SONG-BIRDS. Warblers 



At this time the bird appears like a small, slender 

 Thrush, with a little golden-brown streak on the crown. 

 Suddenly from the pines comes the half-defiant call, 

 " Teacher, Teacher, TEACHER ! " each syllable accented, 

 and rattled off with increasing volume, and you are quite 

 incredulous that so small a bird can utter such a sound. 

 The notes are familiar to you ; you have heard them a hun- 

 dred times breaking the intense noon stillness of the woods, 

 but you had supposed that they proceeded at least from a 

 large Woodpecker; but no, it is the Ovenbird; and this 

 call has given him a third name, — the Accentor. By the 

 tenth of May they leave the garden and seek the lighter 

 woods where, having paired, they go into deeper shade to 

 build their homes. 



Hickory, oak, and beech woods, with fern-grown banks 

 sloping to a stream, are their favourite haunts, and on these 

 banks, where the ground is covered with leaves in various 

 stages of decay, they build their hut-like nests. While 

 thus occupied, the males give, at rare intervals, an exquisite 

 little serenade to their mates, which is wholly different 

 from the shrill call notes. It is most likely to be heard 

 when the bird is on the wing in the early evening, and 

 somewhat resembles the music of the Louisiana Water- 

 thrush. Many people who are familiar with its nest 

 and haunts have never heard this love-song. The nest 

 is extremely difficult to locate; settled as it is into a 

 ground hollow and roofed over, it may be easily passed 

 by as a bunch of huddled leaves. Sometimes you may 

 see a bird alight on the ground and run nimbly toward 

 such a tuft, and that will be the best method of finding the 

 nest, which, though it is cleverly hidden, often holds the 

 unwelcome eggs of the Cowbird. All the singing and call- 

 ing is done from the trees; and, as you look up in the 

 uncertain wood-light, the singers appear to be only dusky 

 specks, like the few last year's leaves that still lodge there. 

 But when the rare music is heard, the little brown mote is 

 transfigured, and soars above the trees. 



107 



