2o8 Bird -Lore 



tune, I was sitting upon a rail fence overlooking a sea of daisies, when from 

 the ground near me came a few twitters and then, full and clear, rang out 

 the whistle of a Meadowlark. It sounded odd in the quiet of the night, 

 but one was impressed with how much there really is in this bird's song. 



Again, at night, I heard a Song Sparrow sing — such a drowsy song. 

 The bird seemed to be singing in his sleep, or rather to have roused up 

 and gone off to sleep again without completing his song, as it ended 

 abruptly. 



Once I stood watching two White-throats and a Fox Sparrow scratch- 

 ing among the brown leaves which a light March snow had failed to cover. 

 Suddenly from above dropped a Sparrow-hawk. One of the White-throats 

 barely escaped his talons. So engrossed was the Hawk in watching the 

 Sparrows that he had failed to notice me until after his unsuccessful strike, 

 and then, with apparent surprise, he made off in great haste. 



On another occasion I fell in with a family of young Screech Owls that 

 had just abandoned their nest. There were the five baby Owls perched on 

 a rather low limb, making the queerest of Owl music. The old birds were 

 very much concerned as to the safety of the young, and at times darted 

 uncomfortably near my face, snapping their bills in a menacing manner. 



These are but mere touches of wild life. Yet what they mean to the 

 bird -lover! I felt a hundred times rep?id for my tramp. I would gladly 

 have walked twice, yea, thrice as far to have seen them. 



Then there are spring days when the bird -lover's enthusiasm fairly over- 

 flows, — days when the peach trees blush pink, when the cherry-trees are 

 snow-white and the apple's buds are bursting; when the honey-bees are 

 gathering honey in earnest and mourning cloak butterflies flit here and 

 there; days when woodland hollows are yellow with dog-tooth violets and 

 windflowers nod in moist thickets. Then it is that the bird-lover's cup is 

 full. Then it is that the trees fairly swarm with Warblers and the woods 

 ring with bird songs. We roam o'er the fields and through the woods. 

 We add new birds to our lists. Our enthusiasm gets the better of us. 

 We would shout aloud. 



I have watched a calf kink its tail and gallop around a pasture. I 

 imagine the calf feels somewhat as I feel. He feels the joy of being alive. 



On these spring days the bird -lover is full of this feeling. He longs for 

 some one to enjoy it with him. The birds have taught him the joy of living, 

 but, when he speaks of it to some one outside the pale of nature -lovers, they 

 laugh and say: "What is there in a bird?" 



A WINTER FEEDING NUMBER 



In Bird -Lore for October it is proposed to devote especial attention 

 to methods for feeding birds in winter. Will not our readers send us notes 

 and photographs which could be used in this connection? 



