52 WAKE-ROBIN 
by Wilson. It is a singular fact that the plumage 
of these owls presents two totally distinct phases, 
which “have no relation to sex, age, or season,” 
one being an ashen gray, the other a bright rufous. 
Coming to a drier and less mossy place in the 
woods, I am amused with the golden-crowned thrush, 
—which, however, is no thrush at all, but a war- 
bler. He walks on the ground ahead of me with 
such an easy gliding motion, and with such an 
unconscious, preoccupied air, jerking his head like 
a hen or a partridge, now hurrying, now slackening 
his pace, that I pause to observe him. I sit down, 
he pauses to observe me, and extends his pretty 
ramblings on all sides, apparently very much en- 
grossed with his own affairs, but never losing sight 
of me. But few of the birds are walkers, most 
being hoppers, like the robin. 
Satisfied that I have no hostile intentions, the 
pretty pedestrian mounts a limb a few feet from the 
ground, and gives me the benefit of one of his musi- 
cal performances, a sort of accelerating chant. Com- 
mencing in a very low key, which makes him seem 
at a very uncertain distance, he grows louder and 
louder till his body quakes and his chant runs into 
a shriek, ringing in my ear with a peculiar sharp- 
ness. This lay may be represented thus: ‘‘ Teacher, 
teacher, TEACHER, TEACHER, THACHER !/” — 
the accent on the first syllable and each word uttered 
with increased force and shrillness. No writer with 
whom I am acquainted gives him credit for more 
musical ability than is displayed in this strain. 
