The OoLOGiST, 



YOL. XIV. KO. 7. 



ALBION, N. Y., JULY, 1S97. 



Whole No. 134 



An Early May Morning- in Sonth- 

 western Ohio. 



It's often said, "There's no place like 

 home," and that's true if you are a 

 lover of nature, and happen to live 

 near the Little Miami hills. ^ 



If you don't believe it please rise at 

 2:45 o'clock this morning (don't shud- 

 der please) and be ready to leave home 

 at 3:00 a. m. All right'? All right. 

 Good fellows, you are. 



Well, here you are, on time. Al- 

 ready the east is illuminated by a silver 

 light. A Whip-poor-will is singing 

 down in the creek hoilow; and a sleepy 

 Martin, from his box, sings '■'keer-ko-ra- 

 kiUie-kUtie-ko'" as we leave. Where are 

 we going? Over here toward the riv- 

 er a mile or so to a picturesque piece of 

 land, covered with woods and thickets 

 and locally known as Hog-back on ac- 

 count of the numerous narrow ridges 

 between the deep ravines. 



As we walk along the road in the 

 semi-darkness, no sound is, at first, to 

 be heard, except the song of the Whip- 

 poor-will and the grand concert of the 

 frogs at the pond, where the piping 

 and. croaking of the smaller frogs, the 

 chug, chug, chug, of the larger ones and 

 the loud br-r-r-r of the toads form a 

 medley of sounds that can be heard for 

 half a mile or more. 



By 3:15 we hear the first notes of 

 Robins and the "e-chtickit-zree-e-e" of 

 the Yellow-winged Sparrow comes 

 over the meadow. It is still almost as 

 dark as ever; but, like the ripening of a 

 peach, the clear green of the eastern 

 sky is changing to a creamy white, and 

 near the horizon, to orange and dull 

 red, while over the river valley lies a 

 mantle of blue fog. The cool night air is 

 fragrant, not so much with the perfume 



of Mowers, as with the odors of the 

 newly opened leave.«, for the trees 

 whose tops a week or two ago were 

 bare and leafless, are now a mass of 

 verdure. The air is heavily laden with 

 the aromatic odors of the forest; which, 

 though dense, still impress the senses 

 as a most delicate and ethereal per- 

 fume. The blooming thorn, wild crab, 

 and especially the wild cherry, do con- 

 tribute a great deal toward scenting 

 the air of the forests; but the most 

 characteristic odor comes from the 

 wealth of virgin foliage and from the 

 moist >vnndlan(i earth itself. 



On the way we have heard several 

 Whip-poor-wills singing in the various 

 ravines and creek hollows of the 

 neighborhood, but here we are at Hog- 

 l)ack, and the Whip poor-wills are so 

 numerous that it is entirely out of the 

 question to number them; in all direc- 

 tions we hear a continuous clamor of 

 their songs. The fragrant dewy air of 

 twilight seems to vibrate in unison 

 with the notes, as a violin responds to 

 the vibration of the strings and pro- 

 duces a note of greater fullness and 

 beauty 



We'll ffo a hundred yards or more in- 

 side the border of the woodland and sit 

 down for a bit on a stump at the verge 

 of a deep ditch at the bottom of a ra- 

 vine and listen to the chorus of song. 

 It is ten minutes. of four. The whistles, 

 calls and cawing of the Yellow-breast- 

 ed Chat comes from the thickets near 

 the edge of the woods. The Wood 

 Thrushes, just beginning to sing, utter 

 their notes, clearer than if from silver 

 bells, from the dead limbs of the trees 

 overhanging the ravines. •'■Kur-le-iir-ee- 

 e-e, " followed soon after by '■'■kiir-ee-li- 

 kur,'" the fii'st with the rising and the 

 second with the falling inflection, is 



