BOB WHITE.

“I own the country here about,” says Bob White; “At early morn I gayly shout, I’m Bob White! From stubble field and stake-rail fence You hear me call, without offense, I’m Bob White! Bob White! Sometimes I think I’ll ne’er more say, Bob White; It often gives me quite away, does Bob White; And mate and I, and our young brood, When separate—wandering through the wood, Are killed by sportsmen I invite By my clear voice—Bob White! Bob White! Still, don’t you find I’m out of sight While I am saying Bob White, Bob White?” —c. c. m.

mountain partridge. chicago colortype co. From col. F. M. Woodruff. Copyrighted by Nature Study Pub. Co., 1898, Chicago.