IN THE HEMLOCKS 57 



it a round, richly modulated whistle, very sweet and 

 very pleasing. The call of the robin is brought in 

 at a certain point with marked effect, and, throughout, 

 the variety is so great and the strain so rapid that the 

 impression is as of two or three birds singing at the 

 same time. He is not common here, and I only 

 find him in these or similar woods. His color is 

 peculiar, and looks as if it might have been imparted 

 by dipping a brown bird in diluted pokeberry juice. 

 Two or three more dippings would have made the 

 purple complete. The female is the color of the 

 song sparrow, a little larger, with heavier beak, and 

 tail much more forked. 



In a little opening quite free from brush and 

 trees, I step down to bathe my hands in the brook, 

 when a small, light slate-colored bird nutters out of 

 the bank, not three feet from my head, as I stoop 

 down, and, as if severely lamed or injured, nutters 

 through the grass and into the nearest bush. As I 

 do not follow, but remain near the nest, she chips 

 sharply, which brings the male, and I see it is the 

 speckled Canada warbler. I find no authority in 

 the books for this bird to build upon the ground, 

 yet here is the nest, made chiefly of dry grass, set in 

 a slight excavation in the bank not two feet from 

 the water, and looking a little perilous to anything 

 but ducklings or sandpipers. There are two young 

 birds and one little speckled egg just pipped. But 

 how is this? what mystery is here? One nestling 

 is much larger than the other, monopolizes most of 

 the nest, and lifts its open mouth far above that 



