AN OWL’S HEAD HOLIDAY. 267 
The black-throated blue warblers were com- 
mon, and like most of their tribe were waiting 
upon offspring just out of the nest. I watched 
one as he offered his charge a rather large in- 
sect. The awkward fledgeling let it fall three 
times; and still the parent picked it up again, 
only chirping mildly, as if to say, “ Come, come, 
my beauty, don’t be quite so bungling.” But 
even in the midst of their family cares, they 
still found leisure for music; and as they and 
the black-throated greens were often singing to- 
gether, I had excellent opportunities to compare 
the songs of the two species. The voices, while 
both very peculiar, are at the same time so 
nearly alike that it was impossible for me on 
hearing the first note of either strain to tell 
whose it was. With the voice the similarity 
ends, however; for the organ does not make 
the singer, and while the blue seldom attempts 
more than a harsh, monotonous kree, kree, kree, 
the green possesses the true lyrical gift, so that 
in my door-yard on the morning of the 7th. I heard his loud chip, 
and looking out of the window, saw him first on the ground and 
then in an ash-tree near a crowd of house sparrows. The latter 
were scolding at him with their usual cordiality, while he, on his 
part, seemed under some kind of fascination, returning again and 
again to walk as closely as he dared about the blustering crew. 
His curiosity was laughable. Evidently he thought, considering 
what an ado the sparrows were making, that something serious 
must be going on, something worth any bird’s while to turn aside 
for a moment to look into. The innocent recluse ! if he had lived 
where I do he would have grown used to such “‘ windy congresses.’’ 
