There is master Phurnacut in the top of an oak, trilling out his lownka ree- or is it jubilee an anticipation of the joy's so near at hand. How clear his notes are, easily heard 4 mile, and what a con- trast with his western brothers Yuma's big thrushes. They, in common with all the race of songsters give a key to their throats, and their notes are low, harsh & musical. They are troubled with chronic Catarrh. The few peo- ple of the Valley of California don't know what a song bird is, as we know him. Their songs are from the mourning owl, Ah-haaa but quite pleasant, and the meadow lark. Yes, the Meadow Lark, the embodiment of all songsters in one. How often have I looked for a robin at hearing his note; how often laughed to see their band- master from a post rail, Saying out to boy with a gun, scoot you rascal, don't kill him, when the theme is catching up by 304. Thus, repeated in church.