PAILADELPHRIA VIREO. 
Vireo philadelphicus Batrv. 
URING the migration this Vireo frequently makes its appearance in northern Illinois 
and in Wisconsin, but from its close resemblance to the Warbling Vireo, it is doubt- 
less often confounded with that species. In its breeding range it keeps usually in the tops 
of tall trees, singing almost incessantly. The song is so similar to the strain of the 
Red-eyed Vireo, that even celebrated ornithologists confounded the bird with that species. 
My experience with this bird is very limited, but happily I am able to complete this 
life sketch by quoting from an excellent authority. In the ‘Bulletin of the Nuttall 
Ornithological Club” (Vol. V, p. 1—7), Mr. Wm. Brewster, of Cambridge, Mass., not 
only a great ornithologist, but also a fine writer and a warm friend of the birds and 
the poetry in nature, gives the following description of the PHILADELPHIA VIREO: 
“The Philadelphia Vireos usually arrive at Umbagog during the last week of May, 
or, if the season be a late one, in early June. They come with the last flight of 
Warblers, when the forest trees are putting on a drapery of tender green, and the moose- 
wood is white with snowy blossoms. They are most apt to be found singly at this 
season, though they not infrequently associate with the various species of Warblers. 
For some time after their first appearance they are severely silent, and, although by 
no means shy or suspicious, their habits are so retiring and unobtrusive, that their 
presence may be easily overlooked. Their motions are essentially like those of all the 
rest of the genus. A branch shakes, and you catch a glimpse of a pale lemon breast 
that matches well with the tint of the thin foliage. Then the whole bird appears, hop- 
ping slowly out along the limb, and deliberately peering on every side in that near- 
sighted way peculiar to the tribe. Occasionally its search among the unfolding leaves 
is rewarded by the discovery of some luckless measuring-worm, which is swallowed with 
the same indifference. that marks all the bird’s movements. You begin to feel that 
nothing can disturb the equanimity of the little philosopher, when it suddenly launches 
out into the sunshine, and, with an adroit turn, captures a flying insect invisible 
to human eyes. The next moment there is a dim impression of glancing wings among 
the trees, and it has vanished. There is little chance of finding it again, for its voice 
has as yet no place in the chorus that rises from the budding thickets around. 
“But after the trees become dense with foliage, and the sense of early summer 
steals over the land, even the sliy reserve of our recluse yields to the subtile influence, 
and he finds a tongue no less joyous than the rest. Indeed, after the breeding season 
has fairly begun, he is quite as indefatigable a singer as his Red-eyed cousin. I have 
heard his cheerful voice all day long when a gloomy storm brooded over the dripping 
woods, and during the hottest June days he is rarely silent for any length of time, even 
at noontide. Nor does cold, blustering weather seem to affect his spirits. I remember 
shooting one in a tall yellow birch when a high north wind was bending the stoutest 
trees like so many saplings. The branch to which the little singer clung was lashed 
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