AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 45 



the protective coloring that a wise Nature has provided them with, 

 shrank down into the nest and keep becomingly quiet. I could not 

 help thinking that they might serve as models for some children of 

 other bipeds that I have attempted to photograph. The proper focus 

 obtained, then a click of the shutter and I was off again. I can 

 imagine that the parent birds (the father had made his appearance by 

 this time) heaved a huge sigh of relief when they saw my retreating 

 form lose itself in the woods beyond. 



We have one of the thrushes occassionally nesting in this locality 

 that the chronic egg hunter would give something to possess. My 

 collection does not contain a set of the eggs and unless chance should 

 throw me in the way of a deserted nest, it never will. The 

 Varied Thrush is one of the most retiring of all our summer residents. 

 Nesting deep in the tall firs, and selecting a leafy topped one for her 

 home it is a difficult matter to find one of the nests. I seemed to be 

 followed this day however, by the spirit of Good Fortune. As the 

 morning grew on to mid-day and I was gradually drawing my circle 

 nearer and nearer home and lunch, I was startled while traversing a 

 coppice of deep woods by a bird note that was new to me. Crouching 

 near the root of an immense cedar I waited. Before long a bird came 

 spying out my hiding place. Silent as a ghost she came and flitted 

 from limb to limb, looked me all over. It was a Varied Thrush and 

 soon I had the satisfaction of seeing a nest some thirty feet up in one 

 of the red firs. My climbing irons were some donned and I was 

 prodding my way up the body of the tree. A nest and its four blue 

 eggs was the reward of my efforts. I took the strap from the camera 

 case and tied the camera to a limb some four feet from the nest and 

 sitting upon another swaying branch focussed the lens upon the nest 

 and its eggs. The result I give to you. The eggs I gave back to the 

 silent mother that was watching me from a near by tree and never 

 uttering a sound. 



Right back of the house in the edge of the pine woods, where the 

 ground is all strewn with the last years needles from the trees is a 

 dainty little nest all made of dried grass and neatly lined with hair; 

 within reposes two beautiful brown spotted eggs. This little domicile 

 is presided over by Mrs. Merrill Song Sparrow. I have had difficult 

 work keeping the ubiquitous small boy from destroying the home. 

 When I called that evening to ask the madame for a sitting of her 

 home she was not there but soon arrived and entered her protest. All 

 to no avail however, for I plumped my one-eyed battery right down 

 over her home and that night watched the shadowy representation of 

 her embryo sparrows come into being under the dim light of a red 

 lantern. Thus ended the first day with the camera. A day devoid of 

 robbery of happy homes, yet to me, replete with all that goes to make 

 the life of a bird lover one of pleasure. 



