The Towhee tSS 



Abandoned fields, wherein briers and bushes have sprung up, are also favorite 

 abiding places for the Towhee. 



One summer day, as a member of a Harvard botany class, I journeyed some 

 miles out of Cambridge, and afoot began a rather laborious climb up the some- 

 what steeply sloping side of Blue Hill. As we advanced, the trees decreased 

 steadily in size until, perhaps three-fourths of the way to the 

 top, they became so scragg>^ that in many places they had Its Song 



much the aspect of bushes. This change in the condition of 

 the vegetation must have been due largely to the poor quality of the soil, as the 

 altitude was not great. We studied many plants that day, many of which I 

 have forgotten, but I do remember with great distinctness the songs of Towhees, 

 which with marvelous clearness rang from the topmost bough of many a stunted 

 tree. This is the kind of situation it invariably occupies when singing. The 

 Nightingale may sing from the depths of its myrtle-bush, the Veery from the 

 bough of its favorite oak, and the Gnatcatcher from its nest, but, like the 

 Winter Wren and the Nonpareil, the Towhee must occupy the highest twig of 

 its chosen sapling or bush before it flings to the summer winds the melody of 

 its notes. Its song is not a remarkable performance when compared with the 

 singing of many birds, but it is vigorous and appealing. The song of the 

 Towhee is the passionate cry of a love-sick bird, who will not take "no" for 

 an answer. Ernest Thompson Seton has told us what it says. He asserts the 

 bird plainly shouts, chuck-burr, pill-a-will-a-will-a . 



The Towhee's nest is often situated on the ground, though sometimes we 

 may find it in shrubs or low bushes. Even when built in a bush it is always 

 near the earth. In fact I have never found one at more than a 

 foot elevation. It is usually made of a collection of dead leaves, The Nest 



strips of grape-vine or other bark, and occasionally a few twigs. 

 The lining appears always to be made of fine, dead grasses. It is not covered 

 over like the nest of the Bob-white, Meadowlark, Oven-bird, and some other 

 ground-nesting species, and is protected from the rays of the sun and the eyes 

 of the curious only by the twigs and leaves of the bush in which it is hidden. 

 Although fairly ample in size, it is in reality rather a frailly built cradle, and 

 usually goes to pieces during the rains of autumn or the winter storms. 



As may be noticed from the accompanying colored illustration, the female 

 is less highly colored than her mate. This is the case with a great many kinds 

 of birds, and it would appear that when kind Nature made them she had in 

 mind the fact that the mother-bird would do most of the brooding; and that 

 while on the nest her somewhat duller coat would not be so noticeable to 

 enemies, which, with claw and beak and tooth, are ever afield on the hunt 

 for little birds. She seems to know how well her coloring protects her, and 

 sometimes one may approach to a point where the hand may almost be laid 

 on her before she takes wing. Four or five white eggs, finely and evenly 

 spotted with dark red, are laid, usually in May. When one approaches the 



