The hermit thrush is a lover of the deep, dark shades where he can sit on a twig and watch the stirring life about him without being a part of it—a kind of chimney corner philosopher, if you please. The rufous tail in sharp contrast to the olive brown head and back will tell you his name every time, for he is the only member of the thrush family found in these regions in which the color of the tail differs materially from that of the back. I remember one afternoon in February seeing one in the shade of a thick-topped holly; here he remained quite unconscious while we peered at him through the opera glass, discussed his coloring and consulted the pocket manual to see what Chapman said about him, an occasional jerk of the tail or a slight movement of the head being the only indication of life in the graceful figure before us. Late in March or early in April come the purple martin, the bank swallow and chimney swift, all cheerful birds whose only apparent aim in life is to sail about through the air in pursuit of gnats and flies. The noisy chatter of the martins as they wheel and turn about near the house is one of the most agreeable sounds in all the gamut of bird voices. They are very numerous in parts of Mississippi, but the only place in the North where I have ever seen them in any considerable numbers is on the Maumee, not far from the little town of Waterville, Ohio. The bank swallow and chimney swift are smaller and less conspicuous than the martin, less noisy but quite as useful. Soon after the swallows appear the flycatchers, the tyrant wood pewee, phœbe bird, Acadian and great crested. What figure is more familiar on hot summer days than the kingbird or tyrant flycatcher perched on a mullein stalk, now and then darting down from his perch to capture some straying gnat? The Acadian stops for only a very short stay; you will find him in the deepest shades, where the gloom and dampness suit his somber fancy. The wood pewee is also a gloomy soul, possessing no gift of color or song to attract the eye or hold the fancy; his long drawn out monotonous note always reminds me of hot August afternoons when all other bird voices are silent as the grave and summer reigns with undisputed sway. The prince of woodland flycatchers, both from point of coloring and attractive personality, is the great crested; his olive brown back, whitish breast and sulphur-yellow belly give him a more brilliant appearance than the others just mentioned. His character, too, is better, for he is neither as belligerent as the kingbird or as gloomy as the Acadian and wood pewee. His call is not unmelodious, though it would be misleading to call it a song.