THE 00L0QI8T 



95 



for food, over the stony morains. 

 Here the granite boulders of many 

 hues, with their exquisite growths of 

 lichen, vied with the rarely dainty 

 prairie flowers in giving a fine atmos- 

 phere of wild beauty to the scene. 

 Fearless, and ever vocal were the 

 tiny birds, and the rarest pleasure 

 fell to my lot as I watched them, first 

 mounting upward, with that exquisite- 

 ly modulated "Ru-der-it," and then 

 darting as impetuously downward, to 

 the crown of some little boulder, 

 there to renew the medley of their 

 their song. How one longed for the 

 facile brush of the trained artist and 

 the pen of a "ready writer." How 

 tranquil the joy of the homeward 

 tramps, as the afternoons were 

 a'waning. Atop some distant hill-top 

 there may be barked a fox. Along 

 some vetch-bestudded hillside there 

 would flutter and divinely sing a bevy 

 of Lark Buntings. Down among the 

 little ponds of a rolling morainic pas- 

 ture, the stercorarious "Lib-lib-lib-lib" 

 of Burrowing Owls veered me from 

 my direct way, to find their eyrie, 

 with little trouble, among the rocks 

 that bordered a tiny slough. An old 

 badger-hole, perhaps, it was, but the 

 approach was deeply carpeted with 

 powdered horse manure. What was it 

 all for? one asks, really wanting to 

 know. It is to attract flies. 



On the last day, bidding good bye 

 to my beloved hill-top of boulders, 

 with their marvelous patterns and 

 colors of lichens, I reached, just be- 

 fore sunset the secluded little garden 

 of my good hostess. How little could 

 one have forseen that all that nurtured 

 beauty and use was to be utterly 

 wiped out ten days later by a pitiless 

 hail-storm! 



Hastily sprucing up a bit, I hastened 

 to a nearby home where were gathered 

 a Sunday School class of splendid 

 boys with their characterful teacher, 



a bevy of high school girls, two or 

 three manly, men and my hostess 

 with two or three other matrons. And, 

 how those boys did listen and listen, 

 as I quietly talked to them of the 

 mysteries atid the fascinations of bird 

 migration! The appointed hour was 

 well spent, long indeed, before any of 

 us knew it. 



Going again, next year? Yes, in- 

 deed! Thanks to a generous bird- 

 lover of the Far West. What a fine 

 old world this world is, anyhow! 



P. B. Peabody. 



Collecting Local Bird Names 

 A somewhat unique form of study, 

 which sometimes appeals to the bird 

 student, is the collection of the char- 

 acteristic local names given birds by 

 the residents of the community where 

 he resides. 



As very few people possess more 

 than a passing interest in birds when 

 they are seen and never take the 

 trouble to learn their correct names 

 it is not strange that curious and in- 

 teresting names are given our birds. 

 Only the more common water and 

 land birds come in for their local 

 names as the more timid species, 

 which love the protection of dense 

 woods and heavy undergrowth escape 

 the notice of the unobserving country 

 folk or pedestrians who do not know 

 that such birds exist. Often, when 

 one tells another that he has seen 

 seventy-five or more different birds 

 about his home in one year, the other 

 wears a look of incredulity. One 

 hears people say that they did not 

 know that there were twenty va- 

 rieties of birds in the county, yet at 

 least that many species could be seen 

 without going outside their yard, had 

 they taken the trouble of looking for 

 them. 



If these peculiar local names from 

 all sections of our country could be 



