May 
rious of the warblers. Its own color ought to 
suffice to keep it comfortable in the arctic zone. 
Along the water-courses, commonly on the 
ground, and often wading in the shallows, one 
will see at this season a little creature that re- 
minds him of the sandpiper in its teetering mo- 
tions and aqueous proclivities, and of a thrush 
in its olive-brown back and spotted white 
breast, yet it proves to be another warbler, of 
the same genus as the oven-bird already referred 
to; called, however, by reason of its coloring 
and habits, the water-thrush or water-wagtail. 
They are to be seen here only on their way 
north. Deep in the forests of northern New 
England, and beyond, they find their home along 
the banks of the streams, rendering their seclu- 
sion most delightful by their song, which is de- 
scribed as being ‘‘ loud, clear, and exquisitely 
sweet, beginning with a burst of melody which 
becomes softer and more delicate until the last 
note dies away, lost in the ripple of the stream, 
above which the birds are generally perched.”’ 
Among the rarer discoveries in the Ramble 
was that of the golden-winged warbler, which 
one morning led me, not into forbidden paths, 
but on to forbidden grass. Believing this to be 
an emergency wherein the law would be more 
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