THE OVEN-BIRD 



( Seiurus aurocapillus, ) 



It was during my spring-morning 

 walks along the east side of Wooded 

 Island, Jackson Park, Chicago, that I be- 

 came acquainted with the Oven-bird. It 

 was the latter part of April, and various 

 warblers had been on hand for some 

 time ; the leaves had not yet come out, 

 so there was no foliage to obscure the 

 view or give concealment to the feath- 

 ered folk. 



There was not much about the bird to 

 attract attention ; a trim, olive-green bird, 

 somewhat like an undersized thrush, 

 walking along in a peculiar stately fash- 

 ion, beside the pathways that threaded 

 here and there among the bushes. As 

 the bird walked along it kept tilting its 

 tail in a jerking way, as if to balance 

 itself, and now and then it scratched 

 among the leaves in a business-like fash- 

 ion. 



Getting acquainted was not however, 

 so easy a matter as one might suppose ; 

 for about the same time and along in the 

 same copses, the Oven-bird's close rela- 

 tive, the water-thrush appeared, and at 

 the distance they usually kept from me, 

 they looked so much alike, that it seemed 

 as though they were bound to rehearse 

 a Comedy of Errors, not for the benefit, 

 but for the discomfiture of every bird- 

 student that came that way. It was by 

 comparing the skins of two less lucky 

 representatives of the two species, and 

 noting especially the markings on the 

 head — the old-gold crown of the Oven- 

 bird bordered on each side by black 

 stripes, contrasted with the white stripe 

 over the eye of the water-thrush — that it 

 became possible to distinguish them. The 

 birds once known apart, it was possible 



to study more closely the peculiarities in 

 the actions of each. Later in the season, 

 the water-thrush mounted the bushes 

 and sang a ringing song, a habit in which 

 the Oven-bird never indulged at that 

 place. 



In the deep moist woodlands where 

 the Oven-bird makes his home, however, 

 he is by no means silent, and his ex- 

 cited calling ''teacher — teacher — teacher" 

 attracts attention for a considerable dis- 

 tance. Not every bird that calls "teacher, 

 teacher," is an Oven-bird, however, some 

 of his relatives among the yellow-throats, 

 have much the same call, so measured 

 and even that one who has once associ- 

 ated the calls with the birds is not likely 

 to get them confused. 



It is in the thick, damp woodland that 

 the Oven-bird builds its nest on the 

 ground among the leaves. The home is 

 made of whatever soft material the bird 

 finds handy — fibers, leaves, and the like 

 — and it is frequently roofed over by a 

 dome which reminds one of a Dutch oven 

 — a circumstance which gives the bird 

 one of his common names. In the nest 

 are laid three to five somewhat speckled 

 white eggs. It is said that the cow-bird 

 likes to deposit its eggs here. 



The Oven-bird keeps too remote from 

 the ordinary walks of men to be well 

 known by people in general, and prob- 

 ably the only way he affects our lives or 

 interests is by destroying insects which 

 might injure forests. In the deep soli- 

 tude of his woodland life, the bird is un- 

 molested by man; and the only way the 

 operations of mankind affect the bird's 

 life is indirectly, by the clearing and pas- 

 turing of forests. 



H. Walton Clark. 



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