AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 169 



O, bluebird, you're dyed in the deeps of the sky, 

 Your beauty dazzles the soul and the eye, 

 Yet with lowly mien near the earth you fly. 

 Or sing on the fence rail cheerily; 



Or with liquid call from the garden wall 



You lure your mate to love's blisses — 

 Ah ! fond and true will she be to you 

 In such a season as this is. 



The song sparrow trills his ecstatic note, 

 There's a music-box in his dear little throat. 

 O, list to the gurgle, it seemeth to float 

 Like waves round the prow of a fairy boat. 



The griefs of the past, O! they never can last, 



When we hear such a carol as this is. 

 So forgive and forget, cease to worry and fret, 

 And share with the sparrow his blisses. 



O ! who can be sullen and sad in the spring ? 

 For smiles let us laugh and for speech let us sing, 

 And haste to the woods that so merrily ring. 

 Where Joy reigns as queen and where Love rules as king. 

 Sorrow, goodbye ! from the spring-time you fly. 



And leave us to buds, birds and blisses, 

 'Tis Eden again for the children of men 



In such a season as this is. Bertha a. joslyn. 



THE KINGFISHER. 



On March 27th, I was in some small woods gathering wild flowers 

 near a pond, when I recognized a Kingfisher's rattle. The chattering 

 I heard was so like a squirrel's that for a moment I thought I had mis- 

 taken the latter's conversation for the bird's call. 



I approached the edge of the pond in order to make sure. In amo- 

 ment there was a swoop of light blue, a violent splash and the King- 

 fisher rose to his perch proclaiming his victory. 



I watched him for nearly an hour with great interest. During that 

 time he dove four times and was successful every time. The contor- 

 tions he went through in his efforts to swallow the fish were both 

 ludicious and touching. The beautiful bird, beautiful even though his 

 bill is out of proportion to the size of his head, seems so full of his 

 success that his subsequent discomfort during the swallowing process 

 was in sharp contrast to his former expression. 



About three quarters of an hour after his first dive the Kingfisher 

 began to disgorge what I judged to be the bones of his first captive and 

 only of that one as that torture lasted but a moment: At this point 

 the Kingfisher seemed satisfied with his luncheon and flew away into 

 the woods, out of sight. 



I saw this Kingfisher very clearly as I was but a few feet away from 



him, and to me he seemed undersized, or at least a good deal smaller 



than the ones I saw last summer in Maine. He didn't look any larger 



than a Robin, but I am perfectly certain he was not an immature bird 



as his coloring was that of a full grown bird in every detail. 



Jean Lampton. 



