was found on a dead bird on the sidewalk of a Seattle hill 
is in the library collection. From that skin a second bird was © 
recognized as he wrenched off bark from a dead tree in a 
Victoria Park. | 
While he usually is found in Soeee. forest, he was. 
watched as he sounded his peculiar, bugling cry of “chuck, 
chuck, chuck” around an old stump in a chicken yard in 
Southern Oregon. His long, strong toes, two pointing for- 
ward, two toward his strongly braced tail, hitched him 
around into plain sight as his big wedge was used to poke 
into crevices and pry off pieces of wood. Occasionally 
glimpses were caught as he extended it to explore the holes — 
which he had exposed, of his curious tongue, until he felt 
that he was not alone and bounded away, showing the 
white patches on his wings as he flew. 
Of all the birds in North America, is there any better 
known or more loved than the sweet songster of the 
meadows? The friendliness he shows (except in the crafty 
way he hides his nest), the charm and variety of his themes, 
its quality and quantity, all make friends for him in every 
part of the land. On this side of our country is found the 
variety called the Western Meadowlark, and he is thought 
to be a better singer than the type form on the other side — 
of the Mississippi River. 
A man, who had been an ee miner, a southern — 
contractor, a western business man and farmer, said recent- 
ly of these birds: “Of all the birds I have ever heard, I — 
like especially this Western Meadowlark. It sings with such 
joy and freedom; it has such a soul-awakening voice, 
wherever you are, north, south, east, west, that you feel 
happier for having heard it,” and he spoke words that so 
many have felt. When the notes come ringing across the 
water, or falling softly from the highest tree, they carry 
with their melody a feeling that makes the troubles of the 
day vanish. 
His yellow breast, with its big, black crescent [ 
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