108 AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 



daily to the row of beehives for his dinner, but perhaps it was only make 

 believe, and he didn't like them after all. I think this tyrant calls 

 "King" plainly as he flies. 



The little Grasshopper Sparrow under and the Chippy among the 

 branches of a spruce made a lively corner very early in the morning 

 and my sleepiest time. 



Late in the afternoon the Brown Thrasher would give us a splendid 

 concert from the topmost branch of the old apple tree on the front 

 lawn and continued singing almost to mid-summer which I think is 

 unusual. 



The lovely Cedar Waxwing came to the croquet arches (wound about 

 with white cotton) for material and moved it into the nest found in the 

 pippin tree later. 



The Field Sparrow comes singing up the orchard a wild sweet song, 

 that recalls to your mind the cool depths of the green forest, at this 

 hot noon hour, when he loves to sing his best. 



While lying quietly reading in the hammock stretched between two 

 cherry trees and over-arched by an elm, I aroused the curiosity of our 

 C atbird who come peeping and scolding and making a great demon- 

 stration among the branches and at last came down on the foot of the 

 hammock intent on seeing just what I was doing, then satisfied, moved 

 off and gave me one of his incomparable "performances" 



One morning while busy in the garden I was very much startled by 

 the loud rapidly uttered notes of the Yellow-billed Cuckoo, who had 

 came in his silent way, into the grape trellis almost over my head. 



The Mourning Dove, the Vesper and Song Sparrows, Orchard Oriole 

 and the Bluebird have their home in a group of old Johnny Appleseed 

 trees standing in a wild tangle of briars and locust; indeed most of our 

 common birds find their way to this spot, the notes of the Cardinal 

 Grosbeak, the Pewee, the Yellow-throated Vireo, Woodpeckers and 

 even the Yellow-breasted Chat, can be heard here during the summer. 



The clear echoing notes of the Veery come floating up from the 

 woods, in the long twilight hours and with the Vesper's hymn near by 

 close the delightful summer days. 



Of all our birds we could least afford to miss the sweet notes of the 

 Meadowlark, and the cheery whistle of the Ouail, the birds we loved 

 long before our trees and shrubs grew up to shelter the host that 

 followed, and how little did we dream when planting them, of the won- 

 derful fruit thev would bear in the years to come. 



Anna Lkuttmer, 

 "The Sandbank Farm." Mansfield, Ohio. 



