150 AMERIOAN ORNITHOLOGY. 



Bittern (pumping). This was no unusual sound but the direction 

 from which it came and the nearness of the sound indicated that a 

 close observance ought to disclose the performer. 



In a few seconds the sounds were repeated and suddenly his form 

 loomed up before me; there he stood in plain sight on the bank of the 

 road that crossed the above mentioned stream about twenty feet from 

 the bridge. 



Being not far from the house I ran for my field glasses and when I 

 returned and got them focused on him he was just starting his rude 

 performance. Standing motionless in the middle of the road, his bill 

 pointing at about 1450; suddenly his head was thrown forward and 

 downward, this was repeated three times and then twice during which 

 a snapping sound followed each move. The click was not unlike the 

 sound of a pair of shears or huge mandibles, at the sixth move of the 

 head the breast was inflated and moved convulsively, followed by the 

 regular booming sound; this was repeated three or four times and then 

 the performance would be over for a few minutes. 



Taking all in all it was a most painful appearing operation, but the 

 Bittern did not seem to mind it for he kept right at it for over two 

 hours during which time he did no more moving than to walk back 

 forth upon the road stopping every few minutes to sing. I watched 

 this strange performance a few years ago though not under as 

 favorable circumstances as yesterday. The birds are breeding here 

 now June 5th and the mate to this one is hatching her eggs in the 

 marsh one half mile below. 



Edwin Troup, Jordan, Ont. 



SUNSET IN THE AUTUMN WOODS. 



C. E. Gordon. 



Beautiful is every hill and meadow 



In the glowing colors of October. 



Jays are screaming, nuts are dropping. 



Crows are cawing to each other; 



Gently blowing zephyrs sway the tree tops; 



Shadows, dark and gloomy from the hemlocks, 



Cross the lonely, forest pathway. 



Twilight deepens, sombre darkness hides the landscape; 



Hill and meadow vanish. 



Now and then a Screech Owl's weird and solemn note is heard to 



Linger in an echo from the hillside 



Yonder, while anon the omnipresent 



Crickets add their plaintive voices 



To the dying echoes of the twilight hour. 



