Brewster on the American Brown Creeper. 207 



lose its greatest charm if exposed to cheerful light and common- 

 place surroundings. 



On sunny April mornings I have heard the Creeper singing from 

 the elms along the noisy streets of Massachusetts towns and cities ; 

 but the strain at such times was broken and incomplete, and gave 

 but little idea of the author's real powers of song. 



The labor of incubation seems to be performed by the female 

 Creeper alone, nor have I been able to ascertain that the male even 

 feeds her while she is sitting, though I have reasons for suspecting 

 that he may sometimes do so. 



Several times during each day she leaves the nest to make short 

 excursions through the neighboring woods in search of food. On such 

 occasions the male is invariably to be found in close attendance. He 

 leads the way up the rough-barked boles, and when the thickly diverg- 

 ing branches are reached, takes flight for the next trunk, alighting near 

 the base, always followed closely by his mate. An incessant conver- 

 sational chirping is carried on in a low tone by the happy pair, and 

 the theme no doubt is of his adventures during the morning, or their 

 mutual hopes and fears regarding their coming brood. At frequent 

 intervals his pure voice thrills through the dark spruce woods, and 

 when his partner returns to her maternal cares he sings long and 

 joyously in the vicinity before resuming his solitary wanderings. 

 Thus the bright June days pass, until at length the young have 

 burst the shell, and our Creeper finds the burden of a numerous 

 family upon his hands. But he rises bravely to meet the occasion, 

 and, laying aside his former free life, devotes himself unremittingly 

 to the task of supplying food to the hungry brood. A nest con- 

 taining five young, which I found on June 14, was visited by 

 both parents, who came alternately at intervals of about a minute. 

 The work was carried on with the utmost silence and despatch ; not 

 a sound being uttered by either old or young. The latter were 

 already partially feathered, and were perhaps a week old. With 

 their short, nearly straight bills and preternaturally grave aspect, 

 the little fellows presented a most singular appearance. Several of 

 them had been crowded out of the limited space afforded by the nest, 

 and were sitting on the rim of the surrounding platform. A week 

 later I passed the spot and found the whole family gone. 



In his description of the Grand Menan nest (Birds of North 

 America, Vol. I, p. 127), Dr. Brewer speaks of the extreme grief 

 evinced by the parents, who, upon finding their home destroyed by 



