A MINSTREL OF THE MARSHES 
On a bulrush stalk a blackbird swung 
All in the sun and the sunshine weather, 
Teetered and scolded there as he hung 
O’er the maze of the swamp-woof’s tangled tether j 
A black bass leaped for a dragon-fly 
And struck the spray from the sleeping water, 
While airily, eerily, there on high 
Sang the blackbird pert from his teeter-totter. 
Anonymous. 
MONO the glories of a certain Wis- 
1 . consin marsh are hundreds of these 
beautiful birds. To me their music has a 
peculiar banjo-like quality unlike that of any 
other bird. Heard in the silence of acres 
of wild rice, there is something very weird 
and attractive in the sound. It is richer, 
fuller, and clearer than the song of the red- 
wings. 
The yellow-head of the photograph was a 
magnificent fellow of glossy black plumage, 
except for the rich gold on his head, throat, 
and chest, and his lemon epaulets. Not all 
