12 



T1ElWJLQ(*IST. 



White! Bob white! Imitating its call.; I 

 draw it nearer and nearer until, catch- 

 ing sight of me, it takes flight with a 

 sudden whirring of wings. 



High in the air over : the tree-tops, 

 sail a pair of hawks, dim specks in the 

 blue of the sky. I wander on, past the 

 deserted sugar-camp, which will not be 

 deserted in the spring-time, when the 

 sap begins to run. The calls of jays, 

 thrushes, finches, mingle with the 

 hoarser notes of the crow and deeper in 

 the forest the tat- tat- tat of the wood- 

 pecker is heard. How industrious they 

 are pecking away as though their lives 

 depended on their efforts; stopping 

 only to cock their heads on one side, 

 to examine their work, before recom- 

 mencing. 



There in that thorn bush, I hear faint 

 chirps; — four little thrushes crying for 

 food, and here their parent come, with 

 tierce chatterings to drive me away. 

 Come on, pretty bird, you shall not be 

 harmed! I leave them, and cross the 

 rippling brook at my feet. Up on the 

 hill is an empty log cabin, long fallen 

 to decay.. But it still has its living in- 

 mates, for as J get nearer, out of the 

 window there flies a little brown bird 

 seeking food, for the patient wife with- 

 in, sitting so lovingly on the six white 

 eggs, in tbe mossy nest on the beam. 

 It is the Phoebe or Pewee as we call it, 

 that has its home in this deserted old 

 cabin. 



But evening is coming on apace, the 

 sun sinks down behind the western 

 horizon, the birds fly quietly to their 

 nests, and my dog looks up in my faoe, 

 impatient to be at home. 



A I leave the dusky forest behind, 

 from the branches of whose trees are 

 heard the faint chirps of sleepy birds, 

 back in the dimness, I hear"the loud 

 and clear notes of our night bird — 

 whip-poor-will - whip-poor-will - whip- 

 poor-will— (some little noise, disturbs i 

 and it pauses for a moment, only to 

 take up the broken thread of its song, 



if song it can be called :)-whip-poor-wilI - 

 whip-poor-will-^ over and over again 

 fpr hours. The notes pouring forth, 

 one after another, have an inexpressi- 

 bly mournful sound, and yet they are 

 not unpleasant to the ear, 



But the sun .has long been, down; 

 only a faint streak of red in the west 

 marking its path; lights gleam out from 

 the windows of the farmhouse; I hear 

 the farmer calling: — Co-boss-co-boss! 

 and ,the answering low of the kine. As 

 I pass the, pond, the frogs set up a uni- 

 versal croaking, almost deafening; the 

 bleating of sheep is heard, darkness 

 settles down on every side, Nature is at 

 rest. 



''Springfield (Ills.) Boy." 



A "Good Enough" "Way to Blow Eggs. 



As soon as 1 read Mr. Lockwood's-' 

 article in the Sept. 1889 Oologist, I got 

 "on to the racket," as his method of* 

 blowing eggs promised to cover a great 

 difficulty in my case, viz.: That of 

 blowing eggs by "human labor." 



We had an old syringe but it was at 

 one of the neighbor's houses It was 

 raining, but I mounted a horse and 

 rode over and got the syringe, return- 

 ing in haste to practice on a pigeon's, 

 egg. The syringe was one of those con- 

 sisting of a bulb and two rubber tubes,, 

 one running each way from the bulb. 

 At the end of one tube is a spout and 

 at the end of the other is a valve to let 

 water in and keep it from going out 

 after it is.in and the bulb is compressed. 



I thought I would not follow Mr. L.'s. 

 directions to the letter, but would first 

 experiment a little. So I removed the 

 spout and put in its place one of (Lat- 

 tin's) white metal blowpipes. I fixed 

 the blowpipe stationary and held the 

 e jjg with one hand while I worked tee 

 bulb with the other. 



After a little practice I found that 

 this syringe was "just the thing" to 

 bow eggs with and that I had hit the 



