The carpenter working for Edward Hoar in Lincoln caught, two or three days ago, an exhausted or half-famished golden-winged warbler alive in their yard. It was within half a mile that I saw one a few weeks ago. It is a sufficiently well-marked bird, by the large yellow spot on the wing (the greater coverts), yellow front and crown, and the very distinct black throat and, I should say, upper breast, above which white divided by a broad black line through the eye. Above blue-gray, with much yellowish-green dusting or reflection, i. e. edging, to the feathers.
Many a field where the grass has been cut shows now a fresh and very lit-up light green as you look toward the sun. This is a remarkably cool day. Thermometer 72˚ at 2 P. M.
The song of the field sparrow sounds more prominent of late, and quite rich and varied, and methinks I begin to hear the warbling vireo more?