72 birds' eggs 



the kingbird and cedar-bird like wool. I have 

 found a single feather of the bird's own in the 

 nest of the phoebe. Such a circumstance would 

 perhaps justify the poet. 



About the first of June there is a nest in the 

 woods upon the ground with four creamy w^hite 

 eggs in it spotted w^ith brown or lilac, chiefly 

 about the larger ends, that always gives the 

 walker, who is so lucky as to find it, a thrill of 

 pleasure. It is like a ground-sparrow's nest 

 with a roof or canopy to it. The little brown 

 or olive backed bird starts away from your feet 

 and runs swiftly and almost silently over the 

 dry leaves, and then turns her speckled breast 

 to see if you are following. She walks very 

 prettily, by far the prettiest pedestrian in the 

 woods. But if she thinks you have discovered 

 her secret, she feigns lameness and disability 

 of both legs and wing, to decoy you into the 

 pursuit of her. This is the golden-crowned 

 thrush, or accentor, a strictly wood-bird, about 

 the size of a song-sparrow, with the dullest of 

 gold upon his crown, but the brightest of songs 

 in his heart. The last nest of this bird I 

 found was while in quest of the pink cypripe- 

 dium. We suddenly spied a couple of the 

 flowers a few steps from the path along which 

 we were Avalking and had stooped to admire 

 them, when out sprang the bird from beside 

 them, doubtless thinking she was the subject of 

 observation instead of the flowers that swung 

 their purple bells but a foot or two above her. 

 But we never should have seen her had she 



