RIFE WITH BIRDS. 157 



row's nest ! Often had I sought for one, but with- 

 out success. For a long while my eyes followed the 

 bird with the worm in her bill. Every now and then 

 she would dart over into the grass as if to feed her 

 bantlings, and I would mark the spot where she 

 alighted ; but when I went to it no nest or bird- 

 lings were to be found. Again and again I fairly 

 trembled, thinking myself on the verge of a dis- 

 covery, only to be balked completely in the end. 

 But one victory was won ; I got close enough to the 

 bird to see distinctly with my glass the yellow mark- 

 ings on the edge of the wings, — a characteristic I 

 had never before been able to make out. Curiously 

 enough, one wing of this bird was quite profusely 

 tinged with yellow, while the yellow of the other 

 could just be distinguished. 



Why should not a bird-student frankly chronicle 

 his failures as well as his successes? During the 

 day I encountered three birds that I was unable to 

 identify, try as I would. One was singing lustily in 

 some tall trees, and when at length I got my glass 

 upon him he looked like a Carolina wren ; but that 

 bird has been a familiar acquaintance for many years, 

 — comparatively speaking, — and I have so often 

 heard his varied roundels that they certainly are all 

 known to me. Moreover, the quality of this mys- 

 terious singer's voice and the manner of his execu- 

 tion were wholly different from those of the Carolina 

 or any other wren of my acquaintance. The fol- 

 lowing is a transcription of the song as near as it 

 could be represented by letters : Che ha-p-e-e-r-r-r I 



