road, a Red-headed Woodpecker may flash by, the 

 sight of whose matchless coloring will surely arouse 

 the enthusiasm of the bird lover. Across the field 

 comes the true clear note of the Crested Titmouse. 

 You may whistle back, for it is easy to imitate, and he 

 will answer, and soon will come nearer, and you can 

 with reasonable care approach close enough to see him 

 unconcernedly at work perhaps picking at something 

 held between his feet in the same manner as does the 

 Jay. The fields about resound with the song of the 

 Bobolink, that most buoyant and joyous of all bird 

 sounds, and with it also comes the plaintive whistle of 

 the Meadow Lark. 



The open swamp beyond is a new country. In 

 it all sounds are strange. Chief among them, be- 

 side the constant scolding of the Red-winged Black- 

 bird overhead, is the tinkle of the Swamp Sparrow, 

 like the singing of the Junco, but more liquid and 

 not quite so thin and bell-like, and ever mixed with 

 it is the jolly little gurgle of the ISIarsh Wren. Is it 

 association merely, or is there something in it that re- 

 calls the salt marshes of the seashore. With this 

 sound all around as in the "cut off" I can never quite 

 believe that I am still inland. The round ball like 

 nests of the Wren are conspicuous in the clumps of 

 rose bushes on all sides, but do not be fooled, these are 

 only decoys, the true nests are well hidden in the long 

 swamp grass and generally are green in color. 



You will surely hear tlie tick-tick of a Bail, or its 

 peeping like that of a young Turkey, which latter 

 generally indicates tliat tlie nest is in a bog close by. 

 Should 3'ou find it, witli its ten or a dozen beautiful 

 eggs, the sight is recompense for a long day's work. 



5 



