76 BIRDS 



The Warbling Vireo 



High up in the tops of elms and maples that line village 

 streets where the red-eyed vireo loves to hunt, even among 

 the trees of so busy a thoroughfare as Boston Common, an 

 almost continuous warble in the early summer indicates 

 that some unseen singer is hidden there; but even if you 

 get a glimpse of the warbling vireo you could not tell him 

 from his red-eyed cousin at that height. Modestly 

 dressed, without even a white eyebrow or wing-bars to re- 

 lieve his plain dusty ohve and whitish clothes, he is the 

 least impressive member of his retiring, inconspicuous 

 family. He asks you no questions in jerky, colloquial 

 triplets of song, so you may know by his voice at least that 

 he is not the red-eyed vireo. Some self-conscious birds, 

 like the song sparrow, mount to a conspicuous perch before 

 they begin to sing, as if they had to dehver a distinct 

 number on a programme before a waiting audience. Not 

 so with this industrious little gleaner to whom singing and 

 dining seem to be a part of the same performance — one and 

 inseparable. He sings as he goes, snatching a bit of insect 

 food between warbles. 



Although towns do not affright him, he reaUy prefers 

 wooded borderland and clearings, especially where birch 

 trees abound, when it is time to rear a family. 



