MAGNOLIA WARBLER. 211 
clumps of fir and spruce shrubs are the likely places, and, judging from the numbers of | 
Black-and-yellow Warblers that I hear singing, our chances are good, but you must 
remember that not above one male in three or four of this species is blessed with a 
mate, so do not let your hopes rise too high. They are a gay lot of bachelors, though, 
are they not? chasing one another through the branches, more in sport than anger 
apparently, and uttering their queer, emphatic little songs on all sides.... ‘She knew 
she was right; yes, she knew she was right,’ they seem to say; but what all this 
means I never could imagine. Some idle gossip of theirs, probably, which it will not 
profit us to inquire into. Ha! I have it, even so soon. I thought yon fellow singing 
so gayly in the fallen tree top had more the air of a Benedict than any we have pre- 
viously seen, and here, almost under my hand, sits his modest little wife on her nest. 
Be careful how you shake that branch, for I would have you take a good long look 
ere we disturb her. See how her dark little eye glistens, and note the rapid pulsating 
motion of the back. Underneath those puffed-up feathers a poor little heart is beating 
wildly with fear and apprehension, but still she sits bravely on her trust. She would 
say, if she could, with the Roman mother, ‘These are my jewels,’ and would entreat us 
to spare them. Now I will advance my hand cautiously. See! I almost touch her tail 
with my finger tips: but the next instant she is gone. How quietly at the last moment 
she slid over the edge of the nest, barely eluding my grasp! A faint cry or two, and 
there comes the male; but he, gaudy little braggart! is far better at singing brave deeds 
than preforming them, and will not trust himself very near, though he keeps up a con- 
stant chirping. His mate, however, is bold enough for both, and in her anxiety almost 
comes within reach of our hands. Now look into the nest! Beauties, are they not? 
Four of them; rosy-white, spotted prettily with umber, lilac, and a few scattered 
dashes of black. Observe how cunningly the whole affair is concealed,—built close to. 
the stem of the little fir, resting on the flat horizontally disposed rows of ‘needles,’ and 
arched over by the flake-like layer of twigs above. One long rootlet alone hangs down 
in full view, and had it not caught my eye I might have passed without discovering 
the nest. It seems, indeed, a pity to disturb it, but we shall regret it next winter if we 
leave it behind. Naturalists are probably not hard-hearted by inclination, but of neces- 
sity. I dare say the female will commence another nest before we pass here on our 
way back, and the male will be singing as joyously as ever in an hour or two. Bird’s 
grief, like their average lives, is short, though apparently intense for the time. It is 
only the end, however, that can ever justify the destruction of a nest, and unthinking 
persons might, in many cases, be benefited by contemplating a little more closely the 
suffering which they inflict. In eastern Massachusetts this species occurs as a fall 
migrant from Sept. 21 to Oct. 30, but it is never seen at this season in anything like 
the numbers which pass through the same section in spring, and the bulk of the migra- 
tion must follow a more westerly route. Its haunts while with us in the autumn are 
somewhat different from those which it affects during its northward journey. We now 
find it most commonly on hill-sides, among scrub-oaks, and scattered birches, and in 
company with such birds as the Yellow-rump and the Black-poll. A dull, listless troop 
they are, comparatively sombre of plumage, totally devoid of song, and apparently 
intent only upon the gratification of their appetites. It seems, at first thought, strange 
