198 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS. 



me, as it often does wade until the water laps its breast, 

 and then, if it happens to keep its body bobbing forward 

 as it walks, you would suppose that it was taking a bath. 



At length, being very tired of my cramped position, 

 I concluded to flush the bird by making my appearance 

 from beneath the drooping boughs of the oak. As I 

 did so, the sand-piper gave a shrill whistle, and flew up 

 the creek to another mud-flat. Here, however, it was 

 not satisfied, and returning flew to within a dozen paces 

 of my boat, and then commenced an upward circling 

 flight, until nearly out of sight. 



This wood - tattler, the first I have seen since May, 

 recalled the finding of a pair in the chinkapin swamp 

 more than twenty years ago. It was a perfect June 

 morning, and all that that implies was to be enjoyed in 

 the sprout lands and the chinkapin swamp beyond. 



That June morning of long ago was a naturalist's red- 

 letter day. Here, for the first time, I found the pretty 

 prairie warblers in abundance; not as tardy migrants 

 on their way north, but here for the summer. They 

 were busy insect -hunting among the dwarfish oak- 

 sprouts, and some busier with their nests and young, 

 which I found after an easy search. Occasionally a 

 brilliant redstart would dart through the bushes, and 

 add to the animation of the scene. All these birds sang 



constantly. 



An individual prairie warbler cannot be classed among 

 our accomplished songsters, but the united voices of a 

 dozen or more as I heard them, mingled with the dis- 

 tant rinsing tones of wa2;tails and the nearer and clearer 

 whistle of the oriole, made delightful music. 



