66 BIRD-LAND ECHOES. 



mucky meadow. It is a tree-warbler, but occasion- 

 ally condescends to keep company with Maryland 

 yellow-throats, and may dart out from under a skunk 

 cabbage when you are looking for it in the upper 

 branches of the sapling birches. It is seldom quiet, 

 unless asleep. Occasionally some of our warblers 

 will stop for a moment and even go so far as to 

 plume themselves, but the chestnut-sided warbler, 

 like the redstart, plumes itself on the fact that it 

 does not need to rest. It is always on the lookout, 

 always moving from point to point, as if animated by 

 an abiding faith that there is merit in motion, even 

 should nothing come of it. That the peculiar man- 

 ners of each warbler have been too elaborately com- 

 mented upon is more. than probable. Could we bleach 

 or blacken the feathers of a dozen or more species 

 and then turn them loose, I imagine there would be 

 endless difficulties in the way of specific recognition. 

 The flirt of the tail, the spread of the wings, and 

 sometimes even the voice, would be clouded in uncer- 

 tainty. As a class, they can be recognized. There is 

 a family likeness running all through, though obscured 

 in an oven-bird or a yellow-breasted chat ; but if the 

 sun shines in your eyes do not be too sure of the spe- 

 cies when the bird is near the top of a tall tree, and, 

 I may add, never shoot it, to be certain ; this is abso- 

 lutely unjustifiable under any circumstances. Your 

 ignorance will do you no harm for the day, and the 

 next time you are waiting for warblers you may be 

 more lucky. The sun does not always shine in our 

 eyes. Nor is it well to be too positive when the 



