It is a strong, vivacious 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 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 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 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.
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