64 
BY THE WAYSIDE 
plish brown, usually with a wreath of 
such spots at the larger end. 
And finally, please, please, don’t 
call him the Wild Canary. Look at 
his sharp slender bill, and then at the 
thick blunt one of some poor caged 
Canary. And note the chestnut spots 
on his breast. No Canary ever wore 
so gay a vest. 
Prize Letter 
May 20, 1912. 
Mazomanie, AVis., ATay 24, 1912. 
Dear Wayside:— 
I was very glad when I saw a white- 
breasted robin for the first time. T: 
« 
was going home at noon from school 
when 1 heard a sweet song, and, looking 
around, I saw the robin hopping across 
the grass. I also saw a Scarlet Tan- 
ager one day when some girls and I 
were out walking. We could follow 
it up easily because it was such a 
bright red. 
We saw a bird fiv from a nest in the 
ground and when we came closer we 
saw four eggs in it. It was made 
very neatly of only straw. I saw two 
Baltimore Orioles one day going to 
school. There are lots of catbirds 
here. One day we found a little robin 
that had fallen from a nest. It 
could not fly because it was too young. 
We looked for the nest and, at not 
1 eing able to see it, we got a ladder 
and my brother climbed up into the 
tree and found the nest hidden be¬ 
tween two limbs, with four robins in 
it. The mother and father robin were 
angry at seeing that we had found the 
nest and their babies. They flew 
around our heads and chirped, and 
they would sit on the limbs nearby to 
see that their babies were not hurt. 
Truly yours, 
A r era Thompson. 
Age 12 years. 
(Continued from page 61) 
It is the Hallelujah Chorus by an all- 
star combination and the like ol it was 
never heard except in Nature’s Great 
Cathedral. Introduce here the really 
great composers among men, and I 
fancy none coidd be found with the 
liarihood to say: “I, too, am a 
Singer,” for bird music makes all 
other music mute. 
A brown thrasher and a cat bird, in 
tree tops a thousand feet apart are the 
leaders, and singers seen and unseen, 
known and unknow, sustain their lead¬ 
ers. What a joy it is to pick out the 
voices of the old friends: robin red¬ 
breast, meadowlarks, purple martins, 
wrens, orioles, bobolinks, and war¬ 
blers without number. AVe perceive 
and put in contrast the voice of the 
mourning dove—seemingly full of sad 
memories—and the performance of the 
red winged black bird on a twig just 
above the lagoon, whose liquid tinkle 
is an echo of all the bells in fairy land. 
Oh, for words to make you see, hear, 
feel and live a single day that is fairly 
running over with life, joy and har¬ 
mony. 
*/ 
Green Lake, ATay 5th, 1912. 
Why not become a member oh* the 
*/ 
AVisconsin Audubon Society? Surely 
it is worth while to extend your aid to 
an organization which strives to pro¬ 
tect our native birds and to spread the 
appreciation of them. 
