174 The Wilson Bulletin — No. 101 



water, circle around its margin, then dart off through the 

 trees and disappear from view, only to return again after a 

 time and repeat the same wild race. Some times the one is 

 not a coward, but stands his ground ; then a fierce conflict 

 occurs ; frequently they clinch and fall nearly to the water be- 

 fore letting loose. Now they ascend in a spiral flight far up 

 among the tops of the trees, only to return promptly to the 

 pond again. Now they have separated and one of them flies 

 alone in a slow fluttering way across the open space toward 

 the old snag in which the female is building the nest. With 

 wings bent downward, and tail spread so as to show plainly 

 the white of the outer feathers, he gives expression to his 

 happiness in an excited but pleasing little song, which I wish 

 I could describe. Now he perches upon a limb just above 

 my head, where, with drooping, tremulous wings, and head 

 erect, he warbles very prettily his delicate little love song, 

 oblivious of us all except of her who is busy at the old willow 

 snag. Although she seems very busy indeed, she doubtless 

 hears the little song and knows full well its subtle meaning. 



These are but a few of the interesting birds that may be 

 seen in and about this fine old Maple Swamp. There are red- 

 eyed vireos, warbling vireos, wood pewees, Baltimore ori- 

 oles, turtle doves, scarlet tanagers, and many others, but 

 these we must leave until another day. 



And now, as we start home in the gloaming, the Great 

 Blue Herons are returning in larg'er numbers from their feed- 

 ing grounds along Wild Cat Creek and Deer Creek to the 

 north, and perhaps even from the Wabash to the northwest ; 

 the Crow Blackbirds and Redwings come flocking in from 

 the nearby fields and marshes. A Brown Thrasher, perched 

 upon the topmost limb of a tall sassafras in the corner of a 

 field, sings to us as we pass by; while from the hillside across 

 the swamp comes the strange, doleful song of the Whip- 

 poor-will. 



The pleasures of the day were not all from the swamp and 

 its denizens. The woods, the fields, the air and all out-doors 

 conspired to entertain us and make us happy. We saw and 



