68 Bird -Lore 



which, so far as I am aware, has not been before described or photograi^hed. 

 Doubtless, it is more pleasing to the young Herons than to others less materially 

 concerned, and I confess that I prefer to recall the Egrets flashing white against 

 the dark water, gleaming like snow on the sky, or raising their plumes in dainty 

 coquetry, as the bird on the nest greets the approach of her partner. When 

 spring returns, thanks to the vigilance of their guardians, I can so recall them, 

 and with the assurance that new homes have been added to the settlement in 

 the c\'presses. 



The Background of Ornithology 



Read before the twenty-fifth Congress of the American Ornithologists' Union 

 By SPENCER TROTTER. Swarthmore College 



THAT strange mystical sense of a life in natural things, and of man's 

 life as a part of nature, drawing strength and color and character from 

 local influences, from hills and streams and natural sights and sounds." 

 Such are Walter Pater's words in an attempt to analyze the genius of Words- 

 worth and his poetry. But these influences are not peculiar to the poet and 

 the artist. Every one who has come under the charm of nature knows full well 

 what Walter Pater means by " that strange mystical sense of a life in natural 

 things," that "drawing strength and color and character from local influences." 

 To the scientific mind, this may not have the same subtle significance, the same 

 sense of close relationship that marks the poetic mind; for the scientific attitude 

 toward nature is less subjective than that of the poet. And yet, in a way, we are 

 all poets, and much of the joy of our work in the field of science springs from 

 that subconscious self that lies deep in the world of natural things. 



It is the happy province of ornitholog\- to have in its subject matter a group 

 of beings at once engaging, appealing to the imagination, and varied in the charm 

 evoked. No matter how far we ma\- pursue the attractive though devious ways 

 of nomenclature, of generic, specific and varietal distinctions, there will always 

 be some bird that hovers in the background of memory, — some song, some nest, 

 some flock of elusive migrants, each blending with some never-to-be-forgotten 

 scene. Perchance an old garden, a windy autumn sky, a delectable woodland 

 spot, a wide stretch of shore. In some such scene we come under the spell of 

 bird-life, with an abounding zeal to know more and \et more oi its fascinating 

 problems. 



How many birds are associated in our memory with a particular landscape, 

 and how often a bird's voice embodies the spirit of a place. The cool twilights 

 of the northland are blent with the mellow flute notes of Thrushes; the brooding 

 spirit of summer woodlands finds voice in tlie untiring chant of the Red-eyed 

 Vireo; the tide-rip is in the scream of the Tern, as it follows the shifting school. 

 How much of shade and solitude there is in the Cuckoo's guttural — a note 

 of mystery, like the "wandering voice" of its European congener. 



