I was somewhat surprised to find this to be the case, as I looked for a repetition on a small scale of what is recorded of those strange plants, the _Rafflesiaceæ_ found in the tropics. Forbes, in his Wanderings in the Eastern Archipelago, records that once he “nearly trampled on a fine, new species of that curious family...; it smelt powerfully of putrid flesh, and was infested with a crowd of flies, which followed me all the way as I carried it home, and was besides overrun with ants.” So far my own observation. What say others? Let us turn, however, to a more savory subject. Undeterred by possible whiffs of sickening scent, I followed the example of my friend the meadow-mouse, and crept into the largest smilax wigwam I could find. It was sufficiently roomy for all my needs, and shed the sun’s rays better than it would have done the drops of a summer shower. The east wind brought the rank odor of the marshes, and more fitfully the tinkling notes of the marsh-wrens that now crowd the rank growths of typha; but sweeter songs soon rang out near by, as the nervous Maryland yellow-throat, thinking me gone, perched within arm’s length and sang with all its energy. The power of that wee creature’s voice was absolutely startling. We seldom realize how far off many a bird may be, when we hear it sing; often looking immediately about us when a strange note falls upon our ears. Certainly this yellow-throat’s utterance might have been distinctly heard a quarter of a mile away. Such shrill whistling is no child’s play, either. Every feather of the bird was rumpled, the tail slightly spread, the wings partly uplifted, and the body swayed up and down as the notes, seven of them, were screeched—I can think of no more expressive word. It was not musical; and yet this bird has long been ranked, to my mind, as one of our most pleasing songsters. It needs a few rods’ distance however, to smooth away the rough edges.