A MORNING WITH ]\[EAD()WLARKS 



A field wliicli I " sowed down " a year or two ago, is con- 

 sidered a failure by my farmer neighbors ; but, if the crop of 

 grass is poor, I have at least raised a fine brood of Meadow- 

 larks. For years these birds have not nested in the immedi- 

 ate vicinity of my home, and to have them take their old 

 place in the choir of June songsters, was assuredly as large 

 a return as one should expect from a few pecks of hay seed. 



Although one of the birds was seen with nesting material 

 on May 9, 1908, so shy were they, that their nest was not 

 found until June 13, when it contained young almost ready 

 to fly. The birds ranged over an area about four hundred 

 yards in diameter and, on appearing, even as a casual strol- 

 ler, in any part of their territory, I was certain to be greeted 

 by the dzit or yeit, with the succeeding rolliiig twitter of the 

 male's alarm note; and so evenly did he distribute his anxie- 

 ty that, from his actions, I could not have told in what part 

 of his habitat the nest was placed. But from the conceal- 

 ment of a cart, the food-flight was followed, until it led re- 

 peatedly to a certain corner of the new grass field, when a 

 rapid run, after the bird was down, revealed as it arose, the 

 particular bunch of red-top which sheltered the domed nest 

 and its nearly fledged young. 



I do not recall ever having seen a photograph of a 

 Meadowlark at its nest; and the bird's success in avoiding 

 the trap of the camera hunter is no small tribute to the keen- 

 ness of its powers of observation and discrimination. 



That the trap has been set, I know from my own experi- 

 ence, as well as that of others; but, the birds are so suspici- 

 ous, that the most carefully concealed camera near their 

 nest is sufficient to keep them away. On May 9, at Bloom- 

 ington, Indiana, I attempted to photograph a sitting Mea- 



