DELAWARE VALLEY ORNITHOLOGICAL CLUB. 15 



of little inlet, where the farm came down to the river. This 

 little natural harbor proved an ideal retreat, for when within 

 the river with its passing boats was entirely hidden by a 

 thick fringe of trees and alder bushes, from which Yellow- 

 throats, White-eyed Vireos and Red-winged Blackbirds scolded 

 at our approach, while in the other direction stretched a grassy 

 meadow. 



As the Duma nosed her way up to the bank and came to a 

 stop, my attention was at once attracted to this green meadow, 

 for my ear caught a familiar little bird note — a song that once 

 heard is not likely to be forgotten. Almost a year had passed 

 since I last heard it, and I was glad to renew my acquaintance 

 with Henslow's Sparrow. The little meadow seemed full of 

 them. At least a half-dozen birds were in song at the time. It 

 was almost sundown, and a host of birds were singing — Or- 

 chard and Baltimore Orioles, Robins and Brown Thrashers — but 

 as I recall that evening aboard the Duma, it is the little two- 

 syllabled song of the Henslow that made the deepest impres- 

 sion on my memory. The song is usually described in the 

 books as ''che-tick." Mr. Rhoads (Cassinia, 1902) has likened 

 it to "amen," while Mr. Pennock (Cassinia, 1907) thinks 

 ' ' switch-em ' ' more nearly fills the bill. To my ear none of 

 these words give a correct idea of the song, except as they con- 

 vey a two-syllabled utterance. Indeed I think them rather 

 misleading, for to me " che-tick," " amen" and "switch-em" 

 imply that the accent should be upon the first syllable, while 

 the second syllable should be the stronger of the two. I believe 

 Mr. Ernest W. Vickers (Wilson Bulletin, Sept., 1908) comes 

 nearer the real thing when he describes this song as resembling 

 "tis-zeek," the accent upon the "zeek." When singing the 

 bird throws the head back with a jerk and seems to fairly fling 

 out the song, It is claimed the bird also has a longer song, 

 more like the song of the Yellow-winged Sparrow, but I have 

 never been fortunate enough to hear other than this little two- 

 syllabled one. 



The night was spent aboard the Duma, for one of my friends 

 is somewhat of a bird enthusiast, and we were to be astir before 

 sunrise to hear the morning chorus. So when the mosquitos 



