Hints to Audubon Workers. 



Somewhat longer than a song sparrow — 

 twc thirds as large as a robin — he is strik- 

 ingly unlike that cheery, busy little bird. 

 There he sits on a branch, in an attitude that 

 would scandalize the neat songster. His 

 wings droop listlessly at his sides, and his 

 tail hangs straight down in the most untidy 

 fashion. He seems the personification of 

 negligent indifference ; but if you focus 

 your opera-glass upon him, you will see 

 that his wings are vibrating, and his tail 

 jerking nervously at intervals. Suddenly 

 he starts into the air, snaps his bill loudly 

 over the unsuspecting fly he has been 

 lying in wait for, and just as suddenly 

 settles back on his branch, with a spasmodic 

 jerk of the tail. 



And now, as he sits there, looking 

 about for another victim, you have a good 

 chance to study him through your glass, 

 and observe the peculiarities of the bill that 

 gave such a resounding ^^ dicky If you 

 noticed the bills of the robin and bluebird, 

 you saw that they were long, thin and slen- 

 der — well fitted for their worm diet — while 

 the sparrows, who live mostly on seeds, had 

 the short, stout, characteristic finch bill. 

 The flycatchers' bills are especially adapted 

 to catching the insects upon which they 

 live. At the base there are long, stiff 

 bristles, and the upper half of the bill hooks 

 over the lower one so securely at the end, 

 that when an insect is once entrapped it has 

 a small chance of escape. 



The phoebe is very fond of making its 

 nest on the beams of horse sheds and under 

 bridges, apparently indifferent to the dust 

 and noise of its position. 



The nest is an unusually pretty one, and 

 looks very soft and luxurious. Both the 

 moss that trims it, and the long horse hairs 

 that hang from it add to the appearance of 

 careless ease. Even the five large white 

 eggs have a generous air. 



Mr. Burroughs describes its nest and hab- 

 its in "Wake Robin," pp. i6, 63, 139, and 

 "Birds and Poets," p. 37-38. 



MEADOWLARK. 



To a great many people the meadowlark 

 is only a voice, but if you follow the rule 

 laid down at the beginning of your work 

 and are determined to see as well as hear, 

 you will have little trouble in finding the 

 owner of the plaintive call, that rises so 

 mysteriously out of the grass. 



Focus your glass on the meadow and 

 then listen carefully for the direction of 

 the sound. The lark is a little larger than 

 a robin, but, as he is very much the color of 

 the dead grass that covers the ground when 

 he first comes north, and the dry stubble 

 left after the summer mowing, he is hard to 

 see. When you have found him, you dis- 

 cover that his general brownish-yellow 

 color is relieved by a bright yellow throat, 

 below which is a large black crescent. 

 When he flies, you recognize him as one 

 of the few birds characterized by white 

 tail feathers. He nests in the field, laying 

 his white speckled eggs in a coil of dried 

 grass on the ground. 



The peculiarities of his labored flight are 

 exactly described in Shelley's "Ode to the 

 Skylark," when he says, "Thou dost float 

 and run." Flying seems hard work for 

 him, and he does as little of it as possible. 

 When he starts up from the meadow, he 

 goes in a straight oblique line to the tree he 

 wishes to reach. 



The famous song of the European lark 

 may be superior to that of our own, but 

 the mournful melody of the meadowlark 

 is full of poetic suggestions. He is the 

 hermit thrush of the meadows, as solitary 

 and pensive where the light-hearted bobo- 

 link's song jostles the sunbeams, as the 

 lonely hermit is in his dusky forest clois- 

 ter. 



CATBIRD. 



The catbird is one of the most interest- 

 ing, and at the same time, most exasperating 

 of birds, to the tyro. Like some people, 

 he seems to give up all his time to the 



