68 SOME CANADIAN BIRDS. 



GOLDEN-CROWNED KINGLET. 



Small as this bird is — about the size of your thumb — and deli- 

 cately as it is formed, it has sufficient sturdiness and vitality to 

 withstand the rigor of a Canadian winter. 



My acquaintance with the kinglet dates from a certain February 

 day when I met a dozen of them in a New Brunswick forest, and 

 ever since I have had respect for the tiny creature's courage and 

 endurance. A storm was raging — high winds and snow — and the 

 temperature was too near zero for human comfort. After a hard 

 tramp through the storm I had retreated to a thickly-wooded 

 valley for rest and repairs when a coterie of chickadees and 

 nuthatches came trooping by, merry as usual, their sweet and cheery 

 strains in striking contrast with the fierce wind's dirge. While watch- 

 ing their antics, as they flitted from tree to tree and scampered over 

 the trunks and branches, I became conscious of a strange note in 

 the medley— a note that was new to me — a thin, wiry note, of 

 piercing quality and high-pitclied tone ; more like an insect's note 

 than a bird's, yet sweet as the tinkle of a silver bell. It was not 

 loud, but it was penetrating, and was readily traced amid the chorus, 

 BO I had little difficulty in placing its authorship— a bevy of 

 daintily-costumed mites with plumes as neatly laid and forms as 

 trim and graceful as any warbler's, who were following, in an unob- 

 trusive way, the example of their hilarious companions in hunting 

 for eatables among the bark crannies. They were quite as cheerful 

 as the others and as sprightly, but had less suggestion of antics in 

 their demeanor. They looked out of place — too exquisite and frail 

 for a winter storm, too much like a dude in a squall. I thought they 



