114 



THE OOLUGIST. 



And this mud— I never saw anything to 

 compare to it in the States. It is a 

 grayish-black and if one has the idea 

 that it is not sticky just let him wade in. 



When I shot a King Rail and made a 

 plunge for it clear to the top of my leg- 

 gins I found it was sticky. After con- 

 siderable effort on my own part I 

 gave a native boy ten cents to 

 wash that mud out of those leggins. 



These swamps besides being the 

 haunt of many Rails are the homes of 

 innumerable Little Blue Herons. In 

 these low bushes they doubtless nest in 

 perfect security from the depredations 

 of man. 



At any rate I think it will be some- 

 time before any enterprising collector 

 investigates their haunts. 



Our destination, however, was the 

 hills back of these swamps and these 

 once reached my companion fell out. 

 He announced his intention of sitting 

 in the shade while I explored. Back 

 here, shut off from the sea breeze the 

 heat was almost stifling. 



These hills rise very abruptly in 

 places perpendicular walls of rock. 

 Filling every bit of soil, seizing upon 

 every crack and cranny in the rock in 

 endless form and variety the tropical 

 vegetation opposes an opposi tionto the 

 passage of so large a creature as a man 

 that IS almost as unyielding as the 

 rock itself, but to smaller creatures it 

 offers a haven of retreat which they are 

 not slow to appreciate. 



Here the babel of avian music taxed 

 the ear to identify the individual note, 

 while bird forms constantly new to the 

 collector from the States challenged the 

 admiration. 



Two-thirds of the way up the tor- 

 tuous hillside climb, while I rested be- 

 low a wall of rock in the now half-fol- 

 iage concealed rifle pits that but a few 

 months before were intended to pour 

 forth a fire of destruction into the 

 American troops, I heard a familiar 

 bird voice and there above me soared 



the old familiar form of the Red-tailed 

 Hawk and from close by his mate soon 

 joined him. I was rather surprised at 

 meetmg this old friend here. 



Their cries indicated a home close at 

 hand and walking a few steps further 

 sure enough there it was, the typical 

 nest of the Red-tail, fifty feet from the 

 ground on the fork of a large branch, 

 the tree standing on the steep hillside 

 overgrown with vines and the peculiar 

 parasitical growth so common here. 



Notwithstanding the diflBculty— not 

 to say danger — of undertaking to reach 

 the nest, the thought of so desirable a 

 trophy as a set of eggs of this bird ob- 

 tained here was not to be put down so 

 grasping the vines and consigning my- 

 self to the care of Providence I battled 

 — finally successfully — with the thorns 

 and obstacles. Reached at last, alas! 

 while newly finished no feggs greeted 

 my anxfous gaze. 



The nest in every respect resembled 

 a typical nest of these birds in the 

 States. 



Reluctantly and with diflBculty I re- 

 traced my way to the ground and de- 

 termined to pay this home a second vis- 

 it later. I came away. Unfortunately 

 military duties prevented till too late. 



Later I met a young gentleman Buteo 

 borealis seated on a wheelbarrow in 

 front of a shop in the city and I at once 

 took a snap-shot as an "illustration" to 

 this unsatisfactory account of an un- 

 satisfactory encounter with an old 

 friend in a new place. 



B S. BOWDISH, 



San Juan, Porto Rico. 

 July 26, 1899. 



From the Philippines. 



My Dear Sir:— I wrote you last De- 

 cember and asked you to stop sending 

 OoLOGisT, until further notice, as my 

 regiment had been ordered to the Phil- 

 ippines and I did not know what my 

 address would be. 



