April, 1892.] 



AND OOLOGIST. 



55 



by Ward, Locke & Co., London, Eng. It 

 is an elegantly bound book and is gotten up in 

 the very best style. After reading a few pages, 

 the old proverb, "You should never judge a 

 book by its cover," goes rattling through one's 

 brains and makes a person feel like dashing the 

 confounded thing into the grate or against the 

 head of the author. Thinking that probably 

 the above hne specimen of the work would be 

 rather amusing to the scientific readers of the 

 O. & O. (as it was to me), I therefore forward 

 it to that work for publication. I think the 

 writer might have made bis directions a little 

 more complete and useful (?) by adding that 

 Warblers' and Hummingbirds' eggs should 

 be carefully whitewashed, and tilled with tea- 

 lead to keep tlie sides from caving in. He also 

 forgot to say that spiders' eggs should be well 

 sandpapered, then artistically kalsomined with 

 a split shingle. He miglit also throw away his 

 nail-brush, and use a common garden hoe to 

 remove the soil which the careless birdie 

 puts on the shell. 



He can rest assured that, if he ever comes 

 this way collecting, and giving directions to 

 young collectois, his name will be "Dennis" 

 and the "Marine Hospital" will have another 

 inmate. 



If any brotlier naturalist can suggest a more 



appropriate way of receiving such a learned (?) 



oologist into our midst we will be pleased to 



hear from him. 



The Young Naturalist. 

 Kentville, N. S. 



A Spring Ramble. 



The morning of the twenty-second of March, 

 1890, was quite cloudy; here and there were 

 banks of .snow which were rapidly dwindling 

 away under the influence of a balmy, south- 

 west wind. The cawing of the Crows and the 

 screeching cry of the Bluejays in the distant 

 woods had a peculiar sound which is only 

 heard at the breaking up of winter. On the 

 stone wall three Chipmunks were scampering 

 about, playing hide and seek in the cavities 

 between the rocks. As I crossed an open field 

 a Yellow Hammer was calling to his mate from 

 the naked limbs of an old elm. Enteiing 

 a small grove of pitch pines, mj- ear was 

 greeted with a few faint chirps which, for a 

 second, I did not recognize, but, after waiting 

 for several minutes gazing in the direction from 

 whence they came, I saw several little birds 



hopping about among the branches searching 

 intently for insects or other food that might be 

 hidden in the rough bark. They were lively 

 little creatures, hardly larger than the Hum- 

 mingbird in size, and, like them and many 

 other small people, seemed to be quite busy 

 endeavoring to convince all observers of their 

 great importance in the world. These little 

 Kinglets (for such they proved to be) seem to 

 be of a retiring disposition, rarely coming to 

 the trees near the house but rather preferring 

 the seclusion which the deep recesses of the 

 woods afford. In such retreats I have met 

 these little fellows in various parts of New 

 England at all seasons of the year, they 

 oftentimes being the only bird which one 

 meets with in a midwinter tramp in the woods. 

 After passing them I had proceeded but a 

 short distance. When, from the top of a tall 

 white pine, a bird song was wafted in the air 

 unlike any I had ever heard before. It held 

 me spellbound, it was so full of pathos and 

 character; it was the sweetest and most soul- 

 thrilling melody I have ever heard a bird sing. 

 It resembled somewhat the familiar notes of 

 the Song Sparrow, but not so rollicking or 

 boisterous, and more refined and subdued. 

 Although it was low, its sweetness seemed to 

 fioat out upon the air until the whole woods 

 was filled with its hamony, when suddenly it 

 ceased and all was quiet again. For quite a 

 while I looked intently into the tree, trying to 

 discover what species of bird I had listened to, 

 and thought my ears must have been deceived 

 as to the location of the bird. But, as I was 

 about to turn away, I saw something move in 

 the topmost branches and a bird flew to 

 another position in the tree, but behind a 

 bunch of pine needles. As I determined to 

 find out what he was, I raised my gun and 

 fired into his hiding place. When I reached 

 the spot where he fell, I found, to my surprise, 

 a fine specimen of the Fox Sparrow. I have 

 met with hundreds of these birds in the spring 

 and autumn migrations, but this was the first 

 time I ever heard any song from them except 

 the usual chirp which is characteristic of the 

 whole Sparrow family. This bird is the 

 largest and handsomest of the whole family to 

 which he belongs, which inhabit eastern 

 North America. His stay in eastern Massa- 

 chusetts is limited to a few days in spring and 

 fall, as he journeys back and forth from his 

 breeding grounds to the more salubrious 

 regions of the sunny South. As I went along 

 by the edge of a meadow which had been 

 overflowed by copious rains and melting snow. 



