DELAWARE VALLEY ORNITHOLOGICAL CLUB. 13 



than any I came upon. He had been carried out of doors on 

 his cot and placed in tlie sun against a wind-break of low pines. 

 As he dozed there he felt a plucking from below at the canvas 

 of his bed. "A curious trick in a chicken," he thought, and 

 reached his hand under to investigate. Yes, what he grabbed 

 was feathers. Pulling the fowl out he was surprised as at an 

 apparition by the red-head and long, flopping wings of a Turkey 

 Buzzard. The Buzzard was, he learned, a regular habitue, and 

 free to all the privileges of the place. What had become of the 

 bird I could not learn. 



Friday was the first day I saw Crows, and every day after 

 that I saw them, but it was only seldom in the pines. In the 

 farm lands they were very plenty. There were Phoebes by every 

 stream I crossed this day, brought out by the warm weather, I 

 suppose, from some retreats whither they had followed the gnata 

 they prey upon. Now, too, we met Blue Jays, fluting, scold- 

 ing and ringing their mellow bell-notes, but they were not this 

 day or any other plenty in the neighborhood. Most of the birds 

 we saw this day were those we had seen the day before. We 

 drove by narrow trails to Hanover Furnace, passing but few 

 birds other than Field Sparrows, Snowbirds and Pine W^arblers 

 in the pines, but in the clearing about Hanover Furnace finding 

 flocks of Robins with many Flickers feeding on the ground 

 among them, and Goldfinches hanging on old weeds. There 

 were Meadow Larks, too, in these broad fields, uncultivated 

 now and lapsing into barrens, and Vesper Sparrows and Blue- 

 birds in the old orchards. It is a lonely, forsaken place, Han- 

 over Furnace, with a great house falling into decay and many 

 cellar holes to tell that here was once a prosperous forge. A 

 piner's boy in the door-yard of a wretched house at the cross- 

 roads, which, with one in sight across a quarter-mile field, was 

 all we saw of the present-day Hanover, gave us explicit direc- 

 tions to White's Bog, a great cranberry dyke two miles and 

 more south. It was a dreary ride across waste lands, with low 

 pine and scrub oak, and half the way boggy. Here were only 

 Pine Warblers and the inevitable Buzzards. About the cran- 

 berry pond were many Sparrows, of several kinds, but among 

 them I could identify only the Song Sparrows. Here, too, 



