Brewster on the American Brown Creeper. 207 
* 
lose its greatest charm if exposed to cheerful light and common- 
place surroundings. 
On sunny April mornings I have heard the Creeper singing from 
the elms along the noisy streets of Massachusetts towns and cities ; 
but the strain at such times was broken and incomplete, and gave 
but little idea of the author’s real powers of song. 
The labor of incubation seems to be performed by the female 
Creeper alone, nor have I been able to ascertain that the male even 
feeds her while she is sitting, though I have reasons for suspecting 
that he may sometimes do so. 
Several times during each day she leaves the nest to make short 
excursions through the neighboring woods in search of food. On such 
occasions the male is invariably to be found in close attendance. He 
leads the way up the rough-barked boles, *and when the thickly diverg- 
ing branches are reached, takes flight for the next trunk, alighting near 
the base, always followed closely by his mate. An incessant conver- 
sational chirping is carried on in a low tone by the happy pair, and 
the theme no doubt is of his adventures during the morning, or their 
mutual hopes and fears regarding their coming brood. At frequent 
intervals his pure voice thrills through the dark spruce woods, and 
when his partner returns to her maternal cares he sings long and 
joyously in the vicinity before resuming his solitary wanderings. 
Thus the bright June days pass, until at length the young have 
burst the shell, and our Creeper finds the burden of a numerous 
family upon his hands. But he rises bravely to meet the occasion, 
and, laying aside his former free life, devotes himself unremittingly 
to the task of supplying food to the hungry brood. A nest con- 
taining, five young, which I found on June 14, was visited by 
both parents, who came alternately at intervals of about a minute. 
The work was carried on with the utmost silence and despatch ; not 
a sound being uttered by either old or young. The latter were 
already partially feathered, and were perhaps a week old. With 
their short, nearly straight bills and preternaturally grave aspect, 
the little fellows presented a most singular appearance. Several of 
them had been crowded out of the limited space afforded by the nest, 
and were sitting on the rim of the surrounding platform. A week 
later I passed the spot and found the whole family gone. 
In his description of the Grand Menan nest (Birds of North 
America, Yol. I, p. 127), Dr. Brewer speaks of the extreme grief 
evinced by the parents, who, upon finding their home destroyed by 
