The Music of the Marsh 



"Caw, caw, caw, cawk," he cries from every tree- 

 top and stump. 



When the tall marsh grasses and the blue flags 

 wave as with the sinuous passage of a large snake, 

 and a low, steady, prolonged "Um-um-um-um" The 

 comes booming across the water, know that you Kin s RaiI 

 are poaching on the preserves of a king rail, and 

 that the male bird is going into an impromptu 

 convulsion in the hope of luring you from his nest. 

 If you follow and search for him you may catch 

 a glimpse of an elegant, bright brown water bird 

 darting between the stems of the grasses among 

 which he feeds. 



But if you remain in your first location and 

 search until you find his home, you will see that 

 nature seldom has been more generous \vith the The Cradle 

 treats she has in store for her lovers. The nest, of 

 eggs, and home life of the king rail are beautiful 

 things, and should be known by every friend of the 

 marsh. Search for a hummock only a few inches 

 above the water, where the dead, dry, straw-colored 

 grass blades of last year are trampled into a large, 

 flat, bowl-shaped nest. It is slightly lined with 

 finer grasses and a few feathers of a rich dark- 

 brown color, twice narrowly banded with \vhite, 

 plucked from the breast of the mother near the 

 butt of the wing. Here are cradled as many as 

 twelve whitish eggs, sparsely sprinkled with small 

 reddish spots, and splotched with larger markings 



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