the male during this season is a slight drooping247 of the wings, and a 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 sylvan248 cadence249, 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 [2 dashes, square root symbol, high dash]; 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 velvet250, his face yellow, and his back a yellowish green.
Beyond the Barkpeeling, where the woods are mingled251 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 dense252 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 hairwire. It 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 discriminate253 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 tinge254 of his breast and sides and the white circle around his eye.
But the declining sun and the deepening shadows admonish255 me that this ramble256 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 secluded257 swampy258 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 gracefully259 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 premature260 honors. A decayed hemlock is draped as if by hands for some solemn festival.
Mounting toward the upland again, I pause reverently261 as the hush262 and stillness of twilight com 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.
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1
annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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intruding
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| v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的现在分词)；把…强加于 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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rumbles
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| 隆隆声，辘辘声( rumble的名词复数 ) | |
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8
hemlock
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| n.毒胡萝卜，铁杉 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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10
solitudes
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| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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geographical
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| adj.地理的；地区(性)的 | |
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latitude
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| n.纬度，行动或言论的自由(范围)，(pl.)地区 | |
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flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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fauna
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| n.(一个地区或时代的)所有动物，动物区系 | |
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elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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beavers
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| 海狸( beaver的名词复数 )； 海狸皮毛； 棕灰色； 拼命工作的人 | |
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hemlocks
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| 由毒芹提取的毒药( hemlock的名词复数 ) | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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preyed
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| v.掠食( prey的过去式和过去分词 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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mosses
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| n. 藓类, 苔藓植物 名词moss的复数形式 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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lichens
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| n.地衣( lichen的名词复数 ) | |
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marrowy
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| adj.多髓的，有力的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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browsing
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| v.吃草( browse的现在分词 )；随意翻阅；（在商店里）随便看看；（在计算机上）浏览信息 | |
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maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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maples
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| 槭树，枫树( maple的名词复数 )； 槭木 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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savory
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| adj.风味极佳的，可口的，味香的 | |
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tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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ornithology
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| n.鸟类学 | |
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larcenies
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| n.盗窃（罪）( larceny的名词复数 ) | |
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42
dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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43
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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48
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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hopping
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| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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51
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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52
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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53
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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54
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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55
beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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56
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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57
chirps
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的第三人称单数 )； 啾； 啾啾 | |
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58
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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59
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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60
excavation
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| n.挖掘，发掘；被挖掘之地 | |
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61
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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63
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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64
plentifully
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| adv. 许多地，丰饶地 | |
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65
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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66
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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67
dilate
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| vt.使膨胀，使扩大 | |
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68
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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69
wren
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| n.鹪鹩；英国皇家海军女子服务队成员 | |
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70
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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71
plaintiveness
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72
gushing
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| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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73
ascends
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的第三人称单数 ) | |
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74
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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75
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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76
perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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77
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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78
acidulous
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| adj.微酸的；苛薄的 | |
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79
salutes
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| n.致敬，欢迎，敬礼( salute的名词复数 )v.欢迎，致敬( salute的第三人称单数 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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80
impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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81
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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82
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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83
scuds
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| v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的第三人称单数 ) | |
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84
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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85
obsolete
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| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
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86
displacement
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| n.移置，取代，位移，排水量 | |
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87
darts
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| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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88
moth
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| n.蛾，蛀虫 | |
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89
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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90
ornithological
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| adj.鸟类学的 | |
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91
procuring
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的现在分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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92
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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93
variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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94
cognomen
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| n.姓；绰号 | |
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95
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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96
evergreens
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| n.常青树，常绿植物，万年青( evergreen的名词复数 ) | |
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97
beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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98
triangular
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| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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99
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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100
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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101
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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102
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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103
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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104
wrens
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| n.鹪鹩( wren的名词复数 ) | |
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105
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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106
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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107
interspersed
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| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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108
preludes
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| n.开端( prelude的名词复数 )；序幕；序曲；短篇作品 | |
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109
eludes
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的第三人称单数 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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110
attains
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的第三人称单数 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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111
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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113
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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114
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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115
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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116
muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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117
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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118
quill
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| n.羽毛管；v.给（织物或衣服）作皱褶 | |
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119
mink
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| n.貂，貂皮 | |
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120
skunk
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| n.臭鼬，黄鼠狼；v.使惨败，使得零分；烂醉如泥 | |
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121
agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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122
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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123
pugnacious
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| adj.好斗的 | |
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124
dispositions
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| 安排( disposition的名词复数 )； 倾向； （财产、金钱的）处置； 气质 | |
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125
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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126
flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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127
beholder
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| n.观看者，旁观者 | |
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128
braggart
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| n.吹牛者；adj.吹牛的，自夸的 | |
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129
arrant
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| adj.极端的；最大的 | |
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130
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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131
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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132
stolidity
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| n.迟钝，感觉麻木 | |
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133
scour
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| v.搜索；擦，洗，腹泻，冲刷 | |
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134
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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135
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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136
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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137
screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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138
owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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139
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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140
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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141
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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142
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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143
disperse
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| vi.使分散；使消失；vt.分散；驱散 | |
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144
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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145
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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146
ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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147
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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148
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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149
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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150
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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151
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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152
illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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153
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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154
shrillness
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| 尖锐刺耳 | |
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155
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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156
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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157
finch
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| n.雀科鸣禽(如燕雀，金丝雀等) | |
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158
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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159
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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160
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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161
joyousness
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| 快乐，使人喜悦 | |
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162
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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163
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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164
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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165
radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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166
spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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167
exhaling
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的现在分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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168
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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169
transpires
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| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的第三人称单数 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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170
meridian
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| adj.子午线的；全盛期的 | |
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171
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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172
hummingbirds
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| n.蜂鸟( hummingbird的名词复数 ) | |
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173
disporting
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| v.嬉戏，玩乐，自娱( disport的现在分词 ) | |
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174
squeaks
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| n.短促的尖叫声，吱吱声( squeak的名词复数 )v.短促地尖叫( squeak的第三人称单数 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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175
exultingly
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| 兴高采烈地，得意地 | |
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176
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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177
analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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178
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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179
modulated
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| 已调整[制]的，被调的 | |
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180
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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181
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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182
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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183
linings
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| n.衬里( lining的名词复数 )；里子；衬料；组织 | |
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184
conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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185
kindle
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| v.点燃，着火 | |
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186
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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187
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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188
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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189
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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190
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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191
diluted
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| 无力的，冲淡的 | |
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192
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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193
lamed
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| 希伯莱语第十二个字母 | |
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194
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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195
monopolizes
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| n.垄断( monopolize的名词复数 )；独占；专卖；专营v.垄断( monopolize的第三人称单数 )；独占；专卖；专营 | |
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196
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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197
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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198
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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199
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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200
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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201
complement
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| n.补足物，船上的定员；补语；vt.补充，补足 | |
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202
fawn
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| n.未满周岁的小鹿；v.巴结，奉承 | |
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203
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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204
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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205
chirping
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的现在分词 ) | |
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206
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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207
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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208
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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209
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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210
skunks
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| n.臭鼬( skunk的名词复数 )；臭鼬毛皮；卑鄙的人；可恶的人 | |
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211
minks
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| n.水貂( mink的名词复数 )；水貂皮 | |
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212
muskrats
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| n.麝鼠（产于北美，毛皮珍贵）( muskrat的名词复数 ) | |
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213
abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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214
bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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215
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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216
wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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217
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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218
sprout
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| n.芽，萌芽；vt.使发芽，摘去芽；vi.长芽，抽条 | |
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219
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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220
persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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221
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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222
solicitous
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| adj.热切的，挂念的 | |
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223
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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224
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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225
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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226
fervency
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| n.热情的；强烈的；热烈 | |
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227
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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228
flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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229
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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230
resinous
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| adj.树脂的，树脂质的，树脂制的 | |
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231
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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232
resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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233
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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234
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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235
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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236
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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237
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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238
hops
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| 跳上[下]( hop的第三人称单数 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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239
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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240
ornithologist
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| n.鸟类学家 | |
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241
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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242
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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243
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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244
browsed
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| v.吃草( browse的过去式和过去分词 )；随意翻阅；（在商店里）随便看看；（在计算机上）浏览信息 | |
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245
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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246
mishaps
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| n.轻微的事故，小的意外( mishap的名词复数 ) | |
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247
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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248
sylvan
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| adj.森林的 | |
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249
cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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250
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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251
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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252
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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253
discriminate
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| v.区别，辨别，区分；有区别地对待 | |
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254
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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255
admonish
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| v.训戒；警告；劝告 | |
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256
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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257
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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258
swampy
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| adj.沼泽的，湿地的 | |
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259
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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260
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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261
reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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262
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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