32 



But, say the oi^tbodox ornithologists, " Why need there be any 

 doubt cf this kind 1 All you have to do is to shoot your bird, and 

 carry it home, count its toes, and its primaries and secondaries (what- 

 ever they are), examine its beak and its other diagnostic maiks, and 

 you will then be able to say with confidence that it is either a wood- 

 pecker or something else." Well, I admit that all this is true, and for 

 the systematic ornithologist it is the only way, but for one who merely 

 wishes to know the birds in their native haunts, I submit in all 

 humility it is not necessary, and when we went to work last Spring we 

 •decided not to do it. After long and sometimes warm discussions of 

 the matter, we came to the conclusion that when we found ourselves in 

 imminent danger of becoming great naturalists, there would still be 

 time to shoot. Besides we had access to one of the finest public col- 

 lections in Canada, supplemented by some very complete private ones, 

 belonging to members of the club, which, we felt sure, the owners 

 would be glad to let us see in case of need. Finally, what we most 

 wished to study was the habits of the birds, and a dead bird has no 

 habits in particular. 



So we went out, armed with nothing more deadly thai), a double- 

 barrelled field-glass, a note book, and a copy of McUwraith's " Birds of 

 Ontario," and, having mastered, to a certain extent, what a recent 

 writer on "woodcr-aft" calls "the art of holding down a log," we made 

 bags (I mean note-books) which were to us, at least, as satisfactory as 

 if we had come home begrimed with powder, and reeking with the blood 

 •of slaughtered innocents. 



From the bleak winter day when we first made out, against the 

 •dark background of spruce and cedar, the grey uniform with black fac- 

 ings worn by that arch-hypocrite the Northern Shrike, thro ugh all our 

 varied experiences of musical thrushes and sparrows, nimble swifts and 

 swallows, and gaily-clad orioles and warblers, till the climax of aston- 

 ishment was reached when we got our first glimpse of the Scarlet 

 Tanager in all his tropical brilliance, one new delight followed anothei*, 

 only leaving room for vain regrets that we had wasted so many years 

 in ignorance of the wonders about us. 



To give you some faint notion of what may be seen in a Spring 

 day's walk, let me ask you to make with us, in imagination, what we 



