female being of a bright bay color where the male is red. Every rambler knows him, not only by his plumage and his peculiar note, but also by his singular habit of lurking among the bushes, appearing and disappearing like a squirrel, and watching all our movements. It is with difficulty that a gunner can obtain a good aim at him, so rapidly does he change his position among the leaves and branches. In these motions he resembles the Wren. When he perceives that we are observing him he pauses in his song, and utters that peculiar note of complaint from which he has derived the name Chewink. The sound is more like chewee, accenting the second syllable.

The Chewink is a very constant singer during four months of the year, from the first of May. He is untiring in his lays, seldom resting for any considerable time from morn to night, being never weary in rain or in sunshine, or at noonday in the hottest weather of the season. His song consists of two long notes, the first about a third above the second, and the last part made up of several rapidly uttered liquid notes, about one tone below the first note.

SONG OF THE CHEWINK.

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There is an expression of great cheerfulness in these. notes, though they are not delivered with much enthusiBut music, like poetry, must be somewhat plaintive in its character to take strong hold of the feelings. I have never known any person to be affected by these notes as many are by those of the Wood-Sparrow. While employed in singing, the Chewink is usually perched on the lower branch of a tree, near the edge of a wood, or on the summit of a tall bush. He is a true forest bird, and

builds his nest upon the ground in the thickets that conceal the boundaries of the wood.

The note of the Chewink and his general appearance and habits are well adapted to render him conspicuous, and to cause him to be known and remembered, while the Wood-Sparrow and the Veery might remain unobserved. Our birds are like our "men of genius." As in the literary world there is a description of mental qualities which, though of a high order, must be pointed out by an observing few before the multitude can appreciate them, so the sweetest songsters of the wood are unknown to the mass of the community, while many ordinary performers, whose talents are conspicuous, are universally known and admired.

THE REDSTART AND SPECKLED CREEPER.

As we advance into the wood, if it be midday, or before the decline of the sun, the notes of two small birds will be sure to attract our attention. The notes of the two are very similar and as slender and fine as the chirp of a grasshopper, being distinguished from it only by a different and more pleasing modulation. These birds are the Redstart and the Speckled Creeper. The first is the more rarely seen. It is a bird of the deep forest, and shuns observation by hiding itself in some of the obscure parts of the wood. Samuels, however, has known a nest of the Redstart to be built and the young reared in a garden, and other authors consider the bird more familiar than shy. In general markings, that is, as we view the bird without particular examination, the Redstart is like the Chewink, though not more than half its size. It lives entirely on insects, darting out upon them from its perch like a flycatcher, and searching the foliage for them like a sylvian. Its song is similar to that of the Summer Yellow-Bird, so

but more

common in our gardens among the fruit-trees, shrill and feeble. The Creeper's note does not differ from it more than the notes of different individuals of the same species.

The Speckled Creeper takes its name from its habit of creeping like a Woodpecker round the branches of trees, feeding upon the insects and larvæ that are lodged in the crevices of the bark. It often leaves the wood and diligently manœuvres among the trees in our gardens and enclosures. The constant activity of the birds of this species affords proof of the myriads of insects that must be destroyed by them in the course of one season, and which, if not kept in check by these and other small birds, would, by their multiplication, render the earth uninhabitable by man.

THE OVEN-BIRD.

While listening to the slender notes of these little sylvians, hardly audible amidst the din of grasshoppers, the rustling of leaves, and the sighing of winds among the tall oaken boughs, suddenly the space resounds with a loud, shrill song, like the sharpest notes of the Canary. The little warbler that startles us with this vociferous note is the Golden-crowned Thrush or Oven-Bird. This bird is confined almost exclusively to the woods, and is particularly partial to noonday, when he sings. There is no melody in his lay. He begins rather moderately, increasing in loudness as he proceeds, until his note seems to fill the whole wood. He might be supposed to utter the words I see, I see, I see, I see, emphasizing the first word, and repeating the two five or six times, growing louder and louder with each repetition. There is not a bird in the wood that equals this little piper in the energy with which he delivers his brief communication. His