Your friend,
THE ENGLISH KINGFISHER.

THE VERMILION FLY-CATCHER.

Thickets along water courses are favorite resorts of this beautiful
Fly-catcher, which may be seen only on the southern border of the United
States, south through Mexico to Guatemala, where it is a common species.
Mr. W. E. D. Scott notes it as a common species about Riverside, Tucson,
and Florence, Arizona. Its habits are quite similar to those of other
Fly-catchers, though it has not been so carefully observed as its many
cousins in other parts of the country. During the nesting season, the
male frequently utters a twittering song while poised in the air, in the
manner of the Sparrow Hawk, and during the song it snaps its bill as if
catching insects.

The Vermilion's nest is usually placed in horizontal forks of ratana
trees, and often in mesquites, not more than six feet from the ground;
they are composed of small twigs and soft materials felted together,
with the rims covered with lichens, and the shallow cavity lined with a
few horse or cow hairs. Dr. Merrill states that they bear considerable
resemblance to nests of the Wood Pewee in appearance and the manner in
which they are saddled to the limb. Nests have been found, however,
which lacked the exterior coating of lichens.

Three eggs are laid of a rich creamy-white with a ring of large brown
and lilac blotches at the larger end.

A WINTER NEST.

Pallid, wan-faced clouds
Press close to the frozen pines,
And follow the jagged lines
Of fence, that the sleet enshrouds.

Sharp in the face of the sky,
Gaunt, thin-ribbed leaves are blown;
They rise with a shuddering moan,
Then sink in the snow and die.

At the edge of the wood a vine
Still clings to the sleeping beech,
While its stiffened tendrils reach
A nest, and around it twine.

A little gray nest all alone,
With its feathery lining of snow,
Where bleak winds, piping low,
Croon a sweet minor tone.
--NORA A. PIPER.

[Illustration: From col. George F. Breninger.
VERMILION FLY-CATCHER.
Copyrighted by
Nature Study Pub. Co., 1897, Chicago.]

BIRD MISCELLANY.

Red and yellow, green and brown,
Leaves are whirling, rustling down;
Acorn babes in their cradles lie,
Through the bare trees the brown birds