Vol. Xin WiDMANN, A Winter Robin Roost in Missouri. 5 

 1895 J 



Later in the winter, the habits of the Robin change. Those 

 who left this roost return no more in spring. With the very first 

 awalcening of spring the old Robin's love for home surroundings 

 no longer allows of his wandering forth and back through the 

 land Hke an aimless tramp ; he no longer finds pleasure or seeks 

 safety in hiding in the swamps like a thief. His only desire is to 

 hurry to his old breeding grounds as fast as vanishing snow and 

 melting ice permit. He braves all dangers and the rigors of late 

 winter weather like a man, content with the all-inspiring company 

 of his devoted spouse. 



n. April 12, 1894. 



What a transformation has been going on at the site of the 

 Robin's roost! Everything looks changed! The corn-shocks 

 have been removed, the field ploughed and the marsh-grasses, 

 even the flags, have been burnt to the ground. For miles around 

 the level ground looks black and bare. No Robin and no Black- 

 bird could be expected to roost on this charred waste ; and it is 

 questionable if any birds at all visit such an uninviting solitude. 

 But let us try ; let us go over the entire tract and see if it is really 

 forsaken. 



What at first seemed a universally and equally charred plain 

 proves by closer inspection to be a checker-board of tracts, some 

 lately burnt, some, not yet touched by fire, have only been 

 trampled down by grazing animals, and in the region of the 

 slough we find small islands of high and tangled grass, which 

 have been saved from destruction by a belt of moist ground 

 intervening. The winter and early spring have been exception- 

 ally dry ; the water in the slough or lake, as it is called where 

 free from plant growth, is very low, nowhere more than six 

 inches deep. There are large mud-flats from which the water is 

 just receding. Adjoining these are zones of mire covered with 

 the remains of withered spatter dock, and these in turn are sur- 

 rounded by a girdle of partly burnt flags. 



But we have not been on the ground long before we detect 

 our error. The marsh is not the dreary void for which we took 

 it. We have hardly reached the old cornfield, lately turned over 



