148 Twelve Months With 



I hear the cry 

 Of their voices high 

 Falling dreamily through the sky, 

 But their forms I cannot see." 



And Cale Young Rice, in his epigram, "Lost" : 



"The wild duck finds her way 

 Even at night: 

 Yet I cannot by day." 



During the early part of this month, when the 

 harvest moon was at its full, I one evening visited 

 the top of a high building in Chicago, and from 

 twelve o'clock midnight until two o'clock A. M. 

 observed myriads of birds like tiny specks crossing 

 the face of the moon, and many passed so near that 

 their twitter and the noise of their wings was 

 distinctly audible. At the height of the migra- 

 tion season, either in the spring or fall, when the 

 moon is full and the weather favorable, one may 

 easily see, with the aid of a small telescope, many 

 birds cross the face of the moon. Dr. Frank M. 

 Chapman relates some interesting experiments of 

 this kind in which he timed the birds passing the 

 moon, that he might estimate the height at which 

 they were traveling. Some consumed three min- 

 utes in passing, indicating that they were flying 

 at a very great height. 



Among the day flyers are many of the birds 

 that roost at night in flocks, such as crows, swal- 

 lows, chimney swifts, grackles, robins and jays. 



