A world of green hills : $b Observations of nature and human nature in the Blue RidgeTorrey, Bradford
History
A world of green hills : $b Observations of nature and human nature in the Blue Ridge
Torrey, Bradford
Bird watching; Blue Ridge Mountains -- Description and travel; Natural history -- Outdoor books
Indeed, it was certain that one member of the flock was a rarity, if
not an absolute novelty. That was the most exciting and by all odds the
most deplorable incident of the whole affair. I had obtained several
glimpses of him, but had been unable to determine his identity; a
warbler, past all reasonable doubt, with pure white under parts (the
upper parts quite invisible) except for a black or blackish line,
barely made out, across the lower throat or the upper breast. He, of
course, had vanished with the rest, the more was the pity. I had made
a guess at him, to be sure; it is a poor naturalist who cannot do as
much as that (but a really good naturalist would “form a hypothesis,” I
suppose) under almost any circumstances. I had called him a cerulean
warbler. Once in my life I had seen a bird of that species, but only
for a minute. If he wore a black breast-band, I did not see it, or else
had forgotten it. If I could only have had a look at this fellow’s
back and wings! As it was, I was not likely ever to _know_ him, though
the printed description would either demolish or add a degree of
plausibility to my offhand conjecture.
The better course, after losing a bevy of wanderers in this way,
is perhaps to remain where one is and await the arrival of another
detachment of the migratory host. This advice, or something like it, I
seem to remember having read, at all events; but I have never schooled
myself to such a pitch of quietism. For a time, indeed, I could not
believe that the birds _were_ lost, and must hunt the hilltop over
in the hope of another chance at them. An empty hope. So I did what
I always do: the game having flown, I took my own departure also. I
should not find the same flock again, but with good luck--which now it
was easy to expect--I might find another; and except for the single
mysterious stranger, that would be better still. One thing I was sure
of,--Natural Bridge was not to be left out of the warbler migration;
and one thing I forgot entirely,--that I had planned to leave it by the
noonday train.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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