OVENBIRD. 241 
reserves for some nymph whom he meets in the air. Mounting by easy flights to the 
top of the tallest tree, he launches into the air with a sort of suspended, hovering 
flight, like certain of the finches, and bursts into a perfect ecstasy of song, — clear, 
ringing, copious, rivaling the Goldfinch’s in vivacity, and the Linnet’s in melody. This 
strain is one of the rarest bits of bird-melody to be heard, and is oftenest indulged in 
late in the afternoon or after sundown. Over the woods, hid from view, the ecstatic 
singer warbles his finest strain. In this song you instantly detect his relationship to 
the Water Wagtail (Seiurus noveboracensis) — erroneously called Water Thrush, — whose 
song is likewise a sudden burst, full and ringing, and with a tone of youthful joyousness 
in it, as if the bird had just had some unexpected good fortune. For nearly two years 
this strain of the pretty walker was little more than a disembodied voice to me, and I 
was puzzled by it as Thoreau by, his mysterious night-warbler, which, by the way, I 
suspect was no new bird at all, but one he was otherwise familiar with. The little 
bird himself seems disposed to keep the matter a secret, and improves every opportunity 
to repeat before you his shrill, accelerating lay, as if this were quite enough and all he 
laid claim to. Still, I trust I am betraying no confidence in making the matter public 
here. I think this is pre-eminently his love-song, as I hear it oftenest about the mating 
season. I have caught half-suppressed bursts of it from two males chasing each other 
with fearful speed through the forest.” 
Mr. Eugene P. Bicknell, in his very able paper: “A Study of the Singing of our 
Birds” (‘‘Auk,” 1884, p. 214), gives the following description of the song: ‘The 
ordinary song of the Ovenbird, but for its inseparable association with the quiet recesses 
of summer woods, would certainly seem to us monotonous and commonplace; and the 
bird’s persistent reiteration of this plain song might well lead us to believe that it had 
no higher vocal capability. But it is now well known that, on occasions, as if sudden 
emotion carried it beyond the restrictions that ordinarily beset its expression, it bursts 
forth with a wild outpouring of intricate and melodious song, proving itself the superior 
vocalist of the trio of Pseudo-thrushes of which it is so unassuming a member. This 
song is produced on the wing, oftenest when the spell of evening is coming over the 
woods. Sometimes it may be heard as an outburst of vesper melody carried above the 
foliage of the shadowy forest and descending and dying away with the waning twilight.”’ 
The nest is not easily found. It is usually built on the ground, underneath ferns 
and other plants, near stumps, roots, and fallen logs. All the nests I found were 
built on a thick layer of leaves, constructed of pine-needles, hemlock twigs, mosses, and 
lichens, lined with pine-needles, fine grasses, and rootlets, and, in one case, also with 
cotton thread. Most of these structures had arched or domed roofs, with the entrance 
on one side, but when under the shelter of dense plants the oven-shaped form is 
sometimes not noticeable.—Dr. T. M. Brewer describes a nest found near Racine, Wis., 
by Dr. R. P. Hoy, our veteran naturalist, whose congenial company the author of this 
work had frequently the pleasure to enjoy. This nest is not different, except in regard 
to the materials, from those found by me further north. 
In this connection I cannot refrain from quoting the following from Dr. T. M. 
Brewer: “On the 7th of June, 1858, I came accidentally upon a nest of this bird of a 
very different style of structure. It was in a thick wood in Hingham, Mass. The 
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