THE OOLOGIST. 



209 



we will, uiue chances out of ten, tiud 

 them hugging the limbs of the trees. 

 just over the hill-top ahead, but with- 

 out a dog it is almost impossible to dis- 

 cover which tree or limlj before they 

 are off and gone. 



If we keep on into the wooU we will 

 probably meet with that bold chicken 

 thief the resident Great Horned Owl, 

 or perhaps if it has been cold enough 

 the past week or two, a specimen of 

 the rare winter visitant, the Snowy or 

 White Owl. A Hawk or perhaps an 

 Eagle, soars gracefully far above us. as 

 we take our lunch on the sunny side of 

 the wood and watch the Crows tile 

 across the Helds,and listen to the merry 

 note of the Chickadee, as he comes up 

 closer and closer as if he wanted to get 

 acquainted. 



We turn and cross the ci-eek, where 

 a musk rat quickly makes a plunge un- 

 der the ice at our approach, and a lit- 

 tle Avays farther down pause at an open 

 spot to watch shiners, chub or dace as 

 they sport in the icy creek and think 

 we will remember this stream for some 

 good bait, when black bass catching be- 

 gins again next June. 



The sun has nearly gone down and 

 the birds have entirely disappeared, as 

 we reenter the grove on our homeward 

 tramp. Not a chick-a-dce-dee, qtiank or 

 tap of the little spotted Woodpecker is 

 heard, they have all sought their night- 

 ly resting places, the three species last 

 mentioned of probably in some hollow 

 tree or old Flicker's nest. 



As we enter the village a loud trill 

 greets our ears and lets us know that 

 our good friend, the little Screech 

 Owl has begun his nightly raid on the 

 English Sparrow in the thick evergreens 

 and hedges. May he grow fat on their 

 worthless little bodies. 



N. HOLLISTER, 



Delevan, Wis. 



The Whip-poor-will. 



( A nlj'ostojnus voci ferns . ) 



Bordering the valley of the Kaw, on 

 either side for a distance of some forty 

 miles westvvai'd from the mouth of the 

 river, are contiauous ranges of low 

 hills broken by numberless little val- 

 leys. 



These rough.uutillable tracts of land, 

 covei'ed with a scrubby growth of 

 Black Jack and Post oak, interspersed 

 frequently with dense thickets of sap- 

 lings and underbrush, aflt'ord a compar- 

 atively safe retreat for those birds 

 which haunt the native woodlands. 

 It is in these hills that I have spent the 

 greater oortion of my years and it is 

 here that I have learned to know the 

 subject of this sketch. 



Securely hidden during the light of 

 day, in his secret abode, the Whip-poor- 

 will waits until all the members of the 

 'eathei"ed tribe, with few exceptions, 

 settle down to quiet and repose before 

 he comes out to help the Owl relieve 

 the monotonous quiet ot the summer 

 night. Rapidly like a faint shadow he 

 darts this way and that pursuing his 

 favorite prey. Shrouded by the friend- 

 ly darkness, he intrudes boldly in the- 

 very habitation of man, and mocks all 

 attempts to spy him out. 



How often in my boyhood days have 

 I been startled and even momentarily" 

 frightened by the shrill piercing words, 

 "'Whip - poor - will, Whip- poor- will.'''' 

 How unearthly these sounds iseemed to- 

 me then, yet how much have I since 

 learned to love them and to look for- 

 ward eagerly in the spring time for 

 their first clear tones. Had I felt the 

 fascination of oology during those early 

 days I might have had a long series of 

 "No. 417" on my list for many a time 

 have I pui'sued a fluttering biixl 

 through brush and saplings, entirely 

 oblivious of the the two precious beau- 

 ties which lay almost in my path. But 

 it is not mj' province to lament lost op- 



