334 



THE OOLOGIST. 



the very doorstep, foundation and aisle, 

 lie the dead of a century and a half and 

 more. Here lie a number of revolu- 

 tionary patriots, whose graves are un- 

 marked save by a number of small 

 flags. Their names and deeds alike 

 forgotten. A modest block of marble 

 marks the last resting place of the 

 bones of "Mad Anthony" Wayne of 

 whom the Indian chief said "He never 

 sleeps" an who threatened to "rise from 

 his grave and fight them" should the 

 Indians dare break their treaty. At 

 the time of his death he was command- 

 er-in-chief of the United States Army. 

 Of others I have not space to write. In 

 this building the British redcoats, at 

 one time quartered their horses. Large 

 pines, oaks, spruce, cedars, gum and 

 various other trees, many of which 

 have seen a hundred years roll by, rise 

 above the tombs and church. Many 

 plauts and shrubs of old fashioned and 

 little known species are scattered about 

 under the wide spreading trees. While 

 the earth is as white and cold as the 

 tombstones, the birds alone break the 

 prevailing silence and monotony. The 

 noisy "caw caw" of the crows as they 

 fly in large masses and hold front to 

 their feeding ground, in the early 

 morning, or back to roost in long seem- 

 ingly endless trains, in the dusk of eve- 

 ning; the sweet, mellow whistle of the 

 Meadowlark. " We-te-see-re-ee, " the 

 Sparrow Hawk's exaltant cry, shrill 

 and savage; the cheery how-do-you-do 

 of the Black-capped Chickadee, Nut- 

 hatch, or Downy Woodpecker, uttered 

 in a variety of language, but none the 

 less hearty for that, with now and then 

 the notes of a Flicker given in his own 

 rollicking manner, the "• Free-ttk chow- 

 chow" of the Cardinal, the "rusty 

 wheelbarrow" notes of the Blue Jay, or 

 the "tsejf of the Song Sparro v, in the 

 swamp beyond the wall, little else is 

 heard, lest it be the soft silvery notes 

 of the Juncos and Tree Sparrows as they 

 talk confidentially among themselves ;or 



when the shadows commence trailing, 

 the moaning notes, so sad and wild, of 

 the Screech Owl, from 'the evergreens. 

 The cry of this bird invariably turns 

 the listener's thoughts to that which is 

 solemn and grave. 



But with the spi'ing comes the sweet- 

 er musicians to raise their broods and 

 to pour out their songs of love, of exal- 

 tation and of triumph. Very early 

 comes the Bluebird, Robin, Goldfinch, 

 Cedar Waxwing, Purple Grackle, Kill- 

 deer and Spotted Sandpiper, and not 

 to leave until very late in the year. 

 The Phoebe, Mourning Dove, Red-wing- 

 ed Blackbird, Crested Flycatcher, King- 

 bird, Red-eyed, White-eyed, and Warb- 

 ling Vireos, Field, Chipping and Vesper 

 Sparrows, Indigo Bunting, Brown 

 Thrasher, Wood Thrush, Catbird House 

 Wren, Yellow-billed Cuckoo, Chimney 

 Swift and Barn Swallow following after 

 according to their nature and the 

 weather. 



The flute-like notes of the Wood 

 Thrush leads, with the scarcely less 

 wonderful songs of the Brown Thrash- 

 er, Catbird, Robin, Vesper Sparrow, In- 

 digo Bunting and others to keep the 

 air vibrating with music, and the grand 

 chorus of all the remaining birds to 

 add volume to the strain, to make up 

 the balance of the noise or complete 

 the pastoral effect, the eye and ear are 

 at once charmed. As I look and listen 

 I think what a resting place this would 

 have been for the "Father of American 

 Ornithology," the great Alexander Wil- 

 son, whose wish it was that he might 

 be buried where the birds could sing 

 over his grave. 



Midway, although not by the most 

 direct route, between the homes of Au- 

 dubon and Wilson; there is little doubt 

 but that both of these great Ornitholo- 

 gists have traversed this same ground 

 in their wanderings and search for new 

 and unnamed species. 



Frank L. Burns. 



