THE OOLOGIST 



ISl 



And the noise that they are making 



Is a pleasure to the ear. 

 Of all the egging season 



Reaching away up to the fall 

 The hunting of the Hawk's eggs 



Is purely best of all 

 And we'll keep right on'a taking 



Some dozen sets or so 

 And 'a minding our own business 



Even if some people blow 

 For they know not the sweet pleasure 



That swells up in our breast 

 At the mere sight of a hawk's tail 



A protruding from the nest 

 Or when she leaps into the air 



And we see her on the wing 

 How it sets our hearts a thumping like 



Well, just like everything 

 And they tell us that we'll never 



Get beyond the golden gate 

 That for villains of our stamp 



Is reserved another fate 

 But we keep right on expecting 



A harp of sweetest tone 

 And a sort of privileged station 



Right up next to the throne 

 But if what people say is true 



And in punishment for our crime 

 We'll enjoy a balmy climate 



Through all eternal time 

 The prospect is a pleasure 



And not a grim despair 

 For Wilson, Cones and Audubon 



And such like will be there 

 And the editor of the Oologist 



And egg cranks by the score 

 And times will be lively 



And no one'll be a bore 

 And for a further comfort 



Just let us state the fact 

 That if heaven admits only 



Those who keep the narrow track 

 She is doomed to remain forever 



A vast solitary space 

 Say Boys! we'll have for company 



The entire human race. 



Spotted Eggs of the Robin. 



Near a grove of fine trees in the 



Northern part of the town of Stone- 

 ham, Mass., there stands the remains 

 of ^n old, low building, now deserted 

 but probably at some former time used 

 to keep pigs in. 



During the winter I had found an 

 old nest of the Phoebe on one of the 

 rafters inside this structure so I oc- 

 casionally looked in there during the 

 early part of May, 1916, to see if 

 the Phoebe had returned. But no 

 signs of a new nest were visible and 

 I gave up all hope of discovering any- 

 thing of interest there this season. 



As I happened to be passing the 

 end of this building on May 27th I was 

 startled by the loud cry of a Robin 

 as she flushed from a nest situated on 

 a beam about eight feet from the 

 ground. As I glanced in I saw a lot 

 of new nests on the beams which sup- 

 ported the rafters of the building, and 

 I became curious to find out why so 

 many nests had been constructed 

 there, for an actual count revealed the 

 fact that there were no less than four- 

 teen built, new ones, all of them un- 

 questionably the work of Robins. The 

 nest from which the bird had flushed 

 contained three eggs which were roll- 

 ing around on a bare spot on the wood, 

 with a very poorly arranged fringe of 

 straws to keep them from rolling off 

 the beam entirely. 



All the nests proved to be of the 

 same style of architecture and were 

 undoubtedly the work of the same 

 birds which for some reason could not 

 make a nest worthy of the name. 



After looking over all the other 

 n'Bsls I stepped up on a plank so that 

 I could see more plainly into the one 

 where the eggs were and I was very 

 much surprised to find that two of the 

 eggs were plainly and profusely spot- 

 ted with pale brown, while the third 

 one appeared to be normal in color, 

 but on closer examination a few very 

 small spots were noticed on this egg 

 also. 



