necks forward, and at no time do they open their mouths widely. As
a rule, or at least very often, when flying, they do not begin their
songs until they have almost reached the apex of their triangle; then
the song begins, and it continues over the angle and down the incline
until another perch is settled upon. What Lowell says of "bobolinkum" is
just as true of bunting--"He runs down, a brook o' laughter, thru the
air." As the sun went down behind the snow-clad mountains, a half dozen
or more of the buntings rolled up the full tide of song, and I left them
to their vespers and trudged back to the village, satisfied with the
acquirements of this red-letter day in my ornithological journey.

However, one afternoon's study of such charming birds was not enough to
satisfy my curiosity, for no females had been seen and no nests
discovered. About ten days later, more attention was given them. In a
meadow not far from the hamlet of Arvada, between Denver and the
mountains, I found a colony of buntings one morning, swinging in the air
and furnishing their full quota of the matutinal concert, in which many
other birds had a leading part, among them being western meadow-larks,
western robins, Bullock's orioles, American and Arkansas goldfinches,
mountain song-sparrows, lazuli finches, spurred towhees, black-headed
grosbeaks, summer warblers, western Maryland yellow-throats, and
Townsend's solitaires. It has seldom been my fortune to listen to a
finer _pot-pourri_ of avian music.

At first only male buntings were seen. Surely, I thought, there must be
females in the neighborhood, for when male birds are singing so lustily
about a place, their spouses are usually sitting quietly on nests
somewhere in bush or tree or grass. I hunted long for a nest, trudging
about over the meadow, examining many a grass-tuft and weed-clump,
hoping to flush a female and discover her secret; but my quest was vain.
It is strange how difficult it is to find nests in Colorado, either on
the plains or in the mountains. The birds seem to be adepts in the fine
arts of concealment and secret-keeping. Presently several females were
seen flying off over the fields and returning, obviously to feed their
young. There was now some colorable prospect of finding a nest. A mother
bird appeared with a worm in her bill, and you may rely upon it I did
not permit her to slip from my sight until I saw her drop to the ground,
hop about stealthily for a few moments, then