52 



AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGl 



And Noah, the keeper, over- 

 heard him say to the serpent: 

 "Pelias, thou loathsome and de- 

 testable creature, how gainest thou 

 admission in mv presence'^ Because 

 thou layest eggs, thou feelest ex- 

 alted — thou who canst but bore 

 an ugly hole for a nest. Wouldst 

 thou be a bird? Ha! where art thy 

 wings? Oh! thy ugly spotted 

 skin" — but no more could he say, 

 for Noah interrupted him. 



"Myiarchus, thou vain and con- 

 ceited creature, the same God 

 gavest all life alike. Were 1 not 

 commanded to deliver thee safely, 

 thou shouldst surely die for thy 

 wicked boasting. A curse shall 

 follow thee ail the days of thy life; 

 thou and thy sons, and thy sons' 

 sons. Thou and thy family Tyr- 

 annidae are kings of nest-builders, 

 but thou Shalt lose thy talent. 

 Henceforth thv home shall be a 

 dark and ugly hole. Thy round 

 and well-built nest shall henceforth 

 be a heap of trash, and thine im- 

 maculate eggs, of which thou art 

 so proud, shall be marked with 

 bloody, wriggling serpents. So 

 desolate thy home shalt be that 

 thou thinkest the ugly spotted 

 serpent-skin an adornment upon 

 thy walls, and ever shall it serve 

 to remind thee of thy wickedness." 



Isaac E. Hess. 

 Philo, ill. 



A SUMMER'S-DAY RE 

 COLLECTION. 



My favorite haunt during the 

 warm summer days was a beauti- 



ful bit of woods near a small creek. 

 After following the many windings 

 in and out among the rocks and 

 trees, the creek gradually widens, 

 forming a diminutive pond. On 

 both sides of this pond are small 

 knolls covered with emerald grass 

 and studded with gigantic oak 

 trees, which invite the wanderer to 

 retire in the cool shade, away 

 from the burning heat of the sun. 

 The banks are the homes of nu- 

 merous gophers, who notify us of 

 their whereabouts by their pecu- 

 liar chuckling noise. During this 

 time of the year we may see the 

 dab-chick, or, as he is more often 

 called, hell-diver, performing his 

 aquatic feats on the pond. Noth- 

 ing can be more magnificent than 

 to observe the numerous warblers 

 as they hop about among the limbs 

 of the great oak trees or fly about 

 searching for food, which at this 

 time affords ample supply for their 

 hungry stomachs. It is here that 

 I heard for the first time the 

 sweet song of the hermit thrush, 

 our sweetest American singer. He 

 was concealed among the small 

 shrubbery near the lower end of 

 the pond, and it took me quite a 

 time to find the author of this 

 sweet strain. Near this lower end 

 where the pond joins the brook, is 

 a ford made of stones just pro- 

 truding above the surface, where 

 the mud-turtle enjoys a bath in 

 the hot sun and spends a good part 

 of his short life. 



A place like this must be seen to 

 be appreciated, but every lover of 

 nature can see from the above why 

 1 am drawn to this peculiar spot 

 more than any other. 



H. E. Neumann. 



