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THE GUIDE TO NATURE 



large as stated in some of the papers. 

 This whole matter naturally rests with 

 the sportsmen of Connecticut, and it is 

 for them to decide whether or not the 

 public will be benefitted by a contin- 

 uance of the work. 



Chimney Swift Nesting in a Pine 

 Stump. 



BY THE REVEREND MANLEY B. TOWN- 

 SEND, SIOUX CITY, IOWA. 



In July, 1910, it was my privilege to 

 take a canoe trip with a friend through 

 a portion of the vast forest that covers 

 northern Minnesota. We purchased 

 an Ojibway Indian birch bark canoe, 

 loaded it with a month's provisions and 

 our camp duffel, and plunged into the 



the veery, sounded his twilight bell. I 

 love to think of him as the wilderness 

 bird, the incarnation of the wild. 

 Ducks of many species abounded. A 

 great patch of blossoming arrowhead 

 beautifies a wet depression just be- 

 hind the tent. 



As I sat eating my supper of baked 

 beans, corn bread and tea (the beans 

 were baked in the ground), I noticed a 

 chimney swift circling about a pine 

 stub that stood on the shore. Its pe- 

 culiar motions caused me to observe it 

 carefully. We had seen many of these 

 interesting birds far from human habi- 

 tations, and we felt sure that they must 

 nest here in hollow trees, as their an- 

 cestors used to nest before the white 

 man provided his convenient chimneys. 



THE PINE STUMP, AT THE LEFT, CONTAINING NEST AND YOUNG OF CHIMNEY SWIFT. 



forest. We paddled for two hundred 

 miles through a wonderful chain of 

 lakes and streams, doing our cooking, 

 eating and sleeping in the open air, 

 close to nature's heart. One hundred 

 miles from Walker, our starting point, 

 we pitched our tent on the narrow 

 beach of a heavily wooded island in a 

 beautiful sheet of water named by the 

 Indians "Woman Lake." It was a pic- 

 turesque spot with its charm height- 

 ened by the abundance of wild birds in 

 the neighborhood. Just back of the 

 camp rose a tall, dead pine, on which 

 the turkey vultures loved to roost. 

 From the lake the demoniacal cry of 

 the loon saluted every morning's rising 

 sun, and at every evening's sunset, 

 through the darkling wood, last and 

 sweetest of all the feathered songsters, 



Presently the bird hovered for a mo- 

 ment before the stub, then through a 

 tiny hole disappeared within the trunk. 

 Question: Was there a nest inside? 

 We determined to find out. It was late, 

 the twentieth of August, but there 

 might be a second brood. The next 

 day we cut a hole at the base of the 

 stub, and after climbing up the in- 

 side, we found a nest plastered to the 

 wall, and containing four young, naked 

 and helpless. The stub was dark as a 

 pocket, and musty with the odor of 

 decaying wood, but it was warm and 

 dry. We counted it a rare privilege to 

 observe this bird still adhering to the 

 good old-fashioned ways of its ances- 

 tors that its "progressive" kin have 

 mostly abandoned for modern improve- 

 ments. 



