er. This Duck can swallow
fishes six or seven inches in length, and will attempt to swallow
those of a larger size, choking in the effort.

The term Merganser is derived from the plan of the bird's bill, which
is furnished with saw teeth fitting into each other.

The eggs of the Red-Breasted Merganser vary from six to twelve, are
oval in shape, and are of a yellowish or reddish-drab, sometimes a
dull buffy-green.

You may have seen pictures of this Duck, which frequently figures in
dining rooms on the ornamental panels of stuffed game birds, but none
which could cause you to remember its life-like appearance. You here
see before you an actual Red-Breasted Merganser.

[Illustration: From col. J. G. Parker, Jr.
RED-BREASTED MERGANSER.]

BIRD SONG--Continued from page 41.

with exactness, will deceive Mistress Pullet herself.

To carry the idea further, we will take the notes of some of the birds
depicted in this number of BIRDS. The Osprey, or Fish-Hawk, has been
carefully observed, and his only discovered note is a high, rapidly
repeated whistle, very plaintive. Doubtless this noise is agreeable
and intelligible to his mate, but cannot be called a song, and has no
significance to the listener.

The Vulture utters a low, hissing sound when disturbed. This is its
only note. Not so with the Bald Eagle, whose scream emulates the rage
of the tempest, and implies courage, the quality which associates him
with patriotism and freedom. In the notes of the Partridge there is a
meaning recognizable by every one. After the nesting season, when the
birds are in bevies, their notes are changed to what sportsmen term
"scatter calls." Not long after a bevy has been flushed, and perhaps
widely scattered, the members of the disunited family may be heard
signaling to one another in sweet minor calls of two and three notes,
and in excitement, they utter low, twittering notes.

Of the Sora Rails, Mr. Chapman says, "knowing their calls, you have
only to pass a May or June evening near a marsh to learn whether they
inhabit it. If there, they will greet you late in the afternoon with
a clear whistled _ker-wee_, which soon comes from dozens of invisible
birds about you, and long after night has fallen, it continues like a
springtime chorus of piping hylas. Now and again it is interrupted by
a high-voiced, rolling whinney, which, like a call of alarm, is taken
up and repeated by different birds all over the mar