64 Bulletin Ah). 22. 



for a while, but time will not permit, so we simply wave our hat at Mr. 

 Runge and continue our march down the railroad track. A few Doves, 

 enjoying a sunny sand bath ; a band of merry Chicadees ; a Fox Squirrel, 

 which happens to cross the track ; a Water Trush, very likely Grinnell's ; 

 and a few other warblers, who keep their distance and hence remain 

 strangers ; a Flicker or two ; a Barred Owl and a few piping Downy 

 Woodpeckers are about all we see until we reach Ellison Creek. 



Ah ! where is my prairie ? Where my flocks of roving Bobolinks ? 

 All gone ! A sea of tall moving corn greets my eyes ; I am disappointed. 

 Yes, I admit I am not practical. I would prefer the prairie, with its 

 Bobolinks, its Shorelarks, Doves and Upland Plovers, those long drawn 

 notes I had hoped to hear again, a thousand times to the moving grain. 



Why is it, that one longs to see old scenes appear, just as of old ? 

 Why are we hurt, when we return and find that our favorite tree, "neath 

 whose leafy arms we often sought repose," has been supplanted by 

 some stately home ? Civilized vandalism is what we mumble as we pass 

 on ; the place is estranged to us — we are no longer friends. 



I confess I felt deeply hurt when I beheld my favorite piece of prairie 

 turned into a prosaic, monotonous cornfield of enormous extent. Fortu- 

 nately Ellison Creek has high banks and the plowman has left a broad 

 skirting strip for a road, now all grown up in weeds, chiefly Bidens and 

 Ambrosia. Slowly we work through this, now and then flushing a Field 

 or Chipping Sparrow. At the hog-pen we find a host of noisy Jays in 

 clamorous debate with Red-headed Woodpeckers, and a little further on 

 we even flush a Savanna Sparrow who makes good his escape by a hasty 

 retreat. No more birds are seen until we reach the little slough below 

 the farm house. Here we add a Sora to our collection and admire the 

 lazy flight of a Red-tail as he flaps off into the timber. Doves and 

 Bronzed Grackles are quite plentiful. 



After sampling a quart of milk apiece, at the farm house, we continue 

 our journey to the Spring-heads. Here my friend, Mr. Poppe, flushes 

 and brings to grief, with the auxiliary, the first specimen of Yellow 

 Rail which I have ever observed in this locality. It is useless to say that 

 I took the Yellow Rail fever, a very severe malady when one is not 

 attired in high water-proofs, and with combined efforts we managed to 

 raise and drop two more. 



White-bellied, Barn, Cliff, Bank and Rough-winged Swallows are 

 coming in, to rest on the tops of the Iron-weeds for the night. For here 

 we still have a bit of the old flora remaining, a reminder of olden times. 

 A Long-billed Marsh Wren and a Dickcissel are conv^eyed to our satchel, 



