Notes from Field and Study 



25 



beak, alij(ht on the trunk of a wild cherry 

 tree. While running about over the bark, 

 the bird dropped what proved »o be an 

 acorn, but immediately flew down and 

 picked it from the long grass, and re- 

 turned to the tree. A second time it 

 dropped it, and then, after carrying it 

 again to the tree, thrust it into a crevice 

 in the bark with considerable force, and 

 began to peck at it vigorously. This it 

 did for a few seconds, when I jumped up 

 quickly and, with wild gesticulations, 

 frightened it away. It proved to be the 

 acorn of the pin Oak ((Jite/rtfs />a/fis/ris), 

 and as no fruiting tree of this species was 

 nearer than the Island, in the river oppo- 

 site, I concluded that the bird had carried 

 it across the water from that point. 



After photographing the acorn on the 

 tree, I cut the section of bark off, glued 

 the acorn in its cavity, and the photograph 

 shows the result. — E. B. South wick, AVzc 

 ]'ork City. 



A Cover Design 



This interesting sketch was contributed 

 by a prominent ornithologist as an appro- 

 priate cover design for this magazine at a 

 time when it was proposed to call it "The 

 Bird World. " The appearance of a book 

 bearing this title renders it necessary for 



h%yJLJL 



us to abandon its use, but we do not, for 

 the same reason, feel justified in depriving 

 the world of this remarkably artistic effort, 

 and therefore present it for the edification 

 of our readers, and we trust, to the de- 

 light of its author ! 



Collecting a Brown Thrasher's Song 



Rustler, my pet Brown Thrasher, was 

 pouring out his loud, long, spring song. A 

 phonograph, or rather a graphophone, had 

 been left on a table by the cage. Every- 

 thing seemed to favor the collection of a 

 bird song. I placed the instrument so 

 that the open funnel of the horn came 

 within less than a foot of the Thrasher's 

 swelling throat, and touching a lever, set 

 the wax cylinder revolving below a sapphire- 

 tipped style, which cut the bird notes into 

 the wax. Just as the medley . changed 

 from that of a Catbird to that of a Wood 

 Thrush, a Robin flew past the window. 

 Rustler stopped short, but the style con- 

 tinued to cut and ruin the wax cylinder. 

 When Rustler started in again he hopped 

 to the opposite side of the cage, rudely 

 turning his back upon the graphophone. 



More than a little vexed at the per- 

 versity of dumb animals, I quickly cov- 

 ered over the end of the cage farthest from 

 the graphophone ; then Rustler sulked 

 beneath the cloth in silence. Next I 

 removed the perch from that side and 

 then Rustler absolutely refused to sing 

 any more. Some hours later, however, I 

 made another attempt, but each time the 

 graphophone was started the w-hir of the 

 revolving cylinder cut short my Thrasher's 

 rich, rippling notes, so that the only thing 

 to do was to remove the recording style 

 and accustom him to the noise of the cyl- 

 inder, and when this had been accom- 

 plished, I replaced the recording style. I 

 found that by shutting off the graphophone 

 the instant Rustler's notes became weak 

 or stopped, I could catch a continuous 

 series of notes. I succeded the follow- 

 ing morning in getting a pretty fair song. 

 It was not so loud as it might have been, 

 but in pitch and timbre it was perfect. 



In September dear old Rustler died. 

 For nine long years he had enlivened my 

 northern New Jersey home with his cheery 

 music. In November, at a meeting of the 

 American Ornithologists' Union, the notes 

 of Rustler's love song fell sweetly upon 

 sympathetic ears. — Sylvester D. Judd, 

 Ph. D., U'trs/it)i,i,'-to)i. P. C. 



