eee AS Dale OI = BU lle note DN 13 
I have seen a few hawks, the broad-winged, the sharp-shinned and the 
turkey vulture. But the best of all was the swallow-tailed kite. A clipping 
from a Miami paper sent me by a friend said that Frank Chapman had 
gone to Florida to see the swallow-tailed kite. He moved to Asheville, 
twenty miles from here, this past year. We saw the kite fiy over as we 
sat at supper. The flight was so different from any bird of its size that it 
attracted our attention. It lighted in a tree close by and I went out with 
my glasses. The head was white, and when it flew again I saw that the 
underparts were white. The long wings, long swallow-like tail, and the 
distinctly swallow flight, were unmistakable. I had seen one in Florida but 
had not expected it here. However, the North Carolina bird book, published 
this year, says it may be seen in North Carolina. I hope Mr. Chapman 
had as good luck! 
Today, April 12, three more birds arrived. The wood thrush was 
singing in the rain this morning. Later the ruby-crowned kinglet added his 
amazing little song, and a red-eyed vireo was singing as though taking up 
just where he left off last fall. The wood thrush is the greatest addition of 
all to the bird chorus. There are so many of them that every corner of the 
woods echoes with the flute-like song. They sing early in the morning, and 
till almost dark. It is easily our outstanding musician of the bird world 
in these parts. 
Hendersonville, North Carolina. 
ft ia fA 
“Our Hearts Were Young and Gay” 
By EDWARD R. ForD 
*TEEN AGE bird students in the early nineties had no family motor cars in 
which to make their excursions. To reach a new field, sixty miles from the 
city, three of us laid our plans. I had gone to work and had a weekly 
stipend and so was able to go on ahead and get together the needed supplies. 
The others were, first, to take the cable-car to 63d Street and then, burdened 
enly with shot-guns and blankets, to walk the I. C. tracks to Kankakee. 
It was spring vacation for the two school-boys; I had leave, in the cold 
April weather, to take half of my annual two weeks holiday. 
My part done, I waited patiently in the Kankakee depot for my friends 
to appear. Night came on; I became sleepy and ready to quit my vigil and 
go to the hotel across the way. Hour after hour passed, but still I hoped 
and fixed my eyes on the dim-lit street crossing down the track. At length 
two gun barrels shone wanly in the distance and presently two footsore and 
taciturn lads came wearily up to the station. They spoke only to ask if I 
had bought the grub. I showed them what I had provided, the load was 
divided and we set out on the road east, away from the town. 
Some two miles, stumbling along the dark pike, brought us to a hay- 
shed—the kind of which the upper part only is enclosed—and there we piled 
in. I had had supper in town and they had eaten something en route and 
it was sleep rather than food we craved. But they were dead with fatigue 
and I was brightly awake, and it was I alone who heard the cattle munching 
