had left the waters of the larger lakes to some to this place of sedges to rear 

 their young. The red-winged blackbirds nest by hundreds in the reeds of this 

 great swamp. At the time of our visit the nesting season was at its height. As 

 we walked into the swamp regardless of mud and water, the male redwings met 

 us and hovered over our heads. They asked us more vigorously than politely 

 to turn back. The redwing is protected by law in the state of Illinois, but in 

 nearly all the other states he is put beyond the statute's pale. The bird unques- 

 tionably has a weakness for grain, but the good that he does in insect-eating 

 fairly balances the evil of his life. That he is a beauty in his black blouse with 

 its shoulder knots of scarlet and gold, none will gainsay. Can't we give a kernel 

 or two of corn ungrudgingly to a creature that adds something of living beauty 

 to the dreary wastes of swamp-land? 



The long-billed marsh wrens are abundant in the Worth country. These 

 birds have the curious habit of building several nests before they make up their 

 minds which one to occupy. The scientists have been hard at work for years 

 trying to find a reason for this bit of wren freakiness. The scientists are still 

 at work, for no one yet knows the reason save the wren, and the wren won't tell. 

 We flushed from the edge of the marsh that morning a Bartram's sandpiper. 

 This bird is, I believe, the largest of the sandpiper kind. It makes its summer 

 home at Worth, and occasionally has for a neighbor its plover cousin, the lesser 

 yellow-legs. When splashing through the water to get a better look at the 

 sandpiper who had taken to some high ground, I found floating the broken egg 

 of a king rail. The egg told the story of a nest built too low, of heavy night 

 rains, and a flooded abode. King rails are interesting creatures, notwithstanding 

 the fact that it is to be doubted if they have any brain. They are big, blundering, 

 stupid birds who get themselves into all sorts of predicaments, out of which, of 

 themselves, they can find no means of extrication. A friend of mine once found 

 a king rail standing in the middle of the sidewalk near the corner of Schiller 

 Street and the Lake Shore Drive in Chicago. The bird paid but little heed to 

 passers^ but seemed to l^ck the wit to get away from such uncongenial surround- 

 ings as stone pavements and brick walls. The men in a North Clark Street 

 barber-shop in the same city were astounded one day to see an ungainly bird 

 make his way through the open door to the center of the shop, where it calmly 

 surveyed the surroundings. Another king rail took possession of a bedroom in 

 the second story of a Chicago residence. The bird absolutely refused to allow 

 itself to be "shooed" out of the window through which it had come. It showed 

 no fear of human beings, and allowed itself to be picked up without resistance. 

 When it was put through the window it took flight readily enough, but the 

 chances are that before it had traveled far it managed to get into some other fix. 



There is something of the savage left in us all. I am free to confess that I 

 like to see birds fight. I don't mean that I wish them to fight, but if they must 

 fight I like to see the fracas. In a tree in a field back from the Worth swamp 

 was a scarlet tanager. It was sitting there peacefully enough, and apparently 



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