Botaurus lentiginosus. have they been rewarded for their labor. The surrounding circumstances have in many cases proven too much for human endurance or malarial constitution. During one of my sojourns amongst the wilds of Maine, fortune granted me a glimpse at the home of a pair of these birds. At the northern end of Lake Umbagog, is a swamp of considerable extent, caused by the dam at Errol. At this place in the latter part of May, 1883, I spent a week in company with Joe Sampson, the famous Dead River guide; who in answer to a question I put to him, informed me that “Meadow Hens” were “tolerble thick in crane swamp.” Often had I seen the Bittern fly across the corner of the lake and disappear in the direction of the above named swamp, and from its recesses I have heard its curious Spring note, which may be said to resemble, to a certain degree, the sound produced by striking an axe upon a stake; but any ornithologist who would be misled into following the direction of the sound, thinking it was produced by the latter cause, had better not stray far from home; in my opinion he would get lost on Boston Common. On June 2nd my hesitating mind had arrived at one conclusion: I would explore the swamp; but it must be confessed I had no assurance of success. The next day we began operations, and at noon the bow of the canoe was turned towards Moll's Rock. Soon we entered the overflowed tract, and paddled under the decaying trees, killed by the overflowing of the water. At evening we had reached a camping spot; a small island which afforded a dry bed and black flies. This was the limit of our travel by our canoe; and the next day's rising sun found us wading waist deep in the cold water, towards the marsh. The country in which we were now was indeed a desolate wilderness, sufficient to inspire a sense of homesickness in the explorer. The dead hemlocks shorn of their limbs, raised their immense trunks high in the air, as monuments to the destruction of the forests. Underneath were their stricken fellows lying as watersoaked obstacles to our march; and ever and anon some unseen hole would immerse us still deeper in the chilly fluid. Three hour's patient application brought us to the “bog.” This was indeed more desolate than the swamp behind us. A few dead trees alone broke the monotony of treacherous quagmire and shaky bog. A few alders fringed the edge, and a large expanse of water in the centre was a relief to the eye. My companion stood by my side in silent contem- The Home of the Bittern. BY F. H. C. Standing on the edge of some impenetrable bog, into which he hies himself if too closely approached, the Bittern, Botaurus lentiginosus, resents the usual investigation afforded by other less interesting species. When disturbed from his uncouth attitude, his subsequent actions are soon lost to view, and if he falls a victim, the poor lifeless body relates none of the history of its past existence. Renowned devotees of the science of Bird-life have sought the sequel to their northward migration, but in few instances