8 T HiEY AULD U BON 2 Uli 
ticular. Sequences showing the feeding of the nestlings were especially 
admired, and demonstrated both Mr. Deusing’s patience and his photo- 
graphic ability. 
Alfred M. Bailey, of Denver, Colo., came to us March 27 for his annual 
visit and told us of the “High Country” and the life at altitudes varying 
from 5,000 to 12,000 feet. His studies of the pine grosbeak, with slow 
motions of the feeding of the young, and the beautiful shots of the mountain 
sheep were just what we have learned through many years to expect 
from him. 
Olin S. Pettingill, Jr., of Northfield, Minn., closed the series April 13 
with his all-color film, “Everyday Wildlife,” which he prefers to call 
“Growing Feathers.” He traced some of the characteristic facts in the 
lives of young birds to their logical origin in their prehistoric reptilian 
ancestors, and showed how some unusual forms are acquired after hatching, 
such as the long, up-turned bill of the avocet, the spatulate biil of the 
spoonbill, and the quite remarkable bill of the pelican. Altogether it was 
one of the most informative, as well as entertaining, lectures we have ever 
sponsored. 
Approximately 2,000 members and friends were fortunate enough to be 
present and hear these several outstanding nature lecturers. We believe 
that those persons are as a result better observers and better conserva- 
tionists; that the Society is accomplishing one of its major objectives, the 
spreading of the knowledge of wildlife; and we know that you who support 
the work of the Society with your time and money are making this possible. 
A similar series of lectures is being arranged for the coming season of 
1945-46, and we ask your continued support. Speaking quite plainly, your 
dues and those of your friends whom you induce to become associated with 
us are what will make the program possible. 
fi a) fi 
A Belated Migrant 
One hazy, warm, gay-foliaged, autumn day, 
A small brown bird of proudful ancestry, 
Lured by a bird-bath and a cherry tree, 
Dropped down for lunch while on it’s southward way. 
It’s crown was striped with white and velvet-black; 
Beneath it’s bill was throat of pearly white— 
A perfect field-mark in the waning light— 
A migrant white-throat off the beaten track. 
Once heard, it’s high-pitched, whistled roundelay, 
Ventriloqual and plaintive, loud and clear, 
Becomes a cherished, haunting memory 
Of days in forest deep, with no one near. 
When white-throats voice their half-toned melody, 
No other sparrow’s song seems half so dear. 
—Orpheus M. Schantz 
