THE OOLOGIST 



A Belated Swallow. 



Friday, November 17, 1922, was cold 

 and wintry. The ground was whit- 

 ened, the result of a recent snow 

 flurry, and altogether it was decidedly 

 cheerless. I was traveling by train 

 from St. John, New Brunswick, to 

 Montreal, and was impressed by the 

 scarcity of wild bird life. Not even a 

 Funeral Crow in many miles to break 

 the lifeless monotony of the landscape. 

 Finally, about nine in the morning, we 

 stopped and I noticed the sign read 

 "Birchton." I was told we were in 

 Quebec. An open field lay between 

 the train and some farm buildings one 

 hundred yards or so away. Suddenly 

 my attention was arrested by a small 

 bird flying slowly across the field. It 

 sailed along leisurely with an occas- 

 ional familiar wing movement, and I 

 saw that it was a Tree Swallow (Iri- 

 doprocne bicolor). 



It disappeared behind the train, and 

 I eagerly watched, hoping it would 

 return within range of my vision so 

 that I might reassure myself. Pres- 

 ently it reappeared and this time 

 passed by the window within forty 

 yards and as it wheeled on several 

 occasions I was able to note the pearly 

 white breast which clearly distin- 

 guishes this from others of the Swal- 

 low family. 



On such occasions one naturally 

 asks why should this frail bird have 

 remained while others of its kind went 

 south some two months or more ago? 

 I believe that it is true that the Tree 

 Swallow is one of the hardiest of the 

 Swallows. It has frequently been seen 

 feeding on berries of various kinds, 

 either from choice or when insects 

 failed to abound in sufficient numbers 

 to sustain it. Nevertheless, it is es- 

 sentially an insect eater and is one 

 of the first of our summer birds to 

 leave for the south at the approach 

 of autumn. Possibly this might have 



been an injured bird, hence unable to 

 complete the long flight, though on 

 the wing it showed no evidence of any 

 physical defect. Might it not be that 

 sometimes individuals among the 

 birds reach maturity, lacking that 

 marvelous sense which we call the 

 "migration instinct?" Separated from 

 their fellows they linger aimlessly 

 about their native haunts, eventually 

 succumbing to the natural forces 

 which apparently must soon destroy 

 the frail bird I have described. 



R. W. Tufts, 

 Wolfville, N. S. 



A Catbird's Nest. 



The following is a detailed account 

 of the materials in a Catbird's nest 

 taken from an apple tree in an orch- 

 ard near Bardstown, Ky., from which 

 a set of five eggs was collected on 

 May 11, 1921. 



The lining consisted of two hundied 

 and twenty-five small rootlets, mostly 

 about four or five inches long. Evi- 

 dently these were secured from an old 

 raspberry patch that had been plowed 

 up a few weeks previous. 



Just outside the lining of rootlets 

 there was a mixture of grapevine 

 bark and bits of corn fodder. There 

 were twenty-four pieces of grapevine 

 bark, mostly about three inches in 

 length, though one piece was six 

 inches long; five shreds from blades 

 of corn fodder ranging from two to six 

 and one-half inches in length. 



Next came leaves, forty-four in nunr 

 ber, all of which, except one, were 

 from sugar maple and nearly all had 

 the stems attached. The exception 

 was a beech leaf. 



Outside the leaves were several bits 

 of paper, as follows : , Two moisture 

 proof papers from chewing gum; one 

 small piece from an envelope flap; two 

 pieces of newspaper, one about two 

 inches square, the other was about 



