246 THE STORY OF THE BIRDS. 
cently into song. At first I could not well identify 
this bird through a glass. The “ distinct orbital ring” 
of the books was not so distinct. And the spots on 
the breast at one time did not appear as at another. 
I did not want to shoot one, so I wrote the Smithso- 
nian folks about their specimens. There was a throat 
stripe that bothered me, and not till I read from Mrs. 
O. T. Miller that the spots on the breast of the wood 
thrush form a line when the bird bunches itself for 
sleep, did it flash upon me about my olive backs. A 
mark was a stripe or a series of spots according to the 
position of the bird. I subsequently found a flicker 
with his mustache in spots—like a stripling’s. 
Through the window pane I have had under my 
glass various warblers, and identified them without 
slaughter. In the rosebush just beneath me I saw 
the yellow-crowned notching the leaves—I know 
not why, for he did not swallow the bits—saw both 
the eastern and western Maryland yellowthroat come 
on the same day; and beneath this bush the ovenbird 
has made his mincing steps once. The white-crowned 
sparrows and the Peabody birds, or white-throated 
sparrows, scratch beneath the one that is farther 
out, and the latter linger around for weeks, trying 
to get through with their wailing song and rarely 
doing it. 
The goldfinches, the orioles, and others are around 
in season, but the Baltimore will not honor me any 
more with a long nest, but builds a shallow cup above 
me; rather, he does honor me with the shallow nest, 
for it shows that he puts great confidence in my pro- 

