BOBOLINK. oY 
practice the same wiles on them — they can dis- 
eover nothing. What a pity the poor birds can’t 
tell friends from enemies. They treat me as if I 
were a brigand; but if they knew I wanted to 
peep at their pretty eggs and admire their house- 
keeping arrangements, how gladly they would show 
me about! 
After noticing the clear cut, direct flight of the 
robin, the undulating flight of the bluebird, and 
the circling and zigzagging of the swift, you will 
study with interest the labored sallies and eccen- 
tricities of the bobolink. When he soars, he 
turns his wings down till he looks like an open 
umbrella; and when getting ready to light in the 
erass puts them up sail fashion, so that the um- 
brella seems to be turned inside out. Indeed, 
from the skillful way he uses his wings and tail 
to steer and balance himself, you might think he 
had been trained for an acrobat. 
The most animated song of the bobolink is 
given on the wing, although he sings constantly 
in the grass, and on low trees and bushes. The 
most exuberantly happy of all our birds, he seems 
to contain the essence of summer joy and sun- 
shine. “ Bobolinkum-linkum-deah-deah-deah” he 
warbles away, the notes fairly tumbling over each 
other as they pour out of his throat. Up from 
the midst of the buttercups and daisies he starts 
and flies along a little way, singing this joyous 
song with such light-hearted fervor that he is 
