98 
NATURE STUDY. 
They are the daintiest of the birds, and although they rank low 
as songsters they delight one with their exquisite coloring. 
One would suppose that a group of birds called warblers 
would be marked by really brilliant musical abilities, but this is 
not so. Prof. Lynds Jones, of Oberlin College, has made an 
exhaustive study of the songs of warblers, and finds that in 
addition to the ordinary conversational song, which is repeated 
in a careless or contented sort of a way as the bird flits about, 
which he names the call song, warblers now and then break 
into a much more complicated and ecstatic flight of music, often 
when fluttering high in the air, which he calls the passion song, 
and believes is an outlet of love, pent up energy and enjoy¬ 
ment, which must now and then find enthusiastic expression. 
This has, of course, been an extra good year for the study of 
birds, as those considered quite rare were comparatively numer¬ 
ous. Out of the thirty-one warblers which have been seen in 
New England, I have seen twenty-six. The Palm warbler is 
seldom seen in eastern North America, yet this year a third of 
each flock of Yellow Palm warblers was composed of Palm 
warblers. One beautiful May morning, taking a basket and 
trowel and, of course, opera glasses, I went for violets. 
After filling my basket with lovely bladder ferns, and picking all 
the violets possible to carry in one hand, I started for a favorite 
birding place near by. Hearing many mysterious “ cheeps,” 
I cautiously crawled under the fence, and saw four white and 
black warblers scolding a woodpecker. Of all things a black 
and white warbler to stop eating long enough to even notice 
any other bird ! Madam Woodpecker was inclined to stand her 
ground, or tree rather, but a more vigorous onslaught settled it 
and away she flew. While watching these active little birds 
creep up and down and round and round the trees, one came 
and lighted on the violets in my hand. How his little eyes 
shone as he peered into the blossoms, but the desired kind of 
bug was not there, so away he flew — and I breathed again. 
One warm misty day, armed with the usual opera glasses, and 
choosing the most comfortable place to be found on the stone 
