48 MEMOIRS OF THE NUTTALL ORNITHOLOGICAL CLUB. 



11.45 P- M- to 12.15 A- ^- The Whip-poor-will calls 15 times in succession 

 and is then silent. Wrens sing 42 times. 



12.15 to I.I 5 A. M. Nothing but Wrens everywhere, with a constant under- 

 tone of bull-frogs, a trilling of tree-toads, and the occasional splash of a pickerel. 



1. 1 5 to 2.00 A. M. Having paddled to the center of Wren-ville in the 

 marsh, I count 187 distinct songs of this bird, with a distant and constant 

 undertone of them ; one bird sang near me eight times in a minute. 



2 to 2.30 A. M. The first Swamp Sparrow's song rings out at 2.10 .\. m., 

 and six are heard in this half hour. At 2.27 a. m. a Northern Yellowthroat 

 gives its flight song, and at 2.30 a Domestic Cock lifts his voice. Sunrise at 

 4. 1 I A. M. 



Very different are the nights in late September on the fresh marshes. The 

 tints of autumn are beginning to appear in the brilliant reds of the maples and 

 the yellows of the hickories. The oaks and the alders are still as green as in 

 midsummer, but the marshes themselves look worn and brown, dotted here and 

 there with the brilliant yellow of the bur-marigold {Bidciis chrysantliemoides). 



The sharp scream of the Blue Jay resounds from the woods and the Blue- 

 bird's mournful note is heard as he flies over. Save for these all is quiet on 

 September 20th, at sunset, except for the quacking of the decoy Black Ducks 

 and their joyful splashings as they wash themselves, glad to escape from their 

 coops. At 5.30 p. M. a Catbird mews and a Goldfinch and some Black-poll 

 Warblers call as they fly over. Just before six, my old friends the energetic 

 Long-billed Marsh Wrens sing three times and Swamp Sparrows sing twice, 

 although their chirpings are heard frequently and one alights close to my head 

 on the bower of oak branches. A Bittern flies by and sails silently into a reedy 

 thicket. The sun has set behind a bank of clouds at 5.46 p. m. Between 6 

 and 6.15, Marsh Wrens sing four times, but after that all is silent except for 

 the twitterings of passing migrants in the air. From time to time and some- 

 times from several places, the short clucks and whistles of the Carolina Rail are 

 heard. Not a Duck is to be seen although often Wood Ducks, Teal, and Black 

 Ducks drop into the pools at sunset. 



Paddling back to the island at 7.30 p. m. by moonlight, with the constant 

 chirpings of the passing migrants in my ears, I hear the saw-filing notes of the 

 little Saw-whet Owl coming from a tall tree, and later from some bushes in the 

 marsh. 



