328 AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 



owner of the cheery voice, but I knew that my friend the Sparrow was 

 pleasantly engaged in some private enterprise of his own. But I was 

 most interested in a small warbler who was taking a sun bath. He had 

 selected a spot a little apart from the others, and was in the height of 

 luxurious enjoyment when I appeared. As I sat down upon the stone 

 I was careful not to disturb him by the crackling of a twig or the rust- 

 ling of a leaf. But I need not have feared. The bird was evidently 

 too far gone in ecstacy to be conscious of his surroundings. Appar- 

 ently he was oblivious of everything but his own enjoyment. Each 

 particular feather stood on end, even to the small ones of his head, and 

 he was constantly putting himself into grotesque attitudes. Now he 

 stood up very tall, with neck stretched and tail flirted out to its fullest 

 extent; again he leaned far over on one side and lifted his wings, one 

 after the other, so that the sunshine could penetrate every part. And 

 after his bath was finished, he spent fully half an hour preening himself. 



Each feather was carefully dressed many times over, and his head 

 combed with his claws again and again. And not until each individual 

 feather was afranged to his complete satisfaction, did he seek the roots 

 and join the Wrens in their search after delicate morsels. 



In the opposite side of the open space was a large oak, and far up 

 among its branches I had seen frequent gleams of red. Feeling sure 

 that a cardinal bird's nest was somewhere in the vicinity, I half rose, 

 intending to examine the tree more closely. But at that moment the 

 tender opening notes of a serenade fell upon my ear, and, glancing up, 

 I saw a gay troubadour of a bird balancing himself on a slender twig, 

 and evidently trying to attract the attention of some sylvan beauty hid- 

 den behind the network of branches. Resuming my seat upon the 

 stone, I arranged myself for an hour's rare entertainment. And I was 

 not disappointed. 



When I again arose, the patch of sunshine had shifted from the roots 

 of the fallen chestnut, and was creeping back under the large oak. 

 Most of the birds had disappeared, and the music of the insects had 

 dwindled to the dull hum of a solitary bumble bee and the strident 

 whirr of a pair of dragon flies that had wandered up from a neighbor- 

 ing swamp. 



One of the small white moths fluttered past me, and I idly watched 

 him as he settled down among the leaves of a laurel thicket. 



Then I noticed the peculiar movement of what appeared to be one of 

 the leaves, and I stepped forward for a closer examination. As I part- 

 ed the branches, a large green moth, with purple-bordered wings and 

 yellow antennae rose sleepily into the air. But I was too quick for 

 him, and a moment later I had a fine specimen of Actias luna in my 

 possession. frank h. sweet. 



