Birds of a Smoky City 15 



ment and confusion. When the bittern reached a resting- 

 place at the island's edge, he was in a state of mind. In the 

 broad stretches of his native swamp the English sparrow was 

 an unknown quantity. There were swamp sparrows there to 

 be sure, but they were an American product, musical, harm- 

 less, and good fellows withal; surely these ill-mannered crea- 

 tures could be no kin of theirs. 



Once lighted, the bittern turned from the water and faced 

 inland. He was looking squarely into the eyes of a score of 

 his sparrow persecutors. He took one comically awkward 

 step forward and made a drive with his powerful beak at one 

 of his tormentors. The blow fell far short of the mark, but 

 had the beak been a foot longer, the alert sparrow would have 

 been out of range before that sharp battering ram could strike 

 home. The bittern was attended by a train of sparrows all 

 the day long. He tried every part of the south pond's banks. 

 He was allowed neither to eat nor to rest. I saw the sparrow 

 horde still harrying the bird as I passed the place at sunset. 

 The next day the visitor had disappeared, and I hope that his 

 night's flight landed him safely among the marsh wrens and 

 the red-winged blackbirds of the swamp stretches which he 

 calls his home. 



Lincoln Park, Chicago, has become known as the highway 

 of the warblers. From the time that the first myrtle bird 

 appears in April until the last "Cape May" has passed north 

 in the month whose name it bears, the park is a rich field for 

 the study of this most interesting family. The warbler, 

 whether you find it in Lincoln Park or along the spring flood- 

 burdened banks of the Illinois River, has a beauty and a 

 character all its own. There are bird-students who seek other 

 fields of study for other birds, but in the full tide of the 



