AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 219 



built her nest. The nest contained seven eggs when we found it and 

 before she began to set she laid six more which made thirteen in all. 



My friend and I had heard of a Kingbird which built its nest in the 

 gutter to a house and of an Owl which built its nest in a hollow hitching 

 post and Uncle Jerry told us of a Mourning Dove which built its nest 

 on the ledge of an upstairs window behind the blinds, but we had 

 never heard of a Quail building her nest in such a public locality and 

 where it was so easy for skunks and other vermin to get at it. As the 

 time for the eggs to hatch drew near my friend and I grew more and 

 more tearful that some cat or skunk would discover the nest and make 

 a meal of either the old bird or the nearly hatched eggs. 



We were just beginning to think that they would escape, but some- 

 times when the sky appears the clearest the storm is nearest. The 

 very next day when we went to school we looked into, to see how ^Nlrs. 

 Quail was getting along as usual, to see if all was well with her, but a 

 skunk had visited the nest during the night. He ate the eggs and 

 killed the mother Quail. I suppose the eggs made a much daintier 

 meal than grasshoppers or grubs. This skunk did not eat the old 

 Ouail but killed her for fun. 



WHEN ELM BUDS OPEN. 



By Jas. S. Comptox. 



The first ripple of the great flood of chirping, flying life rolls over 

 the Illinois hills just as the red maple begins to hang out its flags of 

 rejoicicing that Winter's reign is over. In this first ripple have come 

 the cedar birds, the blue birds and the robins; then as March moves on 

 with restless and uneven gait, loth to give up his hold upon the fast 

 awakening world, other waves roll in each bearing tokens of the ex- 

 panding forces of nature, each mounting a little higher than its pre- 

 decessor before laying down its precious burden. The fox sparrow 

 stops for a day to try the flavor of our seeds and buds, but is borne 

 irresistibly onward to the shady forests of the dominion. The Chee- 

 wink. Meadow Lark and Song Sparrow are often left stranded upon 

 our hospital coasts to sing and chirp and attend to the duties of the 

 happy nesting time till the ebb of the fall migration shall sweep them 

 back to the sunny borders of the Gulf. 



April passes with its constantly augmenting horde of visitors. May 

 comes and eln buds begin to swell. The tide of life that has been 

 steadily rising since the first of ^Slarch now reaches its flood. The 

 maple marked its beginning, the elm shows us its culmination, the 

 wild rose will soon tell of its ending. This spring migration is not so 

 mysterious, so capricious as its seems at first glance. The coming of 



