FEATHERED GEMS 



perched on a sun-bathed limb, warbling away. Further 

 along, a mountain brook, which flowed through a dark, 

 rocky hemlock-shaded ravine, crossed the road, and 

 here, by the little bridge, we saw a Louisiana Water 

 Thrush, distinguishable from the other species by the 

 throat being pure white, instead of streaked. It is a 

 bird of very similar habit, though southern New Eng- 

 land is about its northern breeding-range, whereas the 

 other goes further north. Out more in the open, in a 

 willow, I detected the rather inconspicuous Nashville 

 Warbler, a tiny fellow who has some reddish hair — 

 or feathers — on the top of his head. 



This made twenty kinds of warblers seen in one day, 

 and we thought we had done pretty well. I wanted to 

 follow up this fine flight on the morrow and perhaps 

 find some more of the varieties. In good season, 

 therefore, I was out and at it, but, strange to say, I 

 could find but very few warblers, save the resident 

 kinds. The host, having fed bountifully that nice day, 

 under the impulse of that strange, restless longing for 

 the spruce and balsam forests of the North, had started 

 on during the night, and by this time were very many 

 miles away. But it was a good season for warblers, 

 and before it closed we both had seen more kinds than 

 we had ever met before in a season, including some 

 which, like the Cape May, were entire strangers. What 

 a delight it is, after one has studied birds for decades 

 and thinks he has met about every species around home 

 which he is likely ever to meet, and that he knows them 



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