In May, 1907, two pairs of robins built their substantial nests, and raised their broods, on the piazza at Sagamore Hill; one over the transom of the north hall door and one over the transom of the south hall door. Another pair built their nest and raised their brood on a rafter in the half-finished new barn, quite undisturbed by the racket of the carpenters who were finishing it. A pair of scarlet tanagers built near the tennis ground; the male kept in the immediate neighborhood all the time, flaming among the branches, and singing steadily until the last part of July. To my ears the song of the tanager is like a louder, more brilliant, less leisurely rendering of the red-eyed vireo’s song; but with the characteristic “chip-churr” every now and then interspersed. Only one pair of purple finches returned to us last summer; and for the first time in many years no Baltimore orioles built in the elm by the corner of the house; they began their nest but for some reason left it unfinished. The red-winged blackbirds, however, were more plentiful than for years previously, and two pairs made their nests near the old barn, where the grass stood lush and tall; this was the first time they had ever built nearer than the wood-pile pond, and I believe it was owing to the season being so cold and wet. It was perhaps due to the same cause that so many black-throated green warblers spent June and July in the woods on our place; they must have been breeding, though I only noticed the males. Each kept to his own special tract of woodland, among the tops of the tall trees, seeming to prefer the locusts, and throughout June, and far into July, each sang all day long—a drawling, cadenced little warble of five or six notes, the first two being the most noticeable near by, though, rather curiously, the next two were the notes that had most carrying power. The song was usually uttered at intervals of a few seconds; sometimes while the singer was perched motionless, sometimes as he flitted and crawled actively among the branches. With the resident of one particular grove I became well acquainted, as I was chopping a path through the grove. Every day when I reached the grove, I found the little warbler singing away, and at least half the time in one particular locust tree. He paid not the slightest attention to my chopping; whereas a pair of downy woodpeckers and a pair of great-crested fly-catchers, both of them evidently nesting near by, were much put out by my presence. While listening to my little black-throated friend, I could also continually hear the songs of his cousins, the prairie warbler, the redstart, the black-and-white creeper and the Maryland yellow-throat; not to speak of oven-birds, towhees, thrashers, vireos, and the beautiful golden-voiced wood thrushes.