THE IOWA ORNITHOLOGIST. 



field. She never thinks of looking- in the top of the larg-e oak for 

 the producer of these supposed familiar notes. This is the first 

 rude element of the red-tailed hawk's scream. There are the old 

 birds soaring- hig-h in the blue; every now and then we hear their 

 piercing- ivhe-air. 



The world is a jarg-on of young- voices. Morning-, noon and 

 nig-ht the groves resound with impetuous cries, which indicate the 

 presence of hung-ry mouths to be filled. The junior Baltimore 

 orioles are lending- their share to the monotone. Two broods were 

 reared in the grove and now as they find that the power of aerial 

 navigation is theirs, no tree is large enough for two of them! 

 Stationed in different sections of the g-rove, they each vie with the 

 others in making- the loudest demonstrations for food. The wood 

 pewee {Contopus virens^ has her nest in one of the hickor}' trees. It 

 is placed on a horizontal limb some fifteen feet from the g-round. 

 The two little inmates are not quite able to fly. The nest is 

 almost a model structure. The grass and fine shreds which form 

 the framework are beautifully decorated with lichens. The mother 

 has a novel wa}- of securing- food for her 30ung-. Perched on a 

 dead limb only a few feet from the nest, she waits patientl}- till an 

 insect of the fly characteristics comes her way; then, quick as 

 thought, she takes a circle, you hear the snap of her beak, and she 

 regains her perch, only to repeat the operation in a few moments. 

 Occasionally she g-oes to the nest to g-ive a portion of the food to 

 the young, which are exceptionally quiet for members of the avian 

 class. Perhaps they are lulled to sleep b}^ the continuance of the 

 low sir-ree-ee-ee-ee-e of the mother, which is probably to them what 

 the "Rock- a-by -baby" was to us. 



This species g-reatly resembles in form and habits its larg-er 

 relative, the phcebe {Sayomis p/ia-be), only being- of a more solitary 

 nature. The phoebe, with which every schoolboy is familiar, 

 seems to have made a complete reformation from its primitive 

 habits. It once was a retired bird, nesting- on the sides of rocks 

 of high cliffs along our streams. Now every bridge along our 

 pndlic highway has its phoebo's nest — every farmyard in which 

 are a number of outbuildings possesses the same. 



I have always been some what partial to low thickets of un- 

 dergrowth for studying my feathered friends. Less than a month 

 ago these copses were serenaded with the richest melody. I step 

 into a thicket of thornbushes, and at once am greeted with angry 



