THE OVEN-BIRD 



Every loiterer about the woods knows this 

 pretty, speckled-breasted, olive-backed little bird, 

 which walks along over the dry leaves a few yards 

 from him, moving its head as it walks, like a 

 miniature domestic fowl. Most birds are very 

 stiff-necked, like the robin, and as they run or 

 hop upon the ground, carry the head as if it were 

 riveted to the body. Not so the oven-bird, or the 

 other birds that walk, as the cow-bunting, or the 

 quail, or the crow. They move the head forward 

 with the movement of the feet. The sharp, reiter- 

 ated, almost screeching song of the oven-bird, as 

 it perches on a limb a few feet from the ground, 

 like the words "preacher, preacher, preacher," 

 or "teacher, teacher, teacher," uttered louder and 

 louder, and repeated six or seven times, is also 

 familiar to most ears; but its wild, ringing, rap- 

 turous burst of song in the air high above the 

 tree-tops is not so well known. From a very prosy, 

 tiresome, unmelodious singer, it is suddenly trans- 

 formed for a brief moment into a lyric poet of 

 great power. It is a great surprise. The bird un- 

 dergoes a complete transformation. Ordinarily it 

 is a very quiet, demure sort of bird. It walks 



