Vol. XVIII 

 igoi 



I WiDMANN, A Visit to Audubon's Birthplace. I S ^ 



dow. An old Bald Eagle was sitting fearlessly in a tree not far 

 from the train ; several Marsh and Sparrow Hawks, and a Rough- 

 legged Hawk, chasing a Marsh Hawk. On the lake only a few 

 Cormorants and Gulls were seen, and long before the train had 

 reached its destination night's lowering shroud excluded farther 

 observation. 



The bathing season opens only on the first of May, and at the 

 tihie of my visit Mandeville presented a picture of grateful tran- 

 quillity. The long row of villas fronting the lake looked as if 

 entirely deserted by man. The lawns, the shrubs and trees were 

 occupied by a set of tenants, who take them only for the winter and 

 pay no rent. Yellow-rumped Warblers, White-throated and Chip- 

 ping Sparrows were the most conspicuous of these winter sojourners 

 but a closer inspection revealed the presence of a score of tempo- 

 rary frequenters of these quiet retreats. The streets, where the 

 stores and dwellings of the stationary population are, are wide and 

 lawn-like ; roaming domestic animals keep down all superfluous 

 vegetation with the exception of a few palmettoes, young pines and 

 an occasional blackberry bush. We walk on a green, soft carpet 

 of grass, beset with innumerable bluets {Houstonia ccerulea). Car- 

 dinals, Mockingbirds, Carolina and Bewick's Wrens are in the 

 gardens and on the bird-house sits the Martin with his dear old 

 warble of joy. The owner of the place tells me that the first came 

 February 14, which is not early for southern Louisiana, as in other 

 years they have been known to return from one to two weeks 

 earlier. 



Artesian wells furnish the town with an abundance of good 

 water, which runs in rivulets through the streets toward the lake. 



On a vacant lot, well within town, a troop of 35 to 40 Meadow- 

 larks is sporting fearlessly and in good cheer ; some are singing, 

 others feeding, all seem quite at home in this little town and well 

 pleased with their Louisianian winter quarters. From the thickety 

 border of a slough or bayou, which runs through town, comes the 

 song of the Maryland Yellow-throat and the feline alarm of the 

 Catbird. A Thrasher lights on a garden fence and four female 

 Towhees are hopping in the street, while from the brush comes 

 the warning note of the male. 



On a stately water oak, which is now putting forth its catkins 



