a tawny red tint, like that figured by Wilson. It is
a singular fact that the plumage of these owls presents two totally
distinct phases which "have no relation to sex, age, or season," one
being an ashen gray, the other a bright rufous.

Coming to a drier and less mossy place in the woods, I am amused with
the golden-crowned thrush,--which, however, is no thrush at all, but a
warbler. He walks on the ground ahead of me with such an easy, gliding
motion, and with such an unconscious, preoccupied air, jerking his
head like a hen or a partridge, now hurrying, now slackening his pace,
that I pause to observe him. I sit down, he pauses to observe me, and
extends his pretty ramblings on all sides, apparently very much
engrossed with his own affairs, but never losing sight of me. But few
of the birds are walkers, most being hoppers, like the robin.

Satisfied that I have no hostile intentions, the pretty pedestrian
mounts a limb a few feet from the ground, and gives me the benefit of
one of his musical performances, a sort of accelerating chant.
Commencing in a very low key, which makes him seem at a very uncertain
distance, he grows louder and louder till his body quakes and his
chant runs into a shriek, ringing in my ear, with a peculiar
sharpness. This lay may be represented thus:

[TRANSCRIBISTS NOTE: ORIGINAL BOOK USES FONT SHIFTS
TO ILLUSTRATE AN INCREASE IN VOLUME]

"Teacher, Teacher, Teacher, Teacher, Teacher!"--the accent on the
first syllable and each word uttered with increased force and
shrillness. No writer with whom I am acquainted gives him credit for
more musical ability than is displayed in this strain. Yet in this the
half is not told. He has a far rarer song, which he reserves for some
nymph whom he meets in the air. Mounting by easy flights to the top of
the tallest tree, he launches into the air with a sort of suspended,
hovering flight, like certain of the finches, and bursts into a
perfect ecstasy of song,--clear, ringing, copious, rivaling the
goldfinch's in vivacity, and the linnet's in melody. This strain is
one of the rarest bits of bird melody to be heard, and is oftenest
indulged in late in the afternoon or after sundown. Over the woods,
hid from view, the ecstatic singer warbles his finest strain. In this
song you instantly detect his relationship to the
water-wagtail,--erroneously called water-thrush,--whose song is
likewise a sudden burst, full and ringing, and with a tone of youthful
joyo