One of the first birds with which we became acquainted was the Maryland Yellow-throat, not especially because of its beauty but on account of its song, which at once arrests attention. _Wichity, wichity, wichity, wichity_, it announces from some thicket or bush where it makes its home. It is one of the most active of the warblers and is found throughout the United States, Canada, and Nova Scotia; in winter it migrates to the South Atlantic and Gulf States and the West Indies. The nest is not an easy one to find, being built on the ground, under the foot of a bush or tussock of rank grass, sometimes partly roofed over like the oven bird's. The eggs are four or five, rarely six in number, creamy-white, speckled, chiefly at the larger end, with reddish-brown, dark umber, and black; in some, occasional lines or scrawls appear. The average size is .69 × .52 inches. Oliver Davie says that the best description of this bird's song was given by Mr. Thomas M. Earl. One evening in May, 1884, he was returning from a day's hunt, and, after a rest on an old log, he was about to start on his journey homeward. At this instant a little yellow-throat mounted a small bush and, in quick succession, said: _Tackle me! tackle me! tackle me!_ The fact is, the yellow-throat has several notes and is rather noisy for so small a bird. It is known by other names, as black-masked ground warbler, black-spectacled warbler, brier wren, and yellow brier wren. The female is much duller in color than the male, without black, gray, or white on head. The young are somewhat like the adult female. BOB-O-LINK. GRANVILLE OSBORNE. Soaring high up in the bright blue sky, Can't keep track of him if you try; Flitting around in the pasture lot, Likes to be friendly, rather than not; Dancing along on the old rail fence, Sunshine and flowers where the woods commence; Got so he almost talks to me; Head a-nodding, he says, says he-- "Bob-o-link, o-link, o-link." Clover and buttercups just seem to try Coaxing him up in the meadow to fly; Bees hunting honey keep buzzing around, Seem to know best where the sweetest is found, Almost forget when a-hearing him sing What kind of honey they all came to bring; Pert and saucy as he can be, Tail a-flitting, he says, says he-- "Bob-o-link, o-link, o-link." Wings jet black and glossy as silk, Waistcoat a-gleaming as white as milk; Dainty and slender, quicker than light, First in the morning, last one at night, Perched on the post of the barn-yard gate, Singing his sweetest to waken his mate; Dressing his feathers and winking at me, Mincing around, he says, says he-- "Bob-o-link, o-link, o-link." A STUDY OF THE COLOR PHOTOGRAPH.