Gfi Tin-: Wir.soN Rii.i.iiTix — Xo. ."iD. 



eyes followed hini but not far, however, for they rested upon 

 a little knob at the end of a twig away up in that chestnut 

 tree. 1 shall never be able to say wh\' this tiny knob should 

 have attracted my attention, for it was not until I had brought 

 my field glasses to bear upon it that I realized T was looking 

 at a Rubythroat. He cortainl\- did look like a drowned rat. 

 Every feather seemed saturated with the cold rain and there 

 he sat and preened away at them with his bill. Wdiile I 

 watched him he tlew to another perch and finally left me. but 

 I wondered where he sought his food at this season. Among 

 the goldenrods and asters, or did he catch insects from some 

 perch in true flycatcher fashion ? 



\\'e were boating on the Delaware River in late July. I 

 had pushed the boat's bow in among the marsh grasses and 

 sat waiting for my friend who had gone ashore. Down 

 darted a Rubythroat and hovered before a Cardinal flower 

 sat less than four feet away he was not the least bit alarmed. 

 He visited every flower, one after another, then made a circle 

 in the air only to return and revisit each flower. My friend 

 appearing about this time. Mr. Rubythroat made a rapid de- 

 parture. 



Still another picture stands out vividly on by memory. It 

 was the third of July. 1904. Tom and 1 were climbing the 

 Welsh Mountains in X. W. Chester County. We came to a 

 little clearing. We scrambled over the low stone wall into a 

 small meadow, wdiere we waded knee deep among timothy and 

 clover. There going from one red clover head to another 

 was a Rubythroat. His red throat seemed fairly aflame in 

 the sunlight. We saw him for only a brief moment, but some- 

 how the picture clings. We had a good trip that day, with 

 lots of novelties. There had been Scarlet Tanagers, Chestnut- 

 (Lobclia Cardinalis) standing by the boat's bow. Although I 

 sided AVarblers and Rough-winged Swallows ; Bartramian 

 Sandpipers had shown us how gracefully they could fold their 

 wings, and a Xighthawk, resting in the road, had almost let 

 us trample him under foot, but whenever I recall the Welsh 

 Mountain trip I see again that hillside meadow, the crumbling 

 stone wall, the noddins: clovers and the Rubvthroat. 



