The apple orchard at the Farm was at the height of 
its glory ye sterday. This morning the blossoms had lost 
something of their fresh beauty and many of the petals were 
falling -- like big snow-flakes. There were Warblers there 
both days but not so many as I have seen in former years — 
several Usnea Warblers, a Golden-wing (yesterday), one or two 
Nashvilles and a Yellow Warbler being the full list. There 
were also Least Flycatchers and Chippies, the latter hopping 
about under bowers of snowy blossoms at the tips of the 
branches apparently doing nothing but luxuriate [In] the beauty 
of their surroundings. Most fitting and attractive of all 
the sounds of the old orchard was that of the drowsing of the 
innumerable bees._j 
At about 8 A. M. as Bowditch, Nichols and I were 
standing near the cabin, we heard a sound which we at first 
mistook for that of a Pigeon’s wings. The next instant 
a bird which looked, through the trees, like a whitish 
Pigeon, appeared over the crest of Ball's Hill. It proved, 
however, to be a male Marsh Hawk. He was flying in an 
unusual manner and continued to do so until he had passed 
beyond our sight over the Great Meadows. Pursuing an almost 
perfectly direct course and beating his wings with a con¬ 
tinuous loose, easy, gull-like motion, never once scaling or 
inclining to either side, he would nevertheless dip downward 
on a rather long and gentle decline every few hundred [feet/ 
