156 Wood Notes and Nest Hunting. [ February, 
and bids him go for more. As he stands on the branch an in- 
stant, his back toward me, and the broad leaves uplifted by the 
wind let in a sunbeam upon him, I note a shade of dark greet 
and the long pointed wings, reaching down half way on his tail, 
which is not so deeply forked as is that of the olive-sided fy- 
catcher, a first cousin, whom he otherwise much resembles: 
When he rises I see in this individual an exception to the oo 
eral dress of the under parts of this species. The pale yellowish 
tint of the breast is replaced by whitish ash. The song® 
often heard, as if he was aware of the melancholy strain, and had 
the good sense to consider the feelings of his mate during 
distressed period, and worked for her crop’s sake instead. Res 
ing on this slope in the shade of the beech trees, watching te Ẹ 
gambols of a pair of large purple-black butterflies (Vanessa a 
tiopa) flying high up among the trunks, attracted there, no doubt, 
by the nectar that exudes from the bark, I hear the energo" 
notes of the oven-bird or golden-crowned thrush (Siurus aurit- 
pillus). Immediately after a little bunch of feathers drops dori 
from a low branch, and goes pecking here and there On the 
ground, not a rod from where I am sitting. He takes long, quick ! 
strides, as he turns his head to look at me, now half tumbling i 
over dead sticks that lay in his path, or getting his long Si 
claw tangled in the blackberry vines, and making little exertion 
to clear himself. Now he runs swiftly ahead to capture a" l 
or turns back quickly sideways for some crawling dainty "r 
nearly escaped his notice. How much the color is like that * 
the leaves and grasses and vines through which he forages. e 
upper parts are of dark olive-green, with two dark streaks 08 a 
crown, and a broader brownish-yellow one between them, ™" 
the breast and sides of dirty white, streaked with black. | 
I believe not many of the birds sing while upon the grout 
They love to mount some kind of stage, on which to pour TE 
their melodies. But the golden-crowned hardly thinks it W ao 
his time to take the pains to fly to a music stand wher 
inspiration siezes him, but stops his feeding for a brief intel” 
lifts up his head an instant before commencing, as is the 9% 
some of our best singers, and utters in a loud clear tone the sl 
lables cheat-er cheat-er cheat-er. The song is not like anY is 
in the woods. Listening to his lay at noon-time, when the * s$ 
rays are pouring down on the mosses, one imagines it ÍS sa 
Ret a 
Dae ts | 
i 
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