AN OWL’S HEAD HOLIDAY. 271 
to notice that it was the father-bird who man- 
ifested the deepest concern and the readiest 
wit, not to say the greatest courage; but I am 
obliged in candor to acknowledge that this fea- 
ture of the case surprised me not a little. 
In what language shall I speak of the song of 
these familiar myrtle warblers, so that my praise 
may correspond in some degree with the gracious 
and beautiful simplicity of the strain itself ? 
For music to be heard constantly, right under 
one’s window, it could scarcely be improved ; 
sweet, brief, and remarkably unobtrusive, with- 
out sharpness or emphasis; a trill not altogether 
unlike the pine-creeping warbler’s, but less mat- 
ter-of-fact and business-like. I used to listen 
to it before I rose in the morning, and it was 
to be heard at intervals all day long. Occasion- 
ally it was given in an absent-minded, medi- 
tative way, in a kind of half-voice, as if the 
happy creature had no thought of what he was 
doing. Then it was at its best, but one needed 
to be near the singer. 
In a clearing back of the hotel, but sur- 
rounded by the forest, were always a goodly 
company of birds, among the rest a family of 
yellow-bellied woodpeckers; and in a second 
similar place were white - throated sparrows, 
Maryland yellow - throats, and chestnut -sided 
warblers, the last two feeding their young. 
