The Golden-crowned Kinglet, or Wren, ranges over nearly the entire continent of North America, from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean, and northward from Texas and New Mexico to Sitka on the west, where it seems to replace the Ruby-crown. On our eastern seaboard it doubtless attains as high a latitude. Audubon claims to having found it nesting in Newfoundland, and Baedecker, in Labrador, but recent travelers have certainly not encountered its presence during the breeding-period in those parts, since they have left no record of such occurrence.

In the United States, until recently, it was generally supposed to be a migrant; arriving pretty punctually in October, just as autumn is merging into winter, and remaining till May. But the past five or six years have let in new light upon its history, and shown, what had already been surmised, that it would be found to breed in the coniferous forests, and mountainous regions toward our northern border.

Our knowledge of the species is limited, and is mainly restricted to its habits during its long stay with us from October to May. Every one who has left the shadow of home, and strayed out into the fields and woods, or along the margins of ice-bound streams and ponds, must have had his attention directed to its cries as it flitted from tree to tree in search of food. At such times, the sexes remain apart, or but occasionally come together. Although shunning, rather than courting each other's society, their casual meeting is not the harbinger of contention, but is either tacitly acknowledged, or passed by unnoticed. While there seems to be an indisposition to mingle, yet evidence is not wanting to show that society of some kind is not wholly disagreeable. Either sex manifests, or seems to manifest, some regard for the Black-capped Titmouse. Wherever you discover the one, you are pretty sure to find the other. This occurrence does not appear to be accidental, but rather to be dictated by a desire for company, or by actual necessity.

Although evincing a decided partiality for Nature in her wildness, on warm, sunshiny days in mid-winter our little friend may frequently be seen climbing about our trees after the fashion of a Creeper, or standing beside our doors in anxious expectation of receiving his share of crumbs from the table. He is now the very impersonation of fearlessness, and conducts himself with all the familiarity of a long-tried friend.

But as spring returns, a peculiar cry greets the ear, louder and more frequent than usual. Tsi-tsi-tsi comes from wood and glen, from stream and hollow. Once heard, these syllables can never be forgotten, for they are uttered in a running, pleasing rhythm, and with a gently-rising intonation, and seem indicative of joy and satisfaction. But as the season for departure arrives, these sounds give place to others of a more agreeable character. Even in the heart of winter this music may be heard. Perhaps some precious reminiscence of the past has arisen in the memory to evoke this flood of song.

Full of expectancy and unrest, about the middle of May—often earlier, seldom later—the little Golden-crown wings its flight to other scenes. Of the exact time, we know nothing. It does not stop to bid us an affectionate adieu, but is gone before we are hardly aware of the blank which it has left. Its return is as unheralded and mysterious. To-day we admire its graceful actions, sprightly ditty and beautiful plumage. To-morrow we search the old haunts, feeling almost confident that it must be lurking somewhere about, but to be doomed to disappointment. Occasionally our patience is rewarded by finding a couple of individuals, who have either lost their reckoning, or have made up their minds to spend the summer at home. But the most of their fellows still follow the path which their ancestors have so long trodden.

While some follow the stretch of country between our two great western mountain systems, and breed in Washington Territory and the country to the northward, others forsake their winter-quarters, and travel in a northeasterly direction to the shores of Newfoundland and Labrador. A few, however, lag behind and find suitable summer resorts in the pine forests and Thuja swamps of New Hampshire and Maine. When our mountain regions and dense forests are better known, we hazard the opinion that many will be found to breed nearer home than we are aware. Paired individuals have often been met with along the hills of the Wissahickon, in Pennsylvania, during the breeding-season, which evidently had nests, but diligent search failed to reveal the fact.

Before the discovery of the nest of this species, the presumption was that it built a pensile nest, not unlike the European congener, and that it laid small eggs faintly sprinkled with buff-colored dots on a white background, but differing little in size from those of the common Humming-bird. It was also inferred that two broods were annually raised, from the fact that so much time was spent in its summer abode, and also because full-fledged young were found by Mr. Nuttall in May, on the Columbia, and in August, by Mr. Audubon, in Labrador.

According to Mr. J. K. Lord, who discovered this species to be very common in Vancouver's Island, and also along the entire boundary-line of Washington Territory and British Columbia, where it sometimes reaches an elevation of six thousand feet, it constructs a pensile nest, which it suspends from the extreme end of a pine-branch; and that it lays from five to seven eggs. The materials of the nest, and the color and dimensions of the eggs, were never described.

The world remained in ignorance of these matters until the summer of 1875, when Mr. H. D. Minot discovered, on the sixteenth day of July, a nest of this species. It was built in a forest of the White Mountains, which consisted chiefly of white birches and evergreens. The nest was securely fastened to the twigs of a spreading hemlock-bough, was globular in shape, and placed about four feet above the ground. The outside was composed of hanging moss and bits of dead leaves; the inside was chiefly lined with feathers. There can be no doubt as to the authenticity of this nest, as Mr. Minot observed the parents in the act of carrying food to their young, and was enabled to track them to their homes.

But the structure from which the drawing was made—found near Bangor, Maine—was presented to Mr. Harry Merrill, in the summer of 1876. It was placed about six feet from the ground in a mass of thick growth so peculiar to many of our fir trees, and is chiefly composed of moss on the outside, with a few small fragments of chips, and is lined with hair and feathers, the latter principally. The external diameter is four and a half inches, and depth outside nearly three inches. The opening is at the top, and measures about one and three-fourths inches across, and two in depth. Although the birds that built this nest were not seen by Mr. Merrill, yet by the pretty sure evidence of exclusion, they cannot belong to any other species than the one under consideration.

Of their habits while with young, our knowledge is small. It is evident, however, from what Mr. Minot says, that both parents supply their nestlings with food. Incubation is doubtless performed by them both, the female assuming the bulk of the labor. Unlike many species, these birds do not pass the breeding-season in silence, but keep up, with occasional intermissions, an animated twittering.

The eggs possibly range from six to ten in number. To the eye they appear of a cream-white color, apparently covered with minute spots. Under the microscope, the ground-color is white, with shell marks of purplish-slate, and a few obscure spots of a deep buff, rather superficial, to which their dirty tinge is probably due. The largest egg measures .52 of an inch in length, and .40 in width; the smallest, .47 by .30 inches. The average dimensions of the ten eggs are .50 by .41 inches.