AMERICAN ORNITHOL O G V. 



105 



Nature's Church, 



A bright beautiful Sabbath morn- 

 ing, and I am to attend service in 

 Nature's own church, and among 

 her choir of the richest of all sing- 

 ers, our birds. A favorite resort of 

 mine during the early spring is 

 along the banks of a brook, over- 

 hung with willows, birches and ald- 

 ers. The brook in many places 

 making a joyous song of its own as 

 it falls over the rocks, and then 

 passes quietly through a low piece 

 of meadow land on one side, and 

 the other an old orchard. This 

 combination seems to be just 

 what is wanted by our early 

 spring birds, and this 

 lovely morning the air 

 is full of their song. 

 Long before I 



nearly over my head an Oven-bird 

 is sedately walking along on the 

 low limb of a small oak, stopping to 

 give me a few of his notes, begin- 

 ning low, then up louder and strong- 

 er, and finally flying to the ground 

 within a few feet of me, and walk- 

 ing about as if he was the only one 

 there, looking under leaves and 

 picking out dainty morsels of food. 



reach my fav- 

 orite re st- 

 ing place 



1 hear the deep rich notes of the 

 Scarlet Tanager, Oriole and Rose- 

 breasted Grosbeak. The notes 

 very much alike in tone, and yet 

 so easily separated one from the 

 other. A Maryland Yellow-throat 

 looks out at me from a pile of brush, 

 and speaks his little piece in a 

 short, business-like way, while 



I keep 

 on a little 

 farther up the 

 brook to where 

 it is falling and 

 singing over the rocks, 

 and making a comfortable 

 seat for myself get out my 

 field glass and note book as I 

 find so many of the warblers 

 have come 1 cannot trust to my 

 memory, so make a note of them.. 

 1 see a movement near the edge of 

 the water and my first thought is 

 that my Ovenbird still likes my 

 company. But no, it is another, 

 the Water Thrush this time moving 

 about if anything more quietly than 

 his cousin "Auro." He did not 

 favor me with his song. Now join- 

 ing the chorus of warblers comes 

 the sweet notes of Wilson's Thrush, 

 and only a moment later the clear 

 and flute like note of the Wood 

 Thrush. Our friends the Brown 



