226 The Bobolink 
hearing this superb bird has a great treat in store. 
If the bobolink concert belongs to the South, we 
have the solo work in the highest state of perfection, 
for immediately upon arrival at the North each male 
begins to pay particular attention to some plainly 
dressed little bobolink maiden, and for the lady of 
his choice he sings his most hilarious melody. I 
know of nothing more delightful on a May morning 
than to be near an old orchard, where the sweet 
scented blossoms are still hanging, and to watch the 
bobolink at his wooing. As you approach, the female 
is not to be seen, but she is, without doubt, down in 
the grass, while the male, in his beautiful coat of black 
and creamy white, is sitting upon the tallest bush by 
the fence; or, perchance, is swinging for a moment 
from the slender branch of an elm, before rising grace- 
fully into the air and pouring forth such ringing, 
vibrating, tinkling, and rollicking notes as ‘“‘tshe, 
’tshe, ’tsh, ’tsh, ’tshe,”’ and then circling right-about 
and setting sail for his former perch fairly shouting, 
*“bob-o-lee, bob-o-lee, bob-o-linke.”’ 
After the wooing the happy pair selects a meadow, 
preferably near a running stream, and in a tussock 
of grass surrounded by plenty of green verdure a 
snug nest is constructed of bits of dried grass, col- 
lected by both male and female. The eggs, number- 
