32 PROCEEDINGS OF THE 



grassy swales that at intervals widened our path increased the 

 gray-legged host. Their terrors were unmitigated by the pine 

 fragrance which hung heavily about us and rendered our in- 

 fested course tantalizing. Insect liquids were of no avail, for 

 they were instantly floated off by perspiration. I tried to listen 

 to new notes, and especially for the Pine Warbler's monotone, 

 which I had often suspected among bird medleys, but never 

 identified. Birds were singing in confusing numbers. Spar- 

 rows chirped. Woodpeckers shrilled alarm or interest, the 

 Prairie Warbler ran his chromatic scale, and the Wood Thrush 

 rang the minor on his flute, but no new voices. A short dis- 

 tance from the meadows we took a branch road to the north 

 and plunged into the wetter portion of the swamp. Off from 

 the road were innumerable pools from two to three feet deep, 

 and in places the road itself dipped under a foot of water. The 

 pines thinned out to straggling sentinels, and their places were 

 taken by gums. 



Passing the last clump of pines some intuition common to 

 bird seekers swung my glance directly back over the road we 

 had come. From the umbrage of a pine tree peered a small 

 bird of yellowish tint, watching quietly; there was something 

 so tense about her posture that my suspicion was awaked. 

 Nothing but the proximity of a nesting site could cramp a bird 

 into such an attitude. A moment of bird fear was on it. I 

 leveled my powerful Goertz glasses. Sure enough ! In the 

 bill was a bit of fluffy material, and, joy of joys, it was a Pine 

 Warbler ! The little experience I had had with this species 

 enabled me to identify it as the female. I hissed to my com- 

 panions for silence. However intense the bird's fear, her statue 

 mood soon passed. With sluggish flight she flew to the top of 

 a pine not twenty feet from where I stood, and actually over- 

 hanging the road along which we had come. So thick were the 

 pine spills, she entirely disappeared, and before I could aim my 

 glasses had slipped out again and skulked into the swamp. I 

 examined the tree's top. Nothing but bunches of long spills and 

 pine cones ! That barreness spoke of failure, and recalled Mr. 

 Stone's words regarding trips in search of this species: '' We 

 saw plenty of birds, and strained our necks in vain for the 



