THE WARBLERS ARE COMING 273 



fied myself as to the identity of the singer. 

 " Trees, trees, murmuring trees : " so I once 

 translated the first of the two songs ; and 

 to this day I do not see how to improve 

 upon the version. He is talking of the 

 Weymouth pine, I like to believe. 



Black-and-white creeping warblers have 

 been common since the 4th (under normal 

 weather conditions they should have been 

 here a fortnight sooner), and on the 6th the 

 oven-bird took possession of the drier woods. 

 He looks very little like a warbler, but those 

 who ought to know whereof they speak class 

 him with that family. I have not yet heard 

 his flight song, but he has no idea of keep- 

 ing silence. As is true of every real artist, 

 he is in love with his part. With what a 

 daintily self-conscious grace he walks the 

 boards ! It is a kind of music to watch 

 him. He makes me think continually of the 

 little ghost in Mrs. Slosson's story. Like 

 that insubstantial reality he is always say- 

 ing : " Don't you want to hear me speak my 

 piece ? " And whether the answer is yes or 

 no, it is no matter over he goes with it. 



Yesterday my first blue yellow-back was 



