1906] A May morning with the Birds. 2 



.1 



of maples, birches and conifers. His presence was first made 

 known by his song- of wee-see, wee-see, wee-see. Constantly there 

 could be heard the lively, pleasing song of the purple finch, which 

 at this time of year is singing its best. From numerous tall dead 

 trees came the calling and tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap-tap of the yel- 

 low-bellied sapsucker. The beating tatoo of this species is more 

 interrupted in its course than is the continuous roll of other 

 woodpeckers. Twittering barn swallows were flying high in the 

 air. Farther on a stop was made to write down some notes and 

 take in the songs o( one Cape May warbler, three hermit thrushes, 

 four Magnolia warblers, one robin, one white-throated sparrow, 

 three black-throated green warblers, two black-throated blue 

 warblers, two ovenbirds, one junco, one goldfinch, and three 

 Nashville warblers. After a short walk along an old lumber road, 

 a stop is again made, and notes taken of such songs as some of 

 the above, in addition to two Parula warblers, four least fly- 

 catchers, two purple martins and the voluminous songs of two 

 winter wrens. As I sit here upon an old stump, the first olive- 

 sided flycatcher of the season alights upon the topmost tower of a 

 birch stub and calls out, Look, Fm here, or Put me down. The 

 song of the olive-side when heard from a distance easily sounds 

 Take care, with emphasis upon the first and last of the two 

 syllables, the first note of Look, L'm here is heard only when one is 

 near the bird. 



The olive-side was answered by a chebee which had been 

 present for some days and which enthusiastically called out Go- 

 back or Go-beck. Thus it could be interpreted by the genus Homo, 

 but among the aves it was probably a call of love, while for cer- 

 tain insecta it may have been a warning of danger. Some bird 

 behind me gives a twittering, and, turning about, at length I dis- 

 cover in a tangle of raspberry, small maple sprouts and dead 

 brush, a male Maryland yellow-throat while an olive-back thrush 

 calls attention from another tangle nearby. A small flock of 

 crows fly cawing past, just above the tree-tops, and in the distance 

 is heard the calls of a pileated woodpecker. 



As no chickadees had yet been heard, I whistle their love song 

 of sweet weather, and am answered by the same notes from one 



