194 AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 



6, 7, 27, 22, 30 himself up 6, 15, 11 digs his strong claws into the 6, 18, 



7, 23 of the 19, 7, 12, 29. The second is more common, and the great 

 poet Emerson, has 1, 7, 3, 4, 4, 12, 14 a poem about it. It does not 

 say 20, 17, 12, 29, 25, 21, 29, 12 as do so many other birds, but has its 

 •own notes beginning with 22, 53, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 28, 29, 30, 

 28, 29, 30. 



BIRDS THAT TELL THEIR OWN NAMES, (continued) 



When summer comes we have several more birds who call their own 

 names and three of these are members of the flycatcher family. One 

 No. 4, comes from the south long before the leaves are out, and though 

 he jerks out his name in a not very musical fashion — it is a girl's 

 name too — we are always glad to hear it again. This bird builds un- 

 der the eaves of low buildings, or perhaps on a beam in some old shed, 

 sometimes even under a bridge, and has for a nest a whole handful of 

 moss and mud, just enough of the mud to hold the nest together, and 

 to stick it firmly to the stone or wood on which it is built. You may 

 easily mistake this bird for our next, No. 5, for both are flycatchers, 

 they are about the same size, (number 5 a little smaller) and their 

 colors are very much alike, but their calls are quite different. No. 4, 

 bursts out with his so eagerly that his whole body and tail twitch at 

 the same time, but No. 5, speaks more slowly and with a decidedly 

 mournful note. Besides, No. 4, is usually found in the open country 

 near a pond or stream, while No. 5, likes the woods or sometimes lawns 

 where there are plenty of trees. Then, too, No. 5, has two distinct 

 whitish bars on his dark wings, while No. 4, has hardly enough wing- 

 bars to notice; but if they are speaking you can easily tell which is 

 which. Isabella McC. Lemmon, Englewood, N. J. 



GLEANINGS. 



The maple puts her corals on in May, 

 While loitering frosts about the lowlands cling, 

 To be in tune with what the robins sing 

 Plastering new log huts mid her branches grey. 



Lowell. 



THE BUSH SPARROW. 



The song makes me think of a silver thread running through a woof 

 of golden sunshine, carried forward by a swinging shuttle of pearl. 



Leander Keyser. 



