THE OOLOGIST 



201 



What I thought was remarkable in 

 this was that after each try at the 

 feather, the swallow would sail about 

 for nearly five minutes before at- 

 tempting again. Its actions reminded 

 me of a plane whose pilot was en- 

 deavoring to locate some camouflaged 

 object. 



Oct. 5, 1919. A flock of about a hun- 

 dred Night Hawks were observed on 

 the evening of October 4, 1919, flying 

 in a north-easterly direction. During 

 the night the temperature dropped 

 fifteen degrees. 



Ralph J. Donahue, 

 Bonner Springs, Kansas. 



An Autumn Jaunt. 



Recently I went for a short hike 

 over the wooded hills that flank the 

 Kaw Valley in these parts, to get an 

 insite on the workings of nature as 

 fall comes on. 



Colors of red, orange, yellow, rus- 

 set and brown had begun to show 

 among the trees and shrubs, beautiful- 

 ly displaying the handiwork of Jack 

 Frost. The hickory and walnut trees 

 had a more abundant yield this fall 

 than usual, and when I was quiet 

 awhile the red squirrels with an oc- 

 casional gray, came slipping out to be- 

 gin the gathering of their winter's 

 supply where they had been interrupt- 

 ed by my approach in their domain. 



Blue Jays were plentiful and kept 

 just ahead of me with their screech- 

 ings so that any of the wild folk that 

 night be in the neighborhood, would 

 know that I was about. While the 

 Crows were not over plentiful, I was, 

 at no time out of hearing of their 

 call, and I feel that though no other 

 creature is in sight or hearing, the 

 woods are not deserted if I but can 

 hear the familiar call of the Crow. 



Oftimes I pause in my work during 

 these October days, when the voice 



of the Crow comes to me from these 

 hills, and I forget for a time, my paint 

 brush and the smell of turpentine and 

 lead, and seem to find myself removed 

 to a wood where life and the world 

 is new. Something stirs within me 

 as though in response to a primeval 

 calling. 



But to get back to my hike. 



Ever and anon I found evidences 

 where I had failed to use my eyes 

 properly during the spring and sum- 

 mer. Here, for instance, in a bush is 

 unmistakably the nest of the Chewink, 

 and there out on the limb of a scrub 

 Black Jack is a nest once belonging 

 to a Vireo, while the empty cradle of 

 the Baltimore Oriole hangs near the 

 top of a stunted cottonwood, and un- 

 der the ledge or rock along the bank 

 of a now dry stream, is a nest built 

 by a Phoebe. 



(I might here add that while exam- 

 ining this last nest, I came near strik- 

 ing my face against a large and well 

 populated nest of the paper wasps 

 hanging from the rocky ledge, and 

 then and there decided that my pres- 

 ence was required farther up the 

 creek). 



O, the woods hold much of interest 

 to the lover of nature at this time of 

 the year, and it does one good to get 

 away even for a hike as short as this 

 one occasionally. 



Ralph J. Donahue, 

 Bonner Springs, Kansas. 

 Oct. 22, 1919. 



Concerning Chimney Swifts. 



I never saw so many Chimney Swifts 

 at one time as gathered about the 

 grade school here in town, in the 

 early evenings of the latter part of 

 August and during the month of Sep- 

 tember. Before the sun was down, 

 from all directions, could be seen the 

 Swifts coming to this one location. 

 Some would be flying low while others 



