A ME R/CAN ORNITHOL OGY. 



GATHERED ACROBATS. 



One bright sunny morning, 

 during the latter part of May, 

 I started out with the camera, 

 intending to spend the day 

 with the birds. As I was 

 passing an old orchard, I 

 heard the clear, unmistake- 

 able, rollicking song of the 

 House Wren. Following this 

 welcome guide, I soon found 

 him, perched on a dead twig, head up, and warbling as though his cup 

 of happiness was bubbling over. There has always seemed to me to 

 b)e something unusually attractive in the wren's song. It is no mere 

 grandstand performance, but is expressive of his real feelings. 



Photo from life. 



As soon as he saw me approaching, his song stopped short and he 

 uttered a sharp warning note. As if by some magic power, there ap- 

 peared at his side, his exact counterpart. I stepped to the other side of 

 the tree to see from where she came, and noticed a small hole in the 

 ■end of a dead limb. Matters were getting interesting for me as well as 



