208 AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 



"And I've painted all my ocean, 



'Tis a bright, abounding blue, 



And the white sea-gulls float over. 



And they only float for you, 



O! I've done my spring housecleaning. 



And the world's as fresh as new," 



Says Nature, Mother Nature. 



'.'So I'm waiting for you, children. 

 On the sea and on the land. 

 You will find me if you wander. 

 You will find me close at hand, 

 O! Fairyland stands ready 

 And I'll wave my magic wand. 

 Only come!" Says Mother Nature. 



THE JUNGLES, SANTA WAE CREEK. 



By J. Lampton Ross. 



My favorite hunting grounds are in a deep valley through which a 

 shallow listless brook slowly meanders, impeded at every step by the 

 dense underbrush which grows in and along its sides. At this partic- 

 ular point it might properly be called a swamp, but after emerging 

 from this tangled mass of cane, ferns, moss and skunk cabbage, it 

 sallies forth, quite a cupestible stream. This is Santawae Creek, and 

 here in this lonely spot, concealed from the world without and the 

 birds within, I take my stand, armed with a double barreled field glass 

 and a camera. 



What is that little brown body, whisking and shuffling about among 

 the ferns and moss and screened from view by the endless canopies of 

 skunk cabbage? In an instant I discharge a volley from my glass 

 right into his strong hold. He doesn't mind it a bit but kicks up his 

 legs and flits about like the trained donkey in the circus. But I've 

 caught him for an instant; a quick examination reveals a brown back 

 and grey breast heavily marked with dark heart shaped spots. Is it 

 the wood thrush? Now he has risen to the tree above me, and is 

 singing merrily, away, "Wee-o-tee-ee, Wee-o-tee-ee." Being a neo- 

 phyte in the business, there are many interesting things that particu- 

 larly attract my attention. 



The harmless garter snake with its two parallel red lines running 

 down its back, as it sinuously glides out of my way. The great trees 

 which, cover the shores of Santawae Creek, and the fallen ones resting 

 at angles. Here a great King of the forest lies groveling in the mire^ 



