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GLAND BIRDS

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NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

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NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

BY
HENRY D. THOREAU

ARRANGED AND EDITED

BY

FRANCIS H. ALLEN

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS
OF BIRDS IN NATURE

BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

1910

COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, I9IO, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Published May tgio

PREFACE

Scattered through the fourteen volumes of Tho-
reau's published Journal are many interesting notes
on the natural history of New England, and a large
proportion of these relate to birds. In the belief that
readers and students would be glad to have these bird
notes arranged systematically in a single volume, this
book has been prepared. It will perhaps be a matter
of surprise to many readers to learn how much Tho-
reau wrote upon this one branch of natural history,
and how many species of birds he found something to
say about that was worth the saying. Thoreau was
seldom dull, even in mere records of commonplace
facts, and the reader of this book, though he may be
well acquainted with the author's picturesque style,
can hardly fail to be impressed anew with his power to
convey a vivid and interesting picture in a few words.

It was, indeed, as a describer rather than as an ob-
server that Thoreau excelled. He never acquired much
skill in the diagnosis of birds seen in the field. He
never became in any respect an expert ornithologist,
and some of the reasons are not far to seek. He was
too intent on becoming an expert analogist, for one
thing. It better suited his genius to trace some analogy
between the soaring hawk and his own thoughts than
to make a scientific study of the bird. Moreover his
field, including as it did all nature, was too wide to
admit of specialization in a single branch. Then, too,

2051024

vi PKEFACE

he lacked many of the helps that to-day smooth the
way for the beginner in bird-study. He had no inti-
mate acquaintance with ornithologists or scientific men
of any sort, and after giving up the gun in his young
manhood he waited many years before he purchased a
glass, and then bought a spy-glass, or small telescope,
an implement which was useful in identifying ducks
floating far off on the waters of the river or Walden
Pond, but could hardly have served him very well with
the flitting warblers of the tree-tops. The books, too, in
those days were far from adequate. Wilson and Nut-
tall, upon whom he chiefly relied, are unsurpassed in
some respects by anything we have to-day, but their
descriptions of birds were not designed to assist in field
identification, and they were by no means infallible in
other matters. These books were not new even in
Thoreau's day, but they were the best ornithological
manuals to be had, and with Wilson making no men-
tion of so common a bird as the least flycatcher, and
Nuttall in ignorance of the existence of the olive-
backed thrush, we may pardon Thoreau a few misap-
prehensions.

As a matter of fact, Thoreau seems to have seen
things pretty accurately, — when he saw them at all,
for he was sometimes strangely blind to the presence
of birds which must have been fairly common inhabit-
ants of the woods and fields through which he roamed.
His chief difficulty in identification was, perhaps, a
tendency to jump at conclusions, — as when, meeting
with the pileated woodpecker in the Maine woods, he
at once set it down as the " red-headed woodpecker

PREFACE vii

(^Picus eryihroce'phalus)^'' evidently because of its
conspicuous red crest. The reader who desires to make
a special study of Thoreau as an ornithologist — to
learn his mistakes as well as his discoveries — must go
to the Journal itself. There he will find the true and
complete record of Thoreau's bird observations, — in-
cluding all the brief notes which are of no value except
in the compilation of migration data and the like, and
the mere identifications, mistaken and otherwise. In
the present volume it has seemed best to confine our-
selves to the notes which have some intrinsic value,
whether literary or scientific, — using both terms in a
liberal sense.

It is to be borne in mind that these notes are from
Thoreau's Journal and therefore have not alwaj^s been
cast in a final literary form. Regarded as literature,
many of them stand in need of shaping and polishing,
but they are none the less interesting for that, and it
is also to be remembered that Thoreau's notes were
seldom mere records of fact. He never forgot that
writing was his vocation, and when he wrote it was for
the purpose of recording his thoughts in the best lan-
guage that came to his mind at the moment. He wrote
rapidly, and occasionally a word was omitted or the
wrong word slipped in, though that happened with
rather surprising infrequency, all things considered.
The editor of this volume was associated with Mr.
Bradford Torrey in the editing of Thoreau's complete
Journal^ and he can affirm from personal knowledge
that Thoreau's omissions and slips of the pen are all
carefully indicated there. In the present book it has

viii PREFACE

seemed best to simplify things for the reader by omit-
ting the brackets from interpolated words in the case
of the unimportant ones where the word to be supplied
was obvious, and to retain them only in the case of the
more important words, or where there was any possi-
bility of a misapprehension of Thoreau's meaning.

It may be well here to point out the office of the
brackets, [ ], as differentiated from parentheses, ( ),
since their use is not always understood by readers.
Brackets, as used nowadays by most writers and print-
ers, show the interpolations of the editor, while the
parentheses are the author's own. Thus, in the present
volume, a question-mark in brackets, [?], indicates
that the editors of the Journal were in doubt as to
whether they had rightly interpreted Thoreau's hand-
writing, but the same in parentheses, (?), is Thoreau's
own query.

So, too, in the notes, those which are bracketed are
the editor's, while the unbracketed notes are later an-
notations by Thoreau, usually in pencil, upon the pages
of his manuscript journals. The editor has felt free to
quote or paraphrase the notes of the published Journal^
for a large share of which he was primarily responsi-
ble, and he believes that Mr. Torrey will pardon him
if in a few cases he has used the latter's phraseology
without giving specific credit for it. The present notes
are much fuller than those in the Journal, the plan
of which did not admit of extensive annotation.

The bird matter included in Thoreau's more formal
works — the Weeh, Walden, The Maine Woods, Cape
Cod, Excursions, and Miscellanies — is not inconsid-

PREFACE ix

erable, though it amounts to less than one twelfth as
much as that contained in the Journal. For the con-
venience of readers a full index of it is given in an
Appendix to this volume.

The editor desires to thank Mr. William Brewster
and Dr. Charles W. Townsend for generous and help-
ful advice in the identification of certain of Thoreau's
birds, and, in closing, to express his confidence that the
reader of this book will lay it down at the end with a
more lively feeling of gratitude to the man who, writ-
ing in prose, has written more poetry about American
birds than all our poets together.

Boston, April, 1910.

CONTENTS

PAGE

I. Diving Birds 1

II. Gulls, Terns, and Petrels 9

III. Ducks and Geese 19

IV. Herons and Rails 63

V. Shore-Birds 84

VI. Quail and Grouse 94

VII. Pigeons 110

VIII. Hawks and Eagles 120

IX. Owls 169

X. Cuckoos, Kingfishers, and Woodpeckers. . 190

XI. Goatsuckers, Swifts, and Hummingbirds. . 203

XII. Flycatchers 215

XIII. Larks, Crows, and Jays 224

XIV. Blackbirds, Orioles, etc 244

XV. Finches 265

XVI. Tanagers and Swallows 325

XVII. Waxwings, Shrikes, and Vireos 340

XVIII. Warblers 347

XIX. Titlarks, Thrashers, and Wrens .... 360

XX. Creepers, Nuthatches, Tits, and Kinglets . 366

XXI. Thrushes 377

XXII. General and Miscellaneous 403

XXIII. Domestic Birds 434

Appendix 443

Index 447

ILLUSTRATIONS

PAOE

Two Views of a Hermit Thrush on her Nest, Frontispiece
Photog^raphs by Rev. Robert S. Morison

Great Blue Herons and Nest 72

Photograph by Herbert K. Job

A Mourning Dove and her Nest 118

Photographs by Herbert W. Gleason

Fish Hawk .152

Photograph by Ernest Harold Baynes

Whip-poor-will on Nest

\ 204

Nighthawk disturbed while covering Eggs
Photographs by Herbert K. Job

}
}

Red-winged Blackbird

; 250

Red-winged Blackbird's Nest and Eggs

" What Champollion can translate the hieroglyphics on these

eggs?"
Photographs by Herbert W. Gleason

Song Sparrow

Photograph by Charles H. Tolman

Vesper Sparrow on Nest

Photograph by Herbert W. Gleason .

290

Barn Swallows 330

Photographs by Herbert W. Gleason

Map of Concord, Mass., showing Localities mentioned by

Thoreau in his Journal, compiled by Herbert W. Gleason 442

NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

I

DIVING BIRDS

HORNED GREBE

Dec. 26, 1853. Walden still open. Saw in it a small
diver, probably a grebe or dobchick, dipper, or what-not,
with the markings, as far as I saw, of the crested grebe,
but smaller. It had a black head, a white ring about its
neck, a white breast, black back, and apparently no tail.*
It dove and swam a few rods under water, and, when on
the surface, kept turning round and round warily and
nodding its head the while. This being the only pond
hereabouts that is open.

Sept. 27, 1860. Monroe's tame ducks sail along and
feed close to me as I am working there. Looking up, I
see a little dipper, about one half their size, in the mid-
dle of the river, evidently attracted by these tame ducks,
as to a place of security. I sit down and watch it. The
tame ducks have paddled four or j&ve rods down-stream
along the shore. They soon detect the dipper three
or four rods off, and betray alarm by a tittering note,
especially when it dives, as it does continually. At last,
when it is two or three rods off and approaching them
by diving, they all rush to the shore and come out on it

^ [From the description it would appear to have been a horned grebe,
though the white on the throat and neck of that bird does not form a com-
plete ring. The bird of September, 1860, is more accurately described.]

2 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

in their fear, but the dipper shows itself close to the
shore, and when they enter the water again joins them
within two feet, still diving from time to time and
threatening to come up in their midst. They return
up-stream, more or less alarmed, and pursued in this
wise by the dipper, who does not know what to make of
their fears, and soon the dipper is thus tolled along to
within twenty feet of where I sit, and I can watch it at
my leisure. It has a dark bill and considerable white
on the sides of the head or neck, with black between
it, no tufts, and no observable white on back or tail.
When at last disturbed by me, it suddenly sinks low
(all its body) in the water without diving. Thus it can
float at various heights. (So on the 30th I saw one sud-
denly dash along the surface from the meadow ten rods
before me to the middle of the river, and then dive, and
though I watched fifteen minutes and examined the
tufts of grass, I could see no more of it.)

PIED-BILLED GREBE ^

Oct. 17, 1855. I saw behind (or rather in front of)
me as I rowed home a little dipper appear in mid-river,
as if I had passed right over him. It dived while I
looked, and I could not see it come up anywhere.

Sept. 9, 1858. Watched a little dipper ^ some ten rods

^ [Probably moat of the " little dippers " whicli are referred to cas-
ually in Thoreau's Journal were of this species, though some were un-
doubtedly the (in fresh water) rarer horned grebe and others the buffle-
head duck.]

^ [On the 30th of the same month Thoreau saw a " little dipper "
which was "much smaller " than any others he had seen that season
and concluded that he had not seen the real little dipper before. What

LOON 3

off with my glass, but I could see no white on the breast.
It was all black and brownish, and head not enlarged.
Who knows how many little dippers are sailing and
sedulously diving now along the edge of the pickerel-
weed and the button-bushes on our river, unsuspected
by most? This hot September afternoon all may be
quiet amid the weeds, but the dipper, and the bittern,
and the yellow-legs, and the blue heron, and the rail are
silently feeding there. At length the walker who sits
meditating on a distant bank sees the little dipper sail
out from amid the weeds and busily dive for its food
along their edge. Yet ordinary eyes might range up and
down the river all day and never detect its small black
head above the water.

[/S'ee also under General and Miscellaneous, pp. 417,
433.]

LOON

1845-47 (no exact date). The loon comes in the fall
to sail and bathe in the pond,^ making the woods ring
with its wild laughter in the early morning, at rumor of
whose arrival all Concord sportsmen are on the alert,
in gigs, on foot, two by two, three by three, with pa-
tent rifles, patches, conical balls, spy-glass or open hole
over the barrel. They seem already to hear the loon
laugh ; come rustling through the woods like October
leaves, these on this side, those on that, for the poor
loon cannot be omnipresent ; if he dive here, must come

he haa to say of this hird of September 9th will apply very well to the
pied-billed grebe, however, and the paragraph is placed here for want
of a better place.]
1 [Walden Pond.]

4 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

up somewhere. The October wind rises, rustling the
leaves, ruffling the pond water, so that no loon can be
seen rippling the surface. Our sportsmen scour, sweep
the pond with spy-glass in vain, making the woods ring
with rude [?] charges of powder, for the loon went off
in that morning rain with one loud, long, hearty laugh,
and our sportsmen must beat a retreat to town and stable
and daily routine, shop work, unfinished jobs again.

Or in the gray dawn the sleeper hears the long duck-
ing gun explode over toward Goose Pond, and, hasten-
ing to the door, sees the remnant of a flock, black duck
or teal, go whistling by with outstretched neck, with
broken ranks, but in ranger order. And the silent hunter
emero'es into the carriage road with ruffled feathers at
his belt, from the dark pond-side where he has lain in
his bower since the stars went out.

And for a week you hear the circling clamor, clangor,
of some solitary goose through the fog, seeking its mate,
peopling the woods with a larger life than they can hold.

For hours in fall days you shall watch the ducks cun-
ningly tack and veer and hold the middle of the pond,
far from the sportsmen on the shore, — tricks they have
learned and practiced in far Canada lakes or in Louisi-
ana bayous.

The waves rise and dash, taking sides with all water-
fowl.

Oct. 8, 1852. P. M. — Walden. As I was paddling
along the north shore, after having looked in vain over
the pond for a loon, suddenly a loon, sailing toward the
middle, a few rods in front, set up his wild laugh and
betrayed himself. I pursued with a paddle and he dived,

LOON 6

but when he came up I was nearer than before. He
dived again, but I miscalculated the direction he would
take, and we were fifty rods apart when he came up,
and again he laughed long and loud. He managed very
cunningly, and I could not get within half a dozen rods
of him. Sometimes he would come up unexpectedly on
the opposite side of me, as if he had passed directly
under the boat. So long-winded was he, so unweariable,
that he would immediately plunge again, and then no
wit could divine where in the deep pond, beneath the
smooth surface, he might be speeding his way like a fish,
perchance passing under the boat. He had time and
ability to visit the bottom of the pond in its deepest
part. A newspaper authority says a fisherman — giv-
ing his name — has caught loon in Seneca Lake, N. Y.,
eighty feet beneath the surface, with hooks set for trout.
Miss Cooper ^ has said the same. Yet he appeared to
know his course as surely under water as on the surface,
and swam much faster there than he sailed on the sur-
face. It was surprising how serenely he sailed off with
unrufled bosom when he came to the surface. It was as
well for me to rest on my oars and await his reappear-
ing as to endeavor to calculate where he would come up.
When I was straining my eyes over the surface, I would
suddenly be startled by his unearthly laugh behind me.
But why, after displaying so much cunning, did he be-
tray himself the moment he came to the surface with that
loud laugh? His white breast enough betrayed him.
He was indeed a silly loon, I thought. Though he took
all this pains to avoid me, he never failed to give notice
^ [Susan Fenimore Cooper, Rural Hours, p. 10.]

6 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

of his whereabouts the moment he came to the surface.
After an hour he seemed as fresh as ever, dived as will-
ingly, and swam yet farther than at first. Once or twice
I saw a ripple where he approached the surface, just put
his head out to reconnoitre, and instantly dived again.
I could commonly hear the plash of the water when he
came up, and so also detected him. It was commonly a
demoniac laughter, yet somewhat like a water-bird, but
occasionally, when he had balked me most successfully
and come up a long way off, he uttered a long-drawn
unearthly howl, probably more like a wolf than any
other bird. This was his looning. As when a beast puts
his muzzle to the ground and deliberately howls ; per-
haps the wildest sound I ever heard, making the woods
ring ; and I concluded that he laughed in derision of
my efforts, confident of his own resources. Though the
sky was overcast, the pond was so smooth that I could
see where he broke the surface if I did not hear him.
His white breast, the stillness of the air, the smoothness
of the water, were all against him. At length, having
come up fifty rods off, he uttered one of those prolonged
unearthly howls, as if calling on the god of loons to aid
him, and immediately there came a wind from the east
and rippled the surface, and filled the whole air with
misty rain. I was impressed as if it were the prayer of
the loon and his god was angry with me. How surprised
must be the fishes to see this ungainly visitant from
another sphere speeding his way amid their schools !

I have never seen more than one at a time in our
pond, and I believe that that is always a male.'

' [The sexes are indistinguishable.]

LITTLE AUK

RED-THROATED LOON

Nov.- 11, 1858. Goodwin* brings me this forenoon a
this year's loon, which he just killed on the river, —
great northern diver, but a smaller specimen than Wil-
son describes and somewhat differently marked. It is
twenty-seven inches long to end of feet by forty-four
and bill three and three quarters to angle of mouth ;
above blackish-gray with small white spots (two at end
of each feather).^ Beneath, pure white, throat and all,
except a dusky bar across the vent. Bill chiefly pale-
bluish and dusky. You are struck by its broad, flat,
sharp-edged legs, made to cut through the water rather
than to walk with, set far back and naturally stretched
out backward, its long and powerful bill, conspicuous
white throat and breast. Dislodged by winter in the
north, it is slowly travelling toward a warmer clime,
diving in the cool river this morning, which is now full
of light, the trees and bushes on the brink having long
since lost their leaves, and the neighboring fields are
white with frost. Yet this hardy bird is comfortable and
contented there if the sportsman would let it alone.

DOVEKIE; LITTLE AUK

July 25, 1860. P. M.— To Mr. Bradshaw's, Way-
land, with Ed. Hoar.

I was surprised to see among the birds which Brad-
shaw has obtained the little auk of Nuttall (^3Iergulus

^ [John Goodwin, a Concord gunner and fisherman.]
^ [The size and markings indicate this species in spite of its rarity in
fresh water in Massachusetts. ]

8 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

alle,^ or common sea-dove), which he says that he shot
in the fall on the pond of the Assabet at Knight's fac-
tory. There were two, and the other was killed with a
paddle.

Nov. 19, 1860. Mr. Bradshaw says that he got a
little auk in Wayland last week, and heard of two more,
one in Weston and the other in Natick. Thinks they
came with the storm of the 10th and 11th.

^ [Now called Alle alle by the ornithologists.]

II

GULLS, TERNS, AND PETRELS

HERRING GULL*

April 4, 1852. There are three great gulls sailing in
the middle [of Fair Haven], Now my shouting (per-
chance) raises one, and, flying low and heavily over
the water, with heavy shoulders and sharp beak, it ut-
ters its loud mewing or squeaking notes, — some of
them like a squeaking pump-handle, — which sound very
strange to our woods. It gives a different character to
the pond,

April 15, 1852. Thinking of the value of the gull to
the scenery of our river in the spring, when for a few
weeks they are seen circling about so deliberately and
heavily yet gracefully, without apparent object, beating
like a vessel in the air, Gilpin ^ says something to the
purpose, — that water-fowl " discover in their flight some
determined aim. They eagerly coast the river, or return
to the sea ; bent on some purpose, of which they never
lose sight. But the evolutions of the gull appear ca-
pricious, and undirected, both when she flies alone, and,
as she often does, in large companies. — The more
however her character suffers as a loiterer, the more it
is raised in picturesque value, by her continuing longer

^ [Most, if not all, of the large gulls seen by Thoreau at Conoord
were doubtless of this species.]
^ [William Gilpin, Bemarks on Forest Scenery, London, 1794.]

10 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

before the eye ; and displaying, in her elegant sweeps
along the air, her sharp-pointed wings, and her bright
silvery hue. — She is beautiful also, not only on the
wing, but when she floats, in numerous assemblies on
the water ; or when she rests on the shore, dotting
either one or the other with white spots ; which, minute
as they are, are very picturesque : . . . giving life and
spirit to a view."

He seems to be describing our very bird. I do not
remeynher to have seen them over or in our river mead-
ows when there was not ice there. They come annually
a-fishing here like royal hunters, to remind us of the
5ea and that our town, after all, lies but further up a
creek of the universal sea, above the head of the tide.
So ready is a deluge to overwhelm our lands, as the
gulls to circle hither in the spring freshets. To see a
gull beating high over our meadowy flood in chill and
windy March is akin to seeing a mackerel schooner on
the coast. It is the nearest approach to sailing vessels
in our scenery. I never saw one at Walden. Oh, how
it salts our fresh, our sweet-watered Fair Haven * all at
once to see this sharp-beaked, greedy sea-bird beating
over it ! For a while the water is brackish to my eyes.
It is merely some herring pond, and if I climb the
eastern bank I expect to see the Atlantic there covered
with countless sails. We are so far maritime, do not
dwell beyond the range of the seagoing gull, the littoral
birds. Does not the gull come up after those suckers
which I see ? ^ He is never to me perfectly in harmony

^ [Fairhaven Pond, or Bay, in the Sudbury River.]

■■' [Dead suckers, which he goes on to philosophize about.]

HERRING GULL 11

with the scenery, but, like the high water, something
unusual.

Ajjril 19, 1852. What comes flapping low with heavy-
wing over the middle of the flood ? Is it an eagle or a
fish hawk ? Ah, now he is betrayed, I know not by
what motion, — a great gull, right in the eye of the
storm. He holds not a steady course, but suddenly he
dashes upward even like the surf of the sea which he
frequents, showing the under sides of his long, pointed
wings, on which do I not see two white spots ? He sud-
denly beats upward thus as if to surmount the airy bil-
lows by a slanting course, as the teamster surmounts a
slope. The swallow, too, plays thus fantastically and
luxuriously and leisurely, doubling some unseen cor-
ners in the sky. Here is a gull, then, long after ice in
the river. It is a fine sight to see this noble bird lei-
surely advancing right in the face of the storm.

April 7, 1853. A great gull, though it is so fair and
the wind northwest, fishing over the flooded meadow.
He slowly circles round and hovers with flapping wings
in the air over particular spots, repeatedly returning
there and sailing quite low over the water, with long,
narrow, pointed wings, trembling throughout their
length.

March 29, 1854. A gull of pure white, — a wave of
foam in the air. How simple and wave-like its outline,
the outline of the wings presenting two curves, between
which the tail is merely the point of junction, — all
wing like a birch scale ; tail remarkably absorbed.

March 18, 1855. I see with my glass as I go over the
railroad bridge, sweeping the river, a great gull standing

12 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

far away on the top of a muskrat-cabin which rises just
above the water opposite the Hubbard Bath. When I
get round within sixty rods of him, ten minutes later,
he still stands on the same spot, constantly turning his
head to every side, looking out for foes. Like a wooden
image of a bird he stands there, heavy to look at ; head,
breast, beneath, and rump pure white ; slate-colored wings
tipped with black and extending beyond the tail, — the
herring gull. I can see clear down to its webbed feet.
But now I advance, and he rises easily, goes off north-
eastward over the river with a leisurely flight. At
Clamshell Hill I sweep the river again, and see, stand-
ing midleg deep on the meadow where the water is very
shallow with deeper around, another of these wooden
images, which is harder to scare. I do not fairly distin-
guish black tips to its wings. It is ten or fifteen minutes
before I get him to rise, and then he goes off in the
same leisurely manner, stroking the air with his wings,
and now making a great circle back on its course, so you
cannot tell which way it is bound. By standing so long
motionless in these places they may perchance accom-
plish two objects, i. e., catch passing fish (suckers ?) like
a heron and escape the attention of man. Its utmost
motion was to plume itself once and turn its head about.
If it did not move its head, it would look like a decoy.
Our river is quite low for the season, and yet it is here
without freshet or easterly storm. It seems to take this
course on its migrations without regard to the state of
the waters.

April 15, 1855. Before we rounded Ball's Hill, —
the water now beautifully smooth, — at 2.30 p. m., we

_J!

HERRING GULL 13

saw three gulls sailing on the glassy meadow at least half
a mile off, by the oak peninsula, — the plainer because
they were against the reflection of the hills. They looked
larger than afterward close at hand, as if their white-
ness was reflected and doubled. As we advanced into
the Great Meadows, making the only ripples in their
broad expanse, there being still not a ray of sunshine,
only a subdued light through the thinner crescent in
the north, the reflections of the maples, of Ponkawtasset
and the poplar hill, and the whole township in the
southwest, were as perfect as I ever saw. A wall which
ran down to the water on the hillside, without any re-
markable curve in it, was exaggerated by the reflection
into the half of an ellipse. The meadow was expanded
to a large lake, the shore-line being referred to the
sides of the hills reflected in it. It was a scene worth
many such voyages to see. It was remarkable how much
light those white gulls, and also a bleached post on a
distant shore, absorbed and reflected through that
sombre atmosphere, — conspicuous almost as candles
in the night. When we got near to the gulls, they rose
heavily and flapped away, answering a more distant one,
with a remarkable, deliberate, melancholy, squeaking
scream, mewing, or piping, almost a squeal. It was a
little like the loon. Is this sound the origin of the name
sea-mew? Notwithstanding the smoothness of the water,
we could not easily see black ducks against the reflection
of the woods, but heard them rise at a distance before
we saw them.

April 22, 1857. A dozen gulls are circling over Fair
Haven Pond, some very white beneath, with very long,

14 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

narrow-pointed, black-tipped wings, almost regular
semicircles like the new moon. As they circle beneath a
white scud in this bright air, they are almost invisible
against it, they are so nearly the same color. What glo-
rious fliers ! But few birds are seen ; only a crow or two
teetering along the water's edge looking for its food,
with its large, clumsy head, and on unusually long legs,
as if stretched, or its pants pulled up to keep it from the
wet, and now flapping off with some large morsel in its
bill ; or robins in the same place ; or perhaps the sweet
song of the tree sparrows from the alders by the shore,
or of a song sparrow or blackbird. The phcebe is
scarcely heard. Not a duck do we see !

March 22, 1858. There is a strong and cool northwest
wind. Leaving our boat just below N. Barrett's, we walk
down the shore. We see many gulls on the very opposite
side of the meadow, near the woods. They look bright-
white, like snow on the dark-blue water. It is surpris-
ing how far they can be seen, how much light they re-
flect, and how conspicuous they are. Being strung along
one every rod, they made me think of a fleet in line of
battle. We go along to the pitch pine hill off Abner
Buttrick's, and, finding a sheltered and sunny place, we
watch the ducks from it with our glass. There are not
only gulls, but about forty black ducks and as many
sheldrakes, and, I think, two wood ducks. The gulls ap-
pear considerably the largest and make the most show,
they are so uniformly light-colored. At a distance, as I
have said, they look like snowy masses, and even nearer
they have a lumpish look, like a mass of cotton, the
head being light as well as the breast. They are seen

HERRING GULL 15

sailing about in the shallow water, or standing motion-
less on a clod that just rises above the surface, in which
position they have a particularly clumsy look ; or one or
two may be seen slowly wheeling about above the rest.
From time to time the whole flock o£ gulls suddenly
rises and begins circling about, and at last they settle
down in some new place and order. With these were at
first associated about forty black ducks, pretty close to-
gether, sometimes apparently in close single lines, some
looking lumpish like decoys of wood, others standing
on the bottom and reminding me of penguins. They
were constantly diving with great energy, making
the water fly apparently two feet upward in a thick
shower. Then away they all go, circling about for
ten minutes at least before they can decide where to
alight.

The black heads and white breasts, which may be
golden-eyes, for they are evidently paired, male and
female, for the most part,^ — and yet I thought that I
saw the red bill of the sheldrake, — these are most in-
cessantly and skillfully plunging and from time to time
apparently pursuing each other. They are much more
active, whether diving or swimming about, than you ex-
pect ducks to be. Now, perchance, they are seen chang-
ing their ground, swimming off, perhaps, two by two,
in pairs, very steadily and swiftly, without diving. I see
two of these very far off on a bright-blue bay where the
waves are running high. They are two intensely white
specks, which yet you might mistake for the foaming
crest of waves. Now one disappears, but soon is seen

1 They are sheldrakes [t. e. American mergansers].

16 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

again, and then its companion is lost in like manner,
having dived.

March 16, 1859. We meet one great gull beating
up the course of the river against the wind, at Flint's
Bridge. (One says they were seen about a week ago, but
there was very little water then.) Its is a very leisurely
sort of limping flight, tacking its way along like a sailing
vessel, yet the slow security with which it advances sug-
gests a leisurely conteraplativeness in the bird, as if it
were working out some problem quite at its leisure. As
often as its very narrow, long, and curved wings are
lifted up against the light, I see a very narrow distinct
light edging to the wing where it is thin. Its black-tipped
wings. Afterwards, from Ball's Hill, looking north, I
see two more circling about looking for food over the
ice and water.

March 18, 1859. Rice ^ thinks that he has seen two
gulls on the Sudbury meadows, — the white and the
gray gulls. He has often seen a man shoot the large
gull from Cambridge bridge by heading him off, for the
gull flies slowly. He would first run this way, and when
the gull turned aside, run that, till the gull passed
right over his head, when he shot him. Rice saw Fair
Haven Pond still covered with ice, though open along
the shore, yesterday. I frequently see the gulls flying
up the course of the stream, or of the river valley at
least.

March 23, 1859. Then I see come slowly flying from
the southwest a great gull, of voracious form, which at
length by a sudden and steep descent alights in Fair

* [Israel Rice, a Sudbury farmer living near the river.]

COMMON TERN; MACKEREL GULL 17

Haven Pond, scaring up a crow which was seeking
its food on the edge of the ice. This shows that
the crows get along the meadow's edge also what has
washed up.

March 16, 1860. I also see two gulls nearly a mile
off. One stands still and erect for three quarters of an
hour, or till disturbed, on a little bit of floated meadow-
crust which rises above the water, — just room for it
to stand on, — with its great white breast toward the
wind. Then another comes flying past it, and alights on
a similar perch, but which does not rise quite to the sur-
face, so that it stands in the water. Thus they will stand
for an hour, at least. They are not of handsome form,
but look like great wooden images of birds, bluish-slate
and white. But when they fly they are quite another
creature.

[/S'ee also under American Merganser, p. 27; Wild
Ducks, p. 50 ; Wild Goose, p. 61 ; General and Miscel-
laneous, pp. 412, 413.]

COMMON tern; mackerel GULL

June 21, 1857. At East Harbor River, as I sat on
the Truro end of the bridge, I saw a great flock of
mackerel gulls, one hundred at least, on a sandy point,
whitening the shore there like so many white stones on
the shore and in the water, uttering all together their
vibrating shrill note. They had black heads, light
bluish-slate wings, and light rump and tail and be-
neath. From time to time all or most would rise and
circle about with a clamor, then settle again on the
same spot close together.

18 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

Wilson's petrel; mother-carey's-chicken

June 18, 1857. I had shortly before picked up a
Mother-Carey's-ehicken, which was just washed up dead
on the beach. ^ This I carried tied to the tip of my
umbrella, dangling outside. When the inhabitants saw
me come up from the beach this stormy day, with this
emblem dangling from my umbrella, and saw me set it
up in a corner carefully to be out of the way of cats,
they may have taken me for a crazy man. . . .

The Mother-Carey's-chicken was apparently about
thirteen inches in alar extent, black-brown, with seven
primaries, the second a little longer than the third ;
rump and vent white, making a sort of ring of white,
breast ashy -brown, legs black with yellowish webs, bill
black with a protuberance above.

Jtine 22, 1857. It was a thick fog with some rain,
and we saw no land nor a single sail, till near Minot's
Ledge. ^ The boat stopped and whistled once or twice.
The monotony was only relieved by the numerous pet-
rels,^ those black sea-swallows, incessantly skimming
over the undulating [surface], a few inches above and
parallel with it, and occasionally picking some food
from it. Now they dashed past our stern and now
across our bows, as if we were stationary, though going
at the rate of a dozen knots an hour.

1 [On Cape Cod.]

^ [On the steamer from Provincetown to Boston.]

^ [The season would indicate that these were probably Wilson's
petrels, rather than Leach's, which in the latter part of June would
be on their breeding-grounds.]

Ill

DUCKS AND GEESE

AMERICAN MERGANSER; SHELDRAKE; GOOSANDER

March 29, 1853. Four ducks, two by two, are sail-
ing conspicuously on the river. There appear to be two
pairs. In each case one two-thirds white and another
grayish-brown and, I think, smaller. They are very shy
and fly at fifty rods' distance. Are they whistlers ? ^ . . .
Would it not be well to carry a spy-glass in order to
watch these shy birds such as ducks and hawks .'' In
some respects, methinks, it would be better than a gun.
The latter brings them nearer dead, but the former
alive. You can identify the species better by killing
the bird, because it was a dead specimen that was so
minutely described, but you can study the habits and
appearance best in the living specimen. These ducks
first flew north, or somewhat against the wind (was it
to get under weigh?), then wheeled, flew nearer me,
and went south up-stream, where I saw them after-
ward.

April 23, 1854. I had first seen two white ducks far
off just above the outlet of the pond, mistaking them

^ These were either mergansers or the golden-eye ; I think the for-
mer, t. e. Mergus serrator, or red-breasted merganser (?), or sheldrake.
[Thoreau's " sheldrakes " were doubtless with few exceptions Ameri-
can mergansers (Mergus americanus) , which species is much commoner
in fresh water than the red-breasted. His descriptions indicate this
Fpecies.]

20 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

for the foaming crest of a wave. These flew soon, per-
haps scared by the eagle. I think they were a male and
female red-breasted merganser (though I did [not] see
the red of the breast), for I saw his red bill, and his
head was not large with a crest like the golden-eye ;
very white on breast and sides, the female browner.^
As ducks often do, they first flew directly and unhesi-
tatingly up the stream, low over the water, for half a
mile, then turned and came down, flying thirty or forty
feet above the water, the male leading till they were
out of sight. This is the way with them, I notice ; they
first fly in one direction and thep go ofif to alight in
another. When they came down the river, the male
leading, they were a very good example of the peculiar
flight of ducks. They appeared perfectly in a line one
behind the other. When they are not they preserve
perfect parallelism. This is because of their long necks
and feet, — the wings appearing to be attached mid-
way, — and moreover, in this case, of their perfectly
level flight, as if learned from skimming over the
water.

April 6, 1855. You can hear all day, from time to
time, in any part of the village, the sound of a gun fired
at ducks. Yesterday I was wishing that I could find a
dead duck floating on the water, as I had found musk-
rats and a hare, and now I see something bright and
reflecting the light from the edge of the alders five or
six rods off. Can it be a duck ? I can hardly believe my
eyes. I am near enough to see its green head and neck.
I am delighted to find a perfect specimen of the Mcrgu&

^ Certainly mergansers, probably sheldrakes.

AMERICAN MERGANSER 21

merganser,^ or goosander, undoubtedly shot yesterday
by the Fast-Day sportsmen, and I take a small flattened
shot from its wing, — flattened against the wing-bone,
apparently. The wing is broken, and it is shot through
the head. 2 It is a perfectly fresh and very beautiful bird,
and as I raise it, I get sight of its long, slender vermil-
ion bill (color of red sealing-wax) and its clean, bright-
orange legs and feet, and then of its perfectly smooth
and spotlessly pure white breast and belly, tinged with a
faint salmon (or tinged with a delicate buff inclining to
salmon). . . . My bird is 25|^ inches long and 35 in alar
extent ; from point of wing to end of primaries, 11 inches.

It is a great diver and does not mind the cold. It
appears admirably fitted for diving and swimming. Its
body is flat, and its tail short, flat, compact, and wedge-
shaped ; its eyes peer out a slight slit or semi-circle in the
skin of the head ; and its legs are flat and thin in one di-
rection, and the toes shut up compactly so as to create
the least friction when drawing them forward, but their
broad webs spread them three and a half inches when
they take a stroke. The web is extended three eighths
of an inch beyond the inner toe of each foot. There are
very conspicuous black teeth-like serrations along the
edges of its bill, and this also is roughened so that it
may hold its prey securely.

The breast appeared quite dry when I raised it from
the water.

1 [The American species, of course, now known as Mergus americanus ]

2 The chief wound was in a wing, which was broken. I afterward
took three small shot from it, which were flattened against the bill's
base and perhaps (?) the quills' shafts.

22 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

The head and neck are, as Wilson says, black, glossed
with green, but the lower part of the neck pure white,
and these colors bound on each other so abruptly that
one appears to be sewed on to the other.

It is a perfect wedge from the middle of its body to
the end of its tail, and it is only three and a quarter
inches deep from back to breast at the thickest part,
while the greatest breadth horizontally (at the root of
the legs) is five and a half inches. In these respects it
reminds me of an otter, which, however, I have never
seen.

I suspect that I have seen near a hundred of these
birds this spring, but I never got so near one before.

ApHl 7, 1855. In my walk in the afternoon of to-
day, I saw from Conantum,' say fifty rods distant, two
sheldrakes, male and probably female, sailing on A.
Wheeler's cranberry meadow. I saw only the white of
the male at first, but my glass revealed the female. The
male is easily seen a great distance on the water, being
a large white mark. But they will let you come only
within some sixty rods ordinarily. I observed that they
were uneasy at sight of me and began to sail away in
different directions. I could plainly see the vermilion
bill of the male and his orange legs when he flew (but
he appeared all white above), and the reddish brown
or sorrel of the neck of the female, and, when she lifted
herself in the water, as it were preparatory to flight,
her white breast and belly. She had a grayish look on
the sides. Soon they approached each other again and

* [A tract of land on the Sudbury River, so called by Thoreau from
the Conant family, who formerly lived there.]

AMERICAN MERGANSER 23

seemed to be conferring, and then tliey rose and went
off, at first low, down-stream, soon up-stream a hundred
feet over the pond, the female leading, the male follow-
ing close behind, the black at the end of his curved
wings very conspicuous. I suspect that about all the
conspicuous white ducks I see are goosanders.

I skinned my duck yesterday and stuffed it to-day.
It is wonderful that a man, having undertaken such an
enterprise, ever persevered in it to the end, and equally
wonderful that he succeeded. To skin a bird, drawing
backward, wrong side out, over the legs and wings
down to the base of the mandibles ! Who would expect
to see a smooth feather again? This skin was very ten-
der on the breast. I should have done better had I
stuffed it at once or turned it back before the skin be-
came stiff. Look out not to cut the ear and eyelid.

But what a pot-bellied thing is a stuffed bird com-
pared even with the fresh dead one I found! It looks
no longer like an otter, like a swift diver, but a mere
waddling duck. How perfectly the vent of a bird is
covered ! There is no mark externally.

April 10, 1855. I see afar, more than one hundred
rods distant, sailing on Hubbard's meadow, on the
smooth water in the morning sun, conspicuous, two
male sheldrakes and apparently one female. They glide
along, a rod or two apart in shallow water, alternately
passing one another and from time to time plunging
their heads in the water, but the female (whom only
the glass reveals) almost alone diving. I think I saw one
male drive the other back. One male with the female
kept nearly together, a rod or two ahead of the other.

24 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

April 16, 1855. At Flint's/ sitting on the rock, we
see a great many ducks, mostly sheldrakes, on the pond,
which will hardly abide us within half a mile. With the
glass I see by their reddish heads that all of one party
— the main body — are females. You see little more
than their heads at a distance and not much white but
on their throats, perchance. When they fly, they look
black and white, but not so large nor with that brilliant
contrast of black and white which the male exhibits. In
another direction is a male by himself, conspicuous, per-
haps several. Anon alights near us a flock of golden-
eyes — surely^ with their great black (looking) heads
and a white patch on the side ; short stumpy bills (after
looking at the mergansers) ; much clear black, contrast-
ing with much clear white. Their heads and bills look
ludicrously short and parrot-like after the others. Our
presence and a boat party on the pond at last drove
nearly all the ducks into the deep easterly cove.

We stole down on them carefully through the woods,
at last crawling on our bellies, with great patience, till
at last we found ourselves within seven or eight rods —
as I measured afterward — of the great body of them,
and watched them for twenty or thirty minutes with the
glass through a screen of cat-briar, alders, etc. There
were twelve female sheldrakes close together, and, near-
est us, within two rods of the shore, where it was very
shallow, two or more constantly moving about within
about the diameter of a rod and keeping watch while
the rest were trying to sleep, — to catch a nap with
their heads in their backs ; but from time to time one

' [Flint's, or Sandy, Pond, in Lincoln, Mass.]

AMERICAN MERGANSER 25

would wake up enough to plume himself. It seemed as
if they must have been broken of their sleep and were
trying to make it up, having an arduous journey before
them, for we had seen them all disturbed and on the
wing within half an hour. They were headed various
ways. Now and then they seemed to see or hear or smell
us, and uttered a low note of alarm, something like the
note of a tree-toad, but very faint, or perhaps a little
more wiry and like that of pigeons, but the sleepers
hardly lifted their heads for it. How fit that this note
of alarm should be made to resemble the croaking of a
frog and so not betray them to the gunners ! They ap-
peared to sink about midway in the water, and their
heads were all a rich reddish brown, their throats white.
Now and then one of the watchmen would lift his head
and turn his bill directly upward, showing his white
throat.

There were some black or dusky ducks in company
with them at first, apparently about as large as they,
but more alarmed. Their throats looked straw-colored,
somewhat like a bittern's, and I saw their shovel bills.
These soon sailed further off.

At last we arose and rushed to the shore within three
rods of them, and they rose up with a din, — twenty-
six mergansers (I think all femailes), ten black ducks,
— and five golden-eyes from a little further off, also
another still more distant flock of one of these kinds.
The black ducks alone uttered a sound, their usual
hoarse quack. They all flew in loose array, but the three
kinds in separate flocks. We were surprised to find
ourselves looking on a company of birds devoted to

26 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

slumber after the alarm and activity we had just
witnessed.

March 1, 1856. It is remarkable that though I have
not been able to find any open place in the river almost
all winter, except under the further stone bridge and at
Loring's Brook, — this winter so remarkable for ice and
snow, — Coombs * should (as he says) have killed two
sheldrakes at the falls by the factory,^ a place which I
had forgotten, some four or six weeks ago. Singular that
this hardy bird should have found this small opening,
which I had forgotten, while the ice everywhere else was
from one to two feet thick, and the snow sixteen inches
on a level. If there is a crack amid the rocks of some
waterfall, this bright diver is sure to know it. Ask the
sheldrake whether the rivers are completely sealed up.

April 5, 1856. Saw half a dozen white sheldrakes in
the meadow, where Nut Meadow Brook was covered
witli the flood. There were two or three females with
them. These ducks would all swim together first a little
way to the right, then suddenly turn together and swim
to the left, from time to time making the water fly in a
white spray, apparently with awing. Nearly half a mile
off I could see their green crests in the sun. They were
partly concealed by some floating pieces of ice and snow,
which they resembled.

April 24, 1856. A Garfield (I judge from his face)
confirmed the story of sheldrakes killed in an open
place in the river between the factory and Harrington's,
just after the first great snow-storm (which must have

^ [A Concord man, one of the pigeon-catchers.]
2 [On the Assabet River.]

AMERICAN MERGANSER 27

been early in January) when the river was all frozen
elsewhere. There were three, and they persisted in
staying and fishing there. He killed one.

March 27, 1858. P. M. — Sail to Bittern Cliff.

Scare up a flock of sheldrakes just off Fair Haven
Hill, the conspicuous white ducks, sailing straight
hither and thither. At first they fly low up the stream,
but, having risen, come back half-way to us, then wheel
and go up-stream. Soon after we scare up a flock of
black ducks. We land and steal over the hill through
the woods, expecting to find them under Lee's Cliff, as
indeed we do, having crawled over the hill through
the woods on our stomachs ; and there we watched
various water-fowl for an hour. There are a dozen
sheldrakes (or goosanders) and among them four or
five females. They are now pairing. I should say one
or two pairs are made. At first we see only a male and
female quite on the alert, some way out on the pond,
tacking back and forth and looking every way. They
keep close together, headed one way, and when one
turns the other also turns quickly. The male appears
to take the lead. Soon the rest appear, sailing out from
the shore into sight. We hear a squeaking note, as if
made by a pump, and presently see four or five great
herring gulls wheeling about. Sometimes they make a
sound like the scream of a hen-hawk. They are shaped
somewhat like a very thick white rolling-pin, sharpened
at both ends. At length they alight near the ducks.

The sheldrakes at length acquire confidence, come
close inshore and go to preening themselves, or it may
be they are troubled with lice. They are all busy about

28 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

it at once, continually thrusting their bills into their
backs, still sailing slowly along back and forth offshore.
Sometimes they are in two or three straight lines. Now
they will all seem to be crossing the pond, but pre-
sently you see that they have tacked and are all head-
ing this way again. Among them, or near by, I at
length detect three or four whistlers, by their wanting
the red bill, being considerably smaller and less white,
having a white spot on the head, a black back, and
altogether less white, and also keeping more or less
apart and not diving when the rest do. Now one half
the sheldrakes sail off southward and suddenly go to
diving as with one consent. Seven or eight or the
whole of the party will be under water and lost at
once. In the meanwhile, coming up, they chase one
another, scooting over the surface and making the
water fly, sometimes three or four making a rush
toward one.

The sheldrake has a peculiar long clipper look, often
moving rapidly straight forward over the water. It
sinks to very various depths in the water sometimes,
as when apparently alarmed, showing only its head
and neck and the upper part of its back, and at others,
when at ease, floating buoyantly on the surface, as if
it had taken in more air, showing all its white breast
and the white along its sides. Sometimes it lifts itself
up on the surface and flaps its wings, revealing its
whole rosaceous breast and its lower parts, and look-
ing in form like a penguin. When I first saw them
fly up-stream I suspected that they had gone to Fair

AMERICAN MERGANSER 29

Haven Pond and would alight under the lee of the
Cliff. So, creeping slowly down through the woods
four or five rods, I was enabled to get a fair sight of
them, and finally we sat exposed on the rocks within
twenty-five xods. They appear not to observe a person
so high above them.

It was a pretty sight to see a pair of them tacking
about, always within a foot or two of each other and
heading the same way, now on this short tack, now on
that, the male taking the lead, sinking deep and looking
every way. When the whole twelve had come together
they would soon break up again, and were continually
changing their ground, though not diving, now sailing
slowly this way a dozen rods, and now that, and now
coming in near the shore. Then they would all go to
preening themselves, thrusting their bills into their
backs and keeping up such a brisk motion that you
could not get a fair sight of one's head. From time to
time you heard a slight titter, not of alarm, but perhaps
a breeding-note, for they were evidently selecting their
mates. I saw one scratch its ear or head with its foot.
Then it was surprising to see how, briskly sailing off
one side, they went to diving, as if they had suddenly
come across a school of minnows. A whole company
would disappear at once, never rising high as before.
Now for nearly a minute there is not a feather to be
seen, and the next minute you see a party of half a
dozen there, chasing one another and making the water
fly far and wide.

When returning, we saw, near the outlet of the pond,
seven or eight sheldrakes standing still in a line on the

30 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

edge of the ice, and others swimming close by. They
evidently love to stand on the ice for a change.

March 30, 1858. Landing at Bittern Cliff, I went
round through the woods to get sight of ducks on the
pond. Creeping down through the woods, I reached the
rocks, and saw fifteen or twenty sheldrakes scattered
about. The full-plumaged males, conspicuously black
and white and often swimming in pairs, appeared to be
the most wary, keeping furthest out. Others, with much
less white and duller black, were very busily fishing
just north the inlet of the pond, where there is about
three feet of water, and others still playing and preen-
ing themselves. These ducks, whose tame representa-
tives are so sluggish and deliberate in their motions,
were full of activity. A party of these ducks fishing
and playing is a very lively scene. On one side, for in-
stance, you will see a party of eight or ten busily diving
and most of the time under water, not rising high when
they come up, and soon plunging again. The whole sur-
face will be in commotion there, though no ducks may
be seen. I saw one come up with a large fish, where-
upon all the rest, as they successively came to the sur-
face, gave chase to it, while it held its prey over the
water in its bill, and they pursued with a great rush
and clatter a dozen or more rods over the surface, mak-
ing a great furrow in the water, but, there being some
trees in the way, I could not see the issue. I saw seven
or eight all dive together as with one consent, remain-
ing under half a minute or more. On another side you
see a party which seem to be playing and pluming
themselves. They will run and dive and come up and

AMERICAN MERGANSER 31

dive again every three or four feet, occasionally one
pursuing another ; will flutter in the water, making it
fly, or erect themselves at full length on the surface
like a penguin, and flap their wings. This party make
an incessant noise. Again you will see some steadily
tacking this way or that in the middle of the pond, and
often they rest there asleep with their heads in their
backs. They readily cross the pond, swimming from
this side to that.

April 19, 1858. Rice tells me of winging a sheldrake
once just below Fair Haven Pond, and pursuing it in
a boat as it swam down the stream, till it went ashore
at Hubbard's Wood and crawled into a woodchuck's
hole about a rod from the water on a wooded bank. He
could see its tail and pulled it out.

JIarch 23, 1859. As we sit there, we see coming,
swift and straight, northeast along the river valley, not
seeing us and therefore not changing his course, a male
goosander, so near that the green reflections of his head
and neck are plainly visible. He looks like a paddle-
wheel steamer, so oddly painted up, black and white
and green, and moves along swift and straight like one.
Ere long the same returns with his mate, the red-
throated, the male taking the lead.

March 30, 1859. See on Walden two sheldrakes,
male and female, as is common. So they have for some
time paired. They are a hundred rods off. The male
the larger, with his black head and white breast, the
female with a red head. With my glass I see the long
red bills of both. They swim at first one way near to-
gether, then tack and swim the other, looking around

32 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

incessantly, never quite at their ease, wary and watch-
ful for foes. A man cannot walk down to the shore or
stand out on a hill overlooking the pond without dis-
turbing them. They will have an eye upon him. The
locomotive-whistle makes every wild duck start that is
floating within the limits of the town. I see that these
ducks are not here for protection alone, for at last they
both dive, and remain beneath about forty pulse-beats,
— and again, and again. I think they are looking for
fishes. Perhaps, therefore, these divers are more likely
to alight in Walden than the black ducks are.

April 2, 1859. From near this cliff, I watch a male
sheldrake in the river with my glass. It is very busily
pluming itself while it sails about, and from time to
time it raises itself upright almost entirely out of water,
showing its rosaceous breast. It is some sixty rods off,
yet I can see the red bill distinctly when it is turned
against its white body. Soon after I see two more, and
one, which I think is not a female, is more gray and
far less distinctly black and white than the other. I
think it is a young male and that it might be called by
some a gray duck. However, if you show yourself within
sixty rods, they will fly or swim off, so shy are they.
Yet in the fall I sometimes get close upon a young
bird, which dashes swiftly across or along the river and
dives.

Aiiril 12, 1859. Saw a duck, apparently a sheldrake,
at the northeast end of Cyanean Meadow, It disap-
peared at last by diving, and I could not find it. But
I saw what looked like a ripple made by the wind,
which moved slowly down the river at least forty rods

AMEKICAN MERGANSER 33

toward the shore and there disappeared. Though I saw
no bird there, I suspect that the ripple was made by it.
Two sheldrakes flew away from this one when first ob-
served. Why did this remain? Was it wounded? Or
can those which dart so swiftly across the river and
dive be another species and not the young of the sea-
son or females of the common one ? Is it not, after all,
the red-breasted merganser, and did I not see them in
Maine? ^

I see half a dozen sheldrakes very busily fishing
around the base of Lupine Hill or Promontory. There
are two full-plumaged males and the rest females, or
perhaps some of them young males. They are coasting
along swiftly with their bodies sunk low and their heads
half under, looking for their prey, one behind another,
frequently turning and passing over the same ground
again. Their crests are very conspicuous, thus :
When one sees a fish he at first swims rapidly
after it, and then, if necessary, flies close over the water
after it, and this excites all the rest to follow, swimming
or flying, and if one seizes the fish, which 1 suspect is
commonly a pickei-el, they all pursue the lucky fisher,
and he makes the water fly far in his efforts to get away
and gulp down his fish. I can see the fish in his bill
all the while, and he must swallow it very skillfully
and quickly, if at all. I was first attracted to them by
seeing these great birds rushing, shooting, thus swiftly
through the air and water and throwing the water high
about them. Sometimes they dive and swim quietly

■' [If the males as well as the females had the crests mentioned later
the birds were, of course, red-breasted mergansers.]

34 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

beneath, looking for their game. At length they spy
me or my boat, and I hear a faint quack indicative
of alarm, and suddenly all arise and go off. In the
meanwhile I see two black ducks sailing with them
along the shore. These look considerably smaller, and
of course carry their heads more erect. They have a
raw, gosling look beside the others, and I see their
light bills against their dusky necks and heads. At
length, when I get near them, I hear their peculiar
quack also, and off they go. The sheldrakes appear to
be a much more lively bird than the black duck. How
different from the waddling domestic duck ! The former
are all alive, eagerly fishing, quick as thought, as they
need to be to catch a pickerel.

Feb. 27, 1860. I had noticed for some time, far in the
middle of the Great Meadows, something dazzlingly
white, which I took, of course, to be a small cake of ice
on its end, but now that I have climbed the pitch pine
hill and can overlook the whole meadow, I see it to be
the white breast of a male sheldrake, accompanied per-
haps by his mate (a darker one). They have settled
warily in the very midst of the meadow, where the wind
has blown a space of clear water for an acre or two. The
aspect of the meadow is sky-blue and dark-blue, the
former a thin ice, the latter the spaces of open water
which the wind has made, but it is chiefly ice still.
Thus, as soon as the river breaks up or begins to break
up fairly, and the strong wind widening the cracks
makes at length open spaces in the ice of the meadow,
this hardy bird ajjpears, and is seen sailing in the first
widened crack in the ice, where it can come at the

AMERICAN MERGANSER 35

water. Instead of a piece of ice I find it to be the breast
of the sheldrake, which so reflects the light as to look
larger than it is, steadily sailing this way and that with
its companion, who is diving from time to time. They
have chosen the opening farthest removed from all
shores. As I look I see the ice drifting in upon them
and contracting their water, till finally they have but a
few square rods left, while there ai-e forty or fifty acres
near by. This is the first bird of the spring that I have
seen or heard of.

March 16, 1860. Saw a flock of sheldrakes a hundred
rods off, on the Great Meadows, mostly males with a
few females, all intent on fishing. They were coasting
along a spit of bare ground that showed itself in the
middle of the meadow, sometimes the whole twelve
apparently in a straight line at nearly equal distances
apart, with each its head under water, rapidly coasting
along back and forth, and ever and anon one, having
caught something, would be pursued by the others. It
is remarkable that they find their finny prey on the
middle of the meadow now, and even on the very inmost
side, as I afterward saw, though the water is quite low.
Of course, as soon as they are seen on the meadows
there are fishes there to be caught. I never see them
fish thus in the channel. Perhaps the fishes lie up there
for warmth already.

March 17, 1860. I see a large flock of sheldrakes,
which have probably risen from the pond, go over my
head in the woods. A dozen large and compact birds
flying with great force and rapidity, spying out the land,
eyeing every traveller, fast and far they " steam it " on

36 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

clipping wings, over field and forest, meadow and flood ;
now here, and you hear the whistling of their wings,
and in a moment they are lost in the horizon. Like swift
propellers of the air. Whichever way they are headed,
that way their wings propel them. What health and
vigor they suggest ! The life of man seems slow and
puny in comparison, — reptilian.

[<See also under Herring Gull, p. 15 ; W^ild Ducks,
pp. 50, 51 ; General and Miscellaneous, p. 423.]

BLACK DUCK; DUSKY DUCK

April 1, 1853. Saw ten black ducks at Clamshell.
Had already started two, who probably occupied an
outpost. They all went off with a loud and disagreeable
quacking like ducks in a poultry-yard, their wings ap-
pearing lighter beneath.

March 21, 1854. At sunrise to Clamshell Hill.

River skimmed over at Willow Bay last night.
Thought I should find ducks cornered up by the ice ; they
get behind this hill for shelter. Saw what looked like
clods of plowed meadow rising above the ice. Looked
with glass and found it to be more than thirty black
ducks asleep with their heads in their backs, motion-
less, and thin ice formed about them. Soon one or two
were moving about slowly. There was an open space, eight
or ten rods by one or two. At first all within a space of
apparently less than a rod in diameter. It was 6.30
A. M., and the sim shining on them, but bitter cold. How
tough they are ! I crawled far on my stomach and got
a near view of them, thirty rods off. At length they de-
tected me and quacked. Some got out upon the ice, and

BLACK DUCK 37

when I rose up all took to flight in a great straggling
flock which at a distance looked like crows, in no order.
Yet, when you see two or three, the parallelism pro-
duced by their necks and bodies steering the same way
gives the idea of order.

April 21, 1855. Watched for some time a dozen
black ducks on the meadow's edge in a retired place,
some on land and some sailing. Fifty rods off and with-
out the glass, they looked like crows feeding on the
meadow's edge, with a scarcely perceptible tinge of
brown.

I^eh. 29, 1856. He * loves to recall his hunting days
and adventures, and I willingly listen to the stories he
has told me half a dozen times already. One day he saw
about twenty black ducks on Goose Pond, and stole
down on them, thinking to get a shot, but it chanced
that a stray dog scared them up before he was ready.
He stood on the point of the neck of land between
the ponds, and watched them as they flew high toward
Flint's Pond. As he looked, he saw one separate from
the flock when they had got half-way to Flint's Pond, or
half a mile, and return straight toward Goose Pond again.
He thought he would await him, and give him a shot if
he came near enough. As he flew pretty near and rather
low, he fired, whereupon the duck rose right up high
into the air, and he saw by his motions that he was
wounded. Suddenly he dropped, by a slanting fall, into
the point of a thick pine wood, and he heard him plainly
strike the ground like a stone. He went there and
searched for a long time, and was about giviug it up,
^ [George Minott.]

38 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

when at length he saw the duck standing, still alive and
bleeding, by the side of a stump, and made out to kill
liim with a stick before he could reach the water.

April 9, 1856. Paddled quite to the head of Pinxter
Swamp, where were two black ducks amid the maples,
which went off with a hoarse quacking, leaving a feather
on the smooth dark water amid the fallen tree-tops and
over the bottom of red leaves.

April 14, 1856. There go a couple of ducks, which
probably I have started, now scaling far away on mo-
tionless pinions, with a slight descent in their low flight,
toward some new cove. Anon I scare up two black ducks
which make one circle around me, reconnoitring and
rising higher and higher, then go down the river. Is it
they that so commonly practice this manceuvre ?

June 23, 1857. Skinner, the harness-maker, tells me
that he found a black duck's nest Sunday before the last,
i. e. the 14th, with perhaps a dozen eggs in it, a mere
hollow on the top of a tussock, four or five feet within
a clump of bushes forming an islet (in the spring) in
Hubbard's great meadow. He scared up the duck when
within a few feet. . . .

P. M. — Looked for the black duck's nest, but could
find no trace of it. Probably the duck led her young to
the river as soon as hatched. What with gunners, dogs,
pickerel, bullfrogs, hawks, etc., it is a wonder if any of
them escape.

«/zf 7ie 24, 1857. Melvin^ thinks there cannot be many
black ducks' nests in the town, else his dog would find
them, for he will follow their trail as well as another

^ [George Melvin, a Concord gunner and fisherman.]

BLACK DUCK 39

bird's, or a fox. The dog once caught five black ducks
here but partly grown.

July 2), 1857. Minott says that old Joe Merriam used
to tell of his shooting black ducks in the Dam meadows
and what luck he had. One day he had shot a couple of
ducks and was bringing them home by the legs, when
he came to a ditch. As he had his gun in the other
hand, and the ditch was wide, he thought he would
toss the ducks over before he jumped, but they had no
sooner struck the ground than they picked themselves
up and flew away, which discouraged him with respect
to duck-shooting.

Oct. 14, 1857. Approaching White Pond by the
path, I see on its perfectly smooth surface what I at
first mistake for a large raft of dead and black logs and
limbs, but it soon elevates itself in the form of a large
flock of black ducks, which go off with a loud quacking.

March 31, 1858. I see about a dozen black ducks on
Flint's Pond, asleep with their heads in their backs and
drifting across the pond before the wind. I suspect that
they are nocturnal in their habits and therefore require
much rest by day. So do the seasons revolve and every
chink is filled. While the waves toss this bright day,
the ducks, asleep, are drifting before it across the ponds.
Every now and then one or two lift their heads and look
about, as if they watched by turns. . . . The leaves are
now so dry and loose that it is almost impossible to ap-
proach the shore of the pond without being heard by
the ducks.

April 2, 1858. See how those black ducks, swimming
in pairs far off on the river, are disturbed by our ap-

40 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

pearance, swimming away in alarm, and now, when we
advance again, they rise and fly up-stream and about,
uttering regularly a crack cr-r-rack of alarm, even for
five or ten minutes, as they circle about, long after we
have lost sight of them. Now we hear it on this side,
now on that.

[xS'ee also under Herring Gull, pp. 13, 15 ; American
Merganser, pp. 25, 34 ; Wild Goose, p. 60 ; General
and Miscellaneous, p. 418.]

WOOD duck; summer duck

Oct. 29, 1887. Two ducks, of the summer or wood
species, which were merrily dabbling in their favorite
basin [at Goose Pond], struck up a retreat on my
approach, and seemed disposed to take French leave,
paddling off with swan-like majesty. They are first-rate
swimmers, beating me at a round pace, and — what
was to me a new trait in the duck character — dove
every minute or two and swam several feet under water,
in order to escape our attention.^ Just before immersion
they seemed to give each other a significant nod, and
then, as if by a common understanding, 't was heels up
and head down in the shaking of a duck's wing. When
they reappeared, it was amusing to observe with what a
self-satisfied, darn-it-how-he-nicks-'em air they paddled
off to repeat the experiment.

Aug. 6, 1855. At Ball's Hill see five summer ducks,
a brood now grown, feeding amid the pads on the op-
posite side of the river, with a whitish ring, perhaps

^ [Wood ducks do not commonly dive. Thoreau may have been mis-
taken as to the species.]

WOOD DUCK; SUMMER DUCK 41

nearly around neck. A rather shrill squeaking quack
when they go off. It is remarkable how much more
game you will see if you are in the habit of sitting in the
fields and woods. As you pass along with a noise it hides
itself, but presently comes forth again.

iVbv. 9, 1855. Saw in the pool at the Hemlocks what
I at first thought was a brighter leaf moved by the
zephyr on the surface of the smooth dark water, but it
was a splendid male summer duck, which allowed us to
approach within seven or eight rods, sailing up close to
the shore, and then rose and flew up the curving stream.
We soon overhauled it again, and got a fair and long
view of it. It was a splendid bird, a perfect floating
gem, and Blake, ^ who had never seen the like, was
greatly surprised, not knowing that so splendid a bird
was found in this part of the world. There it was, con-
stantly moving back and forth by invisible means and
wheeling on the smooth surface, showing now its breast,
now its side, now its rear. It had a large, rich, flowing,
green burnished crest, — a most ample head-dress, —
two crescents of dazzling white on the side of the head
and the black neck, a pinkish(?)-red bill (with black
tip) and similar irides, and a long white mark under
and at wing point on sides ; the side, as if the form of
wing at this distance, light bronze or greenish brown ;
but, above all, its breast, when it turns into the right
light, all aglow with splendid purple (?) or ruby (?)
reflections, like the throat of the hummingbird. It
might not appear so close at hand. This was the most
surprising to me. What an ornament to a river to see

^ [Thoreau's friend Harrison G. 0. Blake of Worcester, Mass.]

42 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

that glowing gem floating in contact with its waters !
As if the hummingbird should recline its ruby throat
and its breast on the water. Like dipping a glowing coal
in water ! It so affected me.

It became excited, fluttered or flapped its wings with
a slight whistling noise, and arose and flew two or three
rods and alighted. It sailed close up to the edge of a
rock, by which it lay pretty still, and finally sailed fast
up one side of the river by the willows, etc., off the
duck swamp beyond the spring, now and then turning
and sailing back a foot or two, while we paddled up the
opposite side a rod in the rear, for twenty or thirty
rods. At length we went by it, and it flew back low a
few rods to where we roused It. It never offered to dive.
We came equally near it again on our return. Unless
you are thus near, and have a glass, the splendor and
beauty of its colors will not be discovered.

That duck was all jewels combined, showing differ-
ent lustres as it turned on the unrippled element in
various lights, now brilliant glossy green, now dusky
violet, now a rich bronze, now the reflections that sleep
in the ruby's grain.

Aug. 3, 1856. Two small ducks (probably wood
ducks) flying south. Already grown, and at least look-
ing south ! ! It reminds me of the swift revolution of
the seasons.

Arig. 16, 1858. In my boating of late I have sev-
eral times scared up a couple of summer ducks of this
year, bred in our meadows. They allowed me to come
quite near, and helped to people the river. I have not

WOOD DUCK; SUMMER DUCK 43

seen them for some days. Would you know the end of

our intercourse? Goodwin shot them, and Mrs. ,

who never sailed on the river, ate them. Of course,
she knows not what she did. What if I should eat her
canary? Thus we share each other's sins as well as
burdens. The lady who watches admiringly the matador
shares his deed. They belonged to me, as much as to any
one, when they were alive, but it was considered of more

importance that Mrs. should taste the flavor of them

dead than that I should enjoy the beauty of them alive.
July 27, 1860. See, twenty rods or more down-
stream, four or five young ducks, which appear already
to be disturbed by my boat. So, leaving that to attract
their attention, I make my way alongshore in the high
grass and behind the trees till I am opposite to them.
At a distance they appear simply black and white, as
they swim deep, — black backs and white throats. Now
I find that they have retreated a little into the ponte-
deria, and are very busily diving, or dipping, not im-
mersing their whole bodies, but their heads and shoul-
ders while their bodies are perfectly perpendicular, just
like tame ducks. All of them close together will be in
this attitude at the same moment. I now see that the
throat, and probably upper part, at least, of breast, is
clear-white, and there is a clear line of white above eye
and on neck within a line of black; and as they stand
on their heads, the tips apparently of their tails (pos-
sibly wings??) are conspicuously white or whitish; the
upper part, also, is seen to be brownish rather than
black. I presume these to be young summer ducks,
though so dark ; say two-thirds grown.

44 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

How easy for the young ducks to hide amid the pick-
erel-weed along our river, while a boat goes by ! and
this plant attains its height when these water-fowl are
of a size to need its shelter. Thousands of them might
be concealed by it along our river, not to speak of the
luxuriant sedge and grass of the meadows, much of it
so wet as to be inaccessible. These ducks are diving
scarcely two feet within the edge of the pickerdl-weed,
yet one who had not first seen them exposed from a
distance would never suspect their neighborhood.

Sej)t. 17, 1860. See a flock of eight or ten wood
ducks on the Grindstone Meadow, with glass, some
twenty-five rods off, — several drakes very handsome.
They utter a creaking scream as they sail there, —
being alarmed, — from time to time, shrill and loud,
very unlike the black duck. At last one sails off, call-
ing the others by a short creaking note.

[/S'ee also under General and Miscellaneous, pp. 418,
432, 433.]

AMERICAN GOLDEN-EYE; WHISTLER

[^See under American Merganser, pp. 24, 25, 28.]

BUFFLE-HEAD ; BUFFLE-HEADED DUCK

April 19, 1855. From Heywood's Peak I thought I
saw the head of a loon in the pond, thirty-five or forty
rods distant. Bringing my glass to bear, it seemed sunk
very low in the water, — all the neck concealed, — but
I could not tell which end was the bill. At length I
discovered that it was the whole body of a little duck,
asleep with its head in its back, exactly in the middle

BUFFLE-HEAD 45

of the pond. It had a moderate-sized black head and
neck, a white breast, and seemed dark-brown above,
with a white spot on the side of the head, not reaching
to the outside, from base of mandibles, and another,
perhaps, on the end of the wing, with some black there.
It sat drifting round a little, but with ever its breast to-
ward the wind, and from time to time it raised its head
and looked round to see if it were safe. I think it was
the smallest duck lever saw. Floating buoyantly asleep
on the middle of Walden Pond. Was it not a female
of the buffle-headed or spirit duck? I believed the wings
looked blacker when it flew, with some white beneath.
It floated like a little casket, and at first I doubted a
good while if it possessed life, until I saw it raise its
head and look around. It had chosen a place for its nap
exactly equidistant between the two shores there, and,
with its breast to the wind, swung round only as much
as a vessel held by its anchors in the stream. At length
the cars scared it.

WILD DUCKS (species UNNAMED)

March 16, 1840. The ducks alight at this season on
the windward side of the river, in the smooth water,
and swim about by twos and threes, pluming themselves
and diving to peck at the root of the lily and the cran-
berries which the frost has not loosened. It is impos-
sible to approach them within gunshot when they are
accompanied by the gull, which rises sooner and makes
them restless. They fly to windward first, in order to
get under weigh, and are more easily reached by the
shot if approached on that side. When preparing to

46 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

fly, they swim about witli their heads erect, and then,
gliding along a few feet with their bodies just touching
the surface, rise heavily with much splashing and fly
low at first, if not suddenly aroused, but otherwise rise
directly to survey the danger. The cunning sportsman
is not in haste to desert his position, but waits to ascer-
tain if, having got themselves into flying trim, they will
not return over the ground in their course to a new
resting-place.

April 10, 1852. Took boat at Stedman Buttrick's, a
gunner's boat, smelling of rauskrats and provided with
slats for bushing the boat. Having got into the Great
Meadows, after grounding once or twice on low spits
of grass ground, we begin to see ducks which we have
scared, flying low over the water, always with a striking
parallelism in the direction of their flight. They fly like
regulars. They are like rolling-pins with wings. A few
gulls, sailing like hawks, seen against the woods ; crows ;
white-bellied swallows even here, already, which, I sup-
pose, proves that their insect food is in the air. . . .
Ducks most commonly seen flying by twos or threes.

From Carlisle Bridge we saw many ducks a quar-
ter of a mile or more northward, black objects on the
water, and heard them laugh something like a loon.
Might have got near enough to shoot them. A fine sight
to see them rise at last, about fifty of them, apparently
black ducks. ^ While they float on the water they ap-

^ [Probably not black ducks, to judg'e by what he says of their note.
It seems possible that they might have been brant, though brant are
extremely rare in fresh water in New England.]

WILD DUCKS 47

pear to preserve constantly their relative distance.
Their note not exactly like that of a goose, yet re-
sembling some domestic fowl's cry, you know not what
one ; like a new species of goose.

April 16, 1852. Flight of ducks and partridges ear-
nest but not graceful.

April 17, 1852. These deep withdrawn bays, like that
toward Well Meadow, are resorts for many a shy flock
of ducks. They are very numerous this afternoon. We
scare them up every quarter of a mile. Mostly the
whitish duck which Brown thinks the golden-eye (we
call them whistlers), and also black ducks, perchance
also sheldrakes. They are quite shy ; swim rapidly away
far into the pond. A flock which we surprised in the
smooth bay of Well Meadow divided and showed much
cunning, dodging under the shore to avoid us.

Oct. 12, 1852. Paddled on Walden. A rippled sur-
face. Scared up ducks. Saw them first far over the
surface, just risen, — two smaller, white-bellied, one
larger, black. They circled round as usual, and the first
went off, but the black one went round and round and
over the pond five or six times at a considerable height
and distance, when I thought several times he had gone
to the river, and at length settled down by a slanting
flight of a quarter of a mile into a distant part of the
pond which I had left free ; but what beside safety these
ducks get by sailing in the middle of Walden I don't
know. That black rolling-pin with wings, circling round
you half a mile off for a quarter of an hour, at that
height, from which he sees the river and Fair Haven
all the while, from which he sees so many things, while

48 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

I see almost him alone. Their wings set so far back.
They are not handsome, but wild.

March 18, 1855. Meanwhile a small dark-colored
duck, all neck and wings, a winged rolling-pin, went
over, — perhaps a teal.

March 27, 1855. The ducks sleep these nights in the
shallowest water which does not freeze, and there may
be found early in the morning. I think that they prefer
that part of the shore which is permanently covered.

April 22, 1856. I raised my sail and, cowering under
my umbrella in the stern, wearing the umbrella like a
cap and holding the handle between my knees, I steered
and paddled, almost perfectly sheltered from the heavy
rain. Yet my legs and arms were a little exposed some-
times, in my endeavors to keep well to windward so as
to double certain capes ahead. For the wind occasion-
ally drove me on to the western shore. From time to
time, from under my umbrella, I could see the ducks
spinning away before me, like great bees. For when
they are flying low directly from you, you see hardly
anything but their vanishing dark bodies, while the
rapidly moving wings or paddles, seen edgewise, are
almost invisible.

Oct. 22, 1857. As I go through the woods now,
so many oak and other leaves have fallen the rustling
noise somewhat disturbs my musing. However, Nature
in this may have intended some kindness to the ducks,
which are now loitering hereabouts on their migration
southward, mostly young and inexperienced birds, for,
as they are feeding in Goose Pond, for instance, the
rustling of the leaves betrays the approach of the sports-

WILD DUCKS 49

man and his dog, or other foe ; so perhaps the leaves oil
the ground protect them more than when on the trees.

March 25, 1858. There are so many sportsmen out
that the ducks have no rest on the Great Meadows,
which are not half covered with water. They sit uneasy
on the water, looking about, without feeding, and I see
one man endeavor to approach a flock crouchingly
through the meadow for half a mile, with india-rubber
boots on, where the water is often a foot deep. This has
been going on, on these meadows, ever since the town
was settled, and will go on as long as ducks settle here.

March 28, 1858. From Wheeler's ploughed field on
the top of Fair Haven Hill, I look toward Fair Haven
Pond, now quite smooth. There is not a duck nor a
gull to be seen on it. I can hardly believe that it was
so alive with them yesterday. Apparently they improve
this warm and pleasant day, with little or no wind, to
continue their journey northward. The strong and cold
northwest wind of about a week past has probably
detained them. Knowing that the meadows and ponds
were swarming with ducks yesterday, you go forth this
particularly pleasant and still day to see them at your
leisure, but find that they are all gone. No doubt there
are some left, and many more will soon come with
the April rains. It is a wild life that is associated
with stormy and blustering weather. When the invalid
comes forth on his cane, and misses improve the plea-
sant air to look for signs of vegetation, that wild life
has withdrawn itself.

Ajpril 13, 1858. Speaking to J. B. Moore * about the

^ [Of Concord.]

50 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

partridges being run down/ he says that he was told
by Lexington people some years ago that they found a
duck lying dead under the spire of their old meeting-
house (since burned) which stood on the Battle-Ground.
The weathercock — and it was a cock in this case —
was considerably bent, and the inference was that the
duck had flown against it in the night.

March 24, 1860. From Holbrook's clearing I see
five large dark-colored ducks, probably black ducks,
far away on the meadow, with heads erect, necks
stretched, on the alert, only one in water. Indeed, there
is very little water on the meadows. For length of neck
those most wary look much like geese. They appear
quite large and heavy. They probably find some sweet
grass, etc., where the water has just receded.

There are half a dozen gulls on the water near. They
are the large white birds of the meadow, the whitest
we have. As they so commonly stand above water on
a piece of meadow, they are so much the more conspic-
uous. They are very conspicuous to my naked eye a
mile off, or as soon as I come in sight of the meadow,
but I do not detect the sheldrakes around them till I
use my glass, for the latter are not only less conspicu-
ously white, but, as they are fishing, sink very low in
the water. Three of the gulls stand together on a piece
of meadow, and two or three more are standing solitary
half immersed, and now and then one or two circle
slowly about their companions.

The sheldrakes appear to be the most native to the
river, briskly moving along up and down the side of
1 [See pp. 107, 108.]

WILD GOOSE; CANADA GOOSE 51

the stream or the meadow, three-fourths immersed and
with heads under water, like cutters collecting the re-
venue of the river bays, or like pirate crafts peculiar to
the stream. They come the earliest and seem to be
most at home.

The water is so low that all these birds are collected
near the Holt. The inhabitants of the village, poultry-
fanciers, perchance, though they be, [know not] these
active and vigorous wild fowl (the sheldrakes) pursuing
their finny prey ceaselessly within a mile of them, in
March and April. Probably from the hen-yard fence
with a good glass you can see them at it. They are as
much at home on the water as the pickerel is within it.
Their serrated bill reminds me of a pickerel's snout.
You see a long row of these schooners, black above
with a white stripe beneath, rapidly gliding along, and
occasionally one rises erect on the surface and flaps
its wings, showing its white lower parts. They are
the duck most common and most identified with the
stream at this season. They appear to get their
food wholly within the water. Less like our domestic
ducks.

[/See also under Loon, p. 4; General and Miscella-
neous, pp. 408, 412.]

WILD GOOSE ; CANADA GOOSE

March 26, 1846. A flock of geese has just got in late,
now in the dark flying low over the pond. They came
on, indulging at last like weary travellers in complaint
and consolation, or like some creaking evening mail
late lumbering in with regular anserine clangor. I stood

52 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

at my door * and could hear their wings when they sud-
denly spied my light and, ceasing their noise, wheeled
to the east and apparently settled in the pond.

March 27, 1846. This morning I saw the geese from
the door through the mist sailing about in the middle
of the pond, but when I went to the shore they rose and
circled round like ducks over my head, so that I counted
them, — twenty-nine. I after saw thirteen ducks.

March 28, 1852. 10.15 P. M. — The geese have just
gone over, making a great cackling and awaking people
in their beds. They will probably settle in the river.
Who knows but they had expected to find the pond
open ?

April 15, 1852. How indispensable our one or two
flocks of geese in spring and autumn ! What would be
a spring in which that sound was not heard ? Coming
to unlock the fetters of northern rivers. Those annual
steamers of the air.

April 18, 1852. Going through Dennis's field with
C.,^ saw a flock of geese on east side of river near wil-
lows. Twelve gfreat birds on the troubled surface of the
meadow, delayed by the storm. We lay on the ground
behind an oak and our umbrella, eighty rods off, and
watched them. Soon we heard a gun go off, but could
see no smoke in the mist and rain. And the whole flock
rose, spreading their great wings and flew with clangor '
a few rods and lit in the water again, then swam swiftly

1 [Of his hut at Walden Pond.]

"^ [William Ellery Channing, the younger, the Concord poet, Tho-
reau's most intimate friend and afterwards his biographer.]
^ The " honk " of the goose.

WILD GOOSE; CANADA GOOSE 53

toward our shore with outstretched necks. I knew them
first from ducks by their long necks. Soon appeared
the man, running toward the shore in vain, in his great-
coat ; but he soon retired in vain. We remained close
under our umbrella by the tree, ever and anon looking
through a peep-hole between the umbrella and the tree
at the birds. On they came, sometimes in two, some-
times in three, squads, warily, till we could see the
steel-blue and green reflections from their necks. We
held the dog close the while, — C, lying on his back in
the rain, had him in his arms, — and thus we gradually
edged round on the ground in this cold, wet, windy
storm, keeping our feet to the tree, and the great wet
calf of a dog with his eyes shut so meekly in our arms.
We laughed well at our adventure. They swam fast and
warily, seeing our umbrella. Occasionally one expanded
a gray wing. They showed white on breasts. And not
till after half an hour, sitting cramped and cold and
wet on the ground, did we leave them.

Heard the cackling of geese from over the Ministerial
Swamp, and soon appeared twenty-eight geese that flew
over our heads toward the other river we had left,^ we
now near the black birches. With these great birds in
it, the air seems for the first time inhabited. We detect
holes in their wings. Their clank expresses anxiety.

April 19, 1852. That last flock of geese yesterday is
still in my eye. After hearing their clangor, looking
southwest, we saw them just appearing over a dark pine
wood, in an irregular waved line, one abreast of the

^ [That is, the Sudbury River. They were then near the Assabet.]

54 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

other, as it were breasting the air and pushing it before
them. It made you think of the streams of Cayster,
etc., etc. They carry weight, such a weight of metal in
the air. Their dark waved outline as they disappear.
The grenadiers of the air. Man pygmifies himself at
sight of these inhabitants of the air. These stormy days
they do not love to fly ; they alight in some retired
marsh or river. From their lofty pathway they can easily
spy out the most extensive and retired swamp. How
many there must be, that one or more flocks are seen
to go over almost every farm in New England in the
spring !

Nov. 25, 1852. At Walden. — I hear at sundown
what I mistake for the squawking of a hen, — for they
are firing at chickens hereabouts,^ — but it proved to
be a flock of wild geese going south. This proves how
much the voices of all fowls are alike.

Nov. 29, 1852. Geese in river swam as fast as I
walked.

March 26, 1853. Saw about 10 a. m. a gaggle of geese,
forty-three in number, in a very perfect harrow flying
northeasterly. One side of the harrow was a little
longer than the other. They appeared to be four or
five feet apart. At first I heard faintly, as I stood by
Minott's gate, borne to me from the southwest through
the confused sounds of the village, the indistinct honk-
ing of geese. I was somewhat surprised to find that
Mr. Loring at his house should have heard and seen
the same flock. I should think that the same flock was
commonly seen and heard from tlie distance of a mile
^ [A Thanksgiving-Day cliicken-shoot.]

WILD GOOSE; CANADA GOOSE 55

east and west. It is remarkable that we commonly see
geese go over in the spring about 10 o'clock in the
morning, as if they were accustomed to stop for the
night at some place southward whence they reached us
at that time. Goodwin saw six geese in Walden about
the same time.

Nov. 23, 1853. At 5 p. m. I saw, flying southwest
high overhead, a flock of geese, and heard the faint
honking of one or two. They were in the usual harrow
form, twelve in the shorter line and twenty-four in the
longer, the latter abutting on the former at the fourth
bird from the front. I judged hastily that the interval
between the geese was about double their alar extent,
and, as the last is, according to Wilson, five feet and
two inches, the former may safely be called eight feet.
I hear they were fired at with a rifle from Bunker Hill
the other day. This is the sixth flock I have seen or
heard of since the morning of the 17th, i. e. within a
week.

Nov. 18, 1854. Saw sixty geese go over the Great
Fields, in one waving line, broken from time to time
by their crowding on each other and vainly endeavor-
ing to form into a harrow, honking all the while.

March 20, 1855. Trying the other day to imitate
the honking of geese, I found myself flapping my sides
with my elbows, as with wings, and uttering something
like the syllables mow-ack with a nasal twang and twist
in my head ; and I produced their note so perfectly in
the opinion of the hearers that I thought I might pos-
sibly draw a flock down.

April 19, 1855. 5 A. M. — I hear a faint honh and,

56 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

looking up, see going over the river, within fifty rods,
thirty-two geese in the form of a hay-hook, only two in
the hook, and they are at least six feet apart. Probably
the whole line is twelve rods long. At least three hun-
dred have passed over Concord, or rather within the
breadth of a mile, this spring (perhaps twice as many) ;
for I have seen or heard of a dozen flocks, and the two
I counted had about thirty each.

Nov. 13, 1855. In mid-forenoon (10.45), seventy or
eighty geese, in three harrows successively smaller, fly-
ing southwest — pretty well west — over the house. A
completely overcast, occasionally drizzling forenoon. I
at once heard their clangor and rushed to and opened
the window. The three harrows were gradually formed
into one great one before they were out of sight, the
geese shifting their places without slackingr their pro-
gress.

Nov. 19, 1855. Speaking of geese, he ^ says that Dr.
Hurd told a tough story once. He said that when he
went out to the well there came a flock of geese flying
so low that they had to rise to clear the well-sweep.
M. says that there used to be a great many more geese
formerly ; he used to hear a great many flocks in a day
go "yelling" over. Brant, too, he used to see.

Dec. 13, 1855. Sanborn^ tells me that he was waked up
a few nights ago in Boston, about midnight, by the sound
of a flock of geese passing over the city, probably about
the same night I heard them here. They go honking
over cities where the arts flourish, waking the inhabit-

^ [George Minott.]

^ [Mr. F. B. Sanborn of Concord, Thoreau's biographer-l

WILD GOOSE; CANADA GOOSE 57

ants ; over State-houses and capitols, where legislatures
sit ; over harbors where fleets lie at anchor ; mistaking
the city, perhaps, for a swamp or the edge of a lake,
about settling in it, not suspecting that greater geese
than they have settled there.

Nov. 8, 1857. A warm, cloudy, rain-threatening
morning.

About 10 A. M. a long flock of geese are going over
from northeast to southwest, or parallel with the general
direction of the coast and great mountain ranges. The
sonorous, quavering sounds of the geese are the voice
of this cloudy air, — a sound that comes from directly
between us and the sky, an aerial sound, and yet so
distinct, heavy, and sonorous, a clanking chain drawn
through the heavy air. I saw through my window some
children looking up and pointing their tiny bows into
the heavens, and I knew at once that the geese were in
the air. It is always an exciting event. The children,
instinctively aware of its importance, rushed into the
house to tell their parents. These travellers are revealed
to you by the upward-turned gaze of men. And though
these undulating lines are melting into the southwestern
sky, the sound comes clear and distinct to you as the
clank of a chain in a neighboring stithy. So they migrate,
not flitting from hedge to hedge, but from latitude to
latitude^ from State to State, steering boldly out into the
ocean of the air. It is remarkable how these large ob-
jects, so plain when your vision is rightly directed, may
be lost in the sky if you look away for a moment, — as
hard to hit as a star with a telescope.

It is a sort of encouraging or soothing sound to as-

68 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

suage their painful fears when the}'' go over a town, as
a man moans to deaden a physical pain. The direction
of their flight each spring and autumn reminds us
inlanders how the coast trends. In the afternoon I met
Flood, who had just endeavored to draw my attention
to a flock of geese in the mizzling air, but encountering
me he lost sight of them, while I, at length, looking
that way, discerned them, though he could not. This
was the third flock to-day. Now if ever, then, we may
expect a change in the weather.

iVov. 30, 1857. The air is full of geese. I saw five
flocks within an hour, about 10 a. m., containing from
thirty to fifty each, and afterward two more flocks,
making in all from two hundred and fifty to three
hundred at least, all flying southwest over Goose and
Walden Ponds. The former was apparently well named
Goose Pond. You first hear a faint honking from one
or two in the northeast and think there are but few
wandering there, but, looking up, see forty or fifty com-
ing on in a more or less broken harrow, wedging their
way southwest. I suspect they honk more, at any rate
they are more broken and alarmed, when passing over
a village, and are seen falling into their ranks again,
assuming the perfect harrow form. Hearing only one
or two honking, even for the seventh time, you think
there are but few till you see them. According to my
calculation a thousand or fifteen hundred may have gone
over Concord to-day. When they fly low and near, they
look very black against the sky.

March 31, 1858. Just after sundown I see a large
flock of geese in a perfect harrow cleaving their way

WILD GOOSE; CANADA GOOSE 59

toward the northeast, with Napoleonic tactics splitting
the forces of winter.

April 1, 1858. I observed night before last, as often
before, when geese were passing over in the twilight
quite near, though the whole heavens were still light
and I knew which way to look by the honking, I could
not distinguish them. It takes but a little obscurity
to hide a bird in the air. How difficult, even in
broadest daylight, to discover again a hawk at a dis-
tance in the sky when you have once turned your eyes
away!

Oct. 24, 1858. A northeast storm, though not much
rain falls to-day, but a fine driving mizzle or " drisk."
This, as usual, brings the geese, and at 2.30 p. M. I see
two flocks go over. I hear that some were seen two or
three weeks ago (? ?), faintly honking. A great many
must go over to-day and also alight in this neighborhood.
This weather warns them of the approach of winter, and
this wind speeds them on their way. Surely, then, while
geese fly overhead we can live here as contentedly as
they do at York Factory on Hudson's Bay. We shall
perchance be as well provisioned and have as good so-
ciety as they. Let us be of good cheer, then, and expect
the annual vessel which brings the spring to us without
fail.

March 24, 1859. C* sees geese go over again this
afternoon. How commonly they are seen in still rainy
weather like this ! He says that when they had got far
off they looked like a black ribbon almost perpendicular
waving in the air.

^ [William Ellery Channing, the younger.]

60 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

MarcTi 28, 1859. We see eight geese floating afar
in the middle of the meadow, at least half a mile off,
plainly (with glass) much larger than the ducks in their
neighborhood and the white on their heads very dis-
tinct. When at length they arise and fly off northward,
their peculiar heavy undulating wings, blue-heron-like
and unlike any duck, are very noticeable. The black,
sheldrake, etc., move their wings rapidly, and" remind
you of paddle-wheel steamers. Methinks the wings of
the black duck appear to be set very far back when it
is flying. The meadows, which are still covered far and
wide, are quite alive with black ducks.

When walking about on the low east shore at the
Bedford bound, I heard a faint honk, and looked around
over the water with my glass, thinking it came from
that side or perhaps from a farmyard in that direction.
I soon heard it again, and at last we detected a great
flock passing over, quite on the other side of us and
pretty high up. From time to time one of the company
uttered a short note, that peculiarly metallic, clangorous
sound. These were in a single undulating line, and, as
usual, one or two were from time to time crowded out
of the line, apparently by the crowding of those in the
rear, and were flying, on one side and trying to recover
their places, but at last a second short line was formed,
meeting the long one at the usual angle and making a
figure somewhat like a hay-hook. I suspect it will be
found that there is really some advantage in large birds
of passage flying in the wedge form and cleaving their
way through the air, — that they really do overcome its
resistance best in this way, — and perchance the direc-

WILD GOOSE; CANADA GOOSE 61

tion and strength of the wind determine the comparative
length of the two sides.

The great gulls fly generally up or down the river
valley, cutting off the bends of the river, and so do
these geese. These fly sympathizing with the river, —
a stream in the air, soon lost in the distant sky.

We see these geese swimming and flying at midday
and when it is perfectly fair.

If you scan the horizon at this season of the year
you are very likely to detect a small flock of dark
ducks moving with rapid wing athwart the sky, or see
the undulating line of migrating geese against the
sky.

Perhaps it is this easterly wind which brings geese,
as it did on the 24th.

Undoubtedly the geese fly more numerously over
rivers which, like ours, flow northeasterly, — are more
at home with the water under them. Each flock runs
the gantlet of a thousand gunners, and when you see
them steer off from you and your boat you may remem-
ber how great their experience in such matters may be,
how many such boats and gunners they have seen and
avoided between here and Mexico, and even now, per-
chance (though you, low plodding, little dream it), they
see one or two more lying in wait ahead. They have an
experienced ranger of the air for their guide. The echo
of one gun hardly dies away before they see another
pointed at them. How many bullets or smaller shot
have sped in vain toward their ranks ! Ducks fly more
irregularly and shorter distances at a time. The geese

62 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

rest in fair weather by day only in the midst of our
broadest meadow or pond. So they go, anxious and
earnest to hide their nests under the pole.^

[/See also under Loon, p. 4; Great Blue Heron,
p. 72.]

^ [Of course they do not go quite so far north as Thoreau intimates.
He was perhaps thinking of the breeding-grounds of the brant.]

I

IV
HERONS AND RAILS

AMERICAN BITTERN ; STAKE-DRIVER.

June 14, 1851. As I proceed along the back road I
hear the lark still singing in the meadow, and the bob-
olink, and the gold robin on the elms, and the swallows
twittering about the barns. A small bird chasing a crow
high in the air, who is going home at night. All nature
is in an expectant attitude. Before Goodwin's house, at
the opening of the Sudbury road, the swallows are div-
ing at a tortoise-shell cat, who curvets and frisks rather
awkwardly, as if she did not know whether to be scared
or not. And now, having proceeded a little way down
this road, the sun having buried himself in the low cloud
in the west and hung out his crimson curtains, I hear,
while sitting by the wall, the sound of the stake-driver
at a distance, — like that made by a man pumping
in a neighboring farmyard, watering his cattle, or like
chopping wood before his door on a frosty morning,
and I can imagine like driving a stake in a meadow.
The pumper. I immediately went in search of the
bird, but, after going a third of a mile, it did not sound
much nearer, and the two parts of the sound did not
appear to proceed from the same place. What is the
peculiarity of these sounds which penetrate so far on
the keynote of nature ? At last I got near to the brook
in the meadow behind Hubbard's wood, but I could

64 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

not tell if it were further or nearer than that. When
I got within half a dozen rods of the brook, it ceased,
and I heard it no more. I suppose that I scared it. As
before I was further off than I thought, so now I was
nearer than I thought. It is not easy to understand
how so small a creature can make so loud a sound by
merely sucking in or throwing out water with pump-
like lungs. ^

It was a sound as of gulping water.

Sept. 20, 1851. I scare up the great bittern in
meadow by the Heywood Brook near the ivy. He rises
buoyantly as he flies against the wind, and sweeps south
over the willow with outstretched neck, surveying.

Oct. 5, 1851. The American bittern (^Ardea minory
flew across the river, trailing his legs in the water,
scared up by us. This, according to Peabody,' is the
boomer (stake-driver). In their sluggish flight they
can hardly keep their legs up. Wonder if they can
soar.

Oct. 7, 1851. Saw the Ardea minor walking along
the shore, like a hen with long green legs. Its pencilled
throat is so like the reeds and shore, amid which it
holds its head erect to watch the passer, that it is diflfi-

^ [No -water is used in producing the sound. Thoreau had been mis-
informed by one of his neig-hbors. See the account in his paper on the
" Natural History of Massachusetts " in Excursions. For an interesting
account of this habit of the bittern's see Mr. Bradford Torrey's paper
on " The ' Booming ' of the Bittern " in The Auk for January, 1889
Cvol. vi, pp. 1-8).]

^ [Now called Botanies lentiginosus.1

' [W. B. 0. Peabody, Report on the Birds of Massachusetts.^

AMERICAN BITTERN; STAKE-DRIVER 65

cult to discern it. You can get veiy near it, for it is
unwilling to fly, preferring to hide amid the weeds.

Oct. 12, 1851. Minott calls the stake-driver "bel-
cher-squelcher." Says he has seen them when making
the noise. They go slug-toot, slug-toot, slug-toot.

June 16, 1852. I hear a stake-driver, like a man at
his pump, which sucks, — fit sound for our sluggish
river. . . . Most would suppose the stake-driver the
sound of a farmer at a distance at his pump, watering
his cattle. It of tener sounds like this than like a stake,
but sometimes exactly like a man driving a stake in
the meadow.

June 20, 1852. The stake-driver is at it in his fa-
vorite meadow. I followed the sound. At last I got
within two rods, it seeming always to recede and draw-
ing you like a will-o'-the-wisp further away into the
meadows. When thus near, I heard some lower sounds
at the beginning, much more like striking on a stump
or a stake, a dry, hard sound ; and then followed the
gurgling, pumping notes, fit to come from a meadow.
This was just within the blueberry and Pyrus arhuti-
folia (choke-berry) bushes, and when the bird flew up
alarmed, I went to the place, but could see no water,
which makes me doubt if water is necessary to it in
making the sound. Perhaps it thrusts its bill so deep
as to reach the water where it is dry on the surface. It
sounds the more like wood-chopping or pumping, be-
cause you seem to hear the echo of the stroke or the
reverse motion of the pump-handle. I hear them morn-
ing and evening. After the warm weather has come,
both morning and evening you hear the bittern pump-

66 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

ing in the fens. It does not sound loud near at band,
and it is remarkable tbat it sbould be beard so far.
Perhaps it is pitched on a favorable key. Is it not a
call to its mate ? Methinks that in the resemblance of
this note to rural sounds, to sounds made by farmers,
the protection, the security, of the bird is designed.

July 18, 1852. Again under weigh, we scare up the
great bittern amid the pontederia, and, rowing to where
he alights, come within three feet of him and scare
him up again. He flies sluggishly away, plowing the air
with the coulter of his breast-bone, and alighting ever
higher up the stream. We scare him up many times in
the course of an hour.

Aug. 13, 1852. Saw the head and neck of a great
bittern projecting above the meadow-grass, exactly like
the point of a stump, only I knew there could be no
stump there.

Aug. 31, 1852. The pigeon woodpecker darts across
the valley ; a catbird mews in the alders ; a great bit-
tern flies sluggishly away from his pine tree perch on
Tupelo Cliff, digging his way through the air. These
and crows at long intervals are all the birds seen or
heard.

There goes a great bittern plodding home over the
meadows at evening, to his perch on some tree by the
shore. The rain has washed the leaves clean where
he perches. There stands another in the meadow just
like a stake, or the point of a stump or root. Its secur-
ity was consulted both in its form and color. The latter
is a sober brown, pale on the breast, as the less exposed

AMERICAN BITTERN; STAKE-DRIVER 67

side of a root might be ; and its attitude is accidental,
too, bent forward and 'perfectly motionless. Therefore
there is no change in appearance but such as can be
referred to the motion of the sailor.

May 13, 1853. Heard a stake-driver in Hubbard's
meadow from Corner road. Thus far off, I hear only,
or chiefly, the last dry, hard click or stroke part of the
note, sounding like the echo from some near wood of
a distant stake-driving. Here only this portion of the
note, but close by it is more like pumping, when the
dry stroke is accompanied by the incessant sound of
the pump.

May 27, 1853. Heard a stake-driver yesterday in
the rain. It sounded exactly like a man pumping,
while another man struck on the head of the pump
with an axe, the last strokes sounding peculiarly dry
and hard like a forcible echo from the wood-side. One
would think all Concord would be built on piles by this
time. Very deliberately they drive, and in the intervals
are considering the progress of the pile into the soft
mud. They are working by the day. He is early and
late at his work, building his stake [?] -house, yet did
anybody ever see the pile he had driven ? He has come
back from his Southern tour to finish that job of spile-
driving which he undertook last year. It is heavy work
— not to be hurried. Only green hands are overhasty.

May 20, 1856. See and hear a stake-driver in the
swamp. It took one short pull at its pump and stopped.

June 15, 1857. It was pleasant walking thus * at 5
P. M. by solitary sandy paths, through commonly low
1 fin Plyraoutli, Mass.]

68 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

dry woods of oak or pine, through glistening oak woods
(their fresh leaves in the June air), where the yellow-
throat (or black-throat?') was heard and the wood
thrush sang, and, as I passed a swamp, a bittern
boomed. As I stood quite n^r, I heard distinctly two
or three dry, hard sucks, as if the bird were drawing
up water from the swamp, and then the sounds usually
heard, as if ejecting it.

3Iay 28, 1858. From time to time I hear the sound
of the bittern, concealed in the grass, indefinitely far
or near, and can only guess at the direction, not the
distance. I fail to find the nest.

Junell, 1858. The stake-driver comes beating along,
like a long, ungainly craft, or a revenue cutter, looking
into the harbors, and if it finds a fisherman there, stand-
ing out again.

Aug. 19, 1858. We scare up a stake-driver several
times. The blue heron has within a week reappeared in
our meadows, and the stake-driver begins to be seen
of tener, and as early as the 5th I noticed young summer
ducks about ; the same of hawks, owls, etc. This occurs
as soon as the young birds can take care of themselves,
and some appear to be very early on the return south-
ward, with the very earliest prospect of fall. Such birds
are not only more abimdant but, methinks, more at lei-
sure now, having reared their family, and perhaps they
are less shy. Yes, bitterns are more frequently seen now
to lift themselves from amid the pontederia or flags,
and take their sluggish flight to a new resting-place, —

^ [The black-throated bunting', or dickcissel, formerly a common
bird in the Cape Cod region of Massachusetts.]

AMERICAN BITTERN; STAKE-DRIVER 69

bitterns which either have got through the labors of
breed ins: or are now first able to shift for themselves.
And likewise blue herons, which have bred, or been bred
not far from us (plainly), are now at leisure, or are im-
pelled to revisit our slow stream. I have not seen the
last since spring.

Oct.^ 26, 1858. He * says that some call the stake-
driver " belcher-squelcher," and some, " woUerkertoot."
I used to call them " pump-er-gor'." Some say " slug-
toot."

Nov. 17, 1858. I am surprised to see a stake-driver
fly up from the weeds within a stone's throw of my
boat's place. It drops its excrement from thirty feet in
the air, and this falling, one part being heavier than an-
other, takes the form of a snake, and suggests that this
may be the origin of some of the stories of this bird
swallowing a snake or eel which passed through it.

April 17, 1860. Looking off on to the river meadow,
I noticed, as I thought, a stout stake aslant in the
meadow, three or more rods off, sharp at the top and
rather light-colored on one side, as is often the case ;
yet, at the same time, it occurred to me that a stake-
driver often resembled a stake very much, but I thought,
nevertheless, that there was no doubt about this being
a stake. I took out my glass to look for ducks, and my
companion, seeing what I had, and asking if it was not
a stake-driver, I suffered my glass at last to rest on it,
and I was much surprised to find that it was a stake-
driver after all. The bird stood in shallow water near
a tussock, perfectly still, with its long bill pointed up-

1 [Minott.]

70 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

wards in the same direction with its body and neck, so
as perfectly to resemble a stake aslant. If the bill had
made an angle with the neck it would have been be-
trayed at once. Its resource evidently was to rely on its
form and color and immobility solely for its concealment.
This was its instinct, whether it implies any conscious
artifice or not. I watched it for fifteen minutes, and at
length it relaxed its muscles and changed its attitude,
and I observed a slight motion ; and soon after, when
I moved toward it, it flew. It resembled more a piece of
a rail than anything else, — more than anything that
would have been seen here before the white man came.
It is a question whether the bird consciously cooperates
in each instance with its Maker, who contrived this
concealment. I can never believe that this resemblance
is a mere coincidence, not designed to answer this very
end — which it does answer so perfectly and usefully.

June 6, 1860. Ever and anon we hear a few sucks or
strokes from the bittern, the stake-driver, wherever we
lie to, as if he had taken the job of extending all the
fences into the river to keep cows from straying round.

Oct. 16, 1860. Horace Mann ^ tells me that he found
in the crop or inside of the stake-driver killed the other
day one grasshopper, several thousand-legs one to one
and a half inches long, and not much else.

April 16, 1861. He ^ brought me some days ago the
contents of a stake-driver's stomach or crop. It is ap-

^ [Tlie son of the famous educator of that name. He was living' in
Concord, aud he accompanied Thoreau on his journey to Minnesota in
the following summer.]

^ [Horace Mann.]

GREAT BLUE HERON 71

parently a perch (?), some seven inches long originally,
with three or four pebble-shaped, compact masses of the
fur of some very small quadruped, as a meadow mouse,
some one fourth inch thick by three fourths in diameter,
also several wing-cases of black beetles such as I see on
the meadow flood.

[See also under Great Blue Heron, p. 79; Kingbird,
p. 218.]

GREAT BLUE HERON

1850. John Garfield brought me this morning (Sep-
tember 6th) a young great heron (^Ardea Herodias)^
which he shot this morning on a pine tree on the North
Branch.^ It measured four feet, nine inches, from bill
to toe and six feet in alar extent, and belongs to a dif-
ferent race from myself and Mr. Frost. ^ I am glad to
recognize him for a native of America, — why not an
American citizen ?

• April 19, 1852. Scared up three blue herons in the
little pond close by, quite near us. It was a grand sight
to see them rise, so slow and stately, so long and lim-
ber, with an undulating motion from head to foot,
undulating also their large wings, undulating in two
directions, and looking warily about them. With this
graceful, limber, undulating motion they arose, as if so
they got under way, their two legs trailing parallel far
behind like an earthy residuum to be left behind. They
are large, like birds of Syrian lands, and seemed to op-
press the earth, and hush the hillside to silence, as they

1 [The Assabet River.]

2 [Rev. Barzillai Frost, the Concord minister.]

72 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

winged their way over it, looking back toward tis. It
would affect our thoughts, deepen and perchance darken
our reflections, if such huge birds flew in numbers in
our sky. Have the effect of magnetic passes! They
are few and rare. Among the birds of celebrated
flight, storks, cranes, geese, and ducks. The legs hang
down like a weight which they [ ?] raise, to pumj)
up as it were with its [sic] wings and convey out of
danger.

To see the larger and wilder birds, you must go forth
in the great storms like this. At such times they fre-
quent our neighborhood and trust themselves in our
midst. A life of fair-weather walks might never show
you the goose sailing on our waters, or the great heron
feeding here. When the storm increases, then these
great birds that carry the mail of the seasons lay to.
To see wild life you must go forth at a wild season.
When it rains and blows, keeping men indoors, then
the lover of Nature must forth. Then returns Nature
to her wild estate. In pleasant sunny weather you may
catch butterflies, but only when the storm rages that
lays prostrate the forest and wrecks the mariner, do
you come upon the feeding-grounds of wildest fowl, —
of heron and geese.

May 14, 1853. Suddenly there start up from the
riverside at the entrance of Fair Haven Pond, scared
by our sail, two great blue herons, — slate-color rather,
— slowly flapping and undulating, their projecting
breast-bones very visible, — or is it possibly their necks
bent back? — their lesrs stuck out straig^ht behind. Get-

(iKEAT KLIE HEKOXS AXl) NEST

GREAT BLUE HERON 73

ting higher by their flight, they straight come back to
reconnoitre us.

Land at Lee's Cliff, where the herons have preceded
us and are perched on the oaks, conspicuous from afar,
and again we have a fair view of their flight.

Again we scare up the herons, who, methinks, will
build hereabouts. They were standing by the water-
side. And again they alight farther below, and we see
their light-colored heads erect, and their bodies at vari-
ous angles as they stoop to drink. And again they flap
away with their great slate-blue wings, necks curled
up (?) and legs straight out behind, and, having at-
tained a great elevation, they circle back over our
heads, now seemingly black as crows against the sky,
— crows with long wings, they might be taken for, —
but higher and higher they mount by stages in the sky,
till heads and tails are lost and they are mere black
wavelets amid the blue, one always following close be-
hind the other. They are evidently mated. It would be
worth the while if we could see them oftener in our sky.

Azig. 23, 1853. I see to-day — and may add to yes-
terday's list — the blue heron launch off from an oak by
the river and flap or sail away with lumbering flight;
also kingbirds and crows.

Sept. 14, 1854. We see half a dozen herons in this
voyage. Their wings are so long in proportion to their
bodies that there seems to be more than one undulation
to a wing as they are disappearing in the distance, and
so you can distinguish them. You see another begin be-
fore the first has ended. It is remarkable how common

74 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

these birds are about our sluggish and marshy river.
We must attract them from a wide section of country.
It abounds in those fenny districts and meadow pond-
holes in which they delight.

April 15, 1855. Returning, we had a fine view of
a blue heron, standing erect and open to view on a
meadow island, by the great swamp south of the bridge,
looking as broad as a boy on the side, and then some
sheldrakes sailing in the smooth water beyond. These
soon sailed behind points of meadow. The heron flew
away, and one male sheldrake flew past us low over
the water, reconnoitring, large and brilliant black and
white. When the heron takes to flight, what a change
in size and appearance ! It is presto change I There go
two great undulating wings pinned together, but the
body and rteck must have been left behind somewhere.

Aug. 5, 1855. As I was paddling back at 6 a. m.,
saw, nearly half a mile off, a blue heron standing erect
on the topmost twig of the great buttonwood on the
street in front of Mr. Prichard's house, ^ while pei'haps
all within were abed and asleep. Little did they think
of it, and how they were presided over. He looked at
first like a spiring twig against the sky, till you saw him
flap his wings. Presently he launched off and flew away
over Mrs. Brooks's house.

Oct. 29, 1855. Returning, I scare up a blue heron
from the bathing-rock this side the Island. It is whitened
by its droppings, in great splotches a foot or more
wide. He has evidently frequented it to watch for fish
there.

^ [In the centre of the village of Concord.]

GREAT BLUE HERON 75

Nov. 1, 1855. As I pushed up the river past Hil-
dreth's, I saw the blue heron (probably of last Monday)
arise from the shore and disappear with heavily-flapping
wings around a bend in front ; the greatest of the bit-
terns (-4r<?ece), with heavily -undulating wings, low over
the water, seen against the woods, just disappearing
round a bend in front ; with a great slate-colored ex-
panse of wing, suited to the shadows of the stream, a
tempered blue as of the sky and dark water commingled.
This is the aspect under which the Musketaquid^ might
be represented at this season : a long, smooth lake, re-
flecting the bare willows and button-bushes, the stubble,
and the wool-grass on its tussock, a muskrat-cabin or
two conspicuous on its margin amid the unsightly tops
of pontederia, and a bittern disappearing on undulating
wing around a bend.

April 26, 1856. A blue heron sails away from a pine
at Holden Swamp shore and alights on the meadow
above. Again he flies, and alights on the hard Conantum
side, where at length I detect him standing far away
stake-like (his body concealed), eying me and depending
on his stronger vision.

Aug. 16, 1858. A blue heron, with its great undulat-
ing wings, prominent cutwater, and leisurely flight, goes
over southwest, cutting off the bend of the river west of
our house.

Aug. 19, 1858. When I see the first heron, like a

dusky blue wave undulating over our meadows again, I

think, since I saw them going northward the other day,

how many of these forms have been added to the land-

1 [The Concord River. See note, pp. SO, 81.]

76 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

scape, complete from bill to toe, while, perhaps, I have
idled ! I see two herons. A small bird is pursuing the
heron as it does a hawk. Perhaps it is a blackbird and
the herons gobble up their young !

Sept. 18, 1858. Near the pond ^ we scare up twenty
or thirty ducks, and at the pond three blue herons.
They are of a hoary blue. One flies afar and alights on
a limb of a large white pine near Well Meadow Head,
bending it down. I see him standing there with out-
stretched neck.

Aug. 14, 1859. When I reached the upper end of
this weedy bar, at about 3 p. m., this warm day, I
noticed some light-colored object in mid-river, near the
other end of the bar. At first I thought of some larsre
stake or board standing amid the weeds there, then of
a fisherman in a brown holland sack, referring him to
the shore beyond. Supposing it the last, I floated nearer
and nearer till I saw plainly enough the motions of the
person, whoever it was, and that it was no stake. Look-
ing through my glass thirty or forty rods off, I thought
certainly that I saw C.,- who had just bathed, making
signals to me with his towel, for I referred the object to
the shore twenty rods further. I saw his motions as he
wiped himself, — the movements of his elbows and his
towel. Then I saw that the person was nearer and there-
fore smaller, that it stood on the sand-bar in mid-stream
in shallow water and must be some maiden in a bath-
ing-dress,— for it was the color of brown holland web,
— and a very peculiar kind of dress it seemed. But
about this time I discovered with my naked eye that it

1 [Fairhaven Pond.] 2 |-^. £_ Channing.]

GREAT BLUE HERON 77

was a blue heron standing in very shallow water amid
the weeds of the bar and pluming itself. I had not
noticed its legs at all, and its head, neck, and wings, be-
ing constantly moving, I had mistaken for arms, elbows,
and towel of a bather, and when it stood stiller its
shapely body looked like a peculiar bathing-dress. I
floated to within twenty-five rods and watched it at my
leisure. Standing on the shallowest part of the bar at
that end, it was busily dressing its feathers, passing its
bill like a comb down its feathers from base to tip.
From its form and color, as well as size, it was singu-
larly distinct. Its great spear-shaped head and bill was
very conspicuous, though least so when turned toward
me (whom it was eying from time to time). It coils its
neck away upon its back or breast as a sailor might a
rope, but occasionally stretches itself to its full height,
as tall as a man, and looks around and at me. Growing
shy, it begins to wade off, until its body is partly im-
mersed amid the weeds, — potamogetons, — and then it
looks more like a goose. The neck is continually vary-
ing in length, as it is doubled up or stretched out, and
the legs also, as it wades in deeper or shallower water.
Suddenly comes a second, flying low, and alights on
the bar yet nearer to me, almost high and dry. Then
I hear a note from them, perhaps of warning, — a
short, coarse, frog-like purring or eructating sound.
You might easily mistake it for a frog. I heard it half
a dozen times. It was not very loud. Anything but
musical. The last proceeds to plume himself, looking
warily at me from time to time, while the other continues
to edge off through the weeds. Now and then the latter

78 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

holds its neck as if it were ready to strike its prey, —
stretched forward over the water, — but I saw no
stroke. The arch may be lengthened or shortened, sin-
gle or double, but the great spear-shaped bill and head
are ever the same. A great hammer or pick, prepared
to transfix fish, frog, or bird. At last, the water be-
coming too deep for wading, this one takes easily to
wing — though up to his body in water — and flies a
few rods to the shore. It rather flies, then, than swims.
It was evidently scared. These were probably birds
of this season. I saw some distinct ferruginous on the
angle of the wing. There they stood in the midst of
the open river, on this shallow and weedy bar in the
sun, the leisurely sentries, lazily pluming themselves,
as if the day were too long for them. They gave a new
character to the stream. Adjutant they were to my
idea of the river, these two winged men.

You have not seen our weedy river, you do not know
the significance of its weedy bars, until you have seen
the blue heron wading and pluming itself on it. I see
that it was made for these shallows, and they for it.
Now the heron is gone from the weedy shoal, the scene
appears incomplete. Of course, the heron has sounded
the depth of the water on every bar of the river that is
fordable to it. The water there is not so many feet deep,>
but so many heron's tibiae. Instead of a foot rule you
should use a heron's leg for a measure. If you would
know the depth of the water on these few shoalest places
of Musketaquid, ask the blue heron that wades and
fishes there. In some places a heron can wade across.

How long we may have gazed on a particular scenery

GREEN HERON; GREEN BITTERN 79

and think that we have seen and known it, when, at
length, some bird or quadruped comes and takes pos-
session of it before our eyes, and imparts to it a wholly
new character ! The heron uses these shallows as I can-
not. I give them up to him.

Oct. 10, 1860. Horace Mann shows me the skeleton
of a blue heron. The neck is remarkably strong, and
the bill. The latter is 5 + inches long to the feathers
above and 6| to the gape. A stake-driver which he has,
freshly killed, has a bill 3 inches long above and 4|^ to
the gape and between | and | deep vertically at the
base. This bird weighs a little over two pounds, being
quite large and fat. Its nails are longer and less curved
than those of the heron. The sharp bill of the heron,
like a stout pick, wielded by that long and stout neck,
would be a very dangerous weapon to encounter. He
has made a skeleton of the fish hawk which was brought
to me within a month. I remark the great eye-sockets,
and the claws, and perhaps the deep, sharp breast-
bone. Including its strong hooked bill it is clawed at
both ends, harpy-like.

\_See also under American Bittern, pp. 68, 69 ; Fish
Hawk, p. 159.]

GREEN HERON ; GREEN BITTERN

June 11, 1840.^ We stole noiselessly down the
stream, occasionally driving a pickerel from the cov-
ert of the pads, or a bream from her nest, and the
small green bittern would now and then sail away on

^ [Under this date Thoreau enters in his Journal some notes of the
Concord and Merrimac excursion of August and September, 1839.]

80 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIEDS

sluggish wings from some recess of the shore. With its
patient study by rocks and sandy capes, has it wrested
the whole of her secret from Nature yet? It has looked
out from its dull eye for so long, standing on one leg,
on moon and stars sparkling through silence and dark,
and now what a rich experience is its ! What says it
of stagnant pools, and reeds, and damp night fogs ? It
would be worth while to look in the eye which has been
open and seeing at such hours and in such solitudes.
When I behold that dull yellowish green, I wonder if
my own soul is not a bright, invisible green. I would
fain lay my eye side by side with its and learn of it.

June 25, 1854. A green bittern, apparently, awk-
wardly alighting on the trees and uttering its hoarse,
zarry note, zsJceow-zskeow-zsheoio.

July 12, 1854. I see a green bittern wading in a
shallow muddy place, with an awkward teetering, flut-
tering pace.

Aug. 2, 1856. A green bittern comes, noiselessly
flapping, with stealthy and inquisitive looking to this
side the stream and then that, thirty feet above the
water. This antediluvian bird, creature of the night, is
a fit emblem of a dead stream like this Musketicook. ^
This especially is the bird of the river. There is a sym-
pathy between its sluggish flight and the sluggish flow
of the stream, — its slowly lapsing flight, even like the
rills of Musketicook and my own pulse sometimes.

^ [The Concord River. Musketaquid was the Indian name for Con-
cord. On his Maine woods excursion in 1853, Thoreau had asked
some Indians what it meant, " but they changed it to Musketicook, and
repeated that, and Tahmunt said that it meant Dead Stream, which is

VIRGINIA RAIL; MEADOW-HEN 81

Aug. 1, 1858. Edward Bartlett ^ and another brought
me a green bittern, this year's bird, apparently full
grown but not full plumaged, which they caught near
the pool on A. Iley wood's land behind Sleepy Hollow.
They caught it in the woods on the hillside. It had not
yet acquired the long feathers of the neck. The neck
was bent back on itself an inch or more, — that part
being bare of feathers and covered by the long feathers
from above, — so that it did not appear very long until
stretched out. This doubling was the usual condition
and not apparent, but could be felt by the hand. So
the green bitterns are leaving the nest now.

VIRGINIA RAIL; MEADOW-HEN

June 16, 1853. Coming down the river, heard oppo-
site the new houses, where I stopped to pluck the tall
grass, a sound as of young blackbirds amid the button-
bushes. After a long while gazing, standing on the roots
of the button-bushes, I detected a couple of meadow or
mud hens (^Rallus Virginianus) gliding about under
the button-bushes over the mud and through the shal-
low water, and uttering a squeaking or squawking note,
as if they had a nest there or young. Bodies about the
size of a robin; short tail; wings and tail white-edged;
bill about one and a half inches long, orange beneath
in one bird; brown, deepening into black spots above;
turtle-dove color on breasts and beneath; ashy about
eyes and cheeks. Seemed not willing to fly, and for a

probably true. Cook appears to mean stream, and perhaps quid signi-
fies the place or ground."]

^ [One of Thoreau's boy friends in Concord.]

82 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

long time unwilling to pass me, because it must come
near to keep under the button-bushes.

SORA ; CAROLINA RAIL

Oct. 3, 1858. One brings me this morning a Carolina
rail alive, this year's bird evidently from its marks. He
saved it from a cat in the road near the Battle-Ground.
On being taken up, it pecked a little at first, but was
soon quiet. It staggers about as if weak on my window-
sill and pecks at the glass, or stands with its eyes shut,
half asleep, and its back feathers hunched up. Possibly
it is wounded. I suspect it may have been hatched here.
Its feet are large and spreading, qualifying it to run
on mud or pads. Its crown is black, but chin white,
and its back feathers are distinctly edged with white in
streaks.

RAIL (unidentified)

July 16, 1860. Standing amid the pipes of the Great
Meadow, I hear a very sharp creaking peep., no doubt
from a rail quite near me, calling to or directing her
young, who are meanwhile uttering a very faint, some-
what similar peep, which you would not hear if not very
much inclined to hear it, in the grass close around me.
Sometimes the old bird utters two short, sharp creaks.
I look sharp, but can see nothing of them. She sounds
now here, now there, within two or three rods of me,
incessantly running in the grass. I had already heard,
more distant, a more prolonged note from some water-
fowl, perhaps a plover, if not possibly a male rail, here-
abouts.

AMERICAN COOT 83

AMERICAN COOT

April 24, 1856. Goodwin shot, about 6 P. M., and
brought to me a cinereous coot (^Fulica Americana)
which was flying over the willows at Willow Bay, where
the water now runs up.

It measures fourteen inches to end of tail ; eighteen
and one half to end of legs. Tail projects a half-inch
beyond closed wings. Alar extent twenty-six inches.
(These dimensions are somewhat stretched.) Above it
is a bluish slate, passing into olive behind the wings,
the primaries more brownish. Beneath, ash-color or
pale slate. Head and neck, uniform deep black. Legs,
clear green in front, passing into lead-color behind and
on the lobes. Edging of wings, white ; also the tips of
the secondaries for one fourth of an inch, and a small
space under the tail. Wings beneath, very light, almost
silvery, slate. Vent, for a small space, black. Bill,
bluish-white, with a chestnut bar near tip, and corre-
sponding chestnut spot on each side of lower mandible
and a somewhat diamond-shaped chestnut spot at base
in front. No noticeable yellow on bill. Irides, reddish.
No noticeable whitish spot beneath eyes ; only bare lid.
Legs and feet are very neat ; talons very slender, curv-
ing, and sharp, the middle ones ^ inch -h long. Lobes
chiefly on the inner side of the toes. Legs bare half an
inch above the joint. From its fresh and tender look I
judge it to be a last year's bird. It is quite lousy.

V

SHORE-BIRDS

WOODCOCK

Oct. 27, 1851. Saw a woodcock ' feeding, probing
the mud with its long bill, under the railroad bridge
within two feet of me for a long time. Could not scare
it far away. What a disproportionate length of bill !
It is a sort of badge they [wear] as a punishment for
greediness in a former state.

July 9, 1852. Nowadays I scare up the woodcock (?)
by shaded brooks and springs in the woods. It has a
carry-legs flight and goes off with a sort of whistle.

Dec. 17, 1856. At Clamshell, to my surprise, scare
up either a woodcock or a snipe. I think the former,
for I plainly saw considerable red on the breast, also a
light stripe along the neck. It was feeding alone, close
to the edge of the hiU, where it is springy and still soft,
almost the only place of this character in the neighbor-
hood, and though I started it three times, it each time
flew but little way, round to the hillside again, perhaps
the same spot it had left a moment before, as if un-
willing to leave this unfrozen and comparatively warm
locality. It was a great surprise this bitter cold day,
when so many springs were frozen up, to see this hardy
bird loitering still. Once alighted, you could not see it
till it arose again.

^ Or snipe ?

I
1

WOODCOCK 86

Nov. 21, 1857. Just above the grape-hung birches,
my attention was drawn to a singular-looking dry leaf
or parcel of leaves on the shore about a rod off. Then I
thought it might be the dry and yellowed skeleton of a
bird with all its ribs ; then the shell of a turtle, or possibly
some large dry oak leaves peculiarly curved and cut ; and
then, all at once, I saw that it was a woodcock, perfectly
still, with its head drawn in, standing on its great pink
feet. I had, apparently, noticed only the yellowish-brown
portions of the plumage, referring the dark-brown to
the shore behind it. May it not be that the yellowish-
brown markings of the bird correspond somewhat to its
skeleton? At any rate with my eye steadily on it from
a point within a rod, I did not for a considerable time
suspect it to be a living creature. Examining the shore
after it had flown with a whistling flight, I saw that
there was a clear space of mud between the water and
the edge of ice-crystals about two inches wide, melted
so far by the lapse of the water, and all along the edge of
the ice, for a rod or two at least, there was a hole where
it had thrust its bill down, probing, every half-inch, fre-
quently closer. Some animal life must be collected at
that depth just in that narrow space, savory morsels for
this bird.

I was paddling along slowly, on the lookout for what
was to be seen, when my attention was caught by a
strange-looking leaf or bunch of leaves on the shore, close
to the water's edge, a rod distant. I thought to myself, I
may as well investigate that, and so pushed slowly toward
it, my eyes resting on it all the while. It then looked like
a small shipwrecked hulk and, strange to say, like the

86 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

bare skeleton of a fowl that has been picked and turned
yellowish, resting on its breast-bone, the color of a with-
ered black or red oak leaf. Again I thought it must be
such a leaf or cluster of leaves peculiarly curved and cut
or torn on the upper edges.

The chubby bird dashed away zigzag, carrying its long
tongue-case carefully before it, over the witch-hazel
bushes. This is its walk, — the portion of the shore, the
narrow strip, still kept open and unfrozen between the
water's edge and the ice. The sportsman might discover
its neighborhood by these probings.

Wilson's snipe

Feb. 27, 1853. Mr. Herbert is strenuous that I say
"ruffed grouse " for " partridge" and " hare " for " rab-
bit." He says of the snipe, "I am myself satisfied that
the sound is produced by the fact that the bird, by some
muscular action or other, turns the quill-feathers edge-
wise, as he drops plumb through the air ; and that while
in this position, during his accelerated descent, the vibra-
tion of the feathers and the passage of the air between
them gives utterance to this wild humming sound."

April 10, 1854. There are many snipes now feeding
in the meadows, which you come close upon, and then they
go off with hoarse cr-r-r-ack cr-r-r-ack. They dive down
suddenly from a considerable height sometimes when
they alight.

April 18, 1854. Scared up snipes on the meadow's
edge, which go off with their strange zigzag, crazy flight
and a distressed sound, — craik craik or cr-r-acJc cr-r-
rack. One booms now at 3 p. m. They circle round and

WILSON'S SNIPE 87

round, and zigzag high over the meadow, and finally
alight again, descending abruptly from that height.

April 20, 1854. The sound of the snipes, winnowing
the evening air now at starlight, visible but for an in-
stant high over the meadows, is heard far into the village,
— hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo, rising higher and higher
or dying away as they circle round, — a ghostly sound.

April 15, 1856. At the same time, I hear a part of
the hovering note of my first snipe, circling over some
distant meadow, a mere waif, and all is still again.
A-lulling the watery meadows, fanning the air like a
spirit over some far meadow's bay.

April 25, 1856. I landed on Merrick's pasture near
the rock, and when I stepped out of the boat and drew
it up, a snipe flew up, and lit again seven or eight rods
off. After trying in vain for several minutes to see it
on the ground there, I advanced a step and, to my sur-
prise, scared up two more, which had squatted on the
bare meadow all the while within a rod, while I drew
up my boat and made a good deal of noise. In short, I
scared up twelve, one or two at a time, within a few
rods, which were feeding on the edge of the meadow
just laid bare, each rising with a sound like squeak
squeak, hoarsely. That part of the meadow seemed all
alive with them. It is almost impossible to see one on
the meadow, they squat and run so low, and are so
completely the color of the ground. They rise from
within a rod, fly half a dozen rods, and then drop down
on the bare open meadow before your eyes, where
there seems not stubble enough to conceal them,
and are at once lost as completely as if they liad

88 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

sunk into the earth. I observed that some, wheo
finally seared from this island, flew off rising quite
high, one a few rods behind the other, in their peculiar
zigzag manner, rambling about high over the meadow,
making it uncertain where they would settle, till at
length I lost sight of one and saw the other drop
down almost perpendicularly into the meadow, as it
appeared.

March 29, 1858. At the first pool I also scared up a
snipe. It rises with a single cra-a-ck and goes off with
its zigzag flight, with its bill presented to the earth,
ready to charge bayonets against the inhabitants of the
mud.

April 9, 1858. I hear the booming of snipe this
evening, and Sophia * says she heard them on the 6th.
The meadows having been bare so long, they may have
begun yet earlier. Persons walking up or down our
village street in still evenings at this season hear this
singular winnowing sound in the sky over the meadows
and know not what it is. This " dooming " of the snipe
is our regular village serenade. I heard it this evening
for the first time, as I sat in the house, through the
window. Yet common and annual and remarkable as it
is, not one in a hundred of the villagers hears it, and
hardly so many know what it is. Yet the majority
know of the Germanians who have only been here
once. Mr. Hoar was almost the only inhabitant of this
street whom I had heard speak of this note, which he
used annually to hear and listen for in his sundown or
evening walks.

^ [His sister.]

GREATER YELLOW-LEGS 89

April 2, 1859. As I go down the street just after
sunset, I hear many snipe to-night. This sound is an-
nually heard by the villagers, but always at this hour,
i. e. in the twilight, — a hovering sound high in the
air, — and they do not know what to refer it to. It is
very easily imitated by the breath. A sort of shudder-
ing with the breath. It reminds me of calmer nights.
Hardly one in a hundred hears it, and perhaps not
nearly so many know what creature makes it. Per-
haps no one dreamed of snipe an hour ago, but the
air seemed empty of such as they; but as soon as the
dusk begins, so that a bird's flight is concealed, you
hear this peculiar spirit-suggesting sound, now far, now
near, heard through and above the evening din of the
village. I did not hear one when I returned up the
street half an hour later.

\_See also under Woodcock, p. 84.]

GREATER YELLOW-LEGS ; TELLTALE

Oct 25, 1853. p. M.— Sailed down river to the
pitch pine hill behind Abner Buttrick's, with a strong
northwest wind, and cold.

Saw a telltale on Cheney's shore, close to the water's
edge. I am not quite sure whether it is the greater or
lesser, but am inclined to think that all I have seen
are the lesser. ^ It was all white below and dark above,
with a pure white tail prettily displayed in flying. It
kept raising its head with a jerk as if it had the St.
Vitus's dance. It would alight in the water and swim

^ [The date and the note would indicate that the bird was probably
the greater yellow-legs, not the lesser.]

90 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

like a little duck. Once, when I went ashore and
started it, it flew so as to bring a willow between it and
me, and alighted quite near, much nearer than before,
to spy me. When it went oif, it uttered a sharp te-te-te-
te-te, flying with quivering wings, dashing about. I think
that the storm of yesterday and last night brought it up.
3Iay 31, 1854. Saw a greater telltale, and this is the
only one ^ I have seen probably ; distinguished by its
size. It is very watchful, but not timid, allowing me to
come quite near, while it stands on the lookout at the
water's edge. It keeps nodding its head with an awk-
ward jerk, and wades in the water to the middle of its
yellow legs ; goes off with a loud and sharp phe phe
phe phe, or something like that. It acts the part of the
telltale, though there are no birds here, as if it were
with a flock. Kemarkable as a sentinel for other birds.

SOLITARY SANDPIPER

Sept. 24, 1855. I suppose it was the solitary sand-
piper (^Totanus solitariusy which I saw feeding at the
water's edge on Cardinal Shore, like a snipe. It was very
tame ; we did not scare it even by shouting. I walked
along the shore to within twenty-five feet of it, and it
still ran toward me in feeding, and when I flushed it, it
flew round and alighted between me and C.,^ who was
only three or four rods off. It was about as large as
a snipe ; had a bluish dusky bill about an inch and a
quarter long, apparently straight, which it kept thrust-
ing into the shallow water with a nibbling motion, a

^ [That is, the only species of telltale.]

^ [Now known as Uelodromas solitarius.^ * [Channing'.]

SPOTTED SANDPIPER; PEETWEET 91

perfectly white belly, dusky-green legs; bright brown
and black above, with duskier wings. When it flew, its
wings, which wei'e uniformly dark, hung down much,
and I noticed no white above, and heard no note.

UPLAND PLOVER

June 15, 1860. As I stood there I heard that peculiar
hawk-like (for rhythm) but more resonant or clanging
kind of scream which I may have heard before this
year, plover-like, indefinitely far, — over the Clamshell
plain. After proceeding half a dozen rods toward the
hill, I heard the familiar willet note of the upland
plover and, looking up, saw one standing erect — like
a large telltale, or chicken with its head stretched up
— on the rail fence. After a while it flew off southwest
and low, then wheeled and went a little higher down
the river. Of pigeon size, but quick quivering wings.
Finally rose higher and flew more or less zigzag, as
if uncertain where it would alight, and at last, when
almost out of sight, it pitched down into a field near
Cyrus Hubbard's.

SPOTTED SANDPIPER; PEETWEET

Aug. 22, 1853. A peetweet flew along the shore and
uttered its peculiar note. Their wings appear double as
they fly by you, while their bill is cumbrously carried
pointing downward in front.

June 14, 1855. Looked at the peetweet's nest which
C* found yesterday. It was very difficult to find again
in the broad open meadow ; no nest but a mere hollow

^ [C. in Thoreau's Journal always stands for his friend Channing.]

92 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

in the dead cranberry leaves, the grass and stubble
ruins, under a little alder. The old bird went off at last
from under us ; low in the grass at first and with wings
up^ making a worried sound which attracted other birds.
I frequently noticed others afterward flying low over
the meadow and alighting and uttering this same note
of alarm. There were only four eggs in this nest yes-
terday,^ and to-day, to C.'s surprise, there are the two
eggs which he left and a young peetweet beside ; a gray
pinch of down with a black centre to its back, but al-
ready so old and precocious that it runs with its long
legs swiftly off from squatting beside the two eggs, and
hides in the grass. We have some trouble to catch it.
How came it here with these eggs, which will not be
hatched for some days ? C. saw nothing of it yesterday.
J. Farmer ^ says that young peetweets run at once like
partridges and quails, and that they are the only birds he
knows that do. These eggs were not addled (I had opened
one, C. another). Did this bird come from another nest,
or did it belong to an earlier brood .? Eggs white, with
black spots here and there all over, dim at great end.

May 4, 1856. See a peetweet on Dove Kbck,^ which
just peeps out. As soon as the rocks begin to be bare
the peetweet comes and is seen teetering on them and
skimming away from me.

July 6, 1856. In A. Hosmer's ice-bared meadow south
of Turnpike, hear the distressed or anxious jieet of a
peetweet, and see it hovering over its young, half grown,

^ [Channing' had taken two of them.]

^ [Jacob Farmer, of Concord, a farmer by occupation and an observer
of wild creatures.] ^ [In the Assabet.]

PLOVER 93

which runs beneath and suddenly hides securely in the
grass when but few feet from me.

Sept. 18, 1858. I notice that the wing of the peet-
weet, which is about two inches wide, has a conspicuous
and straight-edged white bar along its middle on the
under side for half its length. It is seven eighths of an
inch wide and, being quite parallel with the darker parts
of the wing, it produces that singular effect in its fly-
ing which I have noticed. This line, by the way, is not
mentioned by Wilson, yet it is, perhaps, the most no-
ticeable mark of the bird when flying ! The under side
of the wings is commonly slighted in the description,
though it is at least as often seen by us as the upper.

May 2, 1859. A peetweet and its mate at Mantatuket
Rock. The river seems realjy inhabited when the peet-
weet is back and those little li^t- winged millers ( ?).
This bird does not return to our stream until the weather
is decidedly pleasant and warm. He is perched on the
accustomed rock. Its note peoples the river, like the
prattle of children once more in the yard of a house that
has stood empty.

Hay 8, 1860. The simple peep peep of the peetweet,
as it flies away from the shore before me, sounds hol-
low and rather mournful, reminding me of the seashore
and its wrecks, and when I smell the fresh odor of our
marshes the resemblance is increased.

PLOVER

1850. As I was stalking over the surface of this
planet in the dark to-night, I started a plover resting on
the ground and heard him go off with whistling wings.

VI

QUAIL AND GROUSE

bob-white; quail

July 21, 1851. The quail, invisible, whistles, and who
attends ?

Jan. 17, 1856. Henry Shattuck tells me that the
quails come almost every day and get some saba beans
within two or three rods of his house, — some which he
neglected to gather. Probably the deep snow drives
them to it.

Feb. 7, 1857. Hayden tl^e elder tells me that the
quails have come to his yard every day for almost a
month and are just as tame as chickens. They come
about his wood-shed, he supposes to pick up the worms
that have dropped out of the wood, and when it storms
hard gather together in the corner of the shed. He
walks within, say, three or four feet of them without
disturbing them. They come out of the woods by the
graveyard, and sometimes they go down toward the
river. They will be about his yard the greater part of
the day ; were there yesterday, though it was so warm,
but now probably they can get food enough elsewhere.
They go just the same to Poland's, across the road.
About ten years ago there was a bevy of fifteen that
used to come from the same woods, and one day, they
being in the barn and scared by the cat, four ran into
the hay and died there. The former do not go to the

RUFFED GROUSE; PARTRIDGE 95

houses further from the woods. Thus it seems in severe
winters the quails venture out of the woods and join the
poultry of the farmer's yard, if it be near the edge of
the wood. It is remarkable that this bird, which thus
half domesticates itself, should not be found wholly
domesticated before this.

[>S'ee also under' General and Miscellaneous, pp. 414,
431.]

RUFFED GROUSE; PARTRIDGE

1850. The fire stopped within a few inches of a par-
tridge's nest to-day, June 4th, whom we took off in our
hands and found thirteen creamy-colored eggs. I started
up a woodcock when I went to a rill to drink, at the
westernmost angle of R. W. E.'s ^ wood-lot.

June 13, 1851. I heard partridges drumming to-night
as late as 9 o'clock. What singularly space penetrating
and filling sound ! Why am I never nearer to its source ?

July 16, 1851. Some thoughtless and cruel sports-
man has killed twenty-two young partridges not much
bigger than robins, against the laws of Massachusetts
and humanity.

Sept. 23, 1851. The partridge and the rabbit, — they
still are sure to thrive like true natives of the soil, what-
ever revolutions occur. If the forest is cut off, many
bushes spring up which afford them concealment, and
they become more numerous than ever.

Dec. 21, 1851. Who ever saw a partridge soar over
the fields? To every creature its own nature. They are
very wild ; but are they scarce ? or can you exterminate
them for that ?

^ [Ralph Waldo Emerson's.]

96 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

Feb. 18, 1852. I find the partridges among the fallen
pine-tops on Fair Haven these afternoons, an hour be-
fore sundown, ready to commence budding in the neigh-
boring orchard.

Ajyril 22, 1852. Our dog sends off a partridge with
a whir, far across the open field and the river, like a
winged bullet.

May 1, 1852. A partridge bursts away from under
the rock below me on quivering wings, like some moths
I have seen.

Jtine 27, 1852. I meet the partridge with her
brood in the woods, a perfect little hen. She spreads
her tail into a fan and beats the ground with her
wings fearlessly within a few feet of me, to attract
my attention while her young disperse; but they
keep up a faint, wiry kind of peep, which betrays
them, while she mews and squeaks as if giving them
directions.

Oct. 15, 1852. The flight of a partridge, leaving her
lair (?) on the hillside only a few rods distant, with a
gentle whirring sound, is like the blowing of rocks at
a great distance. Perhaps it produces the same kind of
undulations in the air.

Aj)ril 6, 1853. Hear the faint, swelling, far-off beat
of a partridge.

May 11, 1853. I hear the distant drumming of a
partridge. Its beat, however distant and low, falls still
with a remarkably forcible, almost painful, impulse on
the ear, like veritable little drumsticks on our tympa-
num, as if it were a throbbing or fluttering in our veins
or brows or the chambers of the ear, and belonging to

BUFFED GROUSE; PARTRIDGE 97

ourselves, — as if it were produced by some little in-
sect which had made its way up into the passages of
the ear, so penetrating is it. It is as palpable to the
ear as the sharpest note of a fife. Of course, that bird
can drum with its wings on a log which can go off with
such a powerful whir, beating the air. I have seen a
thoroughly frightened hen and cockerel fly almost as.
powerfully, but neither can sustain it long. Beginning
slowly and deliberately, the partridge's beat sounds
faster and faster from far away under the boughs and
through the aisles of the wood until it becomes a regu-
lar roll, but is speedily concluded. How many things
shall we not see and be and do, when we walk there
where the partridge drums!

June 12, 1853. Going up Pine Hill, disturbed a
partridge and her brood. She ran in deshabille directly
to me, within four feet, while her young, not larger
than a chicken just hatched, dispersed, flying along a
foot or two from the ground, just over the bushes, for
a rod or two. The mother kept close at hand to attract
my attention, and mewed and clucked and made a
noise as when a hawk is in sight. She stepped about
and held her head above the bushes and clucked just
like a hen. What a remarkable instinct that which
keeps the young so silent and prevents their peeping
and betraying themselves ! The wild bird will run
almost any risk to save her young. The young, I be-
lieve, make a fine sound at first in dispersing, some-
thing like a cherry-bird.

Nov. 8, 1853. The partridges go off with a whir,
and then sail a long way level and low through the

98 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIKDS

woods with that impetus they have got, displaying
their neat forms perfectly.

Jan. 31, 1854. Many tracks of partridges there
along the meadow-side in the maples, and their drop-
pings where they appear to have spent the night about
the roots and between the stems of trees. I think they
,eat the buds of the azalea. And now, with a mew, pre-
luding a whir, they go off before me. Coming up, I
follow her tracks to where she eased herself for light-
ness, and immediately after are j5ve or six parallel cuts
in the snow, where her wing struck when she lifted
herself from the ground, but no trace more.

April 25, 1854. The first partridge drums in one or
two places, as if the earth's pulse now beat audibly
with the increased flow of life. It slightly flutters all
Nature and makes her heart palpitate.

July 6, 1854. Disturbed two broods of partridges
this afternoon, — one a third grown, flying half a dozen
rods over the bushes, yet the old, as anxious as ever,
rushing to me with the courage of a hen.

Jan. 25, 1855. In the partridge-tracks the side toes
are more spread than in crows ; and I believe the hind
one is not so long. Both trail the middle toe.

Jan. 31, 1855. As I skated near the shore under
Lee's Cliff, I saw what I took to be some scrags or
knotty stubs of a dead limb lying on the bank beneath
a white oak, close by me. Yet while I looked directly
at them I could not but admire their close resemblance
to partridges. I had come along with a rapid whir
and suddenly halted right against them, only two rods
distant, and, as my eyes watered a little from skating

RUFFED GROUSE; PARTRIDGE 99

against the wind, I was not convinced that they were
birds till I had pulled out my glass and deliberately
examined them. They sat and stood, three of them, per-
fectly still with their heads erect, some darker feathers
like ears, methinks, increasing their resemblance to
scrabs [szc], as where a small limb is broken off. I was
much surprised at the remarkable stillness they pre-
served, instinctively relying on the resemblance to the
ground for their protection, i. e. withered grass, dry
oak leaves, dead scrags, and broken twigs. I thought
at first that it was a dead oak limb with a few stub ends
or scrabbs [sic] sticking up, and for some time after 1
had noted the resemblance to birds, standing only two
rods off, I could not be sure of their character on ac-
count of their perfect motionlessness, and it was not
till I brought my glass to bear on them and saw their
eyes distinctly, steadily glaring on me, their necks
and every muscle tense with anxiety, that I was con-
vinced. At length, on some signal which I did not
perceive, they went with a whir, as if shot, off over the
bushes.

^eb. 12, 1855. I see at Warren's Crossing where,
last night perhaps, some partridges rested in this light,
dry, deep snow. They must have been almost com-
pletely buried. They have left their traces at the bot-
tom. They are such holes as would be made by crowding
their bodies in backwards, slanting-wise, while perhaps
their heads were left out. The dog scared them out of
similar holes yesterday in the open orchard.

J^eb. 13, 1855. The tracks of partridges are more
remarkable in this snow than usual, it is so light, being

100 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

at the sa,me time a foot deep. I see where one has wad-
dled along several rods, making a chain-like track
about three inches wide (or two and a half), and at
the end has squatted in the snow, making a perfectly
smooth and regular oval impression, like the bowl of a
spoon, five inches wide. Then, six inches beyond this,
are the marks of its wings where it struck the snow on
each side when it took flight. It must have risen at
once without running. In one place I see where one,
after running a little way, has left four impressions of
its wings on the snow on each side extending eighteen
or twenty inches and twelve or fifteen in width. In one
case almost the entire wing was distinctly impressed,
eight primaries and five or six secondaries. In one
place, when alighting, the primary quills, five of them,
have marked the snow for a foot. I see where many
have dived into the snow, apparently last night, on the
side of a shrub oak hollow. In four places they have
passed quite underneath it for more than a foot ; in
one place, eighteen inches. They appear to have dived
or burrowed into it, then passed along a foot or more
underneath and squatted there, perhaps, with their
heads out, and have invariably left much dung at the
end of this hole. I scared one from its hole only half a
rod in front of me now at 11 A. M.

To resume the subject of partridges, looking further
in an open placfe or glade amid the shrub oaks and low
pitch jDines, I found as many as twenty or thirty places
where partridges had lodged in the snow, apparently
the last night or the night before. You could see com-

RUFFED GROUSE; PARTRIDGE 101

monly where their bodies had first struck the snow
and furrowed it for a foot or two, and six inches wide,
then entered and gone underneath two feet and rested
at the farther end, where the manure is left. Is it not
likely that they remain quite under the snow there,
and do not put their heads out till ready to start? In
many places they walked along before they went under
the snow. They do not go under deep, and the gallery
they make is mostly filled up behind them, leaving only
a thin crust above. Then invariably, just beyond this
resting-place, you could see the marks made by their
wings when they took their departure :

*V '^ Jill

Ci*n^ «-^

l"l'U

II

''Hir >!'

These distinct impressions made by their wings, in the
pure snow, so common on all hands, though the bird
that made it is gone and there is no trace beyond,
affect me like some mystic Oriental symbol, — the
winged globe or what-not, — as if made by a spirit. In
some places you would see a furrow and hollow in the
snow where there was no track for rods around, as if a
large snowball or a cannon-ball had struck it, where ap-
parently the birds had not paused in their flight. It is
evidently a regular thing with them thus to lodge in tlie
snow. Their tracks, when perfectly distinct, are seen to

102 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

be almost in one straight line thus, trailing the middle toe :
V_ about five inches

*~ ^" T— — ^v" =( ^ apart. In one
place I saw where one had evidently trailed the tips of
the wings, making two distinct lines five or six inches
apart, one on each side the foot-tracks ; probably made
by a male.

Feb. 16, 1855. I find in the leavings of the par-
tridges numerous ends of twigs. They are white with
them, some half an inch long and stout in proportion.
Perhaps they are apple twigs. The bark (and bud, if
there was any) has been entirely digested, leaving the
bare, white, hard wood of the twig. Some of the ends
of apple twigs looked as if they had been bitten off.
It is surprising what a quantity of this wood they swal-
low with their buds. What a hardy bird, born amid
the dry leaves, of the same color with them, that,
grown up, lodges in the snow and lives on buds and
twigs ! Where apple buds are just freshly bitten off
they do not seem to have taken so much twig with
them.

JFeh. 22, 1855. He * had seen a partridge drum
standing on a wall. Said it stood very upright and
produced the sound by striking its wings together be-
hind its back, as a cock often does, but did not strike
the wall nor its body. This he is sure of, and declares
that he is mistaken who affirms the contrary, though it
were Audubon himself. Wilson says he " begins to
strike with his stiffened wings " while standing on a
log, but does not say what he strikes, though one would
1 [Mr. Jacob Farmer.]

RUFFED GROUSE; PARTRIDGE 103

infer it was either the log or his body. Peabody says
he beats his body with his wings.*

Dec. 14, 1855. Suddenly I heard the screwing mew
and then the whir of a partridge on or beneath an old
decaying apple tree which the pines had surrounded.
There were several such, and another partridge burst
away from one. They shoot off swift and steady, show-
ing their dark-edged tails, almost like a cannon-ball.
I saw one's track under an apple tree and where it had
pecked a frozen-thawed apple.

Feb. 4, 1856. I see that the partridges feed quite
extensively on the sumach berries, e. g. at my old house.^
They come to them after every snow, making fresh
tracks, and have now stripped many bushes quite bare.

Feb. 8, 1856. E. Garfield says that he saw the other
day where a fox had caught in the snow three par-
tridges and eaten two. He himself last winter caught
two, on the hillside south of Fair Haven, with his hands.
They fleW before him and dived into the snow, which
was about a foot deep, going twice their length into it.
He thrust his hand in and caught them. Puffer said
that his companion one night speared a partridge on
the alders on the south side the pond.

Feb. 11, 1856. Saw a partridge by the riverside,

^ [It is now known that the ruffed grouse in drumming simply beats
the air with his wings, which do not strike his body or the log or each
other. In Bird-Lore for Nov.-Dec, 1908 (vol. x, pp. 246-249) Mr. E. J.
Sawyer describes the drumming and shows a photograph of a bird taken
in the act. The same magazine for March-April, 1909 (vol. xi, p. 77),
shows a photograph by Dr. C. F. Hodge of one of his tame grouse in
the act of drumming.]

2 [His hut at Walden Pond.]

104 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

opposite Fair Haven Hill, which at first I mistook for
the top of a fence-post above the snow, amid some al-
ders. I shouted and waved my hand four rods off, to
see if it was one, but there was no motion, and I thought
surely it must be a post. Nevertheless I resolved to in-
vestigate. Within three rods, I saw it to be indeed a
partridge, to my surprise, standing perfectly still, with
its head erect and neck stretched upward. It was as
complete a deception as if it had designedly placed
itself on the line of the fence and in the proper place
for a post. It finally stepped off daintily with a teeter-
ing gait and head up. and took to wing.

May 24, 1856. [Humphrey Buttrick]* has known a
partridge to fly at once from one to two miles after
being wounded (tracked them by the blood) without
alighting. Says he has caught as many as a dozen par-
tridges in his hands. He lies right down on them, or
where he knows them to be, then passes his hands back
and forth under his body till he feels them. You must
not lift your body at all or they will surely squeeze
out, and when you feel one must be sure you get hold
of their legs or head, and not feathers merely. -

June 11, 1856. A partridge with young in the Saw
Mill Brook path. Could hardly tell what kind of crea-
ture it was at first, it made such a noise and fluttering
amid the weeds and bushes. Finally ran off with its
body flat and wings somewhat spread.

March 8, 1857. A partridge goes off from amid the
pitch pines. It lifts each wiug so high above its back

^ [A Concord man.]

^ [These most have been young partridges, of course.]

RUFFED GROUSE; PARTRIDGE 105

and flaps so low, and withal so rapidly, that they present
the appearance of a broad wheel, almost a revolving
sphere, as it whirs off like a cannon-ball shot from a gun.

April 29, 1857. Sweet-fern at entrance of Ministe-
rial Swamp. A partridge there drums incessantly. C.
says it makes his heart beat with it, or he feels it in
his breast.

July 25, 1857. As we were returning over the track *
where I had passed but a few moments before, we started
a partridge with her young partly from beneath the
wooden rails. While the young hastened away, she sat
within seven feet of us and plumed herself, perfectly
fearless, without making a noise or ruffling her feathers
as they do in our neighborhood, and I thought it would
be a good opportunity to observe whether she flew as
quietly as other birds when not alarmed. We observed
her till we were tired, and when we compelled her to
get out of our way, though she took to wing as easily
as if we had not been there and went only two or three
rods, into a tree, she flew with a considerable whir, as if
this were unavoidable in a rapid motion of the wings.

Oct. 20, 1857. Melvin says he has caught partridges
in his hands. If there 's only one hole, knows they 've
not gone out. Sometimes shoots them through the snow.

jVov. 20, 1857. I see a partridge on the ground under
a white oak by Tarbell's black birches, looking just like
a snag. This is the second time I have seen them in
such a place. Are they not after acorns ?

JVov. 28, 1857. P. M. — Around Ebby Hubbard's
wood-lot.

^ [On the Northeast Carry, Moosehead Lake, Maine.]

106 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

On the hillside above his s-wamp, near the Ministe-
rial land, I found myself walking in one of those shelf-
like hillside paths made by Indians, hunters, cows, or
what-not, and it was beset with fresh snares for par-
tridges. . . . Upright twigs are stuck in the ground
across the path, a foot or more in height and just close
enough together to turn a partridge aside, leaving a
space about four inches wide in the middle, and some
twigs are stretched across above to prevent the birds
hopping over. Then a sapling about an inch in diame-
ter or less is bent over, and the end caught under one
of the twigs which has a notch or projection on one
side, and a free-running noose, attached to the sapling,
hangs in the opening and is kept spread by being hung
on some very slight nicks in the two twigs. This seems
to suppose the bird to be going one way only, but per-
haps if it cannot escape one way it will turn and try to
go back, and so spring the trap.

I saw one that was sprung with nothing in it, another
whose slip-noose was blown or fallen one side, and an-
other with a partridge still warm in it. It was a male
bird hanging dead by the neck, just touching its toes
to the ground. It had a collar or ruff about its neck,
of large and conspicuous black feathers with a green
reflection. This black is peculiar to the male, the fe-
male's being brown. Its feet, now clinched in its agony,
were the strangest-looking pale blue, with a fine fringe,
of scales or the like, on each side of each toe. The
small black feathers were centred with gray spots. The
scapulars were darker brown, dashed with large clear
pale-brown spots ; the breast-feathers light with light-

RUFFED GROUSE; PARTRIDGE 107

brown marks. The tail-feathers had each a broad black
bar, except the middle one, which was more mixed or
grayish there. The bands of the females are said to be
more brown, as is their collar. There were a few drop-
pings of the bird close by the snare in two instances.
Were they dropped after it was caught ? Or did they
determine the locality of the snare?

These birds appear to run most along the sides of
wooded banks around swamps. At least these paths
and snares occur there oftenest. I often scare them up
from amid or near hemlocks in the woods.

The general color of the bird is that of the ground
and dry leaves on it at present. The bird hanging in
the snare was very inconspicuous. I had gone close by
it once without noticing it. Its wings are short and
stout and look as if they were a little worn by striking
the ground or bushes, or perhaps in drumming. I ob-
served a bare bright-red or scarlet spot over each eye.

Ajyi'il 12, 1858. Returning on the railroad, the noon
train down passed us opposite the old maid Hosmer's
house. In the woods just this side, we came upon a
partridge standing on the track, between the rails over
which the cars had just passed. She had evidently been
run down, but, though a few small feathers were scat-
tered along for a dozen rods beyond her, and she looked
a little ruffled, she was apparently more disturbed in
mind than body. I took her up and carried her one
side to a safer place. At first she made no resistance,
but at length fluttered out of my hands and ran two or
three feet. I had to take her up again and carry and
drive her further off, and left her standing with head

108 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

erect as at first, as if beside herself. She was not lame,
and I suspect no wing was broken. I did not suspect
that this swift wild bird was ever run down by the cars.
We have an account in the newspapers of every cow
and calf that is run over, but not of the various wild
creatures who meet with that accident. It may be many
generations before the partridges learn to give the cars
a sufficiently wide berth.

April 22, 1859. Scare up partridges feeding about
the green springy places under the edge of hills. See
them skim or scale away for forty rods along and up-
ward to the woods, into which they swiftly scale, dodg-
ing to right and left and avoiding the twigs, yet with-
out once flapping the wings after having launched
themselves.

Dec. 24, 1859. I saw the tracks of a partridge more
than half an inch deep in the ice, extending from this
island ' to the shore, she having walked there in the
slosh. They were quitfe perfect and reminded me of
bird-tracks in stone. She may have gone there to bud
on these blueberry trees. I saw where she spent the
night at the bottom of that largest clump, in the snow.

This blueberry grove must be well known to the
partridges ; no doubt they distinguish their tops from
afar.

t/an. 22, 1860. I scare a partridge that was eating
the buds and ends of twigs of the Vaccinium vacillans
on a hillside.

April 19, 1860. Toward night, hear a partridge drum.

^ [An islaud in Flint's Pond whereon were some remarkably larg^e
blueberry bashes which Thoreau has been describing.]

1

RUFFED GROUSE; PARTRIDGE 109

You will hear at first a single beat or two far apart and
have time to say, "There is a partridge," so distinct
and deliberate is it often, before it becomes a rapid roll.

June 14, 1860. A brood of little partridges in the
woodpaths. The old bird utters a loud wiry, mewing
sound of alarm, the young a very fine sharp sound like
cherry-birds.

June 27, 1860. 2 P. M. —Up Assabet to Farmer's.

See on the open grassy bank and shore, just this side
the Hemlocks, a partridge with her little brood. Being
in ray boat, I went within three rods, and they were
hardly scared at all. The young were but little bigger
than chickens four or five days old, yet could fly two or
three rods. The partridge now takes out her brood to
feed, all the country over ; and what an extensive range
they have ! — not confined to a barnyard.

\_See also under Tree Sparrow, p. 297 ; General and
Miscellaneous, pp. 405, 413, 414, 418, 431, 432.]

VII

PIGEONS

PASSENGER PIGEON ; WILD PIGEON *

Aug. 1845. I sit here at my window like a priest of
Isis, and observe the phenomena of three thousand years
ago, yet unimpaired. The tantivy of wild pigeons, an
ancient race of birds, gives a voice to the air, flying by
twos and threes athwart my view or perching restless
on the white pine boughs occasionally ; a fish hawk dim-
ples the glassy surface of the pond and brings up a fish ;
and for the last half-hour I have heard the rattle of
railroad cars conveying travellers from Boston to the
country.

1850.^ The fire reached the base of the cliff and then
rushed up its sides. The squirrels ran before it in blind
haste, and three pigeons dashed into the midst of the
smoke.

July 21, 1851. Some pigeons here are resting in the
thickest of the white pines during the heat of the day,
migrating, no doubt. They are unwilling to move for
me. Flies buzz and rain about my hat, and the dead
twigs and leaves of the white pine, which the choppers
have left here, exhale a dry and almost sickening scent.

^ [On account of the interest attaching to this bird, once so abundant
and now nearly or quite extinct, practically every reference to it in
Thoreau's Journal, however seemingly trivial, is here reproduced.]

^ [Though this was written in 1850, the fire referred to had hap-
pened some years earlier.]

WILD PIGEON 111

A cuckoo chuckles, half throttled, on a neighboring
tree, and now, flying into the pine, scares out a pigeon,
which flies with its handsome tail spread, dashes this
side and that between the trees helplessly, like a ship
carrying too much sail in midst of a small creek, some
great ammiral having no room to manoeuvre, — a flut-
tering flight.

Sept. 12, 1851. Saw a pigeon-place on George Hey-
wood's cleared lot, — the six dead trees set up for the
pigeons to alight on, and the brush house close by to
conceal the man. I was rather startled to find such a
thing going now in Concord. The pigeons on the trees
looked like fabulous birds with their long tails and their
pointed breasts. I could hardly believe they were alive
and not some wooden birds used for decoys, they sat so
still ; and, even when they moved their necks, I thought
it was the effect of art. As they were not catching then,
I approached and scared away a dozen birds who were
perched on the trees, and found that they were freshly
baited there, though the net was carried away, per-
chance to some other bed. The smooth sandy bed was
covered with buckwheat, wheat or rye, and acorns.
Sometimes they use corn, shaved off the ear in its pre-
sent state with a knife. There were left the sticks with
which they fastened the nets. As I stood there, I heard
a rushing sound and, looking up, saw a flock of thirty
or forty pigeons dashing toward the trees, who suddenly
whirled on seeing me and circled round and made a new
dash toward the bed, as if they would fain alight if I
had not been there, then steered off. I crawled into the
bough house and lay awhile looking through the leaves,

k

112 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

hoping to see them come again and feed, but they did
not while I stayed. This net and bed belong to one
Harrington of Weston, as I hear. Several men still take
pigeons in Concord every year ; by a method, methinks,
extremely old and which I seem to have seen pictured
in some old book of fables or symbols, and yet few in
Concord know exactly how it is done. And yet it is
all done for money and because the birds fetch a good
price, just as the farmers raise corn and potatoes. I am
always expecting that those engaged in such a pursuit
will be somewhat less grovelling and mercenary than
the regular trader or farmer, but I fear that it is
not so.

May 9, 1852. Saw pigeons in the woods, with their
inquisitive necks and long tails, but few representatives
of the great flocks that once broke down our forests.

Sept. 2, 1852. Small flocks of pigeons are seen these
days. Distinguished from doves by their sharper wings
and bodies.

March 29, 1853. He ^ saw two pigeons to-day.
Prated \j,ic\ for them ; they came near and then flew
away.

March 30, 1853. A range-pole on the side of Mt.
Tabor,^ twenty-odd feet long and ten or twelve from the
ground, slanted upward on three forked posts like a
rafter, a bower ^ being opposite the lower end two rods
off, and this end of the pole full of shot.

Aug. 9, 1853. Saw pigeons the other day (August 5).

Sept. 2, 1853. Hear the sharp quivet of pigeons at

1 [Dupan, of Concord.]

2 [A hill near Beaver Pond in Lincoln.] ^ [A pigeon-stand.]

WILD PIGEON 113

the Thrush Alley clearing. Mistook it for a jay at first,
but saw the narrow, swift-flying bird soon.

Dec. 15, 1853. He ^ had ten live pigeons in a cage
under his barn. He used them to attract others in the
spring. The reflections from their necks were very
beautiful. They made me think of shells cast up on a
beach. He placed them in a cage on the bed and could
hear them prate at the house. . . . The turtle doves ^
plagued him, for they were restless and frightened the
pigeons.

March 19, 1854. Goodwin killed a pigeon yesterday.

July 18, 1854. Brooks has let out some of his
pigeons, which stay about the stands or perches to bait
others. Wild ones nest in his woods quite often. He
begins to catch them the middle of August.

Aug. 15, 1854. Crossed from top of Annursnack to
top of Strawberry Hill ^ past a pigeon-bed.

In the meanwhile we came upon another pigeon-bed,
where the pigeons were being baited, a little corn, etc.,
being spread on the ground, and, [as ?] at the first, the
bower was already erected.

Sept. 5, 1854. Saw two pigeons, which flew about his
pond and then lit on the elms over his house. He ^ said
they had come to drink from Brooks's, as they often did.

Sept. 12, 1854. I scare pigeons from Hubbard's oaks
beyond. How like the creakingof trees the slight sounds

^ [Mr. George Brooks of Concord.]

^ [Mourning- doves.] ' [In Acton.]

* [Samuel Barrett, who had a sawmill and a gristmill on Spencer
Brook, a tributary of the Assabet.]

114 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

they make! Thus they are concealed. Not only their
prating or quivet is like a sharp creak, but I heard a
sound from them like a dull grating or cracking of
bough on bough.

On a white oak beyond Everett's orchard by the road,
I see quite a flock of pigeons; their blue-black droppings
and their feathers spot the road. The bare limbs of the
oak apparently attracted them, though its acorns are
thick on the ground. These are found whole in their
crops. They swallow them whole. I should think from
the droppings that they had been eating berries. I hear
that Wetherbee caught ninety-two dozen last week.

April 16, 1855. In the meanwhile heard the quivet
through the wood, and, looking, saw through an opening
a small compact flock of pigeons flying low about.

April 26, 1855. Going over Ponkawtasset, hear a
golden-crested (?) wren,^ — the robin's note, etc., — in
the tops of the high wood ; see myrtle-birds and half a
dozen pigeons. The prate of the last is much like the
creaking of a tree. They lift their wings at the same
moment as they sit. There are said to be many about
now. See their warm-colored breasts.

Aj)ril 27, 1855. Heard a singular sort of screech,
somewhat like a hawk, under the Cliff, and soon some
pigeons flew out of a pine near me.

May 26, 1855. Saw a beautiful blue-backed and long-
tailed pigeon sitting daintily on a low white pine limb.

Sept. 2, 1856. A few pigeons were seen a fortnight

^ [He afterwards learned that this hird with the robin-like notes in
its song was the rubj'-crowned wren, or kinglet, not the golden-crowned.]

WILD PIGEON 115

ago. I have noticed none in all walks, but G. Minott,
whose mind runs on them so much, but whose age and
infirmities confine him to his wood-shed on the hillside,
saw a small flock a fortnight ago. I rarely pass at any
season of the year but he asks if I have seen any
pigeons. One man's mind running on pigeons, he will
sit thus in the midst of a village, many of whose inhabit-
ants never see nor dream of a pigeon except in the pot,
and where even naturalists do not observe them, and he,
looking out with expectation and faith from morning
till night, will surely see them.

Sej^t. 16, 1856. See a flock of pigeons dash by. From
a stout breast they taper straightly and slenderly to the
tail. They have been catching them a while.

May 14, 1857. Abel Hosmer * tells me that he has
collected and sown white pine seed, and that he has
found them in the crop of pigeons. (?)

Se^it. 30, 1857. Minott said he had seen a couple of
pigeons go over at last, as he sat in his shed. At first he
thought they were doves, but he soon saw that they were
pigeons, they flew so straight and fast.

Sept. 9, 1858. R.^ says that he has caught pigeons which
had ripe grapes in their crops long before any were ripe
here, and that they came from the southwest.

Sejjt. 13, 1858. A small dense flock of wild pigeons
dashes by over the side of the hill, from west to east, —
perhaps from Wetherbee's to Brooks's, for I see the
latter's pigeon-place. They make a dark slate-gray im-
pression.

Sept. 23, 1858. Met a gunner from Lynn on the
^ [A Concord farmer.] ^ [Israel Rice, the Sudbury farmer.]

116 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

beach, ^ who had several pigeons which he had killed in
the woods by the shore. Said that they had been blown
off the mainland.

May 7, 1859. I frequently see pigeons dashing about
in small flocks, or three or four at a time, over the woods
here.^ Theirs is a peculiarly swift, dashing flight.

Sejit. 9, 1859. I start many pigeons now in a sprout-
land.

Sept. 13, 1859. It is a wonder how pigeons can swal-
low acorns whole, but they do.

Sept. 14, 1859. They are catching pigeons nowadays.
Coombs has a stand west of Nut Meadow, and he says
that he has just shot fourteen hawks there, which were
after the pigeons.

Sept. 15, 1859. P. M. — To Annursnack.

Dense flocks of pigeons hurry-skurry over the hill.
Pass near Brooks's pigeon-stands. There was a flock
perched on his poles, and they sat so still and in such
regular order there, being also the color of the wood,
that I thought they were wooden figures at first. They
were perched not only in horizontal straight lines one
above the other, which the cross-bars required, but at
equal distances apart on these perches, which must be
their own habit ; and it struck me that they made just
such a figure seen against the sky as pigeonholes cut in
a doves' house do, i. e. a more or less triangular figure,
and possibly the seeing them thus perched might have
originally suggested this arrangement of the holes.

Pigeons dart by on every side, — a dry slate color,

^ [On the south shore of Rockport, Mass.]
[In Acton, adjoining Concord on the west.]

WILD PIGEON 117

like weather-stained wood (the weather-stained birds),
fit color for this aerial traveller, a more subdued and
earthy blue than the sky, as its field (or path) is be-
tween the sky and the earth, — not black or brown, as
is the earth, but a terrene or slaty blue, suggesting their
aerial resorts and habits.

Sept. 21, 1859. I sat near Coombs's pigeon-place by
White Pond. The pigeons sat motionless on his bare
perches, from time to time dropping down into the bed
and uttering a quivet or two. Some stood on the perch ;
others squatted flat. I could see their dove-colored
breasts. Then all at once, being alarmed, would take
flight, but ere long return in straggling parties. He
tells me that he has fifteen dozen baited, but does not
intend to catch any more at present, or for two or three
weeks, hoping to attract others. Rice says that white oak
acorns pounded up, shells and all, make the best bait for
them.

Sept. 28, 1859. The white pine seed is very abundant
this year, and this must attract more pigeons. Coombs
tells me that he finds the seed in their crops. Also that
he found within a day or two a full-formed egg with
shell in one.

JVov. 8, 1859. Coombs says that quite a little flock of
pigeons bred here last summer. He found one nest in a
small white pine near his pigeon-stand (where he baited
them in the summer), so low he could put his hand in
it(!?).

Jan. 23, 1860. Minott says that pigeons alight in
great flocks on the tops of hemlocks in March, and he
thinks they eat the seed. (But he also thought for the

118 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

same reason that they ate the white pine seed at the
same season, when it is not there ! They might find a
little of the last adhering to the pitch.)

June 14, 1860. See a pigeon.^

Se'pt. 4, 1860. Saw flocks of pigeons the 2d and 3d.

MOURNING DOVE ; TURTLE DOVE

July 12, 1852. The turtle dove flutters before you
in shady wood-paths, or looks out with extended neck,
losing its balance, slow to leave its perch.

Sept. 27, 1852. It must have been a turtle dove that
eyed me so near, turned its head sideways to me for a
fair view, looking with a St. Vitus twitching of its neck,
as if to recover its balance on an unstable perch, — that
is their way.

May 27, 1858. Ed. Emerson ^ shows me an e^^ of a
bittern (^Ardea minor^ from a nest in the midst of the
Great Meadows, which four boys found, scaring up the
bird, last Monday, the 24th. It was about a foot wide
on the top of a tussock, where the water around was
about one foot deep. I will measure the egg.^ They were
a little developed. Also an egg of a turtle dove, one of
two in a nest in a pitch pine, about six feet from the
ground, in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, by the side of a
frequented walk, on a fork on a nearly horizontal limb.
The egg is milk-white, elliptical, one and three six-
teenths inches long by seven eighths wide.

^' [In the western part of Concord.]

2 [Edward Waldo Emerson, son of Ralph Waldo Emerson, then a
boy of thirteen.]

* It is clay-colored, one and seven eighths inches long by one and
nine sixteenths, about the same size at each end.

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MOURNING DOVE 119

May 28, 1858. I get the nest of the turtle dove above
named, it being deserted and no egg left. It appears to
have been built on the foundation of an old robin's nest
and consists of a loose wisp of straw and pinweed, the
seedy ends projecting, ten inches long, laid across the
mud foundation of the robin's nest, with a very sliglit
depression. Very loose and coarse material is artificially
disposed, without any lining or architecture. It was close
to a frequented path of the cemetery and within reach
of the hand.

Dec. 30, 1860. Eben Conant's sons tell me that there
has been a turtle dove associating with their tame doves
and feeding in the yard from time to time for a fort-
night past. They saw it to-day.

[/See also under Passenger Pigeon, p. 113.]

VIII
HAWKS AND EAGLES

MARSH HAWK ; FROG HAWK ; HEN-HARRIER

April 24, 1852. The sparrows, frogs, rabbits, etc.,
are made to resemble the ground for their protection ;
but so is the hawk that preys on them ; but he is of a
lighter color beneath, that creeping things over which
he hovers may confound him with the sky. The marsh
hawk is not easily distinguished from the meadow or
the stems of the maples.

July 29, 1853. I see three or four (apparently)
young marsh hawks, but full grown, circling and tum-
bling about not much above the ground and playing with
one another. They are quite a reddish brown. They ut-
ter a squeak (not a shrill scream), much like a small
bird or animal.

April 23, 1855. See a frog hawk beating the bushes
regularly. What a peculiarly formed wing! It should
be called the kite. Its wings are very narrow and
pointed, and its form in front is a remarkable curve,
and its body is not heavy and buzzard-like. It occasion-
ally hovers over some parts of the meadow or hedge and
circles back over it, only rising enough from time to
time to clear the trees and fences.

May 14, 1855. See a male hen-harrier skimming low
along the side of the river, often within a foot of the
muddy shore, looking for frogs, with a very compact

MARSH HAWK 121

flock of small birds, probably swallows, in pursuit. Oc-
casionally he alights and walks or hops flutteringly a
foot or two over the ground.

Nov. 5, 1855. At Hubbard's Crossing I see a large
male hen-harrier skimming over the meadow, its deep
slate somewhat sprinkled or mixed with black ; perhaps
young. It flaps a little and then sails straight forward,
so low it must rise at every fence. But I perceive that
it follows the windings of the meadow over many fences.

April 8, 1856. The marsh hawks ^ flew in their usual
irregular low tacking, wheeling, and circling flight,
leisurely flapping and beating, now rising, now falling,
in conformity with the contour of the ground. The last
I think I have seen on the same beat in former years.
He and his race must be well acquainted with the
Musketicook and its meadows. No sooner is the snow
off than he is back to his old haunts, scouring that
part of the meadows that is bare, while the rest is
melting. If he returns from so far to these meadows,
shall the sons of Concord be leaving them at this sea-
son for slight cause?

April 22, 1856. A marsh hawk, in the midst of the
rain, is skimming along the shore of the meadow, close
to the ground, and, though not more than, thirty rods
off, I repeatedly lose sight of it, it is so nearly the color
of the hillside beyond. It is looking for frogs.

May 20, 1856. Two marsh hawks, male and female,

flew about me a long time, screaming, — the female

largest, with ragged wings, — as I stood on the neck of

the peninsula. This induced me to climb four pines,

1 [Two seen that afternoon.]

122 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

but I tore my clothes, got pitched all over, and found
only squirrel; yet they have, no doubt, a nest there-
abouts.^

May 14, 1857. See a pair of marsh hawks, the smaller
and lighter-colored male, with black tips to wings, and
the large brown female, sailing low over J. Hosmer's
sprout-land and screaming, apparently looking for frogs
or the like. Or have they not a nest near? They
hover very near me. The female, now so near, sails
very grandly, with the outer wing turned or tilted up
when it circles, and the bars on its tail when it turns,
etc., reminding me of a great brown moth. Sometimes
alone; and when it approaches its mate it utters a low,
grating note like cur-r-r. Suddenly the female holds
straight toward me, descending gradually. Steadily she
comes on, without swerving, until only two rods off,
then wheels.

Oct. 28, 1857. I look up and see a male marsh hawk
with his clean-cut wings, that has just skimmed past
above my head, — not at all disturbed, only tilting his
body a little, now twenty rods off, with demi-semi-quaver
of his wings. He is a very neat flyer.

Ajyril 19, 1858. Spend the day hunting for my boat,
which was stolen. As I go up the riverside, I see a male
marsh hawk hunting. He skims along exactly over the
edge of the water, on the meadowy side, not more than
three or four feet from the ground and winding with
the shore, looking for frogs, for in such a tortuous line
do the frogs sit. They probably know about what time

1 [Later, as will be seen, he learned that marsh hawks' nests are not
to be looked for in trees.]

J

MARSH HAWK 123

to expect his visits, being regularly decimated. Particu-
lar hawks farm particular meadows. It must be easy
for him to get a breakfast. Far as I can see with a
glass, he is still tilting this way and that over the
water-line.

May 2, 1858. If I were to be a frog hawk for a month
I should soon know some things about the frogs. How
patiently they skim the meadows, occasionally alighting,
and fluttering as if it were difficult ever to stand still
on the ground. I have seen more of them than usual
since I too have been looking for frogs.

May 30, 1858. P. M. — To hen-harrier's nest and to
Ledum Swamp.

Edward Emerson shows me the nest which he and
another discovered. It is in the midst of the low wood,
sometimes inundated, just southwest of Hubbard's
Bath, the island of wood in the meadow. The hawk
rises when we approach and circles about over the
wood, uttering a note singularly like the common one
of the flicker. The nest is in a more bushy or open
place in this low wood, and consists of a large mass
of sedge and stubble with a very few small twigs, as
it were accidentally intermingled. It is about twenty
inches in diameter and remarkably flat, the slight de-
pression in the middle not exceeding three quarters
of an inch. The whole opening amid the low bushes
is not more than two feet in diameter. The thickness
of it raises the surface about four inches above the
ground. The inner and upper part is jmiformly rather
fine and pale-brown sedge. There are two dirty, or
rather dirtied, white eggs left (of four that were), one

124 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

o£ them one and seven tenths inches long, and not
" spherical," as Brewer says, but broad in proportion
to length.^

June 8, 1858. The marsh hawk's eggs are not yet
hatched. She rises when I get within a rod and utters
that peculiar cackling or scolding note, much like, but
distinct from, that of the pigeon woodpecker. She keeps
circling over the nest and repeatedly stoops within a
rod of my head in an angry manner. She is not so
large as a hen-hawk, and is much more slender. She
will come sailing swiftly and low over the tops of the
trees and bushes, etc., and then stoop as near to my
head as she dares, in order to scare me away. The
primaries, of which I count but five, are very long and
loose, or distant, like fingers with which she takes hold
of the air, and form a very distinct part of the wing,
making an angle with the rest. Yet they are not broad
and give to the wing a long and slender appearance.
The legs are stretched straight back under the tail.^ I
see nothing of the male, nor did I before. A red-wing
and a kingbird are soon in pursuit of the hawk, which
proves, I think, that she meddles with their nests or
themselves. She circles over me, scolding, as far as the
edge of the wood, or fifteen rods.

June 17, 1858. P. M.— To hawk's nest.

One Q.gg is hatched since the 8th, and the young bird,
all down, with a tinge of fawn or cinnamon, lies motion-

^ Another is one and seven eighths inches long by one and a half
inches.

^ [This is the habitual manner of carrying the legs in flight among
the birds of prey and some other orders. See Dr. C. W. Townsend's
paper in the Auk, AprU, 1909, vol. xxvi, p. 109.]

MARSH HAWK 125

less on its breast with its head down and is already
about four inches long! An hour or two after, I see
the old hawk pursue a stake-driver which was flying
over this spot, darting down at him and driving him
off.

Aug. 8, 1858. Saw yesterday a this year's (?) marsh
hawk, female, flying low across the road near Hildreth's.
I took it to be a young bird, it came so near and looked
so fresh. It is a fine rich-brown, full-breasted bird, with
a long tail. Some hens in the grass beneath were greatly
alarmed and began to run and fly with a cackling to the
shelter of a corn-field. They which did not see the hawk
and were the last to stir expressed the most alarm.
Meanwhile the hawk sails low and steadily over the
field away, not thinking of disturbing them.

Oct. 9, 1858. Methinks hawks are more commonly
seen now, — the slender marsh hawk for one. I see four
or five in different places. I watch two marsh hawks
which rise from the woods before me as I sit on the
Cliff, at first plunging at each other, gradually lifting
themselves as they come round in their gyrations, higher
and higher, and floating toward the southeast. Slender
dark motes they are at last, almost lost to sight, but
every time they come round eastward I see the light of
the westering sun reflected from the under sides of
their wings.

JVbv. 20, 1858. He * says that a marsh hawk had his
nest in his meadow several years, and though he shot
the female three times, the male with but little delay
returned with a new mate. He often watched these

^ [Martial Miles, a Concord farmer.]

126 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

birds, and saw that the female could tell when the male
was coming a long way off. He thought that he fed
her and the young all together (?). She would utter a
scream when she perceived him, and, rising into the
air (before or after the scream?), she turned over
with her talons uppermost, while he passed some three
rods above, and caught without fail the prey which
he let drop, and then carried it to her young. He
had seen her do this many times, and always without
failing.

March 24, 1860. I see a male frog hawk beating
a hedge, scarcely rising more than two feet from
the ground for half a mile, quite below the level
of the wall within it. How unlike the hen-hawk in
this !

Maij 8, 1860. How the marsh hawk circles or skims
low, round and round over a particular place in a
meadow, where, perhaps, it has seen a frog, screaming
once or twice, and then alights on a fence-post ! How
it crosses the causeway between the willows, at a gap
in them with which it is familiar, as a hen knows a
hole in a fence ! I lately saw one flying over the road
near our house.

May 29, 1860. We next proceeded to the marsh
hawk's nest from which the eggs were taken a fortnight
ago and the female shot. It was in a long and narrow
Cassandra swamp northwest of the lime-kiln and some
thirty rods from the road, on the side of a small and
more open area some two rods across, where were few
if any bushes and more [?] sedge with the cassandra.
The nest was on a low tussock, and about eighteen

MARSH HAWK 127

inches across, made of dead birch twigs around and a
pitch pine plume or two, and sedge grass at bottom,
with a small cavity in the middle.

The female was shot and eggs taken on the 16th ;
yet here was the male, hovering anxiously over the spot
and neighborhood and scolding at us. Betraying him-
self from time to time by that peculiar clacking note
reminding you of a pigeon woodpecker. We thought it
likely that he had already got another mate and a new
nest near by. He would not quite withdraw though fired
at, but still would return and circle near us. They are
said to find a new mate very soon.

July 3, 1860. Looked for the marsh hawk's nest (of
June 16th) in the Great Meadows.* It was in the very
midst of the sweet-gale (which is three feet high), oc-
cupying an opening only a foot or two across. We had
much difficulty in finding it again, but at last nearly
stumbled on to a young hawk. There was one as big
as my fist, resting on the bare, flat nest in the sun,
with a great head, staring eyes, and open gaping or
panting mouth, yet mere down, grayish-white down, as
yet ; but I detected another which had crawled a foot
one side amid the bushes for shade or safety, more than
half as large again, with small feathers and a yet more
angry, hawk-like look. How naturally anger sits on the
young hawk's head ! It was 3.30 P. M., and the old
birds were gone and saw us not. Meanwhile their callow
young lie panting under the sweet-gale and rose bushes
in the swamp, waiting for their parents to fetch them
food.

^ [This was another nest than that described under May 29.]

128 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIKDS

SHARP-SHINNED HAWK

May 4, 1855.' Sitting in Abel Brooks's Hollow, see
a small hawk go over high in the air, with a long tail
and distinct from wings. It advanced by a sort of limp-
ing flight yet rapidly, not circling nor tacking, but
flapping briskly at intervals and then gliding straight
ahead with rapidity, controlling itself with its tail. It
seemed to be going a journey. Was it not the sharp-
shinned, or jFalco /uscus ? ^

July 21, 1858. P. M. — To Walden, with E. Bart-
lett and E. Emerson.

The former wished to show me what he thought an
owl's nest he had found. Near it, in Abel Brooks's
wood-lot, heard a note and saw a small hawk fly over.
It was the nest of this bird. Saw several of the young
flitting about and occasionally an old bird. The nest
was in a middling-sized white pine, some twenty feet
from the ground, resting on two limbs close to the main
stem, on the south side of it. It was quite solid, com-
posed entirely of twigs about as big round as a pipe-
stem and less ; was some fifteen inches in diameter and
one inch deep, or nearly flat, and perhaps five inches
thick. It was very much dirtied on the sides by the
droppings of the young. As we were standing about the
tree, we heard again the note of a young one approach-
ing. We dropped upon the ground, and it alighted on
the edge of the nest; another alighted near by, and a
third a little further off. The young were apparently
as big as the old, but still lingered about the nest and
^ [The sharp-shinned hawk is now known as Accipiter velox.]

SHARP-SHINNED HAWK 129

returned to it. I could hear them coming some distance
off. Their note was a kind of peeping squeal, which
you might at first suspect to be made by a jay; not
very loud, but as if to attract the old and reveal their
whereabouts. The note of the old bird, which occasion-
ally dashed past, was somewhat like that of the marsh
hawk or pigeon woodpecker, a cackling or clattering
sound, chiding us. The old bird was anxious about her
inexperienced young, and was trying to get them off.
At length she dashed close past us, and appeared to
fairly strike one of the young, knocking him off his
perch, and he soon followed her off. I saw the remains
of several birds lying about in that neighborhood, and
saw and heard again the young and old thereabouts for
several days thereafter. A young man killed one of the
young hawks, and I saw it. It was the Falco fuscus^
the American brown or slate-colored hawk. Its length
was thirteen inches; alar extent, twenty-three. The
tail reached two or more inches beyond the closed
wings. Nuttall says the upper parts are " a deep slate-
color " (these were very dark brown) ; also that the
nest is yet unknown. But Wilson describes his F.velox
(which is the same as Nuttall's F. fuscus) as " whole
upper parts very dark brown," but legs, greenish-yellow
(these were yellow). The toes had the peculiar pendu-
lous lobes which W. refers to. As I saw it in the woods,
I was struck by its dark color above, its tawny throat
and breast, brown-spotted, its clean, slender, long yel-
low legs, feathered but little below the knee, its white
vent, its wings distinctly and rather finely dark-barred
beneath, short, black, much curved bill, and slender

130 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

black sharp claws. Its tail with a dark bar near edge
beneath. In hand I found it had the white spots on
scapulars of the F.fuscus, and had not the white bars
on tail of the F. Pennsylvanicus.^ It also had the fine
sharp shin.

[zS'ee also under Blackbirds, p. 264.]

cooper's hawk

May 29, 1860. We proceeded to the Cooper's
hawk nest in an oak and pine wood (Clark's) north of
Ponkawtasset. I found a fragment of one of the eggs
which he ^ had thrown out. Farmer's egg^ by the way,
was a dull or dirty white, i. e. a rough white with large
dirty spots, perhaps in the grain, but not surely, of a
regular oval form and a little larger than his marsh
hawk's egg. I climbed to the nest, some thirty to thirty-
five feet high in a white pine, against the main stem.
It was a mass of bark -fibre and sticks about two and a
half feet long by eighteen inches wide and sixteen high.
The lower and main portion was a solid mass of fine
bark-fibre such as a red squirrel uses. This was sur-
rounded and surmounted by a quantity of dead twigs
of pine and oak, etc., generally the size of a pipe-stem
or less. The concavity was very slight, not more than
an inch and a half, and there was nothing soft for a
lining, the bark-fibres being several inches beneath the
twigs, but the bottom was floored for a diameter of six
inches or more with flakes of white oak and pitch pine

^ [The broad-winged hawk, now called Buteo platypterus.]
" [Jacob Farmer, who had found the nest and shot the female hawk
May 16, saving one of the eggs.]

RED-TAILED HAWK 131

bark one to two inches long each, a good handful of
theni, and on this the eggs had lain. We saw nothing
of the hawk.

RED-TAILED HAWK; HEN-HAWK

March 26, 1853. Up the Assabet, scared from his
perch a stout hawk, — the red-tailed undoubtedly, for
I saw very plainly the cow-red when he spread his
wings from oj6f his tail (and rump ?). I rowed the boat
three times within gunshot before he flew, twice within
four fods, while he sat on an oak over the water, — I
think because I had two ladies with me, which was as
good as bushing the boat. Each time, or twice at least,
he made a motion to fly before he started. The ends of
his primaries looked very ragged against the sky. This
is the hen-hawk of the farmer, the same, probably,
which I have scared off from the Cliff so often. It was
an interesting eagle-like object, as he sat upright on
his perch with his back to us, now and then looking
over his shoulder, the broad-backed, flat-headed, curve-
beaked bird.

April 4, 1853. At Conantum End I saw a red-tailed
hawk launch himself away from an oak by the pond
at my approach, — a heavy flier, flapping even like the
great bittern at first, — heavy forward.

April 30, 1855. I hear from far the scream of a
hawk circling over the Holden woods and swamp. This
accounts for those two men with guns just entering it.
What a dry, shrill, angry scream ! I see the bird with
my glass resting upon the topmost plume of a tall white
pine. Its back, reflecting the light, looks white in

132 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

patches; and now it circles again. It is a red-tailed
hawk. The tips of its wings are curved upward as it
sails. How it scolds at the men beneath ! I see its open
bill. It must have a nest there. Hark ! there goes a
gun, and down it tumbles from a rod or two above the
wood. So I thought, but was mistaken. In the mean-
while, I learn that there is a nest there, and the gun-
ners killed one this morning, which I examined. They
are now getting the young. Above it was brown, but
not at all reddish-brown except about head. Above
perhaps I should call it brown, and a dirty white be-
neath ; wings above thickly barred with darker, and also
wings beneath. The tail of twelve reddish feathers,
once black-barred near the end. The feet pale-yellow
and very stout, with strong, sharp black claws. The
head and neck were remarkably stout, and the beak
short and curved from the base. Powerful neck and
legs. The claws pricked me as I handled it. It measured
one yard and three eighths plus from tip to *tip, i. e.
four feet and two inches. Some ferruginous on the
neck ; ends of wings nearly black.

May 1, 1855. Went to Garfield's for the hawk of
yesterday. It was nailed to the barn in terrorem and
as a trophy. He gave it to me with an egg. He called
it the female, and probably was right, it was so large.
He tried in vain to shoot the male, which I saw circling
about just out of gunshot and screaming, while he
robbed the nest. He climbed the tree when I was there
yesterday afternoon, the tallest white pine or other tree
in its neighborhood, over a swamp, and found two
young, which he thought not more than a fortnight old,

RED-TAILED HAWK 133

— with only down, at least no feathers, — and one ad-
dled egg, also three or four white-bellied or deer mouse
(^Mus le^icopus^'), a perch, and a sucker,^ and a gray-
rabbit's skin. He had seen squirrels, etc., in other nests.
These fishes were now stale. I found the remains of a
partridge under the tree. The reason I did not see my
hawks at Well Meadow last year was that he found and
broke up their nest there, containing five eggs.

The hawk measures exactly 22| inches in length and
4 feet 4:^ inches in alar extent, and weighs 3^ pounds.
The ends of closed wings almost two inches short of end
of tail. General color above of wings and back an oli-
vaceous brown, thickly barred with waving lines of very
dark brown, there being a much broader bar next to the
tip of the secondaries and tertiaries ; and the first five
primaries are nearly black toward the ends. A little
white appears, especially on the tertiaries. The wing-
coverts and scapulars glossed with purple reflections.
The twelve tail-feathers (which MacGillivray says is
the number in all birds of prey, i. e. the FalconincB and
Strigince) showing five and three quarters inches a
clear brown red, or rather fox-color, above, with a nar-
row dark band within half an inch of the end, which is
tipped with dirty white. A slight inclination to dusky
bars near the end of one side feather. Lower tail-
coverts for nearly an inch white, barred with fox-color.
Head and neck a paler, inclining to ferruginous, brown.
Beneath : Breast and wing-linings brown and white,
the feathers of first centred with large dark-brown has-

^ [Now known as Peromyscus leucopus noveboracensis. ]
2 I think these must have been dead fish they found.

134 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

tate spots, and the wing-linings streaked with ferrugi-
nous. Wings white, barred with dusky. " Vent and
femorals," as Nuttall says, "pale ochreous." Tail white,
softened by the superior color. I do not perceive that
the abdomen is barred.

Bill very blue black, with a short, stout curved tip,
— curving from the cere more than a quarter of a cir-
cle, extends not quite a quarter of an inch beyond the
lower mandible, — and is proportionally stouter at tip
than in any of his Falconince, judging from plates of
heads ; whole visible, including cere, 1|^ inches long,
and 1 inch deep at base ; cere yellowish-green.

Tarsus and toes very pale yellow ; claws blue-black.
As MacGillivray says of Buteo, claws flattened beneath,
"that of the middle toe with an inner sharp edge."
(He says, as I gather, that all the diurnal birds of prey
of Great Britain, i. e. Falconince, have claws either
flattened or concave beneath, except Pandlon, the
inner edge of the middle one being more or less sharp,
but least so in Circus, or harrier.) Tarsus feathered
in front one third the way down. The toes for length
stand in this order, — the first (or hind), second,
fourth, third, the first being the shortest ; for stoutness
thus, — one, two, three, four. Claws for stoutness fol-
low the same order with the toes. Utmost spread of toes
and claws 4| inches. A considerable web between third
and fourth toes.^ Toes with papillae not rigid beneath.

The wing extends nearly two feet from the body,
and is 10| inches wide; from flexure is 15| inches.

1 In thia respect Circus and Falco much the same ; Aquila and
Pernis and Milvus have several short webs ; Haliaetus, Pandion, and
Acdpiter are free.

EED-TAILED HAWK 135

When fully expanded it has a rounded outline and a
ragged appearance owing to the separation of the first
five or six primaries, as I noticed the male bird while
resting. The first primary short ; they stand, first and
eighth, seventh, sixth, second, fifth, third, fourth. The
fifth and third are about the same length, and the
fourth only a quarter of an inch longer than the third.
As in the Buteo vulgaris of MacGillivray, found in
Europe and in our north, the four first primaries
" abruptly cut out on the inner web " ; the second,
third, fourth, and fifth, but not the first and sixth,
" slightly so on the outer." There are ten primaries
and there are fourteen secondaries. (MacGillivray says
the primaries of the Falconinm are ten, the seconda-
ries from thirteen to eighteen.) The wing, I see, natu-
rally opens at the primaries.

This is evidently very closely allied to the Buteo
vulgaris^ but apparently the wings are not so long com-
pared with the tail, and there is a difference in the
comparative length and stoutness of the toes ; the feet
of this are not " hright yellow," and the upper man-
dible is much stouter and more recurved at tip, judging
from his plate of the head and his description. It is
recurved as much as his osprey's.

The ear looked like a large round hole in the side
of the head behind the eye.

The egg is a very dirty brownish white, with brown
spots about the smaller end, though one end is about
as large as the other. It is larger than a hen's egg, —
2| inches by 2.

136 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

Early in spring I occasionally see hen-hawks perched
about river, and approach quite near them, but never
at any other time.

This hawk's flesh had a very disagreeable rank scent,
as I was cutting it up, though fresh, — cutting off the
wings, etc., etc.

Sei^t. 14, 1855. P. M.— To Hubbard's Close.

I scare from an oak by the side of the Close a young
hen-hawk, which, launching off with a scream and a
heavy flight, alights on the topmost plume of a large
pitch pine in the swamp northward, bending it down,
with its back toward me, where it might be mistaken
for a plume against the sky, the light makes all things
so black. It has a red tail ; black primaries ; scapulars
and wing-coverts gray-brown ; back showing much
white and whitish head. It keeps looking round, first
this side then that, warily.

Oct. 28, 1857. I hear the scream of a hen-hawk,
soaring and cii'cling onward. I do not often see the
marsh hawk thus. What a regular figure this fellow
makes on high, with his broad tail and broad wings !
Does he perceive me, that he rises higher and circles
to one side ? He goes round now one full circle without
a flap, tilting his wing a little ; then flaps three or four
times and rises higher. Now he comes on like a billow,
screaming. Steady as a planet in its orbit, with his
head bent down, but on second thought that small
sprout-land seems worthy of a longer scrutiny, and he
gives one circle backward over it. His scream is some-
what like the whinnering of a horse, if it is not rather

RED-TAILED HAWK 13T

a, split squeal.^ It is a hoarse, tremulous breathing
forth of his winged energy. But why is it so regularly
repeated at that height ? Is it to scare his prey, that
he may see by its motion where it is, or to inform its
mate or companion of its whereabouts ? Now he crosses
the at present broad river steadily, deserving to have
one or two rabbits at least to swing about him. What
majesty there is in this small bird's flight ! The hawks
are large-souled.

March 23, 1859. As we entered Well Meadow, we
saw a hen-hawk perch on the topmost plume of one
of the tall pines at the head of the meadow. Soon
another appeared, probably its mate, but we looked in
vain for a nest there. It was a fine sight, their soaring
above our heads, present- p.
ing a perfect outline and,
as they came round, show-
ing their rust-colored tails ^ ^■

with a whitish rump, or, *"-' J

as they sailed away from us, that slight teetering or
quivering motion of their dark-tipped wings seen edge-
wise, now on this side, now that, by which they balanced
and directed themselves. These are the most eagle-like
of our common hawks. They very commonly perch upon
the very topmost plume of a pine, and, if motionless,
are rather hard to distinguish there.

1 [The note described is evidently that of the red-tailed hawk rather
than that of the other " hen-hawk," the red-shouldered.]

138 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

HEN-HAWKS (SPECIES UNIDENTIFIED)^

Sept. 7, 1851. There were two hen-hawks soared and
circled for our entertainment, when we were in the
woods on that Boon Plain^ the other day, crossing each
other's orbits from time to time, alternating like the squir-
rels of the morning,^ till, alarmed by our imitation of
a hawk's shrill cry, they gradually inflated themselves,
made themselves more aerial, and rose higher and higher
into the heavens, and were at length lost to sight ; yet
all the while earnestly looking, scanning the surface of
the earth for a stray mouse or rabbit.

June 8, 1853. As I stood by this pond, I heard a
hawk scream, and, looking up, saw a pretty large one
circling not far off and incessantly screaming, as I at first
supposed to scare and so discover its prey, but its scream-
ing was so incessant and it circled from time to time so
near me, as I moved southward, that I began to think it
had a nest near by and was angry at my intrusion into
its domains. As I moved, the bird still followed and

^ [The term " hen-hawk " is applied in New England ordinarily to
the large buzzard hawks, or buteos, — the red-tailed hawk {Buteo bore-
alis) and the red-shouldered hawk (H. lineatus). Thoreau, however,
seems never to have identified the latter species except in the case of
a dead bird brought to him Jan. 12, 1859, and Mr. William Brewster, the
ornithologist, who has known the Concord country intimately for many
years, informs the editor that the red-tailed hawk was up to about 1S8S
the common hen-hawk there, though it is now almost entirely super-
seded by the red-shouldered. It seems probable, therefore, that most
of Thoreau's hen-hawks were red-tails, as was certainly the case with
many which he describes.]

^ [In Stow, Mass., near Concord.]

^ [Two caged squirrels revolving their cylinder alternately.]

HEN-HAWKS 139

screamed, coming sometimes quite near or. within gun-
shot, then circling far off or high into the sky. At length,
as I was looking up at it, thinking it the only living
creature within view, I was singularly startled to behold,
as my eye by chance penetrated deeper into the blue, —
the abyss of blue above, which I had taken for a soli-
tude,— its mate silently soaring at an immense height
and seemingly indifferent to me. We are surprised to dis-
cover that there can be an eye on us on that side, and so
little suspected, — that the heavens are full of eyes, though
they look so blue and spotless. Then I knew it was the
female that circled and screamed below. At last the
latter rose gradually to meet her mate, and they circled
together there, as if they could not possibly feel any
anxiety on my account. When I drew nearer to the tall
trees where I suspected the nest to be, the female de-
scended again, swept by screaming still nearer to me just
over the tree-tops, and finally, while I was looking for
the orchis in the swamp, alighted on a white pine twenty
or thirty rods off. (The great fringed orchis just open.)
At length I detected the nest about eighty feet from the
ground, in a very large white pine by the edge of the
swamp. It was about three feet in diameter, of dry
sticks, and a young hawk, apparently as big as its mother,
stood on the edge of the nest looking down at me, and
only moving its head when I moved. In its imperfect
plumage and by the slow motion of its head it reminded
me strongly of a vulture, so large and gaunt. It appeared
a tawny brown on its neck and breast, and dark brown
or blackish on wings. The mother was light beneath,
and apparently lighter still on rump.

140 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

June 9, 1853. I have come with a spy-glass to look
at the hawks. They have detected me and are already
screaming over my head more than half a mile from the
nest. I find no difficulty in looking at the young hawk
(there appears to be one only, standing on the edge of
the nest), resting the glass in the crotch of a young oak.
I can see every wink and the color of its iris. It watches
me more steadily than I it, now looking straight down
at me with both eyes and outstretched neck, now turn-
ing its head and looking with one eye. How its eye and
its whole head express anger ! Its anger is more in its
eye than in its beak. It is quite hoary over the eye and
on the chin. The mother meanwhile is incessantly cir-
cling about and above its charge and me, farther or
nearer, sometimes withdrawing a quarter of a mile,
but occasionally coming to alight for a moment almost
within gunshot, on the top of a tall white pine ; but I
hardly bring my glass fairly to bear on her, and get
sight of her angry eye through the pine-needles, before
she circles away again. Thus for an hour that I lay
there, screaming every minute or of tener with open bill.
Now and then pursued by a kingbird or a blackbird, who
appear merely to annoy it by dashing down at its back.
Meanwhile the male is soaring, apparently quite undis-
turbed, at a great height above, evidently not hunting,
but amusing or recreating himself in the thinner and
cooler air, as if pleased with his own circles, like a ge-
ometer, and enjoying the sublime scene. I doubt if he
has his eye fixed on any prey, or the earth. He probably
descends to hunt.

June 12, 1853. I forgot to say that I visited my hawk's

HEN-HAWKS 141

nest, and the young hawk was perched now four or
five feet above the nest, still in the shade. It will soon
fly. Now, then, in secluded pine woods, the young
hawks sit high on the edges of their nests or on the twigs
near by in the shade, waiting for their pinions to grow,
while their parents bring to them their prey. Their
silence also is remarkable, not to betray themselves, nor
will the old bird go to the nest while you are in sight.
She pursues me half a mile when I withdraw.

June 13, 1853. 9 A. M. — To Orchis Swamp.

Find that there are two young hawks ; one has left the
nest and is perched on a small maple seven or eight rods
distant. This one appears much smaller than the former
one. I am struck by its large, naked head, so vulture-
like, and large eyes, as if the vulture's were an inferior
stage through which the hawk passed. Its feet, too, are
large, remarkably developed, by which it holds to its
perch securely like an old bird, before its wings can per-
form their office. It has a buff breast, striped with dark
brown. Pratt, when I told him of this nest, said he
would like to carry one of his rifles down there. But I
told him that I should be sorry to have them killed. I
would rather save one of these hawks than have a hun-
dred hens and chickens. It was worth more to see them
soar, especially now that they are so rare in the land-
scape. It is easy to buy eggs, but not to buy hen-hawks.
My neighbors would not hesitate to shoot the last pair
of hen-hawks in the town to save a few of their chick-
ens ! But such economy is narrow and grovelling. It
is unnecessarily to sacrifice the greater value to the less.
I would rather never taste chickens' meat nor hens' eggs

142 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

than never to see a hawk sailing through the upper air
again. This sight is worth incomparably more than a
chicken soup or a boiled egg. So we exterminate the
deer and substitute the hog. It was amusing to observe
the swaying to and fro of the young hawk's head to
counterbalance the gentle motion of the bough in the
wind.

May 4, 1858. As I sit there by the swamp-side this
warm summery afternoon, I hear the crows cawing
hoarsely, and from time to time see one flying toward the
top of a tall white pine. At length I distinguish a hen-
hawk perched on the top. The crow repeatedly stoops
toward him, now from this side, now from that, passing
near his head each time, but he pays not the least atten-
tion to it.

JYov. 9, 1858. Now the young hen-hawks, full-grown
but inexperienced, still white-breasted and brown (not
red)-tailed, swoop down after the farmer's hens, between
the barn and the house, often carrying one o£E in their
clutches, and all the rest of the pack half fly, half run,
to the barn. Unwarrantably bold, one ventures to stoop
before the farmer's eyes. He clutches in haste his trusty
gun, which hangs, ready loaded, on its pegs ; he pursues
warily to where the marauder sits teetering on a lofty
pine, and when he is sailing scornfully away he meets
his fate and comes fluttering head forward to earth.
The exulting farmer hastes to secure his trophy. He
treats the proud bird's body with indignity. He carries
it home to show to his wife and children, for the hens
were his wife's special care. He thinks it one of his best
shots, full thirteen rods. This gun is " an all-Jired good

HEN-HAWKS 143

piece" — nothing but robin-shot. The body of the vic-
tim is delivered up to the children and the dog and, like
the body of Hector, is dragged so many times round
Troy.

But alas for the youthful hawk, the proud bird of
prey, the tenant of the skies ! We shall no more see his
wave-like outline against a cloud, nor hear his scream
from behind one. He saw but a pheasant in the field,
the food which nature has provided for him, and stooped
to seize it. This was his offense. He, the native of these
skies, must make way for those bog-trotters from an-
other land, which never soar. The eye that was con-
versant with sublimity, that looked down on earth from
under its sharp projecting brow, is closed ; the head
that was never made dizzy by any height is brought
low ; the feet that were not made to walk on earth now
lie useless along it. With those trailing claws for grap-
nels it dragged the lower sky. Those wings which swept
the sky must now dust the chimney-corner, perchance.
So weaponed, with strong beak and talons, and wings,
like a war-steamer, to carry them about. In vain were
the brown-spotted eggs laid, in vain were ye cradled in
the loftiest pine of the swamp. Where are your father
and mother ? Will they hear of your early death ? before
ye had acquired your full plumage, they who nursed and
defended ye so faithfully ?

Nqv. 11, 1858. The tail-coverts of the young hen-
hawk, i. e. this year's bird, at present are white, very
handsomely barred or watered with dark brown in an
irregular manner, somewhat as above, the bars on op-
posite sides of the midrib alternating in an agreeable

144 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

manner. Such natural objects have suggested the " wa-
tered " figures or colors in the arts. Few mortals ever look
down on the tail-coverts of a young hen-hawk, yet these
are not only beautiful, but of a peculiar beauty, being

differently marked and colored (to judge from Wilson's
account of the old) from those of the old bird. Thus she
finishes her works above men's sight.

Jan. 12, 1859. Farmer says that he saw what he calls
the common hen-hawk, one soaring high with apj^arently
a chicken in its claws, while a young hawk circled be-
neath, when former suddenly let drop the chicken, but
the young failing to catch, he shot down like lightning
and caught and bore off the falling chicken before it
reached the earth.

Fch. 16, 1859. The hen-hawk and the pine are friends.
The same thing which keeps the hen-hawk in the woods,
away from the cities, keeps me here. That bird settles
with confidence on a white pine top and not upon your
weathercock. That bird will not be poultry of yours,
lays no eggs for you, forever hides its nest. Though
willed, or wild., it is not willful in its wildness. The un-

HEN-HAWKS 145

sympathizing man regards the wildness of some animals,
their strangeness to him, as a sin ; as if all their virtue
consisted in their tamableness. He has always a charge
in his gun ready for their extermination. What we call
wildness is a civilization other than our own. The hen-
hawk shuns the farmer, but it seeks the friendly shelter
and support of the pine. It will not consent to walk in
the barn-yard, but it loves to soar above the clouds. It
has its own way and is beautiful, when we would fain
subject it to our will. So any surpassing work of art is
strange and wild to the mass of men, as is genius itself.
No hawk that soars and steals our poultry is wilder than
genius, and none is more persecuted or above persecu-
tion. It can never be poet laureate, to say " Pretty Poll "
and " Polly want a cracker."

March 15, 1860. A hen-hawk sails away from the
wood southward. I get a very fair sight of it sailing
overhead. What a perfectly regular and neat outline it
presents ! an easily recognized figure anywhere. Yet I
never see it represented in any books. The exact cor-
respondence of the marks on one side to those on the
other, as the black or dark tip of one wing to the other,
and the dark line midway the wing. I have no idea that
one can get as correct an idea of the form and color of
the under sides of a hen-hawk's wings by spreading
those of a dead specimen in his study as by looking up
at a free and living hawk soaring above him in the
fields. The penalty for obtaining a petty knowledge thus
dishonestly is that it is less interesting to men generally,
as it is less significant. Some, seeing and admiring the
neat figure of the hawk sailing two or three hundred

146 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

feet above their heads, wish to get nearer and hold it
in their hands, perchance, not realizing that they can
see it best at this distance, better now, perhaps, than
ever they will again. What is an eagle in captivity,
screaming in a courtyard? I am not the wiser respect-
ing eagles for having seen one there. I do not wish to
know the length of its entrails.

How neat and all compact this hawk ! Its wings and
body are all one piece, the wings apparently the greater
part, while its body is a mere fullness or protuberance
between its wings, an inconspicuous pouch hung there.
It suggests no insatiable maw, no corpulence, but looks
like a larger moth, with little body in proportion to its
wings, its body naturally more etherealized as it soars
higher.

These hawks, as usual, begin to be common about the
first of March, showing that they were returning from
their winter quarters.

April 22, 1860. See now hen-hawks, a pair, soaring
high as for pleasure, circling ever further and further
away, as if it were midsummer. The peculiar flight of
a hawk thus fetches the year about. I do not see it soar
in this serene and leisurely manner very early in the
season, methinks.

\_See also under Crow, p. 241; General and Miscel-
laneous, p. 408.]

ROUGH-LEGGED HAWK

March 29, 1858. As I sit two thirds the way up the
sunny side of the pine hill, looking over the meadows,
which are now almost completely bare, the crows, by

\

ROUGH-LEGGED HAWK 147

their swift flight and scolding, reveal to me some large
bird of prey hovering over the river. I perceive by its
markings and size that it cannot be a hen-hawk, and
now it settles on the topmost branch, of a white maple,
bending it down. Its great armed and feathered legs
dangle heljjlessly in the air for a moment, as if feeling
for the perch, while its body is tipping this way and
that. It sits there facing me some forty or fifty rods
off, pluming itself but keeping a good lookout. At this
distance and in this light, it appears to have a rusty-
brown head and breast and is white beneath, with rusty
leg-feathers and a tail black beneath. When it flies
again it is principally black varied with white, regular
light spots on its tail and wings beneath, but chiefly
a conspicuous white space on the forward part of the
back ; also some of the upper side of the tail or tail-
coverts is white. It has broad, ragged, buzzard-like
wings, and from the white of its back, as well as the
shape and shortness of its wings and its not having a
gull-like body, I think it must be an eagle.' It lets it-
self down with its legs somewhat helplessly dangling,
as if feeling for something on the bare meadow, and
then gradually flies away, soaring and circling higher
and higher until lost in the downy clouds. This lofty
soaring is at least a grand recreation, as if it were

^ [Thoreau was evidently thinking' only of distinguishing' the bird
from the fish hawk with its long and narrow wings. The description
answers very well to that of the rough-legged hawk, the only New
England species with fully feathered legs except the much rarer golden
eagle, which lacks the white markings described. Neither of the eagles
has short wings, while the wings of the rough-legged hawk are notably
broad and buzzard-like.]

148 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

nourishing sublime ideas. I should like to know why it
soars higher and higher so, whether its thoughts are
really turned to earth, for it seems to be more nobly as
well as highly employed than the laborers ditching in
the meadow beneath or any others of my fellow-towns-
men.

BALD EAGLE ; WHITE-HEADED EAGLE

April 8, 1854. Saw a large bird sail along over the
edge of Wheeler's cranberry meadow just below Fair
Haven, which I at first thought a gull, but with my
glass found it was a hawk and had a perfectly white
head and tail and broad or blackish wings. It sailed
and circled along over the low cliff, and the crows dived
at it in the field of my glass, and I saw it well, both
above and beneath, as it turned, and then it passed off
to hover over the Cliffs at a greater height. It was un-
doubtedly a white-headed eagle. It was to the eye but
a large hawk.

A2)ril 23, 1854. Saw my white-headed eagle again,
first at the same place, the outlet of Fair Haven Pond.
It was a fine sight, he is mainly — i. e. his wings and
body — so black against the sky, and they contrast so
strongly with his white head and tail. He was first fly-
ing low over the water ; then rose gradually and circled
westward toward White Pond. Lying on the ground
with my glass, I could watch him very easily, and by
turns he gave me all possible views of himself. When
I observed him edgewise I noticed that the tips of his
wings curved upward slightly the more, like a stereo-
typed undulation. He rose very high at last, till I al-

BALD EAGLE 149

most lost hitn in the clouds, circling or rather looping
along westward, high over river and wood and farm,
effectually concealed in the sky. We who live this plod-
ding life here below never know how many eagles fly
over us. They are concealed in the empyrean. I think
I have got the worth of my glass now that it has re-
vealed to me the white-headed eagle.* Now I see him
edgewise like a black ripple in the air, his white head
still as ever turned to earth, and now he turns his
under side to me, and I behold the full breadth of his
broad black wings, somewhat ragged at the edges.

Aug. 22, 1858. At Baker Farm a large bird rose up
near us, which at first I took for a hen-hawk, but it
appeared larger. It screamed the same, and finally
soared higher and higher till it was almost lost amid
the clouds, or could scarcely be distinguished except
when it was seen against some white and glowing cu-
mulus. I think it was at least half a mile high, or three
quarters, and yet I distinctly heard it scream up there
each time it came round, and with my glass saw its
head steadily bent toward the ground, looking for its
prey. Its head, seen in a proper light, was distinctly
whitish, and I suspect it may have been a white-headed
eagle.^ It did not once flap its wings up there, as it
circled and sailed, though I watched it for nearly a
mile. How fit that these soaring birds should be haughty
and fierce, not like doves to our race!

Aug. 29, 1858. Ah! what a voice was that hawk's or

1 [He had bought a spy-glass a few weeks before.]

2 [The eagle is so very much larger than any of our hawks that it
seems doubtful if this bird could have been one.]

150 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

eagle's of the 22d ! Think of hearing, as you walk the
earth, as usual in leaden shoes, a fine, shrill scream from
time to time, which you would vainly endeavor to refer
to its true source if you had not watched the bird in its
upward flight. It comes from yonder black spot on the
bosom of a cloud. I should not have suspected that
sound to have issued from the bosom of a cloud if I
had not seen the bii*d. What motive can an eagle have
for screaming among the clouds, unobserved by ter-
restrial creatures ? We walk invested by sound, — the
cricket in the grass and the eagle in the clouds. And
so it circled over, and I strained my eyes to follow it,
though my ears heard it without effort.

l^See also under Hen-hawks, p. 146 ; Fish Hawk,
p. 158 ; Hawks, p. 166 ; Junco, p. 303 ; General and
Miscellaneous, pp. 418, 427 ; and for birds mistakenl3^
supposed to be eagles see under Rough-legged Hawk,
pp. 146-148, and Fish Hawk, p. 151.]

SPARROW HAWK

Sept. 24, 1851. A spai-row hawk,^ hardly so big as
a nighthawk, flew over high above my head, — a pretty
little graceful fellow, too small and delicate to be ra-
pacious.

FISH HAWK

March 27, 1842. Cliffs. — Two little hawks have
just come out to play, like butterflies rising one above

^ [Thoreau at this time had made but little acquaintance with the
hawks, and this bird was probably not very exactly identified as to
species.]

FISH HAWK 151

the other in endless alternation far below me. They
swoop from side to side in the broad basin of the tree-
tops, with wider and wider surges, as if swung by an
invisible pendulum. They stoop down on this side and
scale up on that.

Suddenly I look up and see a new bird, probably an
eagle, quite above me, laboring with the wind not more
than forty rods off. It was the largest bird of the falcon
kind I ever saw. I was never so impressed by any flight.
She sailed the air, and fell back from time to time like
a ship on her beam ends, holding her talons up as if
ready for the arrows. I never allowed before for the
grotesque attitudes of our national bird.^

The eagle must have an educated eye.

March 31, 1842. I cannot forget the majesty of that
bird at the Cliff. It was no sloop or smaller craft hove
in sight, but a ship of the line, worthy to struggle with
the elements. It was a great presence, as of the master
of river and forest. His eye would not have quailed
before the owner of the soil; none could challenge his
rights. And then his retreat, sailing so steadily away,
was a kind of advance. How is it that man always feels
like an interloper in nature, as if he had intruded on
the domains of bird and beast ? ^

April 14, 1852. A fish hawk is calmly sailing over
all, looking for his prey. The gulls are all gone now,
though the water is high, but I can see the motions of

^ [See the next note.]

^ [This bird appears to have been a fish hawk, not an eagle- At
least in his paper on the " Natural History of Massachusetts," included
in Excursions, Thorean uses the same terms in writing of the fish hawk.]

152 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

a muskrat on the calm sunny surface a great way off.
So perfectly calm and beautiful, and yet no man look-
ing at it this morning but myself. It is pleasant to see
the zephyrs strike the smooth surface of the pond from
time to time, and a darker shade ripple over it.

The streams break up; the ice goes to the sea. Then
sails the fish hawk overhead, looking for his prey.

Oct. 22, 1852. When I approached the pond * over
Heywood's Peak, I disturbed a hawk (a fish hawk?) on
a white pine by the water watching for his prey, with
long, narrow, sharp wings and a white belly. He flew
slowly across the pond somewhat like a gull. He is the
more picturesque object against the woods or water for
being white beneath.

Nov. 17, 1854. I think it must have been a fish hawk
which I saw hovering over the meadow and my boat (a
raw cloudy afternoon), now and then sustaining itself
in one place a hundred feet or more above the water,
intent on a fish, with a hovering or fluttering motion of
the wings somewhat like a kingfisher. Its wings were
very long, slender, and curved in outline of front edge.
I think there was some white on rump. It alighted near
the top of an oak within rifle-shot of me and my boat,
afterward on the tip-top of a maple by waterside, look-
ing very large.

Apmll5, 1855. The Great Meadows are covered, ex-
cept a small island in their midst, but not a duck do
we see there. On a low limb of a maple on the edge of
the river, thirty rods from the present shore, we saw a
fish hawk eating a fish. Sixty rods off we could see his

1 [Walden Pond.]

FISH HAWK 153

white crest. We landed, and got nearer by stealing
through the woods. His legs looked long as he stood
up on the limb with his back to us, and his body looked
black against the sky and by contrast with the wliite
of his head. There was a dark stripe on the side of the
head. He had got the fish under his feet on the limb,
and would bow his head, snatch a mouthful, and then
look hastily over his right shoulder in our direction,
then snatch another mouthful and look over his left
shoulder. At length he launched off and flapped heavily
away. We found at the bottom of the water beneath
where he sat numerous fragments of the fish he had
been eating, parts of the fins, entrails, gills, etc., and
some was dropped on the bough. From one fin which
I examined, I judged that it was either a sucker or a
pout. There were small leeches adhering to it.

In the meanwhile, as we were stealing through the
woods, we heard the pleasing note of the pine warbler,
bringing back warmer weather, and we heard one honk
of a goose, and, looking up, saw a large narrow har-
row of them steering northeast. Half a mile further we
saw another fish hawk, upon a dead limb midway up a
swamp white oak over the water, at the end of a small
island. We paddled directly toward him till within
thirty rod^. A crow came scolding to the tree and lit
within three feet, looking about as large, compared
with the hawk, as a crow blackbird to a crow, but he
paid no attention to him. We had a very good view
of him, as he sat sideways to us, and of his eagle-shaped
head and beak. The white feathers of his head, which
were erected somewhat, made him look like a copple-

154 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

crowned hen. When he launched off, he uttered a
clear whistling note, — iiilie jihe^ phe phe, phe phe^ —
somewhat like that of a telltale, but more round and
less shrill and rapid, and another, perhaps his mate,
fifty rods off, joined him. They flew heavily, as we
looked at them from behind, more like a blue heron
and bittern than I was aware of, their long wings un-
dulating slowly to the tip, like the heron's, and the
bodies seeming sharp like a gull's and unlike a hawk's.

In the water beneath where he was perched, we found
many fragments of a pout, — bits of red gills, entrails,
fins, and some of the long flexible black feelers, —
scattered for four or five feet. This pout appeared to
have been quite fresh, and was probably caught alive.
We afterward started one of them from an oak over
the water a mile beyond, just above the boat-house,
and he skimmed off very low over the water, several
times striking it with a loud sound heard plainly sixty
rods off at least; and we followed him with our eyes
till we could only see faintly his undulating wings
against the sky in the western horizon. You could prob-
ably tell if any were about by looking for fragments of
fish under the trees on which they would perch.

May 12, 1855. From beyond the orchard saw a large
bird far over the Cliff Hill, which, with my glass, I
soon made out to be a fish hawk advancing. Even at
that distance, half a mile off, I distinguished its gull-
like body, — pirate-like fishing body fit to dive, — and
that its wings did not curve upward at the ends like a
hen-hawk's (at least I could not see that they did), but
rather hung down. It came on steadily, bent on fishing,

FISH HAWK 155

with long and heavy undulating wings, with an easy,
sauntering flight, over the river to the pond, and hov-
ered over Pleasant Meadow a long time, hovering from
time to time in one spot, when more than a hundred
feet high, then making a very short circle or two and
hovering again, then sauntering off against the wood-
side. At length he reappeared, passed downward over
the shrub oak plain and alighted on an oak (of course
now bare), standing this time apparently lengthwise
on the limb. Soon took to wing again and went to fish-
ing down the stream a hundred feet high. When just
below Bittern Cliff, I observed by its motions that it
observed something. It made a broad circle of observa-
tion in its course, lowering itself somewhat ; then, by
one or two steep sidewise flights, it reached the water,
and, as near as intervening trees would let mo see,
skimmed over it and endeavored to clutch its prey in
passing. It failed the first time, but probably succeeded
the second. Then it leisurely winged its way to a tall
bare tree on the east side of the Cliffs, and there we left
it apparently pluming itself. It had a very white belly,
and indeed appeared all white beneath its body. I saw
broad black lines between the white crown and throat.

Returning over Conantum, I directed my glass toward
the dead tree on Cliffs, and was surprised to see the
fish hawk still sitting there, about an hour after he first
alighted ; and now I found that he was eating a fish,
which he had under his feet on the limb and ate as I
have already described. At this distance his whole head
looked white with his breast.

156 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

May 14, 1855. Under the dead pine on which the
fish hawk sat on the 12th inst.^ a half-mile from the
river, I find a few fish bones — one, I am pretty sure
from comparison, the jaw of a pout. So that in three
instances, the only ones observed this year, they were
feeding on pouts. Probably the mice, etc., had picked
up the rest of his droppings. Thus these inhabitants
of the interior get a taste of fish from time to time, —
crumbs from the fish hawk's table.

April 6, 1856. As I am going along the Corner road
by the meadow mouse brook, hear and see, a quarter of
a mile northwest, on those conspicuous white oaks near
the river in Hubbard's second grove, the crows buffet-
ing some intruder. The crows had betrayed to me some
large bird of the hawk kind which they were buffeting.
I suspected it before I looked carefully. I saw several
crows on the oaks, and also what looked to my naked
eye like a cluster of the palest and most withered oak
leaves with a black base about as big as a crow. Look-
ing with my glass, I saw that it was a great bird. The
crows sat about a rod off, higher up, while another
crow was occasionally diving at him, and all were caw-
ing. The great bird was just starting. It was chiefly a
dirty white with great broad wings with black tips and
black on other parts, giving it the appearance of dirty
white, barred with black. I am not sure whether it was
a white-headed eagle or a fish hawk. There appeared
much more white than belongs to either, and more
black than the fish hawk has. It rose and wheeled,
flapping several times, till it got under way ; then, with
its rear to me, presenting the least surface, it moved

FISH HAWK 157

off steadily in its orbit over the woods northwest, with
the slightest possible undulation of its wings, — a noble
planetary motion, like Saturn with its ring seen edge-
wise. It is so rare that we see a large body self-sus-
tained in the air. While crows sat still and silent and
confessed their lord. Through my glass I saw the out-
lines of this sphere against the sky, trembling with life
and power as it skimmed the topmost twigs of the wood
toward some more solitary oak amid the meadows. To
my naked eye it showed only so much black as a crow
in its talons might. Was it not the white-headed eagle
in the state when it is called the sea eagle ? ^ Perhaps
its neck-feathers were erected.

April 14, 1856. See from my window a fish hawk
flying high west of the house, cutting off the bend be-
tween Willow Bay and the meadow, in front of the
house, between one vernal lake and another. He sud-
denly wheels and, straightening out his long, narrow
wings, makes one circle high above the last meadow, as
if he had caught a glimpse of a fish beneath, and then
continues his course down the river.

P. M. — Sail to hill by Bedford line.

Wind southwest and pretty strong; sky overcast;
weather cool. Start up a fish hawk from near the swamp
white oaks southwest of the Island, undoubtedly the
one of the morning. I now see that this is a much
darker bird, both above and beneath, than that bird of
the 6th. It flies quite low, surveying the water, in an
undulating, buoyant manner, like a marsh hawk, or

^ [Wilson, in his American Ornithology, gave an account of the " sea
eagle," which he suspected to be the young of the bald eagle.]

158 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

still more a nighthawk, with its long curved wings. He
flies so low westward that I lose sight of him against
the dark hillside and trees.

April 16, 1856. As I walk along the bank of the
Assabet, I hear the yeep yeep yeep yeeep yeeep yeep, or
perhaps peop, of a fish hawk, repeated qnite fast, but
not so shrill and whistling as I think I have heard it,
and directly I see his long curved wings undulating
over Pinxter Swamp, now flooded.

Aug. 25, 1856. I cross the meadows in the face of
a thunder-storm rising very dark in the north. There
were several boats out, but their crews soon retreated
homeward before the approaching storm. It came on
rapidly, with vivid lightning striking the northern
earth and heavy thunder following. Just before, and
in the shadow of, the cloud, I saw, advancing majesti-
cally with wide circles over the meadowy flood, a fish
hawk and, apparently, a black eagle (maybe a young
white-head). The first, with slender curved wings and
silvery breast, four or five hundred feet high, watching
the water while he circled slowly southwesterly. What
a vision that could detect a fish at that distance ! The
latter, with broad black wings and broad tail, thus:

O hovered only about one hundred feet high ; evi-
dently a different species, and what else but an
eagle? They soon disappeared southwest, cut-
ting off a bend. The thunder-shower passed off to the
southeast.

Oct. 26, 1857. A storm is a new, and in some re-
spects more active, life in nature. Larger migrating
birds make their appearance. They, at least, sympa-

FISH HAWK 159

thize with the movements of the watery element and
the winds. I see two great fish hawks (^possibly bhie
herons) slowly beating northeast against the storm, by
what a curious tie circling ever near each other and in
the same direction, as if you might expect to find the
very motes in the air to be paired ; two long undulating
wings conveying a feathered body through the misty
atmosphere, and this inseparably associated with an-
other planet of the same species. I can just glimpse
their undulating lines. Damon and Pythias they must
be. The waves beneath, which are of kindred form, are
still more social, multitudinous, dvrjpiOfxov. Where is my
mate, beating against the storm with me? They fly
according to the valley of the river, northeast or south-
west.

I start up snipes also at Clamshell Meadow. This
weather sets the migratory birds in motion and also
makes them bolder.

April 25, 1858. P. M. — To Assabet.

Approaching the Island, I hear the phe phe,phe phe.,
phe phe, phe jjhe, phe, the sharp whistling note, of a
fish hawk, and, looking round, see him just afterward
launching away from one of the swamp white oaks
southwest of the Island. There is about half a second
between each note, and he utters them either while
perched or while flying. He shows a great proportion
of wing and some white on back. The wings are
much curved. He sails along some eighty feet above
the water's edge, looking for fish, and alights again
quite near. I see him an hour afterward about the
same spot.

160 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

April 28, 1858. I see the fish hawk again [two or
three indecipherable words] Island. As it flies low,
directly over my head, I see that its body is white
beneath, and the white on the forward side of the
wings beneath, if extended across the breast, would
form a regular crescent. Its wings do not form a reg-
ular curve in front, but
an abrupt angle. They are

.^^^^-— I \^^ loose and broad at tips.

^"^ \K ^-^_ 1 his bird goes lishmg
«•^ ^=P^z. „i i„ J „:j„

!^~ slowly down one side
of the river and up again on the other, forty to sixty
feet high, continually poising itself almost or quite
stationary, with its head to the northwest wind and
looking down, flapping its wangs enough to keep its
place, sometimes stationary for about a minute. It
is not shy. This boisterous weather is the time to
see it.

May 1, 1858. Suddenly a large hawk sailed over
from the Assabet, which at first I took for a hen-har-
rier, it was so neat a bird and apparently not very
large. It was a fish hawk, with a very conspicuous
white crown or head and a uniform brown above else-
where ; beneath white, breast and belly. Probably it
was the male, which is the smaller and whiter beneath.
A wedge-shaped tail. He alighted on a dead elm limb
on Prichard's ground, and at this distance, with my
glass, I could see some dark of head above the white of
throat or breast. He was incessantly looking about as
if on his guard. After fifteen minutes came a crow
from the Assabet and alighted cawing, about twenty

FISH HAWK 161

rods from him, and ten minutes later another. How
alert they are to detect these great birds of prey !
They do not thus pursue ordinary hawks, and their
attendance alone might suggest to unskillful observers
the presence of a fish hawk or eagle. Some crows up
the Assabet evidently knew that he was sitting on that
elm far away. He sailed low almost directly over my
boat, fishing. His wings had not obviously that angular
form which I thought those of another had the other
day.

April 7, 1859. Standing under the north side of the
hill, I hear the rather innocent phe phe, phe phe, phe
phe, phe' of a fish hawk (for it is not a scream, but a
rather soft and innocent note), and, looking up, see
one come sailing from over the hill. The body looks
quite short in proportion to the spread of the wings,
which are quite dark or blackish above. He evidently
has something in his talons. We soon after disturb
him again, and, at length, after circling around over
the hill and adjacent fields, he alights in plain sight on
one of the half-dead white oaks on the top of the hill,
where probably he sat before. As I look through my
glass, he is perched on a large dead limb and is evi-
dently standing on a fish (I had noticed something in
his talons as he flew), for he stands high and uneasily,
finding it hard to keep his balance in the wind. He is
disturbed by our neighborhood and does not proceed at
once to eat his meal. I see the tail of the fish hanging
over the end of the limb. Now and then he pecks at it.
I see the white on the crown of the hawk. It is a very
large black bird as seen against the sky. Soon he sails

162 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

away again, carrying his fish, as before, horizontally
beneath his body, and he circles about over the adja-
cent pasture like a hawk hunting, though he can only
be looking for a suitable place to eat his fish or waiting
for us to be gone.

Looking under the limb on which he was perched,
we find a piece of the skin of a sucker (?) or some
other scaly fish which a hawk had dropped there long
since. No doubt many a fish hawk has taken his meal
on that sightly perch.

It seems, then, that the fish hawk which you see
soaring and sailing so leisurely about over the land —
for this one soared quite high into the sky at one time
— may have a fish in his talons all the while and only
be waiting till you are gone for an opportunity to eat it
on his accustomed perch.

Oct. 5, 1860. I see a fish hawk, skimming low over
it,^ suddenly dive or stoop for one of those little fishes
that rise to the surface so abundantly at this season.
He then sits on a bare limb over the water, ready to
swoop down again on his finny prey, presenting, as he
sits erect, a long white breast and belly and a white
head. No doubt he well knows the habits of these little
fishes which dimple the surface of Walden at this sea-
son, and I doubt if there is any better fishing-ground
for him to resort to. He can easily find a perch over-
looking the lake and discern his prey in the clear
water.

[/See also under Great Blue Heron, p. 79; General
and Miscellaneous, p. 418. J

1 [Walden Pond.]

HAWKS 1G3

HAWKS (species UNNAMED)

Sept. 25, 1851. In these cooler, windier, crystal days
the note of the jay sounds a little more native. Stand-
ing on the Cliffs, I see them flitting and screaming from
pine to pine beneath, displaying their gaudy blue pin-
ions. Hawks, too, I perceive, sailing about in the clear
air, looking white against the green pines, like the seeds
of the milkweed. There is almost always a pair of
hawks. Their shrill scream, that of the owls, and wolves
ai-e all related.

Oct. 9, 1851. The circling hawk steers himself
through the air like the skater, without a visible mo-
tion.

Dec. 20, 1851. Saw a large hawk circling over a pine
wood below me, and screaming, apparently that he might
discover his prey by their flight. Travelling ever by
wider circles. What a symbol of the thoughts, now soar-
ing, now descending, taking larger and larger circles,
or smaller and smaller! It flies not directly whither it
is bound, but advances by circles, like a courtier of the
skies. No such noble progress ! How it comes round, as
with a wider sweep of thought ! But the majesty is in
the imagination of the beholder, for the bird is intent
on its prey. Circling and ever circling, you cannot
divine which way it will incline, till perchance it dives
down straight as an arrow to its mark. It rises higlier
above where I stand, and I see with beautiful distinct-
ness its wings against the sky, — primaries and second-
aries, and the rich tracery of the outline of the latter (?),
its inner wings, or wing-linings, within the outer, —

164 NOTES ON NE-W ENGLAND BIRDS

like a great moth seen against the sky, A will-o'-the-
wind. Following its path, as it were, through the vortices
of the air. The poetry of motion. Not as preferring one
place to another, but enjoying each as long as possible.
Most gracefully so surveys new scenes and revisits the
old. As if that hawk were made to be the symbol of my
thought, how bravely he came round over those parts of
the wood which he had not surveyed, taking in a new
segment, annexing new territories ! Without " heave-
yo ! " it trims its sail. It goes about without the creak-
ing of a block. That America yacht of the air that
never makes a tack, though it rounds the globe itself,
takes in and shakes out its reefs without a flutter, — its
sky-scrapers all under its control. Holds up one wing,
as if to admire, and sweeps off this way, then holds up
the other and sweeps that. If there are two concentri-
cally circling, it is such a regatta as Southauipton wa-
ters never witnessed.*

Flights of imagination, Coleridgean thoughts. So a
man is said to soar in his thought, ever to fresh woods
and pastures new. Rises as in thought.

What made the hawk mount ? Did you perceive the
manoeuvre ? Did he fill himself with air ? Before you
were aware of it, he had mounted by his spiral path into
the heavens.

April 22, 1852. Saw four hawks soaring high in the
heavens over the Swamp Bridge Brook. At first saw
three ; said to myself there must be four, and found the

^ [The yacht America had in the preceding August won her famous
cup in a race round the Isle of Wight.]

HAWKS 165

fourth. Glad are they, no doubt, to be out after being
confined by the storm.

April 29, 1852. I discover a hawk over my head by
his shadow on the ground ; also small birds.

t/une 15, 1852. I hear the scream of a gi*eat hawk,
sailing with a ragged wing against the high wood-side,
apparently to scare his prey and so detect it, — shrill,
harsh, fitted to excite terror in sparrows and to issue
from his split and curved bill. I see his open bill the
while against the sky. Spit with force from his mouth
with an undulatory quaver imparted to it from his wings
or motion as he flies. A hawk's ragged wing will grow
whole again, but so will not a poet's.

Aiifjf. 31, 1852. I saw a small hawk fly along under
the hillside and alight on the ground, its breast and
belly pure downy white. It was a very handsome bird.
Though they are not fitted to walk much on the ground,
but to soar, yet its feet, which are but claws to seize its
prey and hold to its perch, are handsome appendages,
and it is a very interesting sight on the ground. Yet
there is a certain unfitness in so fair a breast, so pure
white, made to breast nothing less pure than the sky or
clouds, coming so nearly in contact with the earth. Never
bespattered with the mud of earth. That was the im-
pression made on me, — of a very pure breast, accus-
tomed to float on the sky, in contact with the earth. It
stood quite still, watching me, as if it was not easy for
it to walk.

Sept. 16, 1852. What makes this such a day for
hawks ? There are eight or ten in sight from the Cliffs,
large and small, one or more with a white rump. I de-

166 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

tected the transit of the first by his shadow on the rock,
and I look toward the sun for him. Though he is made
light beneath to conceal him, his shadow betrays him.
A hawk must get out of the wood, must get above it,
where he can sail. It is narrow dodging for him amid
the boughs. He cannot be a hawk there, but only perch
gloomily. Now I see a large one — perchance an eagle,
I say to myself ! — down in the valley, circling and cir-
cling, higher and wider. This way he comes. How beau-
tiful does he repose on the air, in the moment when
he is directly over you, and you see the form and tex-
ture of his wings ! How light he must make himself,
how much earthy heaviness expel, before he can thus
soar and sail ! He carries no useless clogs there with
him. They are out by families ; while one is circling
this way, another circles that. Kites without strings.
Where is the boy that flies them ? Are not the hawks
most observed at this season ?

March 30, 1853. The motions of a hawk correcting
the flaws in the wind by raising his shoulder from time
to time, are much like those of a leaf yielding to them.
For the little hawks are hunting now. You have not to
sit long on the Cliffs before you see one.

March 2, 1855. Heard two hawks scream. There
was something truly March-like in it, like a prolonged
blast or whistling of the wind through a crevice in the
sky, which, like a cracked blue saucer, overlaps the
woods. Such are the first rude notes which prelude
the summer's quire, learned of the whistling March
wind.

Oct. 22, 1855. I sat on a bank at the brook crossing,

HAWKS 167

beyond the grove, to watch a flock of sen'w^os,* perhaps
Savannah sparrows, which, with some F. hyemalis"^ ^indi.
other sparrows, were actively flitting about amid the
alders and dogwood. . . . Suddenly a pigeon hawk '
dashed over the bank very low and within a rod of me,
and, striking its wings against the twigs with a clatter
close to a sparrow, which escaped, it alighted amid the
alders in front, within four rods of me. It was attracted
by the same objects which attracted me. It sat a few
moments, balancing itself and spreading its tail and
wings, — a chubby little fellow. Its back appeared a
sort of deep chocolate-brown. Every sparrow at once
concealed itself, apparently deep in the bushes next
the ground. Once or twice he dashed down there amid
the alders and tried to catch one. In a few minutes he
skimmed along the hedge by the path and disappeared
westward. But presently, hearing the sound of his
wings amid the bushes, I looked up and saw him dash-
ing along through the willows and then out and up-
ward high over the meadow in pursuit of a sparrow
(perhaps a seringo). The sparrow flew pretty high and
kept doubling. When it flew direct, the hawk gained,
and got within two or three feet of it ; but when it
doubled, it gained on the hawk ; so the latter soon gave
up the chase, and the little bird flew off high over my
head, with a panting breath and a rippling ricochet
flight, toward the high pine grove. When I passed

^ [See note to Savannah Sparrow, p. 290.]

2 [Fringilla hyemalis, the slate-colored junco or snowbird, now known
as Junco hyemalis.]
■* Was I sure ?

168 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

along the path ten minutes after, I found that all those
sparrows were still hid under the bushes by the ditch-
side, close to the ground, and I saw nothing of them
till I scared them out by going within two or three feet.
No doubt they warned each other by a peculiar note.
What a corsair the hawk is to them ! — a little fellow
hardly bigger than a quail.

Feh. 29, 1856. [Minott] told again of the partridge
hawk striking down a partridge which rose before him
and flew across the run in the beech woods, — how
suddenly he did it, — and he, hearing the fluttering of
the partridge, came up and secured it, while the hawk
kept out of gunshot.

Sept. 27, 1857. As I sit there I see the shadow of a
hawk flying above and behind me. I think I see more
hawks nowadays. Perhaps it is both because the young
are grown and their food, the small birds, are flying
in flocks and are abundant. I need only sit still a few
minutes on any spot which overlooks the river meadows,
before I see some black circling mote beating along,
circling along the meadow's edge, now lost for a mo-
ment as it turns edgewise in a peculiar light, now re-
appearing further or nearer.

\_See also under Wild Goose, p. 59 ; Fish Hawk, pp.
150, 151; General and Miscellaneous, pp. 409, 412.]

IX

OWLS

LONG-EARED OWL

June 24, 1857. Went to Farmer's Swamp to look
for the screech owl's * nest Farmer had found. You go
about forty-five rods on the first path to the left in the
woods and then turn to the left a few rods. I found the
nest at last near the top of a middling-sized white pine,
about thirty feet from the ground. As I stood by the
tree, the old bird dashed by within a couple of rods,
uttering a peculiar mewing sound, which she kept up
amid the bushes, a blackbird in close pursuit of her.
I found the nest empty, on one side of the main stem
but close to it, resting on some limbs. It was made of
twigs rather less than an eighth of an inch thick and was
almost flat above, only an inch lower in the middle than
at the edge, about sixteen inches in diameter and six
or eight inches thick, with the twigs in the midst, and
beneath was mixed sphagnum and sedge from the swamp
beneath, and the lining or flooring was coarse strips
of grape-vine bark ; the whole pretty firmly matted
together. How common and important a material is
grape-vine bark for birds' nests ! Nature wastes no-
thing. There were white droppings of the young on the
nest and one lai-ge pellet of fur and small bones two

^ [The situation of the nest and Thoreau's description of the notes
indicate a long-eared owl rather than a screech owl.]

170 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

and a half inches long. In the meanwhile, the old bird
was uttering that hoarse worried note from time to
time, somewhat like a partridge's, flying past from side
to side and alighting amid the trees or bushes. When
I had descended, I detected one young one two-thirds
grown perched on a branch of the next tree, about fif-
teen feet from the ground, which was all the while star-
ing at me with its great yellow eyes. It was gray with
gray horns and a dark beak. As I walked past near it,
it turned its head steadily, always facing me, without
moving its body, till it looked directly the opposite
way over its back, but never offered to fly. Just then
I thought surely that I heard a puppy faintly barking
at me four or five rods distant amid the bushes, hav-
ing tracked me into the swamp, — what what^ what
what what. It was exactly such a noise as the barking
of a very small dog or perhaps a fox. But it was the
old owl, for I presently saw her making it. She re-
peated \_&ic\ perched quite near. She was generally
reddish-brown or partridge-colored, the breast mottled
with dark brown and fawn-color in downward strings
\sic\^ and had plain fawn-colored thighs.

SHORT- EARED OWL

Dec. 8, 1853. At midday (3 p. m.) saw an owl fly
from toward the river and alight on Mrs. Richardson's
front-yard fence. Got quite near it, and followed it to
a rock on the heap of dirt at Collier's cellar. A rather
dark brown owl above (with a decided owl head (and
eyes), though not very broad), with longitudinal tawny
streaks (or the reverse), none transverse, growing

BARRED OWL 171

lighter down the breast, and at length clear rusty yel-
lowish or cream-color beneath and about feathered feet.
Wings large and long, with a distinct large black spot
beneath ; bill and claws, I think, black. Saw no ears.
Kept turning its head and great black eyes this way
and that when it heard me, but appeared not to see
me. Saw my shadow better, for I ap[proached] on the
sunny side. I am inclined to think it the short-eared
owl, though I could see no ears, though it reminded
me of what I had read of the hawk owl.^ It was a
foot or more long and spread about three feet. Flew
somewhat flappingly, yet hawk-like. Went within two
or three rods of it.

BAKRED OWL

Dec. 14, 1858. I see at Derby's shop a barred owl
(^Strix nebulosa) ,'^ taken in the woods west of the fac-
tory on the 11th, found (with its wing broke [s«c]) by
a wood-chopper. It measures about three and a half
feet in alar extent by eighteen to twenty inches lon^,
or nearly the same as the cat owl, but is small and with-
out horns. It is very mild and quiet, bears handling
perfectly well, and only snaps its bill with a loud sound
at the sight of a cat or dog. It is apparently a female,
since it is large and has white spots on the wings. The
claws are quite dark rather than dark horn-color. It
hopped into the basin of the scales, and I was surprised

^ [The description is that of the short-eared owl, except that the
eyes of that species are yellow, not black. The pupils may have been
dilated, however, so as to give a general impression of black eyea.]

2 [Now Strix varia.^

172 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

to find that it weighed only one pound and one ounce.
It may be thin-fleshed on account of its broken wing,
but how light-bodied these flyers are ! It has no yellow
iris like the cat owl, and has the bristles about its yel-
low bill which the other has not. It has a very smooth
and handsome round head, a brownish gray. Solemnity
is what they express, — fit representatives of the night.*

SAW- WHET OWL ; ACADIAN OWL

Jan. 6, 1859. Miles had hanging in his barn a little
owl (^Strix Acadica)^ which he caught alive with his
hands about a week ago. He had forced it to eat, but
it died. It was a funny little brown bird, spotted with
white, seven and a half inches long to the end of the
tail, or eight to the end of the claws, by nineteen in
alar extent, — not so long by considerable as a robin,
though much stouter. This one had three (not two)^
white bars on its tail, but no noticeable white at the
tip. Its cunning feet were feathered quite to the ex-
tremity of the toes, looking like whitish (or tawny-
white) mice, or as when one pulls stockings over his
boots. As usual, the white spots on the upper sides of the
wings are smaller and a more distinct white, while those
beneath are much larger, but a subdued, satiny white.
Even a bird's wing has an upper and under side, and
the last admits only of more subdued and tender colors.

^ [Thoreau had once before seen a live barred owl, and he gives an
account of it in the chapter on " Winter Visitors " in Walden. This
account does not appear in the published Journal. It was probably
■written in one of those early journals ■which -were destroyed in the
preparation of the Week and Walden.l

^ [Now Cryptoglaux acadica.] ^ Nuttall says three.

SCREECH OWL 173

SCREECH OWL

Aug.^ 1845. After the evening train has gone by
and left the world to silence and to me, the whip-poor-
will chants her vespers for half an hour. And when all
is still at night, the owls take up the strain, like mourn-
ing women their ancient ululu. Their most dismal
scream is truly Ben -Jon son i an. Wise midnight hags !
It is no honest and blunt tu-whit tu-who of the poets,
but, without jesting, a most solemn graveyard ditty, —
but the mutual consolations of suicide lovers remem-
bering the pangs and the delights of supernal love in
the infernal groves. And yet I love to hear their wail-
ing, their doleful responses, trilled along the woodside,
reminding me sometimes of music and singing birds,
as if it were the dark and tearful side of music, the
regrets and sighs, that would fain be sung. The spirits,
the low spirits and melancholy forebodings, of fallen
spirits who once in human shape night-walked the earth
and did the deeds of darkness, now expiating with their
wailing hymns, threnodiai, their sins in the very scen-
ery of their transgressions. They give me a new sense
of the vastness and mystery of that nature which is
the common dwelling of us both. " Oh-o-o-o-o that I
never had been bor-or-or-or-orn ! " sighs one on this
side of the pond, and circles in the restlessness of
despair to some new perch in the gray oaks. Then,
"That I never had been bor-or-or-or-orn!" echoes one
on the further side, with a tremulous sincerity, and
"Bor-or-or-or-orn" comes faintly from far in the Lin-
coln woods.

174 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIEDS

Aug. 14, 1854. I hear the tremulous squealing
scream of a screech owl in the Holden Woods, sounding
somewhat like the neighing of a horse, not like the snipe.

May 7, 1855. A short distance beyond this and the
hawk's-nest pine, I observed a middling-sized red oak
standing a little aslant on the side-hill over the swamp,
with a pretty large hole in one side about fifteen feet
from the ground, where apparently a limb on which a
felled tree lodged had been cut some years before and
so broke out a cavity. I thought that sucli a hole was
too good a one not to be improved by some inhabit-
ant of the wood. Perhaps the gray squirrels I had just
seen had their nest there. Or was not the entrance big
enough to admit a screech owl ? So I thought I would
tap on it and put my ear to the trunk and see if I
could hear anything stirring within it, but I heard no-
thing. Then I concluded to look into it. So I shinned
up, and when I reached up one hand to the hole to pull
myself up by it, the thought passed through my mind
perhaps something may take hold my fingers, but no-
thing did. The first limb was nearly opposite to the
hole, and, resting on this, I looked in, and, to my great
surprise, there squatted, filling the hole, which was
about six inches deep and five to six wide, a salmon -
brown bird not so big as a partridge, seemingly asleep
within three inches of the top and close to my face. It
was a minute or two before I made it out to be an owl.
It was a salmon-brown or fawn (?) above, the feathers
shafted with small blackish-brown somewhat hastate (?)
marks, grayish toward the ends of the wings and
tail, as far as I could see. A large white circular space

SCREECH OWL 175

about or behind eye, banded in rear by a pretty broad
(one third of an inch) and quite conspicuous perpendic-
ular dark-hrown stripe. Egret/ say one and a quarter
inches long, sharp, triangular, reddish-brown without
mainly. It lay crowded in that small space, with its
tail somewhat bent up and one side of its head turned
up with one egret, and its large dark eye open only by
a long slit about a sixteenth of an inch wide; visible
breathing. After a little while I put in one hand and
stroked it repeatedly, whereupon it reclined its head a
little lower and closed its eye entirely. Though curious
to know what was under it, I disturbed it no farther
at that time.

In the meanwhile, the crows were making a great
cawing amid and over the pine-tops beyond the swamp,
and at intervals I heard the scream of a hawk, proba-
bly the surviving male hen-hawk, whom they were pes-
tering (unless they had discovered the male screech
owl), and a part of them came cawing about me. This
was a very fit place for hawks and owls to dwell in, —
the thick woods just over a white spruce^ swamp, in
which the glaucous kalmia grows; the gray squirrels,
partridges, hawks, and owls, all together. It was prob-
ably these screech owls which I heard in moonlight
nights hereabouts last fall.

Returning by owl's nest, about one hour before sun-
set, I climbed up and looked in again. The owl was gone,

1 [Wilson used the term " egret " for the " ears," or " horns," of the
owls.]

2 [Black spruce. See note, p. 184.]

176 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

but there were four nearly round dirty hroionish white *
eggs, quite warm, on nothing but the bits of rotten wood
which made the bottom of the hole. The eggs were very
nearly as large at one end as the other, slightly oblong,
1| inches by 1|, as nearly as I could measure. I took out
one. It would probably have hatched within a week, the
young being considerably feathered and the bill remark-
ably developed. Perhaps she heard me coming, and so
left the nest. My bird corresponds in color, as far as
I saw it, with Wilson's Strix asio, but not his ncevia,
which Nuttall and others consider a young (?) bird,^
though the egg was not pure white. I do not remember
that my bird was barred or mottled at all.

JH/ay. 12, 1855. As I approached the owl's nest, I saw
her run past the hole up into that part of the hollow
above it, and probably she was there when I thought she
had flown on the 7th. I looked in, and at first did not
know what I saw. One of the three remaining eggs was
hatched, and a little downy white young one, two or
three times as long as an egg, lay helpless between the

^ MacGillivray describes no eg-gs of this color, — only white, — and
the same with Nuttall, except the great gray owl. [Screech owl's eggs,
when clean, are always white and the same is true of all our owls, includ-
ing the great gray owl.]

^ [The dichromatism of the screech owl gave our early ornitholo-
gists much trouble. The red phase was described as Strix asio, and
the gray, or mottled, phase was given the name of Strix ncevia. Wilson
believed the two to be separate species, but Nuttall, in his first edition,
called the red the young of the mottled owl (not the other way round,
as Thoreau has it). In the edition of 1840, however, Nuttall makes two
species of the screech owl, as Wilson had done before him, and it was
left to later workers to discover that the two forms were only color
phases of a single species, which is now known to Bcience as Otus asio.]

SCREECH OWL 177

two remaining eggs. Also a dead white-bellied mouse
(^Mus leucopus)^ lay with them, its tail curled round
one of the eggs.

May 25, 1855. Scared a screech owl out of an apple
tree on hill ; flew swiftly off at first like a pigeon wood-
pecker and lit near by facing me ; was instantly visited
and spied at by a brown thrasher ; then flew into a hole
high in a hickory near by, the thrasher following close to
the tree. It was reddish or ferruginous.

May 26, 1855. At the screech owl's nest I now find
two young slumbering, almost uniformly gray above,
about five inches long, with little dark-grayish tufts
for incipient horns (?). Their heads about as broad as
their bodies. I handle them without their stirring or
opening their eyes. There are the feathers of a small
bird and the leg of the Mus leucopus in the nest.

Sept. 23, 1855. 8 P. M. — I hear from my chamber
a screech owl about Monroe's house this bright moon-
light night, — a loud, piercing scream, much like the
whinner of a colt perchance, a rapid trill, then subdued
or smothered a note or two.

Oct. 28, 1855. As I paddle under the Hemlock bank
this cloudy afternoon, about 3 o'clock, I see a screech
owl sitting on the edge of a hollow hemlock stump about
three feet high, at the base of a large hemlock. It sits
with its head drawn in, eying me, with its eyes partly
open, about twenty feet off. When it hears me move, it
turns its head toward me, perhaps one eye only open, with
its great glaring golden iris. You see two whitish trian-
gular lines above the eyes meeting at the bill, with a sharp
^ [Now known as Peromyscus leucopus noveboracensisi]

178 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

reddish-brown triangle between and a narrow curved line
of black under each eye. At this distance and in this
light, you see only a black spot where the eye is, and the
question is whether the eyes are open or not. It sits on
the lee side of the tree this raw and windy day. You
would say that this was a bird without a neck. Its short
bill, which rests upon its breast, scarcely projects at all,
but in a state of rest the whole upper part of the bird from
the wings is rounded off smoothly, excepting the horns,
which stand up conspicuously or are slanted back. After
watching it ten minutes from the boat, I landed two
rods above, and, stealing quietly up behind the hemlock,
though from the windward, I looked carefully around
it, and, to my surprise, saw the owl still sitting there. So
I sprang round quickly, with my arm outstretched, and
caught it in my hand. It was so surprised that it offered
no resistance at first, only glared at me in mute astonish-
ment with eyes as big as saucers. But ere long it began
to snap its bill, making quite a noise, and, as I rolled
it up in my handkerchief and put it in my pocket, it
bit my finger slightly. I soon took it out of my pocket
and, tying the handkerchief, left it on the bottom of
the boat. So I carried it home and made a small cage
in which to keep it, for a night. When I took it up, it
clung so tightly to my hand as to sink its claws into my
fingers and bring blood.

When alarmed or provoked most, it snaps its bill and
hisses. It puffs up its feathers to nearly twice its usual
size, stretches out its neck, and, with wide-open eyes,
stares this way and that, moving its head slowly and
undulatingly from side to side with a curious motion.

SCREECH OWL 179

While I write this evening, I see that there is ground for
much superstition in it. It looks out on me from a dusky
corner of its box with its great solemn eyes, so perfectly
still itself. I was surprised to find that I could imitate its
note as I remember it, by a guttural whinnering.

A remarkably squat figure, being very broad in pro-
portion to its length, with a short tail, and very cat-like
in the face with its horns and great eyes. Remarkably
large feet and talons, legs thickly clothed with whitish
down, down to the talons. It brought blood from my
fingers by clinging to them. It would lower its head,
stretch out its neck, and, bending it from side to side, peer
at you with laughable circumspection ; from side to side, as
if to catch or absorb into its eyes every ray of light, strain
at you with complacent yet earnest scrutiny. Raising
and lowering its head and moving it from side to side
in a slow and regular manner, at the same time snapping
its bill smartly perhaps, and faintly hissing, and puffing
itself up more and more, — cat-like, turtle-like, both in
hissing and swelling. The slowness and gravity, not to
say solemnity, of this motion are striking. There plainly
is no jesting in this case.

General color of the owl a rather pale and perhaps
slightly reddish brown, the feathers centred with black.
Perches with two claws above and two below the perch.
It is a slight body, covered with a mass of soft and
light-lying feathers. Its head muffled in a great hood.
It must be quite comfortable in winter. Dropped a
pellet of fur and bones (?) in his cage. He sat, not
really moping but trying to sleep, in a corner of his

180 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

box all day, yet with one or both eyes slightly open
all the while. I never once caught him with his eyes
shut. Ordinarily stood rather than sat on his perch.

Oct. 29, 1855. P. M. — Up Assabet.

Carried my owl to the hill again. Had to shake him
out of the box, for he did not go of his own accord.
(He had learned to alight on his perch, and it was sur-
prising how lightly and noiselessly he would hop upon
it.) There he stood on the grass, at first bewildered,
with his horns pricked up and looking toward me. In
this strong light the pupils of his eyes suddenly con-
tracted and the iris expanded till they were two great
brazen orbs with a centre spot merely. His attitude
expressed astonishment more than anything. I was
obliged to toss him up a little that he might feel his
wings, and then he flapped away low and heavily to a
hickory on the hillside twenty rods off. (I had let him
out in the plain just east of the hill.) Thither I fol-
lowed and tried to start him again. He was now on
the qui vive, yet would not start. He erected his head,
showing some neck, narrower than the round head
above. His eyes were broad brazen rings around bul-
lets of black. His horns stood quite an inch high, as
not before. As I moved around him, he turned his
head always toward me, till he looked directly behind
himself as he sat crosswise on a bough. He behaved
as if bewildered and dazzled, gathering all the light
he could and ever straining his great eyes toward you
to make out who you are, but not inclining to fly. I
had to lift him again with a stick to make him fly,
and then he only rose to a higher perch, where at last

SCREECH OWL 181

he seemed to seek the shelter of a thicker cluster
of the sere leaves, partly crouching there. He never
appeared so much alarmed as surprised and aston-
ished.

When I first saw him yesterday, he sat on the edge
of a hollow hemlock stump about three feet high, at
the bottom of a large hemlock, amid the darkness of
the evergreens that cloudy day. (It threatened to rain
every moment.) At the bottom of the hollow, or eight-
een inches beneath him, was a very soft bed of the
fine green moss (hypnum) which grows on the bank
close by, probably his own bed. It had been recently
put there.

When I moved him in his cage he would cling to the
perch, though it was in a perpendicular position, one
foot above another, suggesting his habit of clinging
to and climbing the inside of hollow trees. I do not
remember any perpendicular line in his eyes, as in those
of the cat.

July 10, 1856. As I was bathing under the swamp
white oaks at 6 P. m., heard a suppressed sound often
repeated, like, perhaps, the working of beer through a
bung-hole, which I already suspected to be produced
by owls. I was uncertain whether it was far or near.
Proceeding a dozen rods up-stream on the south side,
toward where a catbird was incessantly mewing, I
found myself suddenly within a rod of a gray screech
owl sitting on an alder bough with horns erect, turning
its head from side to side and up and down, and peer-
ing at me in that same ludicrously solemn and com-
placent way that I had noticed in one in captivity.

182 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

Another, more reJ, also horned, rej^eated the same
warning sound, or apparently call to its young, about
the same distance off, in another direction, on an alder.
When they took to flight they made some noise with
their wings. With their short tails and squat figures
they looked very clumsy, all head and shoulders. Hear-
ing a fluttering under the alders, I drew near and found
a young owl, a third smaller than the old, all gray,
without obvious horns, only four or five feet distant.
It flitted along two rods, and I followed it. I saw at
least two or more young. All this was close by that
thick hemlock grove, and they perched on alders and
an apple tree in the thicket there. These birds kept
opening their eyes when I moved, as if to get clearer
sight of me. The young were very quick to notice any
motion of the old, and so betrayed their return by look-
ing in that direction when they returned, though I had
not heard it. Though they permitted me to come so near
with so much noise, as if bereft of half their senses,
they at [once] noticed the coming and going of the
old birds, even when I did not. There were four or five
owls in all. I have heard a somewhat similar note,
further off and louder, in the night.

Dec. 26, 1860. Melvin sent to me yesterday a per-
fect Strix aslo, or red owl of Wilson, — not at all
gray. This is now generally made the same with the
ncevia, but, while some consider the red the old, others
consider the red the young. This is, as Wilson says, a
bright " nut brown " like a hazelnut or dried hazel bur
(not hazel). It is twenty-three inches in alar extent
by about eleven long. Feet extend one inch beyond

GREAT HORNED OWL 183

tail. Cabot makes the old bird red; Audubon, the
young. How well fitted these and other owls to with-
stand the winter ! a mere core in the midst of such a
muff of feathers ! Then the feet of this are feathered
finely to the claws, looking like the feet of a furry
quadruped. Accordingly owls are common here in win-
ter ; hawks, scarce.

GREAT HORNED OWL ; CAT OWL *

Nov. 18, 1851. Surveying these days the Ministerial
Lot.

Now at sundown I hear the hooting of an owl, — hoo
hoo hoo, hoorer hoo. It sounds like the hooting of an
idiot or a maniac broke loose. This is faintly answered
in a different strain, apparently from a greater distance,
almost as if it were the echo, i. e. so far as the succession
is concerned. This is my music each evening. I heard
it last evening. The men who help me call it the " hoot-
ing owl" and think it is the cat owl. It is a sound ad-
mirably suited to the swamp and to the twilight woods,
suggesting a vast undeveloped nature which men have
not recognized nor satisfied. I rejoice that there are
owls. They represent the stark, twilight, unsatisfied
thoughts I have. Let owls do the idiotic and maniacal
hooting for men. This sound faintly suggests the infi-
nite roominess of nature, that there is a world in which
owls live. Yet how few are seen, even by the hunters!

^ [From Thoreau's descriptions of the notes of bis " hooting- owls "
it seems probable that they were all of this species. There appear to
have been two pairs of these birds regnlarly settled in Concord in
Thoreau's time, — one in the Walden woods and one in the Ministerial
Swamp in the southwestern part of the town.]

184 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

The sun has shone for a day over this savage swamp,
where the single spruce ^ stands covered with usnea
moss, which a Concord merchant mortgaged once to
the trustees of the ministerial fund and lost, but now
for a different race of creatures a new day dawns over
this wilderness, which one would have thought was suf-
ficiently dismal before. Here hawks also circle by day,
and chickadees are heard, and rabbits and partridges
abound.

Nov. 25, 1851. When surveying in the swamp on
the 20th last, at sundown, I heard the owls. Hosmer^
said : " If you ever minded it, it is about the surest sign
of rain that there is. Don't you know that last Friday
night you heard them and spoke of them, and the next
day it rained ? " This time there were other signs of rain
in abundance. "But night before last," said I, "when
you were not here, they hooted louder than ever, and we
have had no rain yet." At any rate, it rained hard the
21st, and by that rain the river was raised much higher
than it has been this fall.

Feb. 3, 1852. My owl sounds hob hob hob^ hob.^
May 1, 1852. When leaving the woods * I heard the
hooting of an owl, which sounded very much like a
clown calling to his team.

^ [An old name for the white spruce. Thoreau afterwards learned that
he had been mistaken as to the identification and that the Concord trees
•were hlack spruces.]

2 [Mr. Joseph Hosmer, an old citizen of Concord, who was helping
Thoreau in his surveying'.]

' [This was at the cliffs of Fairhaven Hill near Walden Pond on a
moonlight evening.]

* [Near Walden Pond.]

GREAT HORNED OWL 185

June 23, 1852. I hear my old Waklen owl. Its first
note is almost like a somewhat peevish scream or squeal
of a child shrugging its shoulders, and then succeed two
more moderate and musical ones.

July 5, 1852. I hear my hooting owl now just before
sunset.^ You can fancy it the most melancholy sound
in Nature, as if Nature meant by this to stereotype and
make permanent in her quire the dying moans of a
human being, made more awful by a certain gurgling
melodiousness. It reminds of ghouls and idiots and in-
sane bowlings. One answers from far woods in a strain
made really sweet by distance. Some poor weak relic
of mortality who has left hope behind, and howls like
an animal, yet with human sobs, on entering the dark
valley. I find myself beginning with the letters gl when
I try to imitate it. Yet for the most part it is a sweet
and melodious strain to me.

April 2, 1853. Heard the hooting owl in Ministerial
Swamp. It sounded somewhat like the hounding or
howling of some dogs, and as often as the whistle of
the engine sounded I noticed a resemblance in the tone.
A singular kind of squealing introduced into its note.

April 9, 1853. Beyond the desert,^ hear the hooting
owl, which, as formerly, I at first mistook for the hound-
ing of a dog, — a squealing eee followed by hoo hoo hoo
deliberately, and particularly sonorous and ringing. This
at 2 P. M. Now mated. Pay their adcjresses by day,
says Brooks.^

1 [At Ministerial Swamp.]

2 [Dugan Desert, near Ministerial Swamp.]
8 [George Brooks, of Concord, doubtless.]

186 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

Jan. 7, 1854. I went to these woods ^ partly to hear
an owl, but did not ; but, now that I have left them
nearly a mile behind, I hear one distinctly, hoorer hoo.
Strange that we should hear this sound so often, loud
and far, — a voice which we call the owl, — and yet so
rarely see the bird. Oftenest at twilight. It has a sin-
gular prominence as a sound ; is louder than the voice
of a dear friend. Yet we see the friend perhaps daily
and the owl but few times in our lives. It is a sound
which the wood or the horizon makes. I see the cars
almost as often as I hear the whistle.

Dec. 9, 1856. From a little east of Wyman's I look
over the pond - westward. The sun is near setting, away
beyond Fair Haven. A bewitching stillness reigns
througfh all the woodland and over the snow-clad land-
scape. Indeed, the winter day in the woods or fields has
commonly the stillness of twilight. The pond is per-
fectly smooth and full of light. I hear only the strokes
of a lingering woodchopper at a distance, and the me-
lodious hooting of an owl, which is as common and
marked a sound as the axe or the locomotive whistle.
Yet where does the ubiquitous hooter sit, and who sees
him? In whose wood-lot is he to be found? Few eyes
have rested on him hooting ; few on him silent on his
perch even. Yet cut away the woods never so much
year after year, though the chopper has not seen him
and only a grove or two is left, still his aboriginal voice
is heard indefinitely far and sweet, mingled oft, in
strange harmony, with the newly invented din of trade,
like a sentence of Allegri sounded in our streets, —
1 [Ministerial Swamp.] ^ [Walden Pond.]

GREAT HORNED OWL 187

hooting from invisible perch at his foes the woodchop-
pers, who are invading his domains. As the earth only
a few inches beneath the surface is undisturbed and
what it was anciently, so are heard still some primeval
sounds in the air. Some of my townsmen I never see,
and of a great proportion I do not hear the voices in a
year, though they live within my horizon ; but every
week almost I hear the loud voice of the hooting owl,
though I do not see the bird more than once in ten years.
Dec. 15, 1856. I still recall to mind that character-
istic winter eve of December 9th ; the cold, dry, and
wholesome diet my mind and senses necessarily fed on,
— oak leaves, bleached and withered weeds that rose
above the snow, the now dark green of the pines, and
perchance the faint metallic chip of a single tree spar-
row ; the hushed stillness of the wood at sundown, aye,
all the winter day ; the short boreal twilight ; the smooth
serenity and the reflections of the pond, still alone free
from ice; the melodious hooting of the owl, heard at
the same time with the yet more distant whistle of a
locomotive, more aboriginal, and perchance more en-
during here than that, heard above the voices of all the
wise men of Concord, as if they were not (how little he
is Anglicized !) ; the last strokes of the woodchopper,
who presently bends his steps homeward; the gilded
bar of cloud across the apparent outlet of the pond,
conducting my thoughts into the eternal west ; the deep-
ening horizon glow ; and the hasty walk homeward to
enjoy the long winter evening. The hooting of the owl I
That is a sound which my red predecessors heard here
more than a thousand years ago. It rings far and wide,

188 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

occupying the spaces rightfully, — grand, primeval,
aboriginal sound. There is no whisper in it of the
Buckleys, the Flints, the Hosmers who recently squatted
here, nor of the first parish, nor of Concord Fight, nor
of the last town meeting.

Dec. 19, 1856. As I stand here, I hear the hooting of
my old acquaintance the owl in Wheeler's Wood.^ Do
I not oftenesthear it just before sundown ? This sound,
heard near at hand, is more simply animal and guttural,
without resonance or reverberation, but, heard here from
out the depths of the wood, it sounds peculiarly hollow
and drum-like, as if it struck on a tense skin drawn
around, the tympanum of the wood, through which all
we denizens of nature hear. Thus it comes to us an ac-
credited and universal or melodious sound ; is more than
the voice of the owl, the voice of the wood as well. The
owl only touches the stops, or rather wakes the rever-
berations. For all Nature is a musical instrument on
which her creatures play, celebrating their joy or grief
unconsciously often. It sounds now, hoo \ hoo hoo (very
fast) I hoo-rer | hoo.

3fay 20, 1858. Saw in the street a young cat owl,
one of two which Skinnei* killed in Walden Woods yes-
terday. It was almost ready to fly, at least two and a
half feet in alar extent ; tawny with many black bars,
and darker on wings. Holmes, in Patent Office Report,^
says they " pair early in February." So I visited the
nest. It was in a large white pine close on the north side

1 [Near Walden Pond.]

2 [1850, p. 122, in paper on "Birds Injurious to Agriculture," by
Ezekiel Holmes, M. D., of Winthrop, Maine, pp. 110-160.]

GREAT HORNED OWL 189

of the path, some ten rods west of the old Stratton cel-
lar in the woods. This is the largest pine thereabouts,
and the nest is some thirty-five feet high on two limbs
close to the main stem, and, according to Skinner, was
not much more than a foot across, made of small sticks,
nearly flat, " without fine stuff ! " There were but two
young. This is a path which somebody travels every
half-day, at least, and only a stone's throw from the
great road. There were many white droppings about
and large rejected pellets containing the vertebrae and
hair of a skunk. As I stood there, I heard the crows
making a great noise some thirty or forty rods off, and
immediately suspected that they were pestering one of
the old owls, which Skinner had not seen. It proved so,
for, as I approached, the owl sailed away from amidst
a white pine top, with the crows in full pursuit, and he
looked very large, stately, and heavy, like a seventy-four
among schooners. I soon knew by the loud cawing of the
crows that he had alighted again some forty rods off, and
there again I found him perched high on a white pine,
the large tawny fellow with black dashes and large erect
horns. Away he goes again, and the crows after him.

June 18, 1858. A boy climbs to the cat owl's nest
and casts down what is left of it, — a few short sticks
and some earthy almost turfy foundation, as if it were
the accumulation of years. Beside much black and white
skunk-hair, there are many fishes' scales (!) intimately
mixed with its substance, and some skunk's bones.

Jan. 30, 1859. How peculiar the hooting of an owl!
It is not shrill and sharp like the scream of a hawk, but
full, round, and sonorous, waking the echoes of the wood.

CUCKOOS, KINGFISHERS, AND WOODPECKERS

BLACK-BILLED CUCKOO ; ST. DOMLffGO CUCKOO^

June 18, 1853. Found the nest of a cuckoo, — a long,
slender, handsome bird, probably St. Domingo cuckoo,
— at the edge of the meadow on a bent sallow, not in a
crotch, covered by the broad, shining leaves of a swamp
white oak, whose boughs stretched over it, two feet or
more from the ground. The nest was made of dry twigs
and was small for the size of the bird and very shallow,
but handsomely lined with an abundance of what looked
like the dry yellowish-brown ( ?) catkins of the hickory,
which made a pleasing contrast with the surrounding
grayish twigs. There were some worm-eaten green leaves
inwoven. It contained a single greenish-white elliptical
Q%%t an inch or more long. The bird flew off a little way
and clow-clow-clowed.

June 27, 1853. The cuckoo's nest is robbed, or per-
haps she broke her &gg because I found it. Thus three
out of half a dozen nests which I have revisited have
been broken up. It is a very shallow nest, six or seven
inches in diameter by two and a half or three deep, on
a low bending willow, hardly half an inch deep within ;
concealed by overlying leaves of a swamp white oak on

^ [The black-billed, or, as Thoreau called it, after Nuttall, the St.
Domingo, cuckoo being much the commoner of the two Northern
species in the Concord region, it is probable that most if not all of his
cuckoos were of this species.]

BLACK-BILLED CUCKOO 191

the edge of the river meadow, two to three feet from
ground, made of slender twigs which are prettily orna-
mented with much ramalina lichen, lined with hickory
catkins and pitch pine needles.

Maij 14, 1854. A St. Domingo cuckoo, black-billed
with red round eye, a silent, long, slender, graceful bird,
dark cinnamon ( ?) above, pure white beneath. It is in
a leisurely manner picking the young caterjiillars out
of a nest (now about a third of an inch long) with its
long, curved bill. Not timid.

July 17, 1854. The cuckoo is a very neat, slender,
and graceful bird. It belongs to the nobility of birds.
It is elegant.

June 5, 1856. Acuckoo's nest with three light bluish-
green eggs partly developed, short with rounded ends,
nearly of a size ; in the thicket up railroad this side high
wood, in a black cherry that had been lopped three feet
from ground, amid the thick sprouts ; a nest of nearly
average depth ( ?), of twigs lined with green leaves,
pine-needles, etc., and edged with some dry, branchy
weeds. The bird stole off silently at first.

Aug. 20, 1857. As I stand there, I hear a peculiar
sound which I mistake for a woodpecker's tapping, but
I soon see a cuckoo hopping near suspiciously or in-
quisitively, at length within twelve feet, from time to
time uttering a hard, dry note, very much like a wood-
pecker tapping a dead dry tree rapidly, its full clear
white throat and breast toward me, and slowly lifting its
tail from time to time. Though somewhat allied to that
throttled note it makes by night, it was quite different
from that.

192 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

BELTED KINGFISHER

April 24, 1854. The kingfisher flies with a crack
cr-r-r-ack and a limping oi' flitting flight from tree
to tree before us, and finally, after a third of a mile,
circles round to our rear. He sits rather low over the
water. Now that he has come I suppose that the fishes
on which he preys rise within reach.

April 15, 1855. Saw and heard a kingfisher — do
they not come with the smooth waters of April? — hur-
rying over the meadow as if on urgent business.

April 22, 1855. The bluish band on the breast of the
kingfisher leaves the pure white beneath in the form of
a heart.

April 11, 1856. Saw a kingfisher on a tree over the
water. Does not its arrival mark some new movement
in its finny prey ? He is the bright buoy that betrays it !

July 28, 1858. Heard a kingfisher, which had been
hovering over the river, plunge forty rods off.

Aug. 6, 1858. The kingfisher is seen hovering stead-
ily over one spot, or hurrying away with a small fish in
his mouth, sounding his alarum nevertheless.

HAIRY WOODPECKER

April 9, 1855. Heard a loud, long, dry, tremulous
shriek which reminded me of a kingfisher, but which I
found proceeded from a woodpecker which had just
alighted on an elm ; also its clear whistle or chinJc
afterward. It is probably the hairy woodpecker, and I
am not so certain I have seen it earlier this year.*

1 [The kingfisher-like rattle is diagnostic of the hairy woodpecker.]

HAIRY WOODPECKER 193

June 5, 1857. In that first apple tree at Wyraan's an
apparent hairy woodpecker's nest (from the size of the
bird), about ten feet from ground. The bird darts
away with a shrill, loud chirping of alarm, incessantly
repeated, long before I get there, and keeps it up as
long as I stay in the neighborhood. The yoiing keep up
an incessant fine, breathing peep which can be heard
across the road and is much increased when they hear
you approach the hole, they evidently expecting the old
bird. I perceive no offensive odor. I saw the bird fly
out of this hole, May 1st, and probably the eggs were
laid about that time.

Oct. 16, 1859. See a hairy woodpecker on a burnt
pitch pine. He distinctly rests on his tail constantly.
With what vigor he taps and bores the bark, making
it fly far and wide, and then darts off with a sharp
whistle !

May 18, 1860. A hairy woodpecker betrays its hole
in an apple tree by its anxiety. The ground is strewn
with the chips it has made, over a large space. The
hole, so far as I can see, is exactly like that of the
downy woodpecker, — the entrance (though not so
round) and the conical form within above, — only
larger. The bird scolds at me from a dozen rods off.

DOWNY WOODPECKER

March 24, 1853. The downy (?) woodpeckers are
quite numerous this morning,- the skirts of their coats
barred with white and a large, long white spot on their
backs. They have a smart, shrill peep or whistle, some-
what like a robin, but more metallic.

194 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

Jan. 8, 1854. Stood within a rod of a downy wood-
pecker on an apple tree. How curious and exciting the
blood-red spot on its hindhead ! I ask why it is there,
but no answer is rendered by these snow-clad fields. It
is so close to the bark I do not see its feet. It looks be-
hind as if it had on a black cassock open behind and
showing a white undergarment between the shoulders
and down the back. It is briskly and incessantly tap-
ping all round the dead limbs, but rarely twice in a
place, as if to sound the tree and so see if it has any
worm in it, or perchance to start them. How much he
deals with the bark of trees, all his life long tapping
and inspecting it ! He it is that scatters those frag-
ments of bark and lichens about on the snow at the
base of trees. What a lichenist he must be ! Or rather,
perhaps it is fungi makes his favorite study, for he
deals most with dead limbs. How briskly he glides
up or drops himself down a limb, creeping round and
round, and hopping from limb to limb, and now flitting
with a rippling sound of his wings to another tree !

April 4, 1855. The rows of white spots near the end
of the wings of the downy [woodpecker] remind me of
the lacings on the skirts of a soldier's coat.

Dec. 14, 1855. A little further I heard the sound
of a downy woodpecker tapping a pitch pine in a little
grove, and saw him inclining to dodge behind the stem.
He flitted from pine to pine before me. Frequently,
when I pause to listen, I hear this sound in the orchards
or streets. This was in one of these dense groves of
young pitch pines.

June 20, 1856. Walking under an apple tree in the

DOWNY WOODPECKER 195

little Baker Farm peach orchard, heard an incessant
shrill musical twitter or peeping, as from young hirds,
over my head, and, looking up, saw a hole in an upright
dead bough, some fifteen feet from ground. Climbed
up and, finding that the shrill twitter came from it,
guessed it to be the nest of a downy woodpecker, which
proved to be the case, — for it reminded me of the hiss-
ing squeak or squeaking hiss of young pigeon wood-
peckers, but this was more musical or bird-like. The
bough was about four and a half inches in diameter,
and the hole perfectly circular, about an inch and a
quarter in diameter. Apparently nests had been in
holes above, now broken out, higher up. When I put
my fingers in it, the young breathed their shrill twitter
louder than ever. Anon the old appeared, and came
quite near, while I stood in the tree, keeping up an in-
cessant loud and shrill scolding note, and also after I
descended ; not to be relieved.

July 19, 1856. The downy woodpecker's nest which
I got July 8th was in a dead and partly rotten upright
apple bough four and three quarters inches in diam-
eter. Hole 'perfectly elliptical (or oval) one and two
sixteenths by one and five sixteenths inches ; whole
depth below it eight inches. It is excavated directly in-
ward about three and a half inches, with a conical roof,
also arching at back, with a recess in one side on level
with the hole, where the bird turns. Judging from an
old hole in the same bough, directly above, it enlarges
directly to a diameter of two and one fourth to two and
one half inches, not in this case descending exactly in
the middle of the bough, but leaving one side not a

196 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

quarter of an inch thick. At the hole it is left one inch
thick. At the nest it is about two and three eighths
inches in diameter. I find nothing in the first but bits
of rotten wood, remains of insects, etc., when I tip it
up, — for I cannot see the bottom, — yet in the old
one there is also quite a nest of fine stubble (?), bark
shred (?), etc., mixed with the bits of rotten wood.

[/S'ee also under General and Miscellaneous, pp. 415,
416, 422.]

AKCTIC THREE-TOED WOODPECKER

Oct. 8, 1860. Standing by a pigeon-place on the
north edge of Damon's lot, I saw on the dead top of
a white pine four or five rods off — which had been
stripped for fifteen feet downward that it might die
and afford with its branches a perch for the pigeons
about the place, like the more artificial ones that were
set up — two woodpecjiers that were new to me. They
uttered a peculiar sharp hek kek on alighting (not so
sharp as that of the hairy or downy woodpecker) and
appeared to be about the size of the hairy woodpecker,
or between that and the golden-winged. I had a good
view of them with my glass as long as I desired. With
the back to me, they were clear black all above, as well
as their feet and bills, and each had a yellow or orange
(or possibly orange-scarlet?) front (the anterior part
of the head at the base of the upper mandible). A
long white line along the side of the head to the neck,
with a black one below it. The breast, as near as I
could see, was gray specked with white, and the under
side of the wing expanded was also gray, with small

PILEATED WOODPECKER 197

white spots. The throat white and vent also white or
whitish. Is this the arctic three-toed ? ^ Probably many
trees dying on this large burnt tract will attract many
woodpeckers to it.

PILEATED WOODPECILEE

July 25, 1857. Our path up the bank here^ led by a
large dead white pine, in whose trunk near the ground
were great square- cornered holes made by the wood-
peckers, probably the red-headed. They were seven or
eight inches long by four wide and reached to the heart
of the tree through an inch or more of sound wood, and
looked like great mortise-holes whose corners had been
somewhat worn and rounded by a loose tenon. The tree
for some distance was quite honeycombed by them. It
suggested woodpeckers on a larger scale than ours, as
were the trees and the forest.^

flicker; PIGEON WOODPECKER

April 3, 1842. I have just heard the flicker among
the oaks on the hillside ushering in a new dynasty. It
is the age and youth of time. Why did Nature set this
lure for sickly mortals .? Eternity could not begin with

^ [The birds must have been arctic three-toed woodpeckers, though
Thoreau misplaces the yellow crown-patch. This dpecies, usually very
rare in Massachusetts, visited the State in considerable numbers in this
winter of 1860-1861.]

2 [On the West Branch of the Penobscot, Maine.]

^ [These mortise-shaped holes, found abundantly in the forests of
northern New England, are the work of the pileated woodpecker, wliich
Thoreau saw and heard in the Maine woods, but somewhat hastily de-
nominated the red-headed woodpecker from the conspicuous red crest]

198 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

more security and momentousness than the spring. The
summer's eternity is reestablished by this note. All
sisrhts and sounds are seen and heard both in time
and eternity. And when the eternity of any sight or
sound strikes the eye or ear, they are intoxicated with
delight.

April 23, 1852. Heard the pigeon woodpecker to-day,
that long-continued unmusical note, — somewhat like a
robin's, heard afar, — yet pleasant to hear because as-
sociated with a more advanced stage of the season.

April 6, 1853. Returning by Harrington's, saw a
pigeon woodpecker flash away, showing the rich golden
under side of its glancing wings and the large whitish
spot on its back, and presently I heard its familiar
long-repeated loud note, almost familiar as that of a
barn-door fowl, which it somewhat resembles.

June 21, 1853. Where the other day I saw a pigeon
woodpecker tapping and enlarging a hole in the dead
limb of an apple tree, when as yet probably no egg was
laid, to-day I see two well-grown young woodpeckers
about as big as the old, looking out at the hole, show-
ing their handsome spotted breasts and calling lustily
for something to eat, or, it may be, suffering from the
heat. Young birds in some situations must suffer
greatly from heat these days, so closely packed in their
nests and perhaps insufficiently shaded. It is a wonder
they remain so long there patiently. I saw a yellow-
bird's ^ nest in the willows on the causeway this after-
noon and three young birds, nearly ready to fly, over-
flowing the nest, all holding up their open bills and

^ [The summer yellowbird, or yellow warbler.]

FLICKER 199

keeping them steadily open for a minute or more, on
noise of my approach.

Aug. 10, 1854. That is a peculiar and distinct hol-
low sound made by the pigeon woodpecker's wings, as
it flies past near you.

April 23, 1855. Saw two pigeon woodpeckers ap-
proach and, I think, put their bills together and utter
that 0-week, o-week.

April 14, 1856. Hear the flicker's cackle on the old
aspen, and his tapping sounds afar over the water.
Their tapping resounds thus far, with this peculiar
ring and distinctness, because it is a hollow tree they
select to play on, as a drum or tambour. It is a hollow
souud which rings distinct to a great distance, espe-
cially over water.

April 22, 1856. Going through Hubbard's root-fence
field, see a pigeon woodpecker on a fence-post. He
shows his lighter back between his wings cassock-like
and like the smaller woodpeckers. Joins his mate on a
tree and utters the wooing note o-week o-week, etc.

April 27, 1856. The tapping of a woodpecker is made
a more remarkable and emphatic sound by the hoUow-
ness of the trunk, the expanse of water which conducts
the sound, and the morning hour at which I commonly
hear it. I think that the pigeon woodpeckers must be
building, they frequent the old aspen now so much.

April 29, 1856. A pigeon woodpecker alights on a
dead cedar top near me. Its cackle, thus near, sounds
like eh eh eh eh eh, etc., rapidly and emphatically re-
peated.

June 10, 1856. In a hollow apple tree, hole eighteen

200 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

inclies deep, young pigeon woodpeckers, large and well
feathered. They utter their squeaking hiss whenever I
cover the hole with my hand, apparently taking it for
the approach of the mother. A strong, rank fetid smell
issues from the hole.

March 17, 1858. Ah! there is the note of the first
flicker, a prolonged, monotonous wick-wick-wick-wick-
wick-wick, etc., or, if you please, quick-quick, heard far
over and through the dry leaves. But how that single
sound peoples and enriches all the woods and fields !
They are no longer the same woods and fields that
they were. This note really quickens what was dead. It
seems to put a life into withered grass and leaves and
bare twigs, and henceforth the days shall not be as they
have been. It is as when a family, your neighbors, re-
turn to an empty house after a long absence, and you
hear the cheerful hum of voices and the laughter of
children, and see the smoke from the kitchen fire. The
doors are thrown open, and children go screaming
through the hall. So the flicker dashes through the
aisles of the grove, throws up a window here and
cackles out it, and then there, airing the house. It
makes its voice ring up-stairs and down-stairs, and so,
as it were, fits it for its habitation and ours, and takes
possession. It is as good as a housewarming to all na-
ture. Now I hear and see him louder and nearer on the
top of the long-armed white oak, sitting very upright,
as is their wont, as it were calling for some of his kind
that may also have arrived.

April 15, 1858. See a pair of woodpeckers on a
rail and on the ground a-courting. One keeps hopping

WOODPECKERS 201

near the other, and the latter hops away a few feet, and
so they accompany one another a long distance, utter-
ing sometimes a faint or short a-toeek.

March 23, 1859. The loud peop (?) of a pigeon
woodpecker is heard . . . and anon the prolonged loud
and shrill cackle^ calling the thin-wooded hillsides and
pastures to life. It is like the note of an alarm-clock
set last fall so as to wake Nature up at exactly this
date. Up up up up up up up up up ! What a rustling
it seems to make among the dry leaves !

May 4, 18G0. As I stood there I heard a thumping
sound, which I referred to Peter's, three quarters of a
mile off over the meadow, but it was a pigeon wood-
pecker excavating its nest within a maple within a rod
of me. Though I had just landed and made a noise
with my boat, he was too busy to hear me, but now he
hears my tread, and I see him put out his head and then
withdraw it warily and keep still, while I stay there.

[/See also under General and Miscellaneous, p. 426.]

WOODPECKERS (SPECIES UNNAMED)

Jan. 26, 1852, The woodpeckers work in Emerson's
wood on the Cliff-top, the trees being partly killed by
the top, and the grubs having hatched under the bark.
The woodpeckers have stripped a whole side of some
trees, and in a sound red oak they have dug out a mor-
tise-hole with squarish shoulders, as if with a chisel. I
have often seen these holes.

March 22, 1853. The tapping of the woodpecker,
rat-tat-tat., knocking at the door of some sluggish grub
to tell him that the spring has arrived, and his fate,

202 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

this is one of the season sounds, calling the roll of birds
and insects, the reveille.

May 10, 1853. How far the woodpecker's tapping is
heard ! And no wonder, for he taps very hard as well as
fast, to make a hole, and the dead, dry wood is very re-
sounding withal. Now he taps on one part of the tree, and
it yields one note ; then on that side, a few inches distant,
and it yields another key ; propped on its tail the while.

Jan. 6, 1855. I see where a woodpecker has drilled
a hole about two inches over in a decayed white maple ;
quite recently, for the chippings are strewn over the ice
beneath and were the first sign that betrayed it. The
tree was hollow. Is it for a nest next season ? ^ There
was an old hole higher up.

March 8, 1859. I see there a dead white pine, some
twenty-five feet high, which has been almost entirely
stripped of its bark by the woodpeckers. Where any
bark is left, the space between it and the wood is
commonly closely packed with the gnawings of worms,
which appear to have consumed the inner bark. But
where the bark is gone, the wood also is eaten to some
depth, and there are numerous holes penetrating deep
into the wood. Over all this portion, which is almost all
the tree, the woodpeckers have knocked off the bark
and enlarged the holes in pursuit of the worms.

March 11, 1859. But methinks the sound of the
woodpecker tapping is as much a spring note as any
these mornings ; it echoes peculiarly in the air of a
spring morning.

[/iSee also vnder Robin, p. 391 ; General and Miscel-
laneous, p. 431.]

^ [Probably for winter quarters.]

XI
GOATSUCKERS, SWIFTS, AND HUMMINGBIRDS

WHIP-POOR-WILL

June 11, 1851. The whip-poor-will suggests how
wide asunder are the woods and the town. Its note is
very rarely heard by those who live on the street, and
then it is thought to be of ill omen. Only the dwellers
on the outskirts of the village hear it occasionally. It
sometimes comes into their yards. But go into the
woods in a warm night at this season, and it is the pre-
vailing sound. I hear now five or six at once. It is no
more of ill omen therefore here than the night and the
moonlight are. It is a bird not only of the woods, but
of the night side of the woods.

New beings have usurped the air we breathe, round-
ing Nature, filling her crevices with sound. To sleep
where you may hear the whip-poor-will in your dreams !

I hear some whip-poor-wills on hills, others in thick
wooded vales, which ring hollow and cavernous, like an
apartment or cellar, with their note. As when I hear
the working of some artisan from within an apart-
ment.

June 13, 1851. It is not nightfall till the whip-poor-
wills begin to sing.

June 14, 1851. From Conant's summit I hear as
many as fifteen whip-poor-wills — or whip-or-I-wills —

204 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

at once, the succeeding cluck sounding strangely for-
eign, like a hewer at work elsewhere.

Aug. 12, 1851. There was a whip-poor-will in the
road just beyond Goodwin's, which flew up and lighted
on the fence and kept alighting on the fence within a
rod of me and circling round me with a slight squeak
as if inquisitive about me.

Scjyt. 9, 1851. The whip-poor-wills now begin to sing
in earnest about half an hour before sunrise, as if mak-
ing haste to improve the short time that is left them.
As far as my observation goes, they sing for several
hours in the early part of the night, are silent com-
monly at midnight, — though you may meet them then
sitting on a rock or flitting silently about, — then sing
again just before sunrise.

\_See also wider Screech Owl, p. 173; Wood
Thrush, p. 378.J

NIGHTHAWK

June 11, 1851. I hear the nighthawks uttering their
squeaking notes high in the air now at nine o'clock
p. M., and occasionally — what I do not remember to
have heard so late — their booming note. It sounds
more as if under a cope than by day. The sound is not
so fugacious, going off to be lost amid the spheres, but
is echoed hollowly to earth, making the low roof of
heaven vibrate. Such a sound is more confused and
dissipated by day.

,/u7ie 23, 1851. It Is a pleasant sound to me, the
squeaking and the booming of nighthawks flying over
high open fields in the woods. They fly like butterflies,

wnii'-i'OOK-wiT.r, ox m:st

w^^-^-w^m

[\>.

V,

''*fr*:*rvt

t^--

NIGHTHAWK DISTrUiiKI) WlllLi: ( ONKKIM; KliGS

NIGIITHAWK 205

not to avoid birds of prey but, apparently, to secure
their own insect prey. There is a particular part of the
railroad just below the shanty where they may be heard
and seen in greatest numbers. But often you must look
a long while before you can detect the mote in the sky
from which the note proceeds.

June 1, 1853. Walking up this side-hill, I disturbed
a nighthawk eight or ten feet from me, which went,
half fluttering, half hopping, the mottled creature, like
a winged toad, as Nuttall says the French of Louisi-
ana (?) call them,^ down the hill as far as I could see.
Without moving, I looked about and saw its two eggs
on the bare ground, on a slight shelf of the hill, on the
dead pine-needles and sand, without any cavity or nest
whatever, very obvious when once you had detected
them, but not easily detected from their color, a coarse
gray formed of white spotted with a bluish or slaty
brown or umber, — a stone — granite — color, like the
places it selects. I advanced and put my hand on
them, and while I stooped, seeing a shadow on the
ground, looked up and saw the bird, which had flut-
tered down the hill so blind and helpless, circling low
and swiftly past over my head, showing the white spot
on each wing in true nighthawk fashion. When I had
gone a dozen rods, it appeared again higher in the air,
with its peculiar flitting, limping kind of flight, all
the while noiseless, and suddenly descending, it dashed
at me within ten feet of my head, like an imp of dark-
ness, then swept away high over the pond, dashing

^ [Nuttall speaks of "the metaphorical French name of 'Crapaud
volanSj' or Flying Toad."]

206 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

now to this side uow to that, on different tacks, as if,
in pursuit of its prey, it had already forgotten its eggs
on the earth. I can see how it might easily come to be
regarded with superstitious awe.

June 7, 1853. Visited my nighthawk on her nest.
Could hardly believe my eyes when I stood within seven
feet and beheld her sitting on her eggs, her head to
me. She looked so Saturnian, so one with the earth, so
sphinx-like, a relic of the reign of Saturn which Jupiter
did not destroy, a riddle that might well cause a man
to go dash his head against a stone. It was not an act-
ual living creature, far less a winged creature of the air,
but a figure in stone or bronze, a fanciful production of
art, like the gryphon or phoenix. In fact, with its breast
toward me, and owing to its color or size no bill per-
ceptible, it looked like the end of a brand, such as are
common in a clearing, its breast mottled or alternately
waved with dark brown and gray, its flat, grayish,
weather-beaten crown, its eyes nearly closed, purposely,
lest those bright beads should betray it, with the stony
cunning of the Sphinx. A fanciful work in bronze to
ornament a mantel. It was enough to fill one with awe.
The sight of this creature sitting on its eggs impressed
me with the venerableness of the globe. There was
nothing novel about it. All the while, this seemingly
sleeping bronze sphinx, as motionless as the earth, was
watching me with intense anxiety through those narrow
slits in its eyelids. Another step, and it fluttered down
the hill close to the ground, with a wabbling motion, as
if touching the ground now with the tip of one wing,
now with the other, so ten rods to the water, which it

NIGHTHAWK 207

skimmed close over a few rods, then rose and soared in
the air above me. Wonderful creature, which sits mo-
tionless on its eggs on the barest, most exposed hills,
through pelting storms of rain or hail, as if it were a
rock or a part of the earth itself, the outside of the
globe, with its eyes shut and its wings folded, and, after
the two days' storm, when you think it has become a fit
symbol of the rheumatism, it suddenly rises into the air
a bird, one of the most aerial, supple, and graceful of
creatures, without stiffness in its wings or joints ! It was
a fit prelude to meeting Prometheus bound to his rock
on Caucasus.

June 17, 1853. One of the nighthawk's eggs is
hatched. The young is unlike any that I have seen, ex-
actly like a pinch of rabbit's fur or down of that color
dropped on the ground, not two inches long, with a
dimpling or geometrical or somewhat regular arrange-
ment of minute feathers in the middle, destined to be-
come the wings and tail. Yet even it half opened its eye,
and peeped if I mistake not. Was ever bird more com-
pletely protected, both by the color of its eggs and of its
own body that sits on them, and of the young bird just
hatched ? Accordingly the eggs and young are rarely
discovered. There was one o.g'g still, and by the side of
it this little pinch of down, flattened out and not ob-
served at first, and a foot down the hill had rolled a half
of the Q.g^ it came out of. There was no callowness, as
in the young of most birds. It seemed a singular place
for a bird to begin its life, — to come out of its Q^'g^ —
this little pinch of down, — and lie still on the exact spot
where the 2i^^ lay, on a flat exposed shelf on the side of

208 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

a bare hill, with nothing but the whole heavens, the
broad universe above, to brood it when its mother was
away.

June, 5, 1854. Now, just before sundown, a night-
hawk is circling, imp-like, with undulating, irregular
flight over the sprout-land on the Cliff Hill, with an oc-
casional squeak and showing the spots on his wings. He
does not circle away from this place, and I associate him
with two gray eggs somewhere on the ground beneath
and a mate there sitting. This squeak and occasional
booming is heard in the evening air, while the stillness
on the side of tlie village makes more distinct the in-
creased hum of insects.

May 31, 1856. As I return in the dusk, many night-
hawks, with their great spotted wings, are circling low
over the river, as the swallows were when I went out.
They skim within a rod of me. After dusk these greater
swallows come forth, and circle and play about over the
water like those lesser ones, or perhaps making a larger
circuit, also uttering a louder note. It would not be safe
for such great birds to fly so near and familiarly by
day.

May 26, 1857. As I am going down the footpath
from Britton's camp to the spring, I start a pair of
nighthawks (they had the white on the wing) from
amid the dry leaves at the base of a bush, a bunch of
sprouts, and away they flitted in zigzag noiseless flight
a few rods through the sprout-land, dexterously avoid-
ing the twigs, uttering a faint hollow wJiat^ as if made
by merely closing the bill, and one alighted flat on a
stump.

NIGHTIIAWK 209

June 2, 1858.* The chewink sang before night, and
this, as I have before observed, is a very common bird
on mountain-tops. 2 It seems to love a cool atmosphere,
and sometimes lingers quite late with us. And the wood
thrush,^ indefinitely far or near, a little more distant
and unseen, as great poets are. Early in the evening
the nighthawks were heard to spark ^ and boom over
these bare gray rocks, and such was our serenade at
first as we lay on our spruce bed. We were left alone
with the nighthawks. These withdrawn bare rocks must
be a very suitable place for them to lay their eggs, and
their dry and unmusical, yet supramundane and spirit-
like, voices and sounds gave fit expression to this rocky
mountain solitude. It struck the very key-note of the
stern, gray, barren solitude. It was a thrumming of the
mountain's rocky chords ; strains from the music of
Chaos, such as were heard when the earth was rent
and these rocks heaved up. Thus they went sparking
and booming, while we were courting the first access of
sleep, and I could imagine their dainty limping flight,
circling over the kindred rock, with a spot of white
quartz in their wings. No sound could be more in
harmony with that scenery. Though common below, it
seemed peculiarly proper here.

1 [In camp near the summit of Mt. Monadnock.]

2 [This is true only of the lower summits in the latitude of New Eng-
land. In " A Walk to Wachusett " he speaks of hearing the bird on or
near the top of that mountain.]

3 [Probably either the hermit thrush or the olive-backed thrush. See
note on p. 377.]

* [Thoreau's word for the nighthawk's note, which to most persons
sounds like speak or peent.]

210 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

June 3, 1858. Lying up there at this season, when
the nighthawk is most musical, reminded me of what I
had noticed before, that this bird is crepuscular in its
habits. It was heard by night only up to nine or ten
o'clock and again just before dawn, and marked those
periods or seasons like a clock. Its note very conven-
iently indicated the time of night. It was sufficient to
hear the nighthawk booming when you awoke to know
how the night got on, though you had no other evidence
of the hour.

July 17, 1860. The nighthawk's ripping sound, heard
overhead these days, reminds us that the sky is, as it
were, a roof, and that our world is limited on that side,
it being reflected as from a roof back to earth. It does
not suggest an infinite depth in the sky, but a nearness
to the earth, as of a low roof echoing back its sounds.

Aug. 9, 1800. But, above all, this* was an excellent
place to observe the habits of the nighthawks. They
were heard and seen regularly at sunset, — one night it
was at 7.10, or exactly at sunset, — coming upward from
the lower and more shaded portion of the rocky surface
below our camp, with their sparh sparky soon answered
by a companion, for they seemed always to hunt in pairs,
— yet both would dive and boom and, according to
Wilson, only the male utters this sound. They pursued
their game thus a short distance apart and some sixty
or one hundred feet above the gray rocky surface, in
the twilight, and the constant spark sp)ark seemed to be
a sort of call-note to advertise each other of their neigh-
borhood. Suddenly one would hover and flutter more

^ [Mt. Monadnock again.]

NIGHTHAWK 211

stationarlly for a moment, somewhat like a kingfisher,
and then dive almost perpendicularly downward with a
rush, for fifty feet, frequently within three or four rods
of us, and the loud booming sound or rip was made just
at the curve, as it ceased to fall, but whether volunta-
rily or involuntarily I know not. They appeared to be
diving for their insect prey. What eyes they must have
to be able to discern it beneath them against the rocks
in the twilight! As I was walking about the camp, one
flew low, within two feet of the surface, about me, and
lit on the rock within three rods of me, and uttered a
harsh note like c-o-w, c-o-w, — hard and gritty and al-
lied to their common notes, — which I thought expres-
sive of anxiety, or to alarm me, or for its mate.

I suspect that their booming on a distant part of the
mountain was the sound which I heard the first night
which was like very distant thunder, or the fall of a
pile of lumber.

They did not fly or boom when there was a cloud or
fog, and ceased pretty early in the night. They came
up from the same quarter — the shaded rocks below —
each night, two of them, and left off booming about 8
o'clock. Whether they then ceased hunting or withdrew
to another part of the mountaiu, I know not. Yet I heard
one the first night at 11.30 p. M., but, as it had been a
rainy day and did not clear up here till some time late
in the night, it may have been compelled to do its hunt-
ing then. They began to boom again at 4 A. M. (other
birds about 4.30) and ceased about 4.20. By their color
they are related to the gray rocks over which they flit
and circle.

212 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

CHIMNEY SWIFT; CHIMNEY SWALLOW

July 29, 1856. Pratt gave me a chimney swallow's
nest, which he says fell down Wesson's chimney with
young in it two or three days ago. As it comes to me,
it is in the form of the segment of the circumference
of a sphere whose diameter is three and a half inches,
the segment being two plus wide, one side, of course,
longer than the other. It bears a little soot on the inner
side. It may have been placed against a slanting part
of the chimney, or perhaps some of the outer edge is
broken off. It is composed wholly of stout twigs, one
to two inches long, one sixteenth to one eighth inch in
diameter, held quasi cob-fashion, so as to form a sort of
basketwork one third to one half inch thick, without any
lining, at least in this, but very open to the air. These
twigs, which are quite knubby, seem to be of the apple,
elm, and the like, and are firmly fastened together by a
very conspicuous whitish semi-transparent glue, which
is laid on pretty copiously, sometimes extending con-
tinuously one inch. It reminds me of the edible nests of
the Chinese swallow. Who knows but their edibleness
is due to a similar glue secreted by the bird and used
still more profusely in building its nests ? The chimney
swallow is said to break off the twigs as it flies.

Aug. 23, 1856. J. Farmer says that he found that
the gummed twig of a chimney swallow's nest, though
it burned when held in a flame, went out immediately
when taken out of it, and he thinks it owing to a pecul-
iarity in the gum, rendering the twig partly fire-proof,
so that they cannot be ignited by the sparks in a chim-

RUBY-THROATED HUMMINGBIRD 213

ney. I suggested that these swallows had origiually
built in hollow trees, but it would be interesting to as-
certain whether they constructed their nests in the same
way and of the same material then.

\_Seealso under General and Miscellaneous, p. 419.]

RUBY-THROATED HUMMINGBIRD

May 17, 1856. Meanwhile I hear a loud hum and
see a splendid male hummingbird coming zigzag in long
tacks, like a bee, but far swifter, along the edge of the
swamp, in hot haste. He turns aside to taste the honey
of the Andromeda calyculata ^ (already visited by bees)
within a rod of me. This golden-green gem. Its bur-
nished b^ck looks as if covered with green scales dusted
with gold. It hovers, as it were stationary in the air,
with an intense humming before each little flower-bell of
the humble Andromeda calyculata^ and inserts its long
tongue in each, turning toward me that splendid ruby
on its breast, that glowing ruby. Even this is coal-black
in some lights ! There, along with me in the deep, wild
swamp, above the andromeda, amid the spruce. Its hum
was heard afar at first, like that of a large bee, bringing
a larger summer. This sight and sound would make me
think I was in the tropics, — in Demerara or Maracaibo.

May 29, 1857. Soon I hear the low all-pervading
hum of an approaching hummingbird circling above
the rock, which afterward I mistake several times for
the gruff voices of men approaching, unlike as these
sounds are in some respects, and I perceive the resem-

^ [The Cassandra, or leather-leaf, now known to botanists as •ChanuE-
daphne calyculata.^

214 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND lUKDS

blance even when I know better. Now I am sure it is a
hummingbird, and now that it is two farmers approach-
ing. But presently the hum becomes more sharp and
thrilling, and the little fellow suddenly perches on an ash
twig within a rod of me, and plumes himself while the
rain is fairly beginning. lie is quite out of proportion to
the size of his perch. It does not acknowledge his weight.

May 16, 1858. A hummingbird yesterday came into
the next house and was caught. Flew about our parlor
to-day and tasted Sophia's flowers. In some lights you
saw none of the colors of its throat. In others, in the
shade the throat was a clear bright scarlet, but in the
sun it glowed with sjdendid matuWic, Jiery reflections
aVjout the neck and throat. It uttered from time to time,
as it flew, a faint squeaking chirp or chirrup. The hum
sounded more hollow when it approached a flower. Its
wings fanned the air so forcibly that you felt the cool
wind they raised a foot off, and nearer it was very re-
markable. Does not this very motion of the wings keep
a bird cool in hot weather?

Mayll, 1858. When the hummingbird flew about the
room yesterday, his body and tail hung in a singular
manner l>etween the wings, swinging ba<;k and forth
with a sort of oscillating motion, not hanging directly
down, but yet pulsating or teetering up and down.

July 9, 1860. There is a smart shower at 5 p. m.,
and in the midst of it a hummingbird is busy about the
flowers in the garden, unmindful of it, though you would
think that each Vjig drop that struck him would be a
serious accident.

\_See also under General and Miscellaneous, p. 423.]

XII
FLYCATCHERS

KINGBIRD

July 16, 1851. I hear the kingbird twittering or chat-
tering like a stout-chested swallow.

May 29, 1853. How still the hot noon ! People have
retired behind blinds. Yet the kingbird — lively bird,
with white belly and tail edged with white, and with
its lively twittering — stirs and keeps the air brisk.

June 2, 1854. Are these not kingbird days, when, in
clearer first June days full of light, this aerial, twitter-
ing bird flutters from willow to willow and swings on
the twigs, showing his white-edged tail?

June 5, 1854. I see at a distance a kingbird or black-
bird pursuing a crow lower down the hill, like a satel-
lite revolving about a black planet.

June 14, 1855. A kingbird's nest with four eggs on
a large horizontal stem or trunk of a black willow, four
feet high, over the edge of the river, amid small shoots
from the willow ; outside of niikania, roots, and knotty
sedge, well lined with root-fibres and wiry weeds.

Jan. 2(J, 1856. A probable kingbird's nest, on a small
horizontal branch of a young swamp white oak, amid
the twigs, about ten feet from ground. This tree is very
scraggy ; has numerous short twigs at various angles
with tlie branches, making it unpleasant to climb and
affording support to birds' nests. The nest is round,

216 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

running to rather a sharp point on one side beneath.
Extreme diameter outside, four and a half to five
inches ; within, three inches ; depth within, two inches ;
without, four or more. The principal materials are ten,
in the order of their abundance thus : —

1. Reddish and gray twigs, some a foot and more in
length, which are cranberry vines, with now and then
a leaf on, probably such as were torn up by the rakers.
Some are as big round as a knitting-needle, and would
be taken for a larger bush. These make the stiff' mass
of the outside above and rim.

2. Woody roots, rather coarser, intermixed from
waterside shrubs. Probably some are from cranberry
vines. These are mixed with the last and with the bot-
tom.

3. Softer and rather smaller roots and root-fibres of
herbaceous plants, mixed with the last and a little fur-
ther inward, for the harshest are always most external.

4. (Still to confine myself to the order of abundance)
withered flowers and short bits of the graj'^ downy stems
of the fragrant everlasting ; these more or less com-
pacted and apparently agglutinated from the mass of
the solid bottom, and more loose, with the stems run
down to a point on one side the bottom.

5. What I think is the fibrous growth of a willow,
moss-like with a wiry dark-colored hair-like stem (pos-

sibly it is a moss). This, with or without the tuft, is the
lining, and lies contiguous in the sides and bottom.

KINGBIED 217

6. What looks like brown decayed leaves and con-
fervas from the dried bottom of the riverside, mixed
with the everlasting-tops internally in the solid bottom.

7. Some finer brown root-fibres, chiefly between the
lining of No. 6 and hair and the coarser fibres of
No. 3.

8. A dozen whitish cocoons, mixed with the ever-
lasting-tops and dangling about the bottom peak ex-
ternally ; a few within the solid bottom. Also eight or
ten very minute cocoons mixed with these, attached in
a cluster to the top of an everlasting.

9. A few black much branched roots (?) (perhaps
some utricularia from the dried bottom of river), mixed
with Nos. 2 and 3.

10. Some horsehair, white and black, together with
No. 5 forming the lining.

There are also, with the cocoons and everlasting-
tops externally, one or two cotton-grass heads, one
small white feather, and a little greenish-fuscous moss
from the button-bush, and, in the bottom, a small shred
of grape-vine bark.

Aug. 5, 1858. [The black willows on the river-
banks] resound still with the sprightly twitter of the
kingbird, that aerial and spirited bird hovering over
them, swallow-like, which loves best, methinks, to fly
where the sky is reflected beneath him. Also now from
time to time you hear the chattering of young blackbirds
or the li7ik of bobolinks there, or see the great bittern
flap slowly away. The kingbird, by his activity and
lively note and his white breast, keeps the air sweet.
He sits now on a dead willow twig, akin to the flecks

218 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

of mackerel sky, or its reflection in the water, or the
white clamshell, wrong side out, opened by a musquash,
or the fine particles of white quartz that may be found
in the muddy river's sand. He is here to give a voice to
all these. The willow's dead twig is aerial perch enough
for him. Even the swallows deign to perch on it.

Aug. 6, 1858. If our sluggish river, choked with
potamogeton, might seem to have the slow-flying bit-
tern for its peculiar genius, it has also the sprightly and
aerial kingbird to twitter over and lift our thoughts to
clouds as white as its own breast.

Aug. 7, 1858. The sprightly kingbird glances and
twitters above the glossy leaves of the swamp white oak.
Perchance this .tree, with its leaves glossy above and
whitish beneath, best expresses the life of the kingbird
and is its own tree.

PHCEBE; PEWEE

April 2, 1852. What ails the pewee's tail? It is
loosely hung, pulsating with life. What mean these
wag-tail birds? Cats and dogs, too, express some of
their life through their tails.

For a long distance, as we paddle up the river, we
hear the two-stanza'd lay of the pewee on the shore, —
pee-wet^ pee-wee, etc. Those are the two obvious facts
to eye and ear, the river and the pewee.

April 11, 1852. As I go over the railroad bridge, I
hear the pewee singing pewet pewee, pee-wet jjee-wee.
The last time rising on the last syllable, sometimes re-
peating it thus many times, pe-ioee.

PHCEBE 219

April 6, 1856. Just beyond Wood's Bridge, I hear
the pewee. With what confidence after the lajjse of
many months, I come out to this waterside, some warm
and pleasant spring morning, and, listening, hear, from
farther or nearer, through the still concave of the air,
the note of the first pewee ! If there is one within half
a mile, it will be here, and I shall be sure to hear its
simple notes from those trees, borne over the water.
It is remarkable how large a mansion of the air you
can explore with your ears in the still morning by the
waterside.

April 1, 1859. At the Pokelogan * up the Assabet,
I see my first phcebe, the mild bird. It flirts its tail
and sings pre vit, pre vit, pre vit, pre vit incessantly,
as it sits over the water, and then at last, rising on the
last syllable, says pre-YEis., as if insisting on that with
peculiar emphasis.

May 5, 1860. See at Lee's a pewee (phoebe) build-
ing. She has just woven in, or laid on the edge, a fresh
sprig of saxifrage in flower. I notice that phoebes will
build in the same recess in a cliff year after year. It
is a constant thing here, though they are often dis-
turbed. Think how many pewees must have built
under the eaves of this cliff since pewees were created
and this cliff itself built ! You can possibly find the

^ [A term evidently imported by Thoreau from Maine, where he
learned it from, the loggers and Indians. It is used to signify a little
bay in the river-shore which leads nowhere and is perhaps derived
from " poke " (= pouch or pocket) and " logan," a bay-like inlet to the
river. " Logan " is supposed to be a corruption of the word "lagoon."
Thoreau supposed " pokelogan " to be an Indian word, but his Indian
guide told him there was " no Indian in 'em."]

220 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIEDS

crumbling relics of how many, if you should look care-
fully enough ! It takes us many years to find out that
Nature repeats herself annually. But how perfectly
regular and calculable all her phenomena must appear
to a mind that has observed her for a thousand years !
•

OLIVE-SIDED FLYCATCHER ; PE-PE

JuTie 6, 1857. As I sit on Lee's Cliff, I see a pe-pe^
on the topmost dead branch of a hickory eight or ten
rods off. Regularly, at short intervals, it utters its
monotonous note like till-till-till, or pe-pe-pe. Looking
round for its prey and occasionally changing its perch,
it every now and then darts off (phoebe-like), even five
or six rods, toward the earth to catch an insect, and
then returns to its favorite perch. If I lose it for a
moment, I soon see it settling on the dead twigs again
and hear its till^ till, till. It appears through the glass
mouse-colored above and head (which is perhaps
darker), white throat, and narrow white beneath, with
no white on tail.

WOOD PEWEE

May 22, 1854. I hear also pe-a-wee pe-a-wee, and
then occasionally pee-yu, the first syllable in a differ-
ent and higher key, emphasized, — all very sweet and
naive and innocent.

May 23, 1854. The wood pewee sings now in the
woods behind the spring in the heat of the day (2 p. m.),

^ [This is one of Nuttall's names for the olive-sided flycatcher. He
indicated the pronunciation thus : pe-pe. Thoreau had met with the
bird in the spring migrations of the two preceding years.]

\

WOOD PEWEE 221

sitting on a low limb near me, pe-a-wee, pe-a-wee^ etc.,
five or six times at short and regular intervals, look-
ing about all the while, and then, naively, ^>ee-a-oo,
emphasizing the first syllable, and begins again. The
last is, in emphasis, like the scream of a hen-hawk. It
flies off occasionally a few feet, and catches an insect
and returns to its perch between the bars, not allow-
ing this to interrupt their order.

Jkme 27, 1858. Find two wood pewees' nests, made
like the one I have. One on a dead horizontal limb of
a small oak, fourteen feet from ground, just on a hori-
zontal fork and looking as old as the limb, color of the
branch, three eggs far advanced. The other, with two
eggs, was in a similar position exactly over a fork, but
on a living branch of a slender white oak, eighteen feet
from ground ; lichens without, then pine-needles, lined
with usnea, willow down. Both nests three to five feet
from main stem.

Aug. 13, 1858. I come to get the now empty nests of
the wood pewees found June 27th. In each case, on
approaching the spot, I hear the sweet note of a pewee
lingering about, and this alone would have guided me
within four or five rods. I do not know why they
should linger near the empty nest, but perhaps they
have built again near there or intend to use the same
nest again (?). Their full strain \s pe-ah-ee' (perhaps
repeated), rising on the last syllable and emphasizing
that, then pe'-ee^ emphasizing the first and falling on
the last, all very sweet and rather plaintive, suggesting
innocence and confidence in you. In this case the bird
uttered only its last strain, regularly at intervals.

222 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

These two pewee nests are remarkably alike in their
position and composition and form, though half a mile
apart. They are both placed on a horizontal branch
of a young oak (one about fourteen, the other about
eighteen, feet from ground) and three to five feet from
main trunk, in a young oak wood. Both rest directly
on a horizontal fork, and such is their form and com-
position that they have almost precisely the same color
and aspect from below and from above.

The first is on a dead limb, very much exposed, is
three inches in diameter outside to outside, and two
inches in diameter within, the rim being about a quarter
of an inch thick, and it is now one inch deep within.
Its framework is white pine needles, especially in the
rim, and a very little fine grass stem, covered on the
rim and all without closely with small bits of lichen
(cetraria ?), slate-colored without and blackish beneath,
and some brown caterpillar (?) or cocoon (?) silk with
small seed-vessels in it. They are both now thin and
partially open at the bottom, so that I am not sure they
contain all the original lining. This one has no distinct
lining, unless it is a very little green usnea amid the
loose pine-needles. The lichens of the nest would readily
be confounded with the lichens of the limb. Looking
down on it, it is a remarkably round and neat nest.

The second nest is rather more shallow now and
half an inch wider without, is lined with much more
usnea (the willow down which I saw in it June 27 is
gone; perhaps they cast it out in warm weather !), and
shows a little of some slender brown catkin (oak ?) be-
neath, witliout.

WOOD PEWEE 223

These nests remind me of what I suppose to be the
yellow-throat vireo's and hummingbird's. The lining of
a nest is not in good condition — perhaps is partly gone
— when the birds have done with it.

Aiig. 14, 1858. The more characteristic notes [of
late] would appear to be the wood pewee's and the
goldfinch's, with the squeal of young hawks. These
might be called the pewee-days.

Aug. 18, 1858. I sit under the oaks at the east end
of Hubbard's Grove, and hear two wood pewees sing-
ing close by. They are perched on dead oak twigs four
or five rods apart, and their notes are so exactly alike
that at first I thought there was but one. One appeared
to answer the other, and sometimes they both sung to-
gether,— even as if the old were teaching her young.
It was not the usual spring note- of this bird, but a
simple, clear pe-e-eet, rising steadily with one impulse
to the end. They were undistinguishable in tone and
rhythm, though one which I thought might be the
young was feebler. In the meanwhile, as it was perched
on the twig, it was incessantly turning its head about,
looking for insects, and suddenly would dart aside or
downward a rod or two, and I could hear its bill snap
as it caught one. Then it returned to the same or an-
other perch.

XIII
LARKS, CROWS, AND JAYS /

SHORE LARK

March 24, 1858. Returning about 5 p. m. across the
Depot Field, I scare up from the ground a flock of
about twenty birds, which fly low, making a short cir-
cuit to another part of the field. At first they remind me
of bay-wings, except that they are in a flock, show no
white in tail, are, I ^ee, a little larger, and utter a faint
sveet sveet merely, a sort of sibilant chip. Starting them
again, I see that they have black tails, very conspicuous
when they pass near. They fly in a flock somewhat like
snow buntings, occasionally one surging upward a few
feet in pursuit of another, and they alight about where
they first were. It is almost impossible to discover them
on the ground, they squat so flat and so much resemble
it, running amid the stubble. But at length I stand
within two rods of one and get a good view of its mark-
ings with my glass. They are the Alauda alpestris,^
or shore lark, quite a sizable and handsome bird.

Oct. 4, 1859. Going over the large hillside stubble-
field west of Holden Wood, I start up a large flock of
shore larks ; hear their sveet sveet and sveet .sveet sveet^
and see their tails dark beneath. They are very wary,
and run in the stubble for the most part invisible, while
one or two appear to act the sentinel on rock, peeping
^ [Now called Otocoris alpestris.]

BLUE JAY 226

out behind it perhaps, and give their note of alarm,
when away goes the whole flock. Such a flock circled
back and forth several times over my head, just like
ducks reconnoitring before they alight. If you look
with a glass you are surprised to see how alert these
spies are. When they alight in some stubbly hollow
they set a watch or two on the rocks to look out for
foes. They have dusky bills and legs.

BLUE JAY

1846-47.^ The blue jays suffered few chestnuts to
reach the ground, resorting to your single tree in flocks
in the early morning, and picking them out of the burs
at a great advantage.

Nov. 16, 1850. I hear deep amid the birches some
row among the birds or the squirrels, where evidently
some mystery is being developed to them. The jay is
on the alert, mimicking every woodland note. What
has happened ? Who 's dead ? The twitter retreats be-
fore you, and you are never let into the secret. Some
tragedy surely is being enacted, but murder will out.
How many little dramas are enacted in the depth of
the woods at which man is not present !

Dec. 31, 1850. The blue jays evidently notify each
other of the presence of an intruder, and will some-
times make a great chattering about it, and so com-
municate the alarm to other birds and to beasts.

July 8, 1852. The jay's note, resounding along a
raw wood-side, suggests a singular wildness.

Feh. 2, 1854. The scream of the jay is a true winter

^ [Undated entry in journal of this period.]

226 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

sound. It is wholly without sentiment, and in harmony
with winter. I stole up within five or six feet of a pitch
pine behind which a downy woodpecker was pecking.
From time to time he hopped round to the side and ob-
served me without fear. They are very confident birds,
not easily scared, but incline to keep the other side of
the bough to you, pei'haps.

Feb. 12, 1854. You hear the lisping tinkle of chick-
adees from time to time and the unrelenting steel-cold
scream of a jay, unmelted, that never flows into a song,
a sort of wintry trumpet, screaming cold ; hard, tense,
frozen music, like the winter sky itself ; in the blue livery
of winter's band. It is like a flourish of trumpets to the
winter sky. There is no hint of incubation in the jay's
scream. Like the creak of a cart-wheel.

March 12, 1854. I hear a jay loudly screaming j^Ae-
phay phe-phay, — a loud, shrill chickadee's phehe.

March 10, 1856. The pinched crows are feeding in
the road to-day in front of the house and alighting on
the elms, and blue jays also, as in the middle of the
hardest winter, for such is this weather. The blue jays
hop about in yards.'

June 5, 1856. A blue jay's nest on a white pine,
eight feet from ground, next to the stem, of twigs lined
with root-fibres ; three fresh eggs, dark dull greenish,
with dusky spots equally distributed all over, in Hos-
mer ( ?) pines twenty-seven paces east of wall and
fifty-seven from factory road by wall. Jay screams as
usual. Sat till I got within ten feet at first.

* [The jay is not so terrestrial in its habits as the crow and therefoife,
unlike its relative, is a hopper, not a walker.]

BLUE JAY 227

Oct. 11, 1856. In the woods I hear the note of the
jay, a metallic, clanging sound, sometimes a mew. Re-
fer any strange note to him.

Oct. 5, 1857. There is not that profusion and conse-
quent confusion of events which belongs to a summer's
walk. There are few flowers, birds, insects, or fruits
now, and hence what does occur affects us as more
simple and significant. The cawing of a crow, the
scream of a jay. The latter seems to scream more fitly
and with more freedom now that some fallen maple
leaves have made way for his voice. The jay's voice
resounds through the vacancies occasioned by fallen
maple leaves.

Nov. 3, 1858. The jay is the bird of October. I
have seen it repeatedly flitting amid the bright leaves,
of a different color from them all and equally bright,
and taking its flight from grove to grove. It, too, with
its bright color, stands for some ripeness in the bird
harvest. And its scream ! it is as if it blowed on the
edsfe of an October leaf. It is never more in its element
and at home than when flitting amid these brilliant
colors. No doubt it delights in bright color, and so has
begged for itself a brilliant coat. It is not gathering
seeds from the sod, too busy to look around, while flee-
ing the country. It is wide awake to what is going on,
on the qui vive. It flies to some bright tree and bruits
its splendors abroad.

JVov. 10, 1858. Hearing in the oak and near by a
sound as if some one had broken a twig, I looked up
and saw a jay pecking at an acorn. There were several
jays busily gathering acorns on a scarlet oak. I could

228 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

hear them break them off. They then flew to a suitable
limb and, placing the acorn under one foot, hammered
away at it busily, looking round from time to time to
see if any foe was approaching, and soon reached the
meat and nibbled at it, holding up their heads to swal-
low, while they held it very firmly with their claws.
(Their hammering made a sound like the woodpeck-
er's.) Nevertheless it sometimes dropped to the ground
before they had done with it.

JV^ov. 13, 1858. I see some feathers of a blue jay
scattered along a wood-path, and at length come to the
body of the bird. What a neat and delicately orna-
mented creature, finer than any work of art in a lady's
boudoir, with its soft light purplish-blue crest and its
dark-blue or purplish secondaries (the narrow half)
finely barred with dusky. It is the more glorious to live
in Concord because the jay is so splendidly painted.

June 10, 1859. Surveying for D. B. Clark on " Col-
lege Road," so called in Peter Temple's deed in 1811,
Clark thought from a house so called once standing on
it. Cut a line, and after measured it, in a thick wood,
which passed within two feet of a blue jay's nest which
was about four feet up a birch, beneath the leafy
branches and quite exposed. The bird sat perfectly still
with its head up and bill open upon its pretty large
young, not moving in the least, while we drove a stake
close by, within three feet, and cut and measured, being
about there twenty minutes at least.

Oct. '21, 1860. As I am coming out of this,^ looking
for seedling oaks, I see a jay, which was screaming at

^ [A white pine wood.]

AMERICAN CROW 229

me, fly to a white oak eight or ten rods from the wood
in the pasture and directly alight on the ground, pick
up an acorn, and fly back into the woods with it. This
was one, perhaps the most effectual, way in which this
wood was stocked with the numerous little oaks which
I saw under that dense white pine grove. Where will
you look for a jay sooner than in a dense pine thicket ?
It is there they commonly live, and build.

What if the oaks are far off ? Think how quickly a
jay can come and go, and how man}' times in a day !

Oct. 29, 1860. Again, as day before yesterday, sitting
on the edge of a pine wood, I see a jay fly to a white oak
half a dozen rods off in the pasture, and, gathering an
aeorn from the ground, hammer away at it under its
foot on a limb of the oak, with an awkward and rapid
seesaw or teetering motion, it has to lift its head so high
to acquire the requisite momentum. The jays scold
about almost every white oak tree, since we hinder their
coming to it.

\_See also under Hawks, p. 163; General and Mis-
cellaneous, pp. 414, 416.]

AMERICAN CROW

Sept. 17, 1852. The crows congregate and pursue me
through the half-covered woodland path, cawing loud
and angrily above me, and when they cease, I hear
the winnowing sound of their wings. What ragged
ones !

Nov. 1, 1853. As I return, I notice crows flying
southwesterly in a very long straggling flock, of which

230 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

I see probably neither end. A small flock of red-wings
singing as in spring.

Jan. 8, 1855. I hear a few chickadees near at hand,
and hear and see jays further off, and, as yesterday, a
crow sitting sentinel on an apple tree. Soon he gives
the alarm, and several more take their places near him.
Then off they flap with their caw of various hoarseness.

Jan. 12, 1855. Perhaps what most moves us in win-
ter is some reminiscence of far-off summer. How we
leap by the side of the open brooks ! What beauty in
the running brooks ! What life ! What society ! The
cold is merely superficial ; it is summer still at the core,
far, far within. It is in the cawing of the crow, the
crowing of the cock, the warmth of the sun on our
backs. I hear faintly the cawing of a crow far, far
away, echoing from some unseen wood-side, as if dead-
ened by the springlike vapor which the sun is drawing
from the ground. It mingles with the slight murmur of
the village, the sound of children at play, as one stream
empties gently into another, and the wild and tame are
one. What a delicious sound ! It is not merely crow
calling to crow, for it speaks to me too. I am part of
one great creature with him ; if he has voice, I have
ears. I can hear when he calls, and have engaged not to
shoot nor stone him if he will caw to me each spring.
On the one hand, it may be, is the sound of children at
school saying their a, b, ab's, on the other, far in the
weod-fringed horizon, the cawing of crows from tKeir
blessed eternal vacation, out at their long recess, chil-
dren who have got dismissed I While the vaporous in-
cense goes up from all the fields of the spring — if it

AMERICAN CROW 231

were spring. Ah, bless the Lord, O my soul! bless him
for wildness, for crows that will not alight within guiv
shot ! and bless him for hens, too, that croak and cackle
in the yard !

May 5, 1855. Looking over my book, I found I had
done my errands, and said to myself I would find a
crow's nest. (I had heard a crow scold at a passing hawk
a quarter of an hour before.) I had hardly taken this
resolution when, looking up, I saw a crow wending his
way across an interval in the woods towards the highest
pines in the swamp, on which he alighted. I directed my
steps to them and was soon greeted with an angry caw^
and, within five minutes from my resolve, I detected a
new nest close to the top of the tallest white pine in the
swamp. A crow circled cawing about it within gunshot,
then over me surveying, and, perching on an oak directly
over my head within thirty-five feet, cawed angrily.
But suddenly, as if having taken a new resolution, it
flitted away, and was joined by its mate and two more,
and they went oif silently a quarter of a mile or more
and lit in a pasture, as if they had nothing to concern
them in the wood.

May 7, 1855. Climbed to two crows' nests, — or maybe
one of them a squirrel's, — in Hubbard's Grove. Do
they not sometimes use a squirrel's nest for a founda-
tion ? A ruby-crested wren is apparently attracted and
eyes me. It is wrenching and fatiguing, as well as dirty,
work to climb a tall pine with nothing, or maybe only
dead twigs and stubs, to hold by. You must proceed
with great deliberation and see well where you put your
hands and your feet.

232 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIEDS

May 11, 1855. You can hardly walk in a thick pine
wood now, especially a swamp, but presently you will
have a crow or two over your head, either silently flit-
ting over, to spy what you would be at and if its nest
is in danger, or angrily cawing. It is most impressive
when, looking for their nests, you first detect the pre-
sence of the bird by its shadow.

Dec. 15, 1855. How like a bird of ill omen the
crow behaves! Still holding its ground in our midst
like a powwow that is not to be exterminated! Some-
times when I am going through the Deep Cut, I look up
and see half a dozen black crows flitting silently across
in front and ominously eying down ; passing from one
wood to another, yet as if their passage had reference
to me.

Jan. 22, 1856. Somebody has been fishing in the
pond this morning, and the water in the holes is be-
ginning to freeze. I see the track of a crow, the toes

as usual less spread and the middle one making a more
curved furrow in the snow than the partridge, as if
they moved more unstably, recovering their balance,
— feeble on their feet. The inner toe a little the
nearest to the middle one. This track goes to every
hole but one or two out of a dozen, — directly from
hole to hole, sometimes flying a little, — and also to an
apple-core on the snow. I am pretty sure that this bird
was after the bait which is usually dropped on the ice
or in the hole. E. Garfield says they come regularly
to his holes for bait as soon as he has left. So, if the

AMERICAN CROW 233

pickerel are not fed, it is. It had even visited, on the
wing, a hole, now frozen and snowed up, which I made
far from this in the middle of the pond several days
since, as I discovered by its droppings, the same kind
that it had left about the first holes.

I brought home and examined some of the droppings*
of the crow mentioned [above] . They were brown and
dry, though partly frozen. After long study with a mi-
croscope, I discovered that they consisted of the seeds
and skins and other indigestible parts of red cedar
berries and some barberries (I detected the imbricated
scale-like leaves of a berry stem and then the seeds
and the now black skins of the cedar berries, but easily
the large seeds of the barberries) and perhaps some-
thing more, and I knew whence it had probably come,
i. e. from the cedar woods and barberry bushes by
Flint's Pond. These, then, make part of the food of
crows in severe weather when the snow is deep, as at
present.

t/an. 24, 1856. I knew that a crow had that day
plucked the cedar berries and barberries by Flint's
Pond and then flapped silently through the trackless
air to Walden, where it dined on fisherman's bait,
though there was no living creature to tell me.

Here are the tracks of a crow, like those of the 22d,
with a long hind toe, nearly two inches. The two feet

1 [Evidently the pellets of indigestible matter which the crow, in
common with hawks, owls, gulls, and some other birds, disgorges from
time to time.]

234 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

are also nearly two inches apart. I see where the bird
alighted, descending with an impetus and breaking
through the slight crust, planting its feet side by
side.

How different this partridge-track, with its slight
hind toe, open and wide-spread toes on each side, both
feet forming one straight line, exactly thus : —

(Five inches from centre to centre.) The middle toe
alternately curved to the right and to the left, and what
is apparently the outer toe in each case shorter than
the inner one.

Jan. 31, 1856. But what track is this, just under
the bank?

<i

\

^ i

It must be a bird, which at last struck the snow with
its wings and took to flight. There were but four hops
in all, and then it ended as above, though there was
nothing near enough for it to hop upon from the snow.
The form of the foot was somewhat like that of a
squirrel, though only the outline was distinguished.
The foot was about two inches long, and it was about
two inches from outside of one foot to outside of the
other. Sixteen inches from hop to hop, the rest in
proportion. Looking narrowly, I saw where one wing
struck the bank ten feet ahead, thus : '==^, as it passed.

y

AMERICAN CROW 235

A quarter of a mile down-stream it occurred again, tlms:

and near by still less of a track,

0>^ 'Ir' but marks as if it had pecked in

*i» ^ jjj the snow. Could it be the track

'f'r/jfiW ®^ ^ crow with its toes unusually

close together ? Or was it an owl ? '

If^eb. 1, 1856. Nut Meadow Brook open for some
distance in the meadow. ... I see where a crow has
walked along its side. In one place it hopped, and its
feet were side by side, as in the track of yesterday,
though a little more spread, the toes. I have but
little doubt that yesterday's track was a crow's.
The two inner toes are near together ; the mid-
dle, more or less curved often.

I^eb. 6, 1856. Goodwin says that he has caught two
crows this winter in his traps set in water for mink,
and baited with fish. The crows, probably put to it for
food and looking along the very few open brooks, at-
tracted by this bait, got their feet into the traps.

F'eb. 27, 1857. I see many crows on the hillside, with
their sentinel on a tree. They are picking the cow-
dung scattered about, apparently for the worms, etc.,
it contains. They have done this in so many places that
it looks as if the farmer had been at work with his
maul. They must save him some trouble thus.^

Sept. 30, 1857. I was telling him^ how some crows
two or three weeks ago came flying with a scolding caw

^ Probably a crow. Vide Feb. 1st. Hardly a doubt of it. [The crow,
though habitually a walker, sometimes hops when in a particular
hurry.]

^ Notice the like extensively early in March, 1860.

3 [George Minott.]

236 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

toward me as I stood on " Cornel Rock," and alighted
within fifty feet on a dead tree above my head, un-
usually bold. Then away go all but one, perchance, to a
tall pine in the swamp, twenty rods off ; anon he fol-
lows. Again they go quite out of sight amid the tree-
tops, leaving one behind. This one, at last, quite at
his leisure, flaps away cawing, knowing well where to
find his mates, though you might think he must winter
alone.

Minott said that as he was going over to Lincoln one
day thirty or forty years ago, taking his way through
Ebby Hubbard's woods, he heard a great flock of crows
cawing over his head, and one alighted just within gun-
shot. He raised his little gun marked London, which
he knew would fetch down anything that was within
gunshot, and down came the crow ; but he was not
killed, only so filled with shot that he could not fly.
As he was going by John Wyman's at the pond, with
the live crow in his hand, Wyman asked him what he
was going to do with that crow, to which he answered,
" Nothing in particular," — he happened to alight
within gunshot, and so he shot him. Wyman said that
he 'd like to have him. " What do you want to do with
him?" asked M. "If you'll give him to me, I'll tell
you," said the other. To which Minott said, " You may
have him and welcome." Wyman then proceeded to
inform him that the crows had eaten a great space in
Josh Jones the blacksmith's corn-field, which Minott
had passed just below the almshouse, and that Jones
had told him that if he could kill a crow in his corn-
field he would give him half a bushel of rye. He could

AMERICAN CROW 237

guess what he wanted the crow for. So Wyman took
the crow and the next time he went into town he tossed
him over the wall into the corn-field and then shot him,
and, carrying the dead crow to Jones, he got his half-
bushel of rye.

Oct. 29, 1857. A flock of about eighty crows flies
ramblingly over toward the sowing, cawing and loiter-
ing and making a great ado, apparently about nothing.

Nov. 18, 1857. Crows will often come flying much
out of their way to caw at me.

Jan. 18, 1859. P. M. — Up Assabet to bridge.

Two or more inches of snow fell last night. In the
expanse this side Mantatuket Rock I see the tracks of
a crow or crows in and about the button-bushes and
willows. They have trampled and pecked much in some
spots under the button-bushes where these seeds are still
left and dibbled into the snow by them. It would seem,
then, that they eat them. The only other seeds there
can be there are those of the mikania, for I look for
them. You will see a crow's track beginning in the
middle of the river, where one alighted. I notice such a
track as this, where one alighted, and ^

apparently struck its spread tail into 7 •

the snow at the same time with its feet.
I see afterward where a wing's qui
have marked the snow much like a partridge's. The
snow is very light, so that the tracks are rarely dis-
tinct, and as they often advance by hops some might
mistake it for a squirrel's or mink's track. I suspect
that they came here yesterday after minnows when
the fishermen were gone, and that has brought them

eet. \^' I • •••**>'

238 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

here to-day in spite of the snow. They evidently look
out sharp for a morsel of fish. I see where, by the
red maple above Pinxter Swamp, they have picked
over the fine dark-greenish moss from button-bush, and
the leaves which had formed a squirrel's nest, knock-
ing it down on to the river and there treading about
and pecking a small piece, apparently for some worms
or insects that were in it, as if they were hard pushed.
Jan. 19, 1859. By the swamp between the Hollow
and Peter's I see the tracks of a crow or crows, chiefly
in the snow, two or more inches deep, on a broad frozen
ditch where mud has been taken out. The perpendicu-
lar sides of the ditch expose a foot or two of dark,
sooty mud which had attracted the crows, and I see
where they have walked along beneath it and pecked
it. Even here also they have alighted on any bare spot
where a foot of stubble was visible, or even a rock.
Where one walked yesterday, I see, notwithstanding
the effect of the sun on it, not only the foot-tracks,
but the distinct impression of its tail where it alighted,
counting distinctly eleven (of probably twelve) feath-
ers,— about four inches of each, — the whole mark be-
ing some ten inches wide and six deep, or more like a
semicircle than that of yesterday. The same crow, or
one of the same, has come again to-day, and, the snow
being sticky this warm weather, has left a very dis-
tinct track. The width of the whole track is about two
and three quarters inches, length of pace about seven
inches, length of true track some two inches (not includ-
ing the nails), but the mark made in setting down the
foot and withdrawing it is in each case some fifteen or

AMERICAN CROW 239

eighteen inches long, for its hind toe makes a sharp
scratch four or five inches long before it settles, and
when it lifts its foot again, it makes two other fine
scratches with its middle and outer toe on each side,
the first some nine inches long, the second six. The
inner toe is commonly close to the middle one. It
makes a peculiar curving track (or succession of curves),
stepping round the planted foot each time with a
sweep, thus: —

You would say that it toed in decidedly and walked
feebly. It must be that they require but little and
glean that very assiduously.

March 4, 1859. What a perfectly New England
sound is this voice of the crow ! If you stand perfectly
still anywhere in the outskirts of the town and listen,
stilling the almost incessant hum of your own personal
factory, this is perhaps the sound which you will be
most sure to hear rising above all sounds of human
industry and leading your thoughts to some far bay in
the woods where the crow is venting his disgust. This
bird sees the white man come and the Indian with-
draw, but it withdraws not. Its untamed voice is still
heard above the tinkling of the forge. It sees a race
pass away, but it passes not away. It remains to re-
mind us of aboriginal nature.

March 5, 1859. I see crows walking about on the ice
half covered with snow in the middle of the meadows,
where there is no grass, apparently to pick up the worms
and other insects left there since the midwinter freshet.

240 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

Dec. 31, 1859. Crows yesterday flitted silently, if not
ominously, over the street, just after the snow had fallen,
as if men, being further within, were just as far off as
usual. This is a phenomenon of both cold weather and
snowy. You hear nothing ; you merely see these black
apparitions, though they come near enough to look down
your chimney and scent the boiling pot, and pass be-
tween the house and barn.

Jan. 30, 1860. There are certain sounds invariably
heard in warm and thawing days in winter, such as
the crowing of. cocks, the cawing of crows, and some-
times the gobbling of turkeys. The crow, flying high,
touches the tympanum of the sky for us, and reveals
the tone of it. What does it avail to look at a ther-
mometer or barometer compared with listening to his
note? He informs me that Nature is in the tenderest
mood possible, and I hear the very flutterings of her
heart.

Crows have singular wild and suspicious ways. You
will see a couple flying high, as if about their business,
but lo, they turn and circle and caw over your head again
and again for a mile ; and this is their business, — as if a
mile and an afternoon were nothing for them to throw
away. This even in winter, when they have no nests to be
anxious about. But it is affecting to hear them cawing
about their ancient seat (as at F. Wheeler's wood) which
the choppers are laying low.

March 2, 1860. See thirty or more crows come flying in
the usual irregular zigzag manner in the strong wind,
from over M. Miles's, going northeast, — the first migra-
tion of them, — without cawing.

AMERICAN CROW 241

3fay 13, 1860. See two crows pursuing and diving at
a hen-bawk very high in the air over the river. He is
steadily circling and rising. While they, getting above,
dive down toward him, passing within a foot or two, mak-
ing a feint, he merely winks, as it were, bends or jerks his
wings slightly as if a little startled, but never ceases
soaring, nor once turns to pursue or shake them off. It
seemed as if he was getting uncomfortably high for them.

Oct. 6, 1860. As I go over the hill, I see a large
flock of crows on the dead white oak and on the ground
under the living one. I find the ground strewn with white
oak acorns, and many of these have just been broken in
two, and their broken shells are strewn about, so that I
suppose the crows have been eating them. Some are
merely scratched, as if they had been pecked at without
being pierced ; also there are two of the large swamp
white oak acorn-cups joined together dropped under this
oak, perhaps by a crow, maybe a quarter of a mile from
its tree, and that probably across the river. Probably
a crow had transported one or more swamp white oak
acorns this distance. They must have been too heavy for
a jay.

The crow, methinks, is our only large bird that hovers
and circles about in flocks in an irregular and straggling
manner, filling the air over your head and sporting in
it as if at home here. They often burst up above the
woods where they were perching, like the black frag-
ments of a powder-mill just exploded.

One crow lingers on a limb of the dead oak till I am
within a dozen rods. There is strong and blustering
northwest wind, and when it launches off to follow its

242 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

comrades it is blown up and backward still nearer to me,
and it is obliged to tack four or five times just like a
vessel, a dozen rods or more each way, very deliberately,
first to the right, then to the left, before it can get off ;
for as often as it tries to fly directly forward against the
wind, it is blown upward and backward within gunshot,
and it only advances directly forward at last by stooping
very low within a few feet of the ground where the trees
keep off the wind. Yet the wind is not remarkably
strong.

Dec. 30, 1860. I saw the crows a week ago perched
on the swamp white oaks over the road just beyond
Wood's Bridge, and many acorns and bits of bark and
moss, evidently dropped or knocked off by them, lay on
the snow beneath. One sat within twenty feet over my
head with what looked like a piece of acorn in his bill.
To-day I see that they have carried these same white
oak acorns, cups and all, to the ash tree by the riverside,
some thirty rods southeast, and dropped them there.
Perhaps they find some grubs in the acorns, when they
do not find meat. The crows now and of late frequent
thus the large trees by the river, especially swamp white
oak, and the snow beneath is strewn with bits of bark
and moss and with acorns (commonly worthless). They
are foraging. Under the first swamp white oak in Hub-
bard's great meadow (Cyanean) I see a little snap-turtle
(shell some one and a quarter inches in diameter — on his
second year, then) on its back on the ice — shell, legs,
and tail perfect, but head pulled off, and most of the
inwards with it by the same hole (where the neck was).
What is left smells quite fresh, and this head must have

AMERICAN CROW 243

been torn off to-day — or within a day or two. I see two
crows on the next swamp white oak westward, and I can
scarcely doubt that they did it. Probably one found
the young turtle at an open and springy place in the
meadow, or by the river, where they are constantly prey-
ing, and flew with it to this tree. Yet it is possible (?)
that it was frozen to death when they found it.

Jan. 11, 1861. Horace Mann brings me the contents
of a crow's stomach in alcohol. It was killed in the vil-
lage within a day or two. It is quite a mass of frozen-
thawed apple, — pulp and skin, — with a good many
pieces of skunk-cabbage berries one fourth inch or less
in diameter, and commonly showing the pale-brown
or blackish outside, interspersed, looking like bits of
acorns, — never a whole or even half a berry, — and two
little bones as of frogs (?) or mice (?) or tadpoles ; also
a street pebble a quarter of an inch in diameter, hard to
be distinguished in appearance from the cabbage seeds.

[/S'ee also under Herring Gull, pp. 14, 17; Ruffed
Grouse, p. 98 ; Hen-Hawks, p. 142 ; Fish Hawk, pp.
156, 157 ; Blue Jay, p. 226 ; General and Miscellane-
ous, pp. 416, 427, 431, 433.]

XIV
BLACKBIRDS, ORIOLES, ETC.

BOBOLINK

June 29, 1851. At a distance in the meadow I hear
still, at long intervals, the hurried commencement of
the bobolink's strain, the bird just dashing into song,
which is as suddenly checked, as it were, by the warder
of the seasons, and the strain is left incomplete forever.
Like human beings they are inspired to sing only for a
short season.^

May 16, 1852. The bobolink sits on a hardback,
swaying to and fro, uncertain whether to begin his
strain, dropping a few bubbling notes by way of pre-
lude,— with which he overflows.

Aug. 15, 1852. Some birds fly in flocks. I see a
dense, compact flock of bobolinks going off in the air
over a field. They cover the rails and alders, and go
rustling off with a brassy, tinkling note like a ripe crop
as I approach, revealing their yellow breasts and bellies.
This is an autumnal sight, that small flock of grown
birds in the afternoon sky.

May 10, 1853. When I heard the first bobolink
strain this morning I could not at first collect myself
enough to tell what it was I heard, — a reminiscence of
last May in all its prime occurring in the midst of the ex-
perience of this in its unripe state. Suddenly, the season
^ I have since heard some complete strains.

BOBOLINK 246

being sufficiently advanced, the atmosphere in the right
condition, these flashing, scintillating notes are struck
out from it where that dark mote disappears through
it, as sparks by a flint, with a tinkling sound. This
flashing, tinkling meteor bursts through the expectant
meadow air, leaving a train of tinkling notes behind.
Successive regiments of birds arrive and are disbanded
in our fields, like soldiers still wearing their regimen-
tals. I doubted at first if it were not a strain brought
on a few days in advance by an imitative catbird or
thrush (?) from where he had been staying.

May 12, 1853. This, too, is the era of the bobolink,
now, when apple trees are ready to burst into bloom.

May 17, 1853. The bobolink skims by before the
wind how far without motion of his wings ! sometimes
borne sidewise as he turns his head — for thus he can
fly — and tinkling, linking^ incessantly all the way.

May 25, 1857. It is interesting to hear the bobolinks
from the meadow sprinkle their lively strain along amid
the tree-tops as they fly over the wood above our heads.
It resounds in a novel manner through the aisles of the
wood, and at the end that fine buzzing, wiry note.

June 1, 1857. I hear the note of a bobolink concealed
in the top of an apple tree behind me. Though this
bird's full strain is ordinarily somewhat trivial, this one
appears to be meditating a strain as yet unheard in
meadow or orchard. Paulo majora canarnus. He is just
touching the strings of his theorbo, his glassichord, his
water organ, and one or two notes globe themselves and
fall in liquid bubbles from his teeming throat. It is as
if he touched his harp within a vase of liquid melody,

246 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

and when he lifted it out, the notes fell like bubbles
from the trembling strings. Methinks they are the most
liquidly sweet and melodious sounds I ever heard.
They are refreshing to my ear as the first distant tin-
kling and gurgling of a rill to a thirsty man. Oh, never
advance farther in your art, never let us hear your full
strain, sir. But away he launches, and the meadow is
all bespattered with melody. His notes fall with the
apple blossoms, in the orchard. The very divinest part
of his strain dropping from his overflowing breast sin-
gultim, in globes of melody. It is the foretaste of such
strains as never fell on mortal ears, to hear which we
should rush to our doors and contribute all that we
possess and are. Or it seemed as if in that vase full of
melody some notes sphered themselves, and from time
to time bubbled up to the surface and were with diffi-
culty repressed.

June 2, 1857. That bobolink's song affected me as if
one were endeavoring to keep down globes of melody
within a vase full of liquid, but some bubbled up irre-
pressible, — kept thrusting them down with a stick, but
they slipped and came up one side.

June 26, 1857. I must be near bobolinks' nests many
times these days, — in E. Hosmer's meadow by the
garlic and here in Charles Hubbard's, — but the birds
are so overanxious, though you may be pretty far off,
and so shy about visiting their nests while you are there,
that you watch them in vain. The female flies close past
and perches near you on a rock or stump and chirps
whit tit, whit tit, whit it tit tit te incessantly.

Aiif/. 18, 1858. Miss Caroline Pratt saw the white

COWBIRD 247

bobolink yesterday where Channing saw it the day be-
fore, in the midst of a large flock. I go by the place
this afternoon and see very large flocks of them, cer-
tainly several hundreds in all, and one has a little white
on his back, but I do not see the white one. Almost
every bush along this brook is now alive with these
birds. You wonder where they were all hatched, for
you may have failed to find a single nest. I know eight
or ten active boys who have been searching for these
nests the past season quite busily, and they have found
but two at most. Surely but a small fraction of these
birds will ever return from the South. Have they so
many foes there? Hawks must fare well at present.
They go off^ in a straggling flock, and it is a long time
before the last loiterer has left the bushes near you.

July 15, 1860. I hear this forenoon the link link of
the first bobolink going over our garden, — though I
hear several full strains of bobolinks to-day, as in May,
carrying me back to Apple Sunday, but they have been
rare a long time. Now as it were the very cope of the
dark-glazed heavens yields a slightly metallic sound
when struck.

COWBIRD ; cow BLACKBIRD ; COW TROOPIAL

July 16, 1851. The red-wings and crow blackbirds
are heard chattering on the trees, and the cow troopials
are accompanying the cows in the pastures for the sake
of the insects they scare up. Oftentimes the thought-
less sportsman has lodged his charge of shot in the cow's
legs or body in his eagerness to obtain the birds.

Sept. 4, 1853. In Potter's dry pasture I saw the

248 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

ground black with blackbirds (troopials?). As I ap-
proach, the front rank rises and flits a little further
back into the midst of the flock, — it rolls up on the
edges, — and, being thus alarmed, they soon take to
flight, with a loud rippling rustle, but soon alight again,
the rear wheeling swiftly into place like well-drilled
soldiers. Instead of being an irregular and disorderly
crowd, they appear to know and keep their places and
wheel with the precision of drilled troops.

June 11, 1854.* Saw in and near some woods four or
five cow blackbirds, with their light-brown heads, —
their strain an imperfect, milky, gurgling conqueree^ an
unsuccessful effort. It made me think, for some reason,
of streams of milk bursting out a sort of music between
the staves of a keg.

July 13, 1856. In Hubbard's euphorbia pasture, cow
blackbirds about cows. At first the cows were resting
and ruminating in the shade, and no birds were seen.
Then one after another got up and went to feeding,
straggling into the midst of the field. With a chatter-
ing appeared a cowbird, and, vnth a long slanting flight,
lit close to a cow's nose, within the shadow of it, and
watched for insects, the cow still eating along and al-
most hitting it, taking no notice of it. Soon it is joined
by two or three more birds.

Sept. 6, 1858. Going over Clamshell Plain, I see a
very large flock of a hundred or more cowbirds about
some cows. They whirl away on some alarm and alight
on a neighboring rail fence, close together on the rails,
one above another. Then away they whirl and settle on
a white oak top near me. Half of them are evidently

RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD 249

quite young birds, having glossy black breasts with a
drab line down middle. The heads of all are li^ht-
colored, perhaps a slaty drab, and some apparently
wholly of this color.

[See also under Domestic Fowl, p. 435.]

RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD

Oct. 5, 1851. I hear the red-wing blackbirds by the
riverside again, as if it were a new spring. They appear
to have come to bid farewell. The birds appear to de-
part with the coming of the frosts, which kill vegetation
and, directly or indirectly, the insects on which they feed.

April 22, 1852. The strain of the red-wing on the
willow spray over the water to-night is liquid, bub-
bling, watery, almost like a tinkling fountain, in perfect
harmony with the meadow. It oozes, trickles, tinkles,
bubbles from his throat, — bob-y-lee-e-e, and then its
shrill, fine whistle.

May 7, 1852. The red-wing's shoulder, seen in a
favorable light, throws all epaulets into the shade. It
is General Abercrombie, methinks, when they wheel
partly with the red to me.

May 8, 1852. The blackbirds have a rich sprayey
warble now, sitting on the top of a willow or an elm.
They possess the river now^ flying back and forth
across it.

March 19, 1853. This morning I hear the blackbird's
fine clear whistle and also his sprayey note, as he is
swayed back and forth on the twigs of the elm or of
the black willow over the river. His first note may be
a chuck, but his second is a rich gurgle or warble.

25.0 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

May 14, 1853. The still dead-looking willows and
button-bushes are alive with red-wings, now perched
on a yielding twig, now pursuing a female swiftly over
the meadow, now darting across the stream. No two
have epaulets equally brilliant. Some are small and
almost white, and others a brilliant vermilion. They
are handsomer than the golden robin, methinks. The
yellowbird, kingbird, and pewee, beside many swal-
lows, are also seen. But the rich colors and the rich
and varied notes of the blackbirds surpass them
all.

June 24, 1853. Also got a blackbird's nest whose
inhabitants had flown, hung by a kind of small dried
rush (?) between two button-bushes which crossed above
it ; of meadow-grass and sedge, dried Mikania scandens
vine, horse-tail, fish-lines, and a strip apparently of a
lady's bathing-dress, lined with a somewhat finer grass ;
of a loose and ragged texture to look at. Green mikania
running over it now.

April 18, 1854. Heard a red-wing sing his hohylee
in new wise, as if he tossed up a fourpence and it rat-
tled on some counter in the air as it went up.

May 16, 1854. Looked into several red-wing black-
birds' nests which are now being built, but no eggs yet.
They are generally hung between two twigs, say of
button-bush. I noticed at one nest what looked like a
tow string securely tied about a twig at each end about
six inches apart, left loose in the middle. It was not
a string, but I think a strip of milkweed pod, etc., —
water asclepias probably, — maybe a foot long and very
strong:. How remarkable that this bird should have

RKD-WIXCKl) HLACKBIRD

RED-WIXGED BLACKIURD'S NEST AND EC.C:

RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD 251

found out the strength of this, which I was so slow to
find out ! ^

May 13, 1855. I heard from 2i female red-wing that
peculiar rich screwing warble — not o gurgle ee — made
with r, not with I.

June 14, 1855. See young red-wings; like grizzly-
black vultures, they are still so bald.

June 1, 1857. A red-wing's nest, four eggs, low in a
tuft of sedge in an open meadow. What ChampoUion
can translate the hieroglyphics on these eggs? It is
always writing of the same character, though much
diversified. While the bird picks up the material and
lays the ^gg^ who determines the style of the marking?
When you approach, away dashes the dark mother, be-
traying her nest, and then chatters her anxiety from a
neighboring bush, where she is soon joined by the red-
shouldered male, who comes scolding over your head,
chattering and uttering a sharp jpihe phee-e.

March 19, 1858. By the river, see distinctly red-
wings and hear their conqueree. They are not associ-
ated with grackles.^ They are an age before their
cousins, have attained to clearness and liquidity. They
are officers, epauletted ; the others are rank and file. I
distinguish one even by its flight, hovering slowly from
tree-top to tree-top, as if ready to utter its liquid notes.
Their whistle is very clear and sharp, while the grackle's
is ragged and split.

It is a fine evening, as I stand on the bridge. The
waters are quite smooth ; very little ice to be seen. The

1 [See under Yellow Warbler, pp. 350-352.]

2 [That is, rusty blackbirds. See note on p. 255.]

252 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

red-wing and song sparrow are singing, and a flock of
tree sparrows is pleasantly warbling. A new era has
come. The red-wing's gurgle-ee is heard when smooth
waters begin ; they come together.

March 11, 1859. I see and hear a red-wing. It sings
almost steadily on its perch there, sitting all alone, as
if to attract companions (and I see two more, also soli-
tary, on different tree-tops within a quarter of a mile),
calling the river to life and tempting ice to melt and
trickle like its own sprayey notes. Another flies over
on high, with a tchuck and at length a clear whistle.
The birds anticipate the spring; they come to melt the
ice with their songs.

March 15, 1860. Here is a flock of red-wings. I
heard one yesterday, and I see a female among these. ^
These are easily distinguished from grackles by the
richness and clarity of their notes, as if they were a
more developed bird. How handsome as they go by in
a checker, each with a bright scarlet shoulder ! They
are not so very shy, but mute when we come near. I
think here are four or five grackles with them, which
remain when the rest fly. They cover the apple trees
like a black fruit.

March 17, 1860. How handsome a flock of red-wings,
ever changing its oval form as it advances, by the rear
birds passing the others!

April 29, 1860. I listen to a concert of red-wings,
— their rich sprayey notes, amid which a few more

' [The date is, of course, a very early one for female red-winged
blackbirds, which ordinarily do not arrive till some time after the
males.]

MEADOWLARK; LARK 253

liquid and deep in a lower tone or undertone, as if it
bubbled up from the very water beneath the button-
bushes ; as if those singers sat lower. Some old and
skillful performer touches these deep and liquid notes,
and the rest seem to get up a concert just to encourage
him. Yet it is ever a prelude or essay with him, as
are all good things, and the melody he is capable of
and which we did not hear this time is what we remem-
ber. The future will draw him out. The different in-
dividuals sit singing and pluming themselves and not
appearing to have any conversation with one another.
They are only tuning all at once ; they never seriously
perform; the hour has not arrived. Then all go off with
a hurried and perhaps alarmed tchuck tchuck.

[/S'ee also under Blackbirds, pp. 260, 2G1, 263 ;
Robin, pp. 388, 390 ; Bluebird, p. 401 ; General and
Miscellaneous, p. 426.]

MEADOWLARK; LARK

July 16, 1851. The lark sings in the meadow ; the
very essence of the afternoon is in his strain. This is a
New England sound, but the cricket is heard under all
sounds.

Oct. 6, 1851.^ (I hear a lark singing this morn (Oc-
tober 7th), and yesterday saw them in the meadows.
Both larks and blackbirds are heard again now occa-
sionally, seemingly after a short absence, as if come to
bid farewell.)

April 14, 1852. Going down the railroad at nine
A. M., I hear the lark singing from over the snow. This
1 [Entered under this date, though written the next day.]

254 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

for steady singing comes next to the robin now. It will
come up very sweet from the meadows ere long.

May 3, 1852. Some of the notes, the trills, of the
lark sitting amid the tussocks and stubble are like my
seringo-bird.^ May these birds that live so low in the
grass be called the cricket birds ? and does their song
resemble the cricket's, an earth-song ?

April 6, 1853. I cannot describe the lark's song. I
used these syllables in the morning to remember it by,
— heetar-su-e-oo.

Nov. 1, 1853. Now that the sun is fairly risen, I see
and hear a flock of larks in Wheeler's meadow on left
of the Corner road, singing exactly as in spring and
twittering also, but rather faintly or suppressedly, as if
their throats had grown up or their courage were less.

March 26, 1855. The lark sings, perched on the top
of an apple tree, seel-yah seel-yah, and then perhaps seel-
yah-see-e^ and several other strains, quite sweet and plain-
tive, contrasting with the cheerless season and the bleak
meadow. Further off I hear one like ah-tick-seel-yah.

March 28, 1858. The first lark of the 23d sailed
through the meadow with that peculiar prolonged chip-
ping or twittering sound, perhaps sharp clucking.

[^See also under Slate-colored Junco, p. 302.]

BALTIMORE ORIOLE ; GOLDEN ROBIN ; FIERY HANG-
BIRD

May 8, 1852. Two gold robins ; they chatter like
blackbirds ; the fire bursts forth on their backs when
they lift their wings.

1 [See note to Savannali Sparrow, p. 290. ]

BALTIMORE ORIOLE 255

May 18, 1852. These days the golden robin is the
important bird in the streets, on the ehns.

May 10, 1853. You hear the clear whistle and see
the red or fiery orange of the oriole darting through
Hosmer's orchard. But its note is not melodious and
rich. It is at most a clear tone, the healthiest of your
city beaux and belles.

May 25, 1855. The golden robin keeps whistling
something like Eat it, Potter, eat it f

June 28, 1857. I hear on all hands these days, from
the elms and other trees, the twittering peep of young
gold robins, which have recently left their nests, and
apparently indicate their locality to their parents by
thus incessantly peeping all day long.

Dec. 22, 1859. As we passed under the elm beyond
George Heywood's, I looked up and saw a fiery hang-
bird's nest dangling over the road. What a reminis-
cence of summer, a fiery hangbird's nest dangling from
an elm over the road when perhaps the thermometer
is down to —20 ( ?), and the traveller goes beating his
arms beneath it ! It is hard to recall the strain of that
bird then.

\_See also under General and Miscellaneous, pp. 426,
430.]

RUSTY BLACKBIRD ; RUSTY GKACKLE ; GRACKLE '

April 9, 1855. Wilson says that the only note of the
rusty grackle is a chuck, though he is told that at Hud-
son's Bay, at the breeding-time, they sing with a fine

^ [So usually called by Thoreau, who used only the name crow black-
bird for the bird now commonly called the bronzed grackle.]

256 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

note.^ Here they utter not only a chuck, hut a^ne shrill
whistle. They cover the top o£ a tree now, and their
concert is of this character : They all seem laboring to-
gether to get out a clear strain, as it were wetting their
whistles against their arrival at Hudson's Bay. They
begin as it were by disgorging or spitting it out, like so
much tow, from a full throat, and conclude with a clear,
fine, shrill, ear-piercing whistle. Then away they go, all
chattering together.

April 11, 1856. Going up the railroad, I see a male
and female rusty grackle alight on an oak near me, the
latter apparently a flaxen brown, with a black tail. She
looks like a different species of bird. Wilson had heard
only a tchuck from the grackle, but this male, who was
courting his mate, broke into incipient warbles, like a
bubble burst as soon as it came to the surface, it was so
aerated. Its air would not be fixed long enough.

Oct. 14, 1857. I see a large flock of grackles, prob-
ably young birds, quite near me on William Wheeler's
apple trees, pruning themselves and trying to sing.
They never succeed ; make a sort of musical splutter-
ing. Most, I think, have brownish heads and necks, and
some purple reflections from their black bodies.

Oct. 16, 1857. I saw some blackbirds, apparently
grackles, singing, after their fashion, on a tree by the
river. Most had those grayish-brown heads and necks ;
some, at least, much ferruginous or reddish brown
reflected. They were pruning themselves and splitting
their throats in vain, trying to sing as the other day.

^ [The only song they are known to possess is the whistle that Thoreau
here describes.]

RUSTY BLACKBIRD 267

All the melody flew off in splinters. Also a robin sings
once or twice, just as in spring !

March 18, 1858. The blackbird — probably graokle
this time — wings his way direct above the swamp north-
ward, with a regular tchuck, carrier haste, calling the
summer months along, like a hen her chickens.

Oct. 16, 1858. See a large flock of grackles steer-
ing for a bare elm-top near the meadows. As they fly
athwart my view, they appear successively rising half a
foot or a foot above one another, though the flock is mov-
ing straight forward. I have not seen red-wings for a
long while, but these birds, which went so much further
north to breed, are still arriving from those distant re-
gions, fetching the year about.

March 14, 1859. I see a large flock of grackles
searching for food along the water's edge, just below
Dr. Bartlett's. Some wade in the water. They are within
a dozen rods of me and the road. It must be something
just washed up that they are searching for, for the water
has just risen and is still rising fast. Is it not insects
and worms washed out of the grass ? and perhaps the
snails ? When a grackle sings, it is as if his mouth
were full of cotton, which he was trying to spit out.

March 8, 1860. Seeasmall flock of grackles on the wil-
low-row above railroad bridge. How they sit and make a
business of chattering ! for itcannot be called singing, and
no improvement from age to age perhaps. Yet, as nature
is a becoming, their notes may become melodious at last.
At length, on my very near approach, they flit suspiciously
away, uttering a few subdued notes as they hurry off.

\^See also under Blackbirds, p. 260.]

258 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

BRONZED GRACKLE ; CROW BLACKBIRD

3fay 11, 1854. Now at last I see crow blackbirds
without doubt. . . . They fly as if carrying or drag-
ging their precious long tails, broad at the end, through
the air. Their note is like a great rusty spring, and also
a hoarse chuck.

June 6, 1854. A crow blackbird's nest in a white
maple this side the Leaning Hemlocks, in a crotch seven
or eight feet from ground ; somewhat like a robin's,
but larger, made of coarse weed stems, mikania,
and cranberry vines (without leaves), fish-lines, etc.,
without, and of mud lined with finer fibres or roots
within ; four large but blind young covered with dark
down.

Ajyril 14, 1855. I see half a dozen crow blackbirds
uttering their coarse rasping char char, like great rusty
springs, on the top of an elm by the riverside ; and
often at each char they open their great tails. They also
attain to a clear whistle with some effort, but seem to
have some difficulty in their throats yet.

3Iay 11, 1855. A crow blackbird's nest, about eight
feet up a white maple over water, — a large, loose nest
without, some eight inches high, between a small twig
and main trunk, composed of coarse bark shreds and
dried last year's grass, without mud ; within deep and
size of robin's nest ; with four pale-green eggs, streaked
and blotched with black and brown. Took one. Young
bird not begun to form.

Feb. 3, 1856. Analyzed the crow blackbird's nest
from which I took an egg last summer, eight or ten feet

;j.

CROW BLACKBIRD 259

up a white maple by river, opposite Island. Large, of
an irregular form, appearing as if wedged in between a
twig and two large contiguous trunks. From outside to
outside it measures from six to eight inches ; inside,
four ; depth, two ; height, six. The foundation is a loose
mass of coarse strips of grape-vine bark chiefly, some
eighteen inches long by five eighths of an inch wide ; also
slender grass and weed stems, mikania stems, a few cellu-
lar river weeds, as rushes, sparganium, pipe-grass, and
some soft, coarse, fibrous roots. The same coarse grape-
vine bark and grass and weed stems, together with some
harder, wiry stems, form the sides and rim, the bark
being passed around the twig. The nest is lined with
the finer grass and weed stems, etc. The solid part of
the nest is of half-decayed vegetable matter and mud,
full of fine fibrous roots and wound internally with grass
stems, etc., and some grape bark, being an inch and a
half thick at bottom. Pulled apart and lying loose, it
makes a great mass of material. This, like similar
nests, is now a great haunt for spiders.

April 15, 1856. Coming up from the riverside, I hear
the harsh rasping char-r char-r of the crow blackbird,
like a very coarsely vibrating metal, and, looking up,
see three flying over.

BLACKBIRDS (MISCELLANEOUS)

May 8, 1852. The blackbirds fly in flocks and sing
in concert on the willows, — what a lively, chattering
concert ! a great deal of chattering with many liquid
and rich warbling notes and clear whistles, — till now
a hawk sails low, beating the bush, and they are silent

260 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

or off, but soon begin again. Do any other birds sing
in such deafening concert ?

March 18, 1853. Several times I hear and see black-
birds flying north singly, high overhead, chucking as if to
find their mates, migrating; or are they even now getting
near their own breeding-place? Perchance these are
blackbirds that were hatched here, — that know me !

March 29, 1853. It would be worth the while to at-
tend more to the different notes of the blackbirds. Me-
thinks I may have seen the female red-wing within a
day or two ; or what are these purely black ones without
the red shoulder ? * It is pleasant to see them scattered
about on the drying meadow. The red-wings will stand
close to the water's edge, looking larger than usual,
with their red shoulders very distinct and handsome in
that position, and sing okolee^ or hoh-y-lee, or what-not.
Others, on the tops of trees over your head, out of a
fuzzy beginning spit forth a clear, shrill whistle inces-
santly, for what purpose I don't know. Others, on the
elms over the water, utter still another note, each time
lifting their wings slightly. Others are flying across the
stream with a loud char-r^ char-r.

Aj)ril 4, 1853. After turning Lee's Cliff I heard,
methinks, more birds singing even than in fair weather,
— tree sparrows, whose song has the character of the
canary's, J^. hyemalis' s cMll-lill, the sweet strain of the
fox- colored sparrow, song' sparrows, a nuthatch, jays,
crows, bluebirds, robins, and a large congregation of
blackbirds. They suddenly alight with great din in a
stubble-field just over the wall, not perceiving me and

^ [This was before he had learned to distinguish the rusty blackbird.]

BLACKBIRDS 261

my umbrella behind the pitch pines, and there feed
silently ; then, getting uneasy or anxious, they fly up on
to an apple tree, where being reassured, commences a
rich but deafening concert, o-gurgle-ee-e^ o-gurgle-ee-e^
some of the most liquid notes ever heard, as if pro-
duced by some of the water of the Pierian spring, flow-
ing through some kind of musical water-pipe and at the
same time setting in motion a multitude of fine vibrat-
ing metallic springs. Like a shepherd merely meditat-
ing most enrapturing glees on such a water-pipe, A
more liquid bagpipe or clarionet, immersed like bubbles
in a thousand sprayey notes, the bubbles half lost in
the spray. When I show myself, away they go with a
loud harsh charr-r, charr-r. At first I had heard an in-
undation of blackbirds approaching, some beating time
with a loud chuck, chuck, while the rest played a hur-
ried, gurgling fugue.

June 11, 1853. Probably blackbirds were never less
numerous along our river than in these years. They do
not depend on the clearing of the woods and the culti-
vation of orchards, etc. Streams and meadows, in which
they delight, always existed. Most of the towns, soon
after they were settled, were obliged to set a price upon
their heads. In 1672, according to the town records of
Concord, instruction was given to the selectmen, " That
incorigment be given for the destroying of blackbirds
and jaies." (Shattuck,^ page 45.)

April 3, 1856. Hear also squeaking notes of an ad-
vancing flock of red-wings,^ somewhere high in the sky.

1 [Lemuel Shattuck'a History of Concord.]

^ Or grackles ; am uncertain which makes that squeak.

262 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS
At lensrth detect them hi2:li overhead, advaneino: north-

o o o

east in loose array, with a broad extended front, com-
peting with each other, winging their way to some
northern meadow which they remember. The note of
some is like the squeaking of many signs, while others
accompany them with a steady dry tchuck. tchucJc.

Aug. 18, 1858. I also see large flocks of blackbirds,
blackish birds with chattering notes. It is a fine sight
when you can look down on them just as they are set-
tling on the ground with outspread wings, — a hovering
flock.

March 13, 1859. I see a small flock of blackbirds
flying over, some rising, others falling, yet all advancing
together, one flock but many birds, some silent, others
tchucking, — incessant alternation. This harmonious
movement as in a dance, this agreeing to differ, makes
the charm of the spectacle to me. One bird looks frac-
tional, naked, like a single thread or ravelling from the
web to which it belongs. Alternation! Alternation!
Heaven and hell! Here again in the flight of a bird, its
ricochet motion, is that undulation observed in so many
marerials. as in the mackerel sky.

March 28, 1859. As we were paddling over the Great
Meadows, I saw at a distance, high in the air above the
middle of the meadow, a very compact flock of black-
birds advancing: as^ainst the sun. Though there were
more than a hundred, they did not appear to occupy
more than six feet in breadth, but the whole flock was
dashincr first to the rio-ht and then to the left. When
advancing straight toward me and the sun, they made
but little impression on the eye, — so many fine dark

BLACKBIRDS 263

points merely, seen against the sky, — but as often as
they wheeled to the right or left, displaying their wings
flatwise and the whole length of their bodies, they were
a very conspicuous black mass. This fluctuation in the
amount of dark surface was a very pleasing phenome-
non. It reminded me of those blinds whose sashes [-s/c]
are made to move all together by a stick, now admitting
nearly all the light and now entirely excluding it ; so
the flock of blackbirds opened and shut. But at length
they suddenly spread out and dispersed, some flying
off this way, and others that, as, when a wave strikes
against a cliff, it is dashed upward and lost in fine
spray. So they lost their compactness and impetus and
broke up suddenly in mid-air.

April 25, 1860. I hear the greatest concerts of black-
birds— red-wings and crow blackbirds — nowadays, es-
pecially of the former (also the 22d and 29th). The
maples and willows along the river, and the button-
bushes, are all alive with them. They look like a black
fruit on the trees, distributed over the top at pretty
equal distances. It is worth while to see how slyly they
hide at the base of the thick and shaggy button-bushes
at this stage of the water. They will suddenly cease
their strains and flit away and secrete themselves low
amid these bushes till you are past ; or you scare up an
unexpectedly large flock from such a place, where you
had seen none.

I pass a large quire in full blast on the oaks, etc., on
the island in the meadow northwest of Peter's. Sud-
denly they are hushed, and I hear the loud rippling
rush made by their wings as they dash away, and, look-

264 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

ing up, I see what I take to be a sharp-shinned hawk
just alighting on the trees where they were, having
failed to catch one. They retreat some forty rods off,
to another tree, and renew their concert there. The
hawk plumes himself, and then flies off, rising gradually
and beginning to circle, and soon it joins its mafe, and
soars with it high in the sky and out of sight, as if the
thought of so terrestrial a thing as a blackbird had
never entered its head. It appeared to have a plain red-
dish-fawn breast. The size more than anything made
me think it a sharp-shin.

\_See also under General and Miscellaneous, pp.
412, 413, 425.]

XV

FINCHES

PINE GROSBEAK

Dec. 24, 1851. Saw also some pine grosbeaks, mag-
nificent winter birds, among the weeds and on the apple
trees ; like large catbirds at a distance, but, nearer at
hand, some of them, when they flit by, are seen to have
gorgeous heads, breasts, and rumps (?), with red or
crimson reflections, more beautiful than a steady bright
red would be. The note I heard, a rather faint and in-
nocent whistle of two bars.

July 15, 1858. When half-way down the mountain,*
amid the spruce, we saw two pine grosbeaks, male and
female, close by the path, and looked for a nest, but
in vain. They were remarkably tame, and the male a
brilliant red orange, — neck, head, breast beneath, and
rump, — blackish wings and tail, with two white bars
on wings. (Female, yellowish.) The male flew nearer
inquisitively, uttering a low twitter, and perched fear-
lessly within four feet of us, eying us and pluming
himself and plucking and eating the leaves of the
Amelanchier oligocarpa on which he sat, for several
minutes. The female, meanwhile, was a rod off. They
were evidently breeding there. Yet neither Wilson nor
Nuttall speak of their breeding in the United States.-

[/See also under General and Miscellaneous.]

* [Mt. Lafayette.]

2 [The pine grosbeak breeds very sparingly in the White Moautsin

266 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

PURPLE FINCH

Oct. 7, 1842. A little girl has just brought me a
purple finch, or American linnet. These birds are now
moving south. It reminds me of the pine and spruce,
and the juniper and cedar on whose berries it feeds. It
has the crimson hues of the October evenings, and its
plumage still shines as if it had caught and preserved
some of their tints (beams?). We know it chiefly as a
traveller. It reminds me of many things I had forgot-
ten. Many a serene evening lies snugly packed under
its wing.

April 15, 1854. The arrival of the purple finches
appears to be coincident with the blossoming of the
elm, on whose blossom it feeds.

May 24, 1855. Heard a purple finch sing more than
one minute without pause, loud and rich, on an elm
over the street. Another singing very faintly on a
neighboring elm.

April 12, 1856. There suddenly flits before me and
alights on a small apple tree in Mackay's field, as I go
to my boat, a splendid purple finch. Its glowing red-
ness is revealed when it lifts its wings, as when the
ashes is blown from a coal of fire. Just as the oriole
displays its gold.

region. Mr. J. E. Cabot's statement in the Atlantic for December, 1857,
that he had seen the bird " at the White Mountains in August" seems
to have escaped Thoreau's attention. Perhaps the descendants of these
birds of Thoreau's still haunt the mountain. Thirty years later at least,
in June, 18§8, the writer, in company with Mr. Bradford Torrey, found
several pine grosbeaks high up on Lafayette and heard from two of
them their beautiful song.]

RED CROSSBILL 267

April 3, 1858. Going down-town this morning, I am
surprised by the rich strain of the purple finch from the
elms. Three or four have arrived and lodged asrainst
the elms of our street, which runs east and west across
their course, and they are now mingling their loud and
rich strains with that of the tree sparrows, robins,
bluebirds, etc. The hearing of this note implies some
improvement in the acoustics of the air. It reminds
me of that genial state of the air when the elms are in
bloom. They sit still over the street and make a busi-
ness of warbling. They advertise me surely of some
additional warmth and serenity. How their note rings
over the roofs of the village! You wonder that even
the sleepers are not awakened by it to inquire who is
there, and yet probably not another than myself in all
the town observes their coming, and not half a dozen
ever distinguished them in their lives. And yet the very
mob of the town know the hard names of Germanians
or Swiss families which once sang here or elsewhere.

RED CROSSBILL

April 13, 1860. At first I had felt disinclined to
make this excursion up the Assabet, but it distinctly oc-
curred to me that, perhaps, if I came against my will,
as it were, to look at the sweet-gale as a matter of
business, I might discover something else interesting,
as when I discovered the sheldrake. As I was paddling
past the uppermost hemlocks I saw two peculiar and
plump birds near me on the bank there which reminded
me of the cow blackbird and of the oriole at first. I
saw at once that they were new to me, and guessed

268 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

that they were crossbills, which was the case, — male
and female. The former was dusky-greenish (through
a glass), orange, and red, the orange, etc., on head,
breast, and rump, the vent white ; dark, large bill ; the
female more of a dusky slate-color, and yellow instead
of orange and red. They were very busily eating the
seeds of the hemlock, whose cones were strewn on the
ground, and they were very fearless, allowing me to ap-
proach quite near.

When I returned this way I looked for them again,
and at the larger hemlocks heard a peculiar note, cAee^,
cheep, cheep, cheep, in the rhythm of a fish hawk but
faster and rather loud, and looking up saw them fly to
the north side and alight on the top of a swamp white
oak, while I sat in my boat close under the south bank.
But immediately they recrossed and went to feeding on
the bank within a rod of me. They were very parrot-
like both in color (especially the male, greenish and
orange, etc.) and in their manner of feeding, — holding
the hemlock cones in one claw and rapidly extracting
the seeds with their bills, thus trying one cone after
another very fast. But they kept their bills a-going so
that, near as they were, I did not distinguish the cross.
I should have looked at them in profile. At last the two
hopped within six feet of me, and one within four feet,
and they were coming still nearer, as if partly from
curiosity, though nibbling the cones all the while, when
my chain fell down and rattled loudly, — for the wind
shook the boat, — and they flew off a rod. In Bechstein^

1 [J. M. Bechstein, M. D., Cage, and Chamber-Birds, translated from
the German and edited by H. G. Adams, London, 1853, p. 174.]

LESSER REDPOLL 269

I read that "it frequents fir and pine woods, but only
when there are abundance of the cones." It may be
that the abundance of white pine cones last fall had
to do with their coming here. The hemlock cones were
very abundant too, methinks.

LESSER redpoll; LINARIA

Wov. 12, 1852. Saw a flock of little passenger birds *
by Walden, busily pecking at the white birch catkins ;
about the size of a chickadee ; distinct white bar on
wings ; most with dark pencilled breast, some with whit-
ish ; forked tail ; bright chestnut or crimson (?) front-
let ; yellowish shoulders or sack. When startled, they
went off with a jingling sound somewhat like emptying
a bag of coin. Is it the yellow redpoll ?

Dec. 9, 1852. Those little ruby-crowned wrens (?) ^
still about. They suddenly dash away from this side to
that in flocks, with a tumultuous note, half jingle, half
rattle, like nuts shaken in a bag, or a bushel of nut-
shells, soon returning to the tree they had forsaken on
some alarm. They are oftenest seen on the white birch,
apparently feeding on its seeds, scattering the scales
about.

Jan. 3, 1853. The red-crowns here still. They ap-
pear to frequent one clump of birches a long time, for
here the snow beneath is covered with the seeds they
have loosened, while elsewhere there are none. They
hang by the twigs while they peck the catkins, and
others are busy on the snow beneath, picking up what

1 Fringilla linaria [now called Acanthis linaria, the redpoll].

2 Lesser redpolls.

270 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

drops. They are continually in motion, with a jingling
twitter and occasional mew, and suddenly, when dis-
turbed, go off with a loud jingle like the motion of a
whole bag of nuts.

March 5, 1853. F. Brown * showed me to-day some
lesser redpolls which he shot yesterday. Thej^ turn out
to be my falsely-called chestnut-frontleted bird of the
winter. " Linaria minor, Ray. Lesser Redpoll Linnet.
From Pennsylvania and New Jersey to Maine, in win-
ter ; inland to Kentucky. Breeds in Maine, Nova
Scotia,^ Newfoundland, Labrador, and the Fur Coun-
tries."— Audubon's Synopsis. They have a sharp bill,
black legs and claws, and a bright-crimson crown or
frontlet, in the male reaching to the base of the bill,
with, in his case, a delicate rose or carmine on the
breast and rump. Though this is described by Nuttall
as an occasional visitor in the winter, it has been the
prevailing bird here this winter.

Dec. 19, 1854. Off Clamshell I heard and saw a large
flock of Fringilla linaria over the meadow. . . . Sud-
denly they turn aside in their flight and dash across
the river to a large white birch fifteen rods off, which ,
plainly they had distinguished so far. I afterward saw
many more in the Potter swamp up the river. They
were commonly brown or dusky above, streaked with
yellowish white or ash, and more or less white or ash
beneath. Most had a crimson crown or frontlet, and a
few a crimson neck and breast, very handsome. Some

^ [Frank Brown, of Concord, who made a collection of mounted birds.]
2 [There are no authentic records of the bird's breeding in Maine or
Nova Scotia.]

LESSER REDPOLL 271

with a bright-crimson crown and clear-white breasts. I
suspect that these were young males. They keep up an
incessant twittering, varied from time to time witli
some mewing notes, and occasionally, for some unknown
reason, they will all suddenly dash away with that uni-
versal loud note (twitter) like a bag of nuts. They are
busily clustered in the tops of the birches, picking the
seeds out of the catkins, and sustain themselves in all
kinds of attitudes, sometimes head downwards, while
about this. Common as they are now, and were winter
before last, I saw none last winter.

Jan. 19, 1855. It may be that the linarias come into
the gardens now not only because all nature is a wilder-
ness to-day, but because the woods where the wind has
not free play are so snowed up, the twigs are so deeply
covered, that they cannot readily come at their food.

Jan. 20, 1855. I see the tracks of countless little
birds, probably redpolls, where these have run over
broad pastures and visited every weed, — Johns wort and
coarse grasses, — whose oat-like seed-scales or hulls
they have scattered about. It is surprising they did not
sink deeper in the light snow. Often the impression is
so faint that they seem to have been supported by their
wings.

Jan. 24, 1860. See a large flock of lesser redpolls,
eating the seeds of the birch (and perhaps alder) in
Dennis Swamp by railroad. They are distinct enough
from the goldfinch, their note more shelly and gen-
eral as they fly, and they are whiter, without the black
wings, beside that some have the crimson head or head
and breast. They alight on the birches, then swarm on

272 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIEDS

the snow beneath, busily picking up the seed in the
copse.

Jan. 27, 1860. Half a dozen redpolls busily picking
the seeds out of the larch cones behind Monroe's. They
are pretty tame, and I stand near. They perch on the
slender twigs which are beaded with cones, and swing
and teeter there while they perseveringly peck at them,
trying now this one, now that, and sometimes appearing
to pick out and swallow them quite fast. I notice no red-
ness or carmine at first, but when the top of one's head
comes between me and the sun it unexpectedly glows.

Jan. 29, 1860. To-day I see quite a flock of the les-
ser redpolls eating the seeds of the alder, picking them
out of the cones just as they do the larch, often head
downward ; and I see, under the alders, where they
have run and picked up the fallen seeds, making chain-
like tracks, two parallel lines.

[>iSiee also under General and Miscellaneous, pp.
419-421.]

AMERICAN GOLDFINCH

July 24, 1852. I heard this afternoon the cool water
twitter of the goldfinch, and saw the bird. They come
with the springing aftermath. It is refreshing as a cup
of cold water to a thirsty man to hear them, now only
one at a time.

Aug. 26, 1856. As I stand there, a young male gold-
finch darts away with a twitter from a spear thistle
top close to my side, and, alighting near, makes frequent
returns as near to me and the thistle as it dares pass,
not yet knowing man well enough to fear him.

AMERICAN GOLDFINCH 273

Aug. 28, 1856. A goldfinch twitters away from every
thistle now, and soon returns to it when I am past. I
see the ground strewn with the thistle-down they have
scattered on every side.

April 19, 1858. I hear the pine warbler there, and
also what I thought a variation of its note, quite differ-
ent, yet I thought not unfamiliar to me. Afterwards,
along the wall under the Middle Conantum Cliff, I saw
many goldfinches, male and female, the males singing
in a very sprightly and varied manner, sitting still on
bare trees. Also uttered their watery twitter and their
peculiar mewing. In the meanwhile I heard a faint
thrasher's note, as if faintly but perfectly imitated by
some bird twenty or thirty rods off. This surprised me
very much. It was equally rich and varied, and yet I
did not believe it to be a thrasher. Determined to find
out the singer, I sat still with my glass in hand, and at
length detected the singer, a goldfinch sitting within
gunshot all the while. This was the most varied and
sprightly performer of any bird I have heard this year,
and it is strange that I never heard the strain before.
It may be this note which is taken for the thrasher's
before the latter comes.

Aug. 9, 1858. Edward Bartlett shows me this morn-
ing a nest which he found yesterday. It is saddled on
the lowest horizontal branch of an apple tree in Abel
Heywood's orchard, against a small twig, and answers
to Nuttall's description of the goldfinch's nest, which
it probably is. The eggs were five, pure white or with
a faint bluish green tinge, just begun to be developed.
I did not see the bird.

274 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

It is but little you learn of a bird in this irregular
way, — having its nest and eggs shown you. How
much more suggestive the sight of the goldfinch going
off on a jaunt over the hills, twittering to its plainer
consort by its side !

The goldfinch nest of this forenoon is saddled on a
horizontal twig of an apple, some seven feet from ground
and one third of an inch in diameter, supported on one
side by a yet smaller branch, also slightly attached to
another small branch. It measures three and one half
inches from outside to outside, one and three quarters
inside, two and one-half from top to bottom, or to a
little below the twig, and one and one half inside. It is
a very compact, thick, and warmly lined nest, slightly
incurving on the edge within. It is composed of fine
shreds of bark — grape-vine and other — and one piece
of twine, with, more externally, an abundance of pale-
brown slender catkins of oak (?) or hickory (?), mixed
with effete apple blossoms and their peduncles, show-
ing little apples, and the petioles of apple leaves, some-
times with half-decayed leaves of this year attached,
last year's heads of lespedeza, and some other heads
of weeds, with a little grass stem or weed stem, all
more or less disguised by a web of white spider or cater-
pillar silk, spread over the outside. It is thickly and
very warmly lined with (apparently) short thistle-down,
mixed with which you see some grape-vine bark, and
the rim is composed of the same shreds of bark, catkins,
and some fine fibrous stems, and two or three hairs (of
horse) mixed with wool (?) ; for only the hollow is lined

AMERICAN GOLDFINCH 275

with the looser or less tenacious thistle-down. This nest
shows a good deal of art.

Aug. 11, 1858. Heard a fine, sprightly, richly war-
bled strain from a bird perched on the top of a bean-
pole. It was at the same time novel yet familiar to me.
I soon recognized it for the strain of the purple liucli,
which I have not heard lately. But though it appeared
as large, it seemed a different-colored bird. AVith my
glass, four rods oft", I saw it to be a goldfinch. It kept
repeating this warble of the purple finch for several
minutes. A very surprising note to be heard now, when
birds generally are so silent. Have not heard the purple
finch of late. I conclude that the goldfinch is a very
fine and powerful singer, and the most successful and
remarkable mocking-bird that we have. In the spring I
heard it imitate the thrasher exactly, before that bird had
arrived, and now it imitates the purple finch as perfectly,
after the latter bird has ceased to sing ! It is a surprising
vocalist. It did not cease singing till I disturbed it by
my nearer approach, and then it went off with its usual
meio, succeeded by its watery twitter in its ricochet flight.

Aug. 14, 1858. The Canada thistle down is now
begun to fly, and I see the goldfinch upon it. Cardu-
elis} Often when I watch one go off, he flies at first one
way, rising and falling, as if skimming close over un-
seen billows, but directly makes a great circuit as if he
had changed his mind, and disappears in the opposite
direction, or is seen to be joined there by his mate.

Dec. 22, 1858. P. M. — To Walden.

1 [Nuttall placed the American g-oldfinch with the European bird in
the subgenus Carduelis, from carduus, thistle.]

276 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

I see in the cut near the shanty-site quite a flock of
F. hyenialis ^ and goldfinches together, on the snow
and weeds and ground. Hear the well-known mew and
watery twitter of the last and the drier chilt chilt of the
former. These burning yellow birds with a little black
and white on their coat-flaps look warm above the snow.
There may be thirty goldfinches, very brisk and pretty
tame. They hang head downwards on the weeds. I
bear of their coming to pick sunflower seeds in Melvin's
garden these days.

March 24, 1859. Returning, above the railroad cause-
way, I see a flock of goldfinches, first of spring^ flitting
along the causeway-bank. They have not yet the bright
plumage they will have, but in some lights might be
mistaken for sparrows. There is considerable difference
in color between one and another, but the flaps of their
coats are black, and their heads and shoulders more or
less yellow. They are eating the seeds of the mullein
and the large primrose, clinging to the plants sidewise
in various positions and pecking at the seed-vessels.

Nov. 15, 1859. About the 23d of October I saw a
large flock of goldfinches (judging from their motions
and notes) on the tops of the hemlocks up the Assabet,
apparently feeding on their seeds, then falling. They
were collected in great numbers on the very tops of these
trees and flitting from one to another. Rice has since
described to me the same phenomenon as observed by
him there since (says he saw the birds picking out the
seeds), though he did not know what birds they were.
William Rice says that these birds get so much of the
^ [Now called Junco hyemalis, the slate-colored snowbird.]

SNOW BUNTING 277

lettuce seed that you can hardly save any. They get
sunflower seeds also. Are called " lettuce-birds " in
the books.

SNOW BUNTING; ARCTIC SNOWBIRD

Dec. 29, 1853. The driving snow blinds you, and
where you are protected, you can see but little way,
it is so thick. Yet in spite, or on account, of all, I see
the first flock of arctic snowbirds (^Emheriza nivalis^
near the depot, white and black, with a sharp, whistle-
like note. . . . These are the true winter birds for you,
these winged snowballs. I could hardly see them, the
air was so full of driving snow. What hardy creatures!
Where do they spend the night?

Jan. 2, 1854. A flock of snow buntings flew over the
fields with a rippling whistle, accompanied sometimes
by a tender peep and a ricochet motion.

Jan. 2, 1856. Crossing the railroad at the Heywood
meadow, I saw some snow buntings rise from the side
of the embankment, and with surging, rolling flight
wing their way up through the cut.

Returning, I saw, near the back road and railroad,
a small flock of eight snow buntings feeding on the
seeds of the pigweed, picking them from the snow, —
appariently flat on the snow, their legs so short, — and,
when I approached, alighting on the rail fence. They
were pretty black, with white wings and a brown cres-
cent on their breasts. They have come with this deeper
snow and colder weather.

^ [Now called Plectrophenax nivalis.]

278 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

Jan. 6, 1856. While I am making a path to the
pump, I hear hurried rippling notes of birds, look up,
and see quite a flock of snow buntings coming to alight
amid the currant-tops in the yard. It is a sound almost
as if made with their wings. What a pity our yard was
made so tidy in the fall with rake and fire, and we have
now no tall crop of weeds rising above this snow to
invite these birds !

Jan. 21, 1857. As I flounder along the Corner road
against the root fence, a very large flock of snow bunt-
ings alight with a wheeling flight amid the weeds rising
above the snow in Potter's heater piece,* — a hundred
or two of them. They run restlessly amid the weeds, so
that I can hardly get sight of them through my glass ;
then suddenly all arise and fly only two or three rods,
alighting within three rods of me. (They keep up a
constant twittering.) It was as if they were any instant
ready for a longer flight, but their leader had not so
ordered it. Suddenly away they sweep again, and I see
them alight in a distant field where the weeds rise above
the snow, but in a few minutes they have left that also and
gone further north. Beside their rijypling note, they have
a vibratory twitter, and from the loiterers you hear quite
a tender peep, as they fly after the vanishing flock.

What independent creatures! They go seeking their
food from north to south. If New Hampshire and
Maine are covered deeply with snow, they scale down

^ [A " heater piece," in the parlance of old New England, is a tri-
angular plot of ground, so called from its resemblance in shape to a
flat-iron heater, a triangular piece of cast iron which was heated and
put into the old-fashioned flat-ironij

SNOW BUNTING 279

to Massachusetts for their breakfasts. Not liking the
grain in this field, away they clash to another distant
one, attracted by the weeds rising above the snow. Who
can guess in what field, by what river or mountain
they breakfasted this morning. They did not seem to
regard me so near, but as they went off, their wave
actually broke over me as a rock. They have the plea-
sure of society at their feasts, a hundred dining at once,
busily talking while eating, remembering what occurred
at Grinnell Land. As they flew past me they presented
a pretty appearance, somewhat like broad bars of white
alternating with bars of black.

March 2, 1858. See a large flock of snow buntings,
the white birds of the winter, rejoicing in the snow. I
stand near a flock in an open field. They are trotting
about briskly over the snow amid the weeds, — appar-
ently pigweed and Roman wormwood, — as it were to
keep their toes warm, hopping up to the weeds. Then
they restlessly take to wing again, and as they wheel
about one, it is a very rich sight to see them dressed in
black and white uniforms, alternate black and white,
very distinct and regular. Perhaps no colors would be
more effective above the snow, black tips (considerably
more) to wings, then clear white between this and the
back, which is black or very dark again. One wonders
if they are aware what a pleasing uniform appearance
they make when they show their backs thus. They
alight again equally near. Their track is much like a
small crow's track, showing a«long heel and furrowing
the snow between with their toes.

Nov. 7, 1858. Going up the lane beyond Farmer's,

280 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

I was surprised to see fly up from the white, stony
road, two snow buntings, which alighted again close
by, one on a large rock, the other on the stony ground.
They had pale-brown or tawny touches on the white
breast, on each side of the head, and on the top of the
head, in the last place with some darker color. Had
light-yellowish bills. They sat quite motionless within
two rods, and allowed me to approach within a rod, as
if conscious that the white rocks, etc., concealed them.
It seemed as if they were attracted to surfaces of the
same color with themselves, — white and black (or quite
dark) and tawny. One squatted flat, if not both. Their
soft rippling notes as they went off reminded me of the
northeast snow-storms to which ere long they are to be
an accompaniment.

Dec. 12, 1858. P. M. — Up river on ice to Fair Haven
Hill.

Crossing the fields west of our Texas * house, I see an
immense flock of snow buntings, I think the largest that
I ever saw. There must be a thousand or two at least.
There is but three inches, at most, of crusted and dry
frozen snow, and they are running amid the weeds which
rise above it. The weeds are chiefly Juncus tenuis (?),
but its seeds are apparently gone. I find, however, the
glumes of the piper grass ^ scattered about where they
have been. The flock is at first about equally divided
into two parts about twenty rods apart, but birds are

1 [" Texas " was a part of Copcord where the Thoreau family lived
from 1844 to 1850.]

^ [A local name for the couch, quitch, or witch grass {Agropyron
repens). See Walden, Riverside Literature Series, Notes, p. 391.]

SNOW BUNTING 281

incessantly flitting across the interval to join the pio-
neer flock, until all are united. They are very restless,
running amid the weeds and continually changing their
ground. They will suddenly rise again a few seconds
after they have alighted, as if alarmed, but after a short
wheel settle close by. Flying from you, in some posi-
tions, you see only or chiefly the black part of their
bodies, and then, as they wheel, the white comes into
view, contrasted prettily with the former, and in all
together at the same time. Seen flying higher against a
cloudy sky, they look like large snowflakes. When they
rise all together their note is like the rattling of nuts in
a bag, as if a whole binf ul were rolled from side to side.
They also utter from time to time — i. e., individuals
do — a clear rippling note, perhaps of alarm, or a call.
It is remarkable that their notes above described should
resemble the lesser redpoll's ! Away goes this great
wheeling, rambling flock, rolling through the air, and
you cannot easily tell where they will settle. Suddenly
the pioneers (or a part not foremost) will change their
course when in full career, and when at length they
know it, the rushing flock on the other side will be
fetched about as it were with an undulating jerk, as in
the boys' game of snap-the-whip, and those that occupy
the place of the snapper are gradually off after their
leaders on the new tack. As far as I observe, they con-
fine themselves to upland, not alighting in the meadows.
Like a snow-storm they come rushing down from the
north. The extremities of the wings are black, while tlio
parts next their bodies are black [sic^. They are unusu-
ally abundant now.

282 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

Jan. 6, 1859. Near Nut Meadow Brook, on the Jimmy
Miles road, I see a flock of snow buntings. They are
feeding exclusively on . . . Roman wormwood. Their
tracks where they sink in the snow are very long, i. e.,
have a very long heel, thus :

or sometimes almost in a single straight line. They made
notes when they went, — sharp, rippling, like a vibrat-
ing spring. They had run about to every such such \_sic\^
leaving distinct tracks raying from and to them, while
the snow immediately about the weed was so tracked and
pecked where the seeds fell that no track was distinct.

And much more tracked up

March 3, 1859. Going by the solidago oak ^ at Clam-
shell Hill bank, I heard a faint rippling note and, look-
ing up, saw about fifteen snow buntings sitting in the
top of the oak, all with their breasts toward me, —
sitting so still and quite white, seen against the white
cloudy sky, they did not look like birds but the ghosts
of birds, and their boldness, allowing me to come quite
^ [A particular tree bo named by Thoreau.]

SNOW BUNTING 283

near, enhanced this impression. These were ahuost as
white as snowballs, and from time to time I heard a
low, soft rippling note from them. I could see no fea-
tures, but only the general outline of plump birds in
white. It was a very spectral sight, and after I had
watched them for several minutes, I can hardly say tiiat
I was prepared to see them fly away like ordinary bunt-
ings when I advanced further. At first they were al-
most concealed by being almost the same color with
the cloudy sky.

Dec. 23, 1859. In this slight snow I am surprised to
see countless tracks of small birds, which have run over
it in every direction from one end to the other of this
great meadow since morning. By the length of the hind
toe I know them to be snow buntings. Indeed, soon after
I see them running still on one side of the meadow. I
was puzzled to tell what they got by running there. Yet
I [saw them] stopping repeatedly and picking up some-
thing. Of course I thought of those caterpillars which
are washed out by a rain and freshet at this season, but
I could not find one of them. It rained on the 18th and
again the 20th, and over a good part of the meadow
the top of the stubble left by the scythe rises a little
above the ice, i. e. an inch or two, not enough to disturb
a skater. The birds have run here chiefly, visiting each
little collection or tuft of stubble, and found their food
chiefly in and about this thin stubble. I examined such
places a long time and very carefully, but I could not
find there the seed of any plant whatever. It was merely
the stubble of sedge, with never any head left, and a
few cranberry leaves projecting. All that I could find

284 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

was pretty often (in some places very often) a little
black, or else a brown, spider (sometimes quite a large
one) motionless on the snow or ice ; and therefore I am
constrained to think that they eat them, for I saw them
running and picking in exactly such places a little way
from me, and here were their tracks all around. Yet
they are called graminivorous [sic]. Wilson says that
he has seen them feeding on the seeds of aquatic plants
on the Seneca River, clinging to their heads. I think he
means wool-grass. Yet its seeds are too minute and in-
volved in the wool. Though there was wool-grass here-
abouts, the birds did not go near it. To be sure, it has
but little seed now. If they are so common at the ex-
treme north, where there is so little vegetation but per-
haps a great many spiders, is it not likely that they feed
on these insects ?

It is interesting to see how busy this flock is, explor-
ing this great meadow to-day. If it were not for this
slight snow, revealing their tracks but hardly at all con-
cealing the stubble, I should not suspect it, though I
might see them at their work. Now I see them running
briskly over the ice, most commonly near the shore,
where there is most stubble (though very little) ; and
they explore the ground so fast that they are continu-
ally changing their ground, and if I do not keep my
eye on them I lose the direction. Then here they come,
with a stiff rip of their wings as they suddenly wheel,
and those peculiar rippling notes, flying low quite across
the meadow, half a mile even, to explore the other side,
though that too is already tracked by them. Not the
fisher nor skater range the meadow a thousandth part

VESPER SPARROW; BAY-WING 285

so much in a week as these birds in a day. They hardly
notice me as they come on. Indeed, the flock, flyinj^
about as high as my head, divides, and half passes
on each side of me. Thus they sport over these broad
meadows of ice this pleasant winter day. The spiders lie
torpid and plain to see on the snow, and if it is they
that they are after they never know what kills them.

Jan. 3, 1860. Saw four snow buntings by the railroad
causeway, just this side the cut, quite tame. They arose
and alighted on the rail fence as we went by. Very
stout for their length. Look very pretty when they fly
and reveal the clear white space on their wings next the
body, — white between the blacks. They were busily
eating the seed of the piper grass on the embankment
there, and it was strewn over the snow by them like oats
in a stable. Melvin speaks of seeing flocks of them on
the river meadows in the fall, when they are of a dififer-
ent color.

\^See also under Vesper Sparrow, below; General
and Miscellaneous, p. 431.]

VESPER SPARROW ; GRASS FINCH ; BAY- WING

Jan. 1, 1854. The white-in-tails, or grass finches,
linger pretty late, flitting in flocks before, but they come
so near winter only as the white in their tail indicates.
They let it come near enough to whiten their tails, per-
chance, and they are off. The snow buntings and the
tree sparrows are the true spirits of the snow-storm ;
they are the animated beings that ride upon it and have
their life in it.

July 15, 1854. I hear a bay-wing on the wall near

286 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

by, sounding far away, — a fainter song sparrow strain,
somewhat. I see its open mouth and quivering throat,
yet can hardly believe the seemingly distant strain pro-
ceeds from it, yaw yaw^ twee twee^ twitter twitter^ te twee
twe tw tw tw, and so ends with a short and rapid trill.

Ajjril 29, 1855. This morning it snows, but the
ground is not yet whitened. This will probably take
the cold out of the air. Many chip-birds are feeding
in the yard, and one bay-wing. The latter incessantly
scratches like a hen, all the while looking about for
foes. The bay on its wings is not obvious except when
it opens them. The white circle about the eye is visible
afar. Now it makes a business of pluming itself , doubling
prettily upon itself, now touching the root of its tail,
now thrusting its head under its wing, now between its
wing and back above, and now between its legs and its
belly ; and now it drops flat on its breast and belly
and spreads and shakes its wings, noV stands up and
repeatedly shakes its wings. It is either cleaning itself
of dirt acquired in scratching and feeding, — for its feet
are black with mud, — or it is oiling its feathers thus. It
is rather better concealed by its color than the chip-
bird with its chestnut crown and light breast. The
chip-bird scratches but slightly and rarely; it finds
what it wants on the surface, keeps its head down more
steadily, not looking about. I see the bay-wing eat
some worms.

April 13, 1856. I hear a bay-wing on the railroad
fence sing — the rhythm — somewhat like, char char
(or here here^, che che, chip chip chip (fast), chitter
chitter chitter chit (very fast and jingling), tchea tchea

VESPER SPARROW; BAY- WING 287

(jinglingly). It has another strain, considerably differ-
ent, but a second also sings the above. Two on different
posts are steadily singing the same, as if contending
with each other, notwithstanding the cold wind.

June 23, 1856. Bay-wings sang morning and even-
ing about R.'s house,* often sitting on a bean-pole and
dropping down and running and singing on the bare
ground amid the potatoes. Its note somewhat like
Come^ here here, there there, — quick quick quick (fast),
— or I ^m gone.

May 12, 1857. While dropping beans in the garden
at Texas ^ just after sundown (May 13th), I hear from
across the fields the note of the bay-wing. Come here
here there there quick quick quick or I 'm gone, (which
I have no doubt sits on some fence-post or rail there),
and it instantly translates me from the sphere of my
work and repairs all the world that we jointly inhabit.
It reminds me of so many country afternoons and even-
ings when this bird's strain was heard far over the
fields, as I pursued it from field to field. The spirit of
its earth-song, of its serene and true philosophy, was
breathed into me, and I saw the world as through a
glass, as it lies eternally. Some of its aboriginal con-
tentment, even of its domestic felicity, possessed me.
What he suggests is permanently true. As the bay-wing
sang many a thousand years ago, so sang he to-night. In
the beginning God heard his song and pronounced it
good, and hence it has endured. It reminded me of

1 [Mr. Daniel Ricketson's honse in New Bedford, where Thoreaa was

visiting.]

2 [See note on p. 280.]

288 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

many a summer sunset, of many miles of gray rails, of
many a rambling pasture, of the farmhouse far in the
fields, its milk-pans and well-sweep, and the cows com-
ing home from pasture.

I would thus from time to time take advice of the
birds, correct my human views by listening to their
volucral (?). He is a brother poet, this small gray bird
(or bard), whose muse inspires mine. His lay is an idyl
or pastoral, older and sweeter than any that is classic.
He sits on some gray perch like himself, on a stake, per-
chance, in the midst of the field, and you can hardly
see him against the ploughed ground. You advance step
by step as the twilight deepens, and lo ! he is gone, and
in vain you strain your eyes to see whither, but anon
his tinkling strain is heard from some other quarter.
One with the rocks and with us.

Methinks I hear these sounds, have these reminis-
cences, only when well employed, at any rate only when
I have no reason to be ashamed of my employment.
I am often aware of a certain compensation of this kind
for doing something from a sense of duty, even uncon-
sciously. Our past experience is a never-failing capital
which can never be alienated, of which each kindred
future event reminds us. If you would have the song
of the sparrow inspire you a thousand years hence, let
your life be in harmony with its strain to-day.

I ordinarily plod along a sort of whitewashed prison
entry, subject to some indifferent or even grovelling
mood. I do not distinctly realize my destiny. I have
turned down my light to the merest glimmer and am
doing some task which I have set myself. I take in-

VESPER SPARROW; BAY-WING 289

credibly narrow views, live on the limits, and have no
recollection of absolute truth. Mushroom institutions
hedge me in. But suddenly, in some fortunate moment,
the voice of eternal wisdom reaches me, even in the
strain of the sparrow, and liberates me, whets and clar-
ifies my senses, makes me a competent witness.

April 2, 1858. On the side of Fair Haven Hill I go
looking for bay- wings, turning my glass to each spar-
row on a rock or tree. At last I see one, which flies
right up straight from a rock eighty or one hundred
feet and warbles a peculiar long and pleasant strain,
after the manner of the skylark, methiuks, and close by
I see another, apparently a bay-wing, though I do not
see its white in tail, and it utters while sitting the same
subdued, rather peculiar strain.

April 15, 1859. The bay-wing now sings — the first
I have been able to hear — both about the Texas house
and the fields this side of Hayden's, both of them sim-
ilar dry and open pastures. I heard it just before noon,
when the sun began to come out, and at 3 P. M., sing-
ing loud and clear and incessantly. It sings with a pleas-
ing deliberation, contrasting with the spring vivacity
of the song sparrow, whose song many would confound
it with. It comes to revive with its song the dry uplands
and pastures and grass-fields about the skirts of vil-
lages. Only think how finely our life is furnished in all
its details, — sweet wild birds provided to fill its in-
terstices with song ! It is provided that while we are
employed in our corporeal, or intellectual, or other, ex-
ercises we shall be lulled and amused or cheered by
the sinoing: of birds. When the laborer rests on his

290 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS .

spade to-day, the sun having just come out, he is not
left wholly to the mercy of his thoughts, nature is not
a mere void to him, but he can hardly fail to hear the
pleasing and encouraging notes of some newly arrived
bird. The strain of the grass finch is very likely to fall
on his ear and convince him, whether he is conscious
of it or not, that the world is beautiful and life a fair
enterprise to engage in. It will make him calm and
contented. If you yield for a moment to the impres-
sions of sense, you hear some bird giving expression
to its happiness in a pleasant strain. We are provided
with singing birds and with ears to hear them. What
an institution that ! Nor are we obliged to catch and
cage them, nor to be bird-fanciers in the common sense.
Whether a man's work be hard or easy, whether he be
happy or unhappy, a bird is appointed to sing to a man
while he is at his work.

SAVANNAH SPARROW; SERINGO-BIRD

May 1, 1852. I hear the note of the shy Savannah
sparrow (i^. Savanna),^ that plump bird with a dark-

^ Probably have seen it before, — seringo. [Though here, where the
'' seringo-bird " makes its first appearance in the Journal, its identity
•with the Savannah sparrow seems to have been unquestioned by Tho-
reau, it proved afterwards to be almost as puzzling to him as the ever
elusive " night-warbler." The probability is that the " aeringo " in
this and most other eases was the Savannah sparrow, but it may some-
times have been the yellow-winged, or grasshopper, sparrow, or even,
as Thoreau once suspected, the grass finch, or vesper sparrow. It is
quite likely that at times the bird he saw was not the bird he heard.
PassercuLus sandivichensis savanna is the scientific name now in use.
Only a few of the many references to the bird in the Journal are here
given.]

^(»^•(i si'AUKDW

VESPKr. Sl'AKIIOW <)\ NKST

SAVANNAH SPARROW 201

streaked breast that runs and hides in the grass, whose
note sounds so like a cricket's in the gi-ass. (I used to
hear it when I walked by moonlight last summer.) I
hear it now from deep in the sod, — for there is hardly
grass yet. The bird keeps so low you do not see it. You
do not suspect how many there are till at length their
heads appear. The word seringo reminds me of its note,
— as if it were produced by some kind of fine metallic
spring. It is an earth-sound.

March 18, 1853. With regard to my seringo-bird
(and others), I think that my good genius withheld his
Dame that I might learn his character.

April 22, 1856. The seringo also sits on a post, with
a very distinct yellow line over the eye, and the rhythm
of its strain is ker chick \ her che \ ker-char-r-r-r-r |
chick, the last two bars being the part chiefly heard.

TREE SPARROW

April 2, 1853. The tree sparrows and a few blue
snowbirds in company sing (the former) very sweetly
in the garden this morning. I now see a faint spot on
the breast. It says something like a twee twee, chit chit,
chit chit chee var-r.

Jan. 1, 1854. The snow is the great betrayer. It not
only shows the tracks of mice, otters, etc., etc., which
else we should rarely if ever see, but the tree sparrows
are more plainly seen against its white ground, and they
in turn are attracted by the dark weeds which it reveals.
It also drives the crows and other birds out of the woods
to the villages for food.

March 30, 1854. Great flocks of tree sparrows and

292 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

some F. hyemalis on the ground and trees on the Island
Neck, making the air and bushes ring with their jin-
gling. The former — some of them — say somewhat like
this : a che che^ ter twee twee, tweer tweer twa. It
sounded like a new bird.

Aj)ril 19, 1854. Hear the tree sparrows at willow
hedgerow this morning, — ah ha ha yip yip yip yip,
or twitter twitter twe twe twe, or ah ha ha twitter twit-
ter twe, — very canary-like, yet clear, as if aspirated
vowels alone, — no t or r.

Dec. 4, 1856. Saw and heard cheep faintly one little
tree sparrow, the neat chestnut crowned and winged and
white-barred bird, perched on a large and solitary white
birch. So clean and tough, made to withstand the win-
ter. This color reminds me of the upper side of the
shrub oak leaf. I love the few homely colors of Nature
at this season, — her strong wholesome browns, her
sober and primeval grays, her celestial blue, her viva-
cious green, her pure, cold, snowy white.

Dec. 17, 1856. A flock of a dozen or more tree spar-
rows flitting through the edge of the birches, etc., by
the meadow front of Puffer's. They make excursions
into the open meadow and, as I approach, take refuge
in the brush. I hear their ia,\nt cheep, a very feeble evi-
dence of their existence, and also a pretty little sup-
pressed warbling from them.

That feeble cheep of the tree sparrow, like the tin-
kling of an icicle, or the chafing of two hard shrub oak
twigs, is probably a call to their mates, by which they
keep together. These birds, when perched, look larger

(

TREE SPARROW 293

than usual this cold and windy day : they are puffed up
for warmth, have added a porch to their doors,

Jan. 6, 1857. Though there is an extremely cold,
cutting northwest wind, against which I see many trav-
ellers turning their backs, and so advancing, I hear and
see an unusual numberof merry little tree sparrows about
the few weeds that are to be seen. They look very chip-
per, flitting restlessly about and jerking their long tails.

Oct. 13, 1857. See a pretty large flock of tree spar-
rows, very lively and tame, drifting along and pursuing
each other along a bushy fence and ditch like driving
snow. Two pursuing each other would curve upward
like a breaker in the air and drop into the hedge again.

Nov. 20, 1857. The hardy tree sparrow has taken
the place of the chipping and song sparrow, so much
like the former that most do not know it is another.
His faint lisping chip will keep our spirits up till an-
other spring.

Jan. 6, 1858. The North River ^ is not frozen over.
I see tree sparrows twittering and moving with a low
creeping and jerking motion amid the chenopodium in
a field, upon the snow, so chubby or puffed out on ac-
count of the cold that at first I took them for the arctic
birds, but soon I see their bright-chestnut crowns and
clear white bars; as the poet says, "a thousand feeding
like one," ^ — though there are not more than a dozen
here.

Jan. 7, 1858. P. M. — I see some tree sparrows feed-
ing on the fine grass seed above the snow, near the road

1 [The Assabet, or North Branch of the Concord River.]

2 [Wordsworth said, '' There are forty feeding like one."]

294 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

on the hillside below the Dutch house. They are flit-
ting along one at a time, their feet commonly sunk in
the snow, uttering occasionally a low sweet warble and
seemingly as happy there, and with this wintry prospect
before them for the night and several months to come,
as any man by his fireside. One occasionally hops or
flies toward another, and the latter suddenly jerks away
from him. They are reaching or hopping up to the fine
grass, or oftener picking the seeds from the snow. At
length the whole ten have collected within a space a
dozen feet square, but soon after, being alarmed, they
utter a different and less musical chirp and flit away
into an apple tree.

March 20, 1858. A. M. — By river.

The tree sparrow is perhaps the sweetest and most
melodious warbler at present and for some days. It is
peculiar, too, for singing in concert along the hedge-
rows, much like a canary, especially in the mornings.
Very clear, sweet, melodious notes, between a twitter
and a warble, of which it is hard to catch the strain,
for you commonly hear many at once.

Dec. 17, 1859. I see on the pure white snow what
looks like dust for half a dozen inches under a twig.
Looking closely, I find that the twig is hardback and
the dust its slender, light-brown, chaffy-looking seed,
which falls still in copious showers, dusting the snow,
when I jar it ; and here are the tracks of a sparrow *
which has jarred the twig and picked the minute seeds
a long time, making quite a hole in the snow. The seeds
are so fine that it must have got more snow than seed at
^ [Very likely the tree sparrow, which feeds largely on weed seeds.]

TREE SPARROW 295

each peck. But they probably look large to its uiicro-
scopic eyes. I see, when I jar it, that a meadow-sweet
close by has quite similar, but larger, seeds. This the
reason, then, that these plants rise so high above the
snow and retain their seed, dispersing it on the least jar
over each successive layer of snow beneath them ; or it
is carried to a distance by the wind. What abundance
and what variety in the diet of these small granivorous
birds, while I find only a few nuts still ! These stiff weeds
which no snow can break down hold their provender.
What the cereals are to men, these are to the sparrows.
The only threshing they require is that the birds fly
against their spikes or stalks. A little further I see the
seed-box ( ?) (^Ludwigid) full of still smaller, yellowish
seeds. And on the ridge north is the track of a partridge
amid the shrubs. It has hopped up to the low clusters of
smooth sumach berries, sprinkled the snow with them,
and eaten all but a few. Also, here only, or where it has
evidently jarred them down — whether intentionally or
not, I am not sure — are the large oval seeds of the stiff-
stalked lespedeza, which I suspect it ate, with the sumach
berries. There is much solid food in them. When the
snow is deep the birds could easily pick the latter out
of the heads as they stand on the snow.

Dec. 31, 1859. There is a great deal of hemlock scales
scattered over the recent snow (at the Hemlocks), evi-
dently by birds on the trees, and the wind has blown
them southeast, — scales, seeds, and cones, — and I see
the tracks of small birds that have apparently picked
the seeds from the snow also. It may have been done by
goldfinches. I see a tree sparrow hopping close by, and

296 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

perhaps they eat them on the snow. Some of the seeds
have blown at least fifteen rods southeast. So the hem-
lock seed is important to some birds in the winter.

Jan. 16, 1860. I see a flock of tree sparrows busily
picking something from the surface of the snow amid
some bushes. I watch one attentively, and find that it is
feeding on the very fine brown chaffy-looking seed of
the panicled andromeda. It understands how to get its
dinner, to make the plant give down, perfectly. It flies
up and alights on one of the dense brown panicles of the
hard berries, and gives it a vigorous shaking and beat-
ing with its claws and bill, sending down a shower of
the fine chaffy-looking seed on to the snow beneath. It
lies very distinct, though fine almost as dust, on the
spotless snow. It then hops down and briskly picks up
from the snow what it wants. How very clean and agree-
able to the imagination, and withal abundant, is this
kind of food ! How delicately they fare ! These dry
persistent seed-vessels hold their crusts of bread until
shaken. The snow is the white table-cloth on which they
fall. No anchorite with his water and his crust fares
more simply. It shakes down a hundred times as much
as it wants at each shrub, and shakes the same or an-
other cluster after each successive snow. How bounti-
fully Nature feeds them ! No wonder they come to spend
the winter with us, and are at ease with regard to their
food. These shrubs ripen an abundant crop of seeds to
supply the wants of these immigrants from the far north
which annually come to spend the winter with us. How
neatly and simply it feeds !

This shrub grows unobserved by most, only known

TREE SPARROW 297

to botanists, and at length matures its hard, dry seed-
vessels, which, if noticed, are hardly supposed to contain
seed. But there is no shrub nor weed which is not known
to some bird. Though you may have never noticed it, the
tree sparrow comes from the north in the winter straight
to this shrub, and confidently shakes its panicle, and then
feasts on the fine shower of seeds that falls from it.

Jan. 24, 1860. As I stand at the south end of J. P.
B.'s moraine, I watch six tree sparrows, which come from
the wood and alight and feed on the ground, which is
there bare. They are only two or three rods from me,
and are incessantly picking and eating an abundance
of the fine grass (short-cropped pasture grass) on that
knoll, as a hen or goose does. I see the stubble an inch
or two long in their bills, and how they stuff it down.
Perhaps they select chiefly the green parts. So they
vary their fare and there is no danger of their starving.
These six hopped round for five minutes over a space
a rod square before I put them to flight, and then I
noticed, in a space only some four feet square in that
rod, at least eighteen droppings (white at one end, the
rest more slate-colored). So wonderfully active are they
in their movements, both external and internal. They
do not suffer for want of a good digestion, surely. No
doubt they eat some earth or gravel too. So do par-
tridges eat a great deal. These birds, though they have
bright brown and buff backs, hop about amid the little
inequalities of the pasture almost unnoticed, such is
their color and so humble are they.

\_See also under Vesper Sparrow, p. 285: Song
Sparrow, pp. 309, 310 ; Sparrows, pp. 323, 324.]

298 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

CHIPPING SPARROW; CHIP-BIRD

May 1, 1852. 5 A. M. — A smart frost in the night,
the ploughed ground and platforms white with it. I hear
the little forked-tail chipping sparrow (Fringilla soci-
alist^ shaking out his rapid tchi-tchi-tchi-tchi-tchi-tchi,
a little jingle, from the oak behind the Depot.

July 21, 1852. 4 A. M. — Robins sing as loud as in
spring, and the chip-bird breathes in the dawn.

July 25, 1852. 4 A. M. — This early twitter or breath-
ing of chip-birds in the dawn sounds like something or-
ganic in the earth. This is a morning celebrated by birds.
Our bluebird sits on the peak of the house, and warbles
as in the spring, but as he does not now by day.

March 22, 1853. As soon as those spring mornings
arrive in which the birds sing, I am sure to be an early
riser. I am waked by my genius. I wake to inaudible
melodies and am surprised to find myself expecting the
dawn in so serene and joyful and expectant a mood. I
have an appointment with spring. She comes to the
window to wake me, and I go forth an hour or two
earlier than usrfal. It is by especial favor that I am
waked, — not rudely but gently, as infants should be
waked. Though as yet the trill of the chip-bird is not
heard, — added, — like the sparkling bead which bursts
on bottled cider or ale.

April 9, 1853. The chipping sparrow, with its ashy-
white breast and white streak over eye and undivided
chestnut crown, holds up its head and pours forth its
che che che che che che.

^ [Now known as Spizella passerina.l

CHIPPING SPARROW 299

June 2,1S5S. 3.30 A.M.— When I awake I hear the
low universal chirping or twittering of the chip-birds,
like the bursting bead on the surface of the uncorked
day. First come, first served ! You must taste the first
glass of the day's nectar, if you would get all the spirit
of it. Its fixed air begins to stir and escape. Also the
robin's morning song is heard as in the spring, earlier
than the notes of most other birds, thus bringing back
the spring ; now rarely heard or noticed in the course
of the day.

April 17, 1860. I hear this forenoon the soothing and
simple, though monotonous, notes of the chip-bird, tell-
ing us better than our thermometers what degree of
summer warmth is reached ; adds its humble but very
pleasant contribution to the steadily increasing quire
of the spring. It perches on a cherry tree, perchance,
near the house, and unseen, by its steady che-che-che-
che-che-che, affecting us often without our distinctly
hearing it, it blends all the other and previous sounds
of the season together. It invites us to walk in the yard
and inspect the springing plants.

[/See also under Vesper Sparrow, p. 286 ; Sparrows,
p. 318 ; Yellow Warbler, p. 349.]

FIELD SPARROW ; RUSH SPARROW ; HUCKLEBERRY-BIRD

July 16, 1851. The rush sparrow jingles her small
change, pure silver, on the counter of the pasture.

April 27, 1852. Heard the field or rush sparrow
this morning (^Fringilla juncorum),^ George Minott's

1 [Rush sparrow and Fringilla juncoriim are Nuttall's names, which
he got from earlier authors. They seem singularly inappropriate for a

300 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

" huckleberry-bird." It sits on a birch and sings at short
intervals, apparently answered from a distance. It is
clear and sonorous heard afar; but I found it quite im-
possible to tell from which side it came; sounding like
phe^phe^phe,pher-j)her-tw-tw-tw-t-t-t-t, — the first three
slow and loud, the next two syllables quicker, and the
last part quicker and quicker, becoming a clear, sono-
rous trill or rattle, like a spoon in a saucer.

Ajyril 30, 1852. Half an hour before sunset. The
robins sing powerfully on the elms ; the little frogs peep ;
the woodpecker's harsh and long-continued cry is heard
from the woods ; the huckleberry-bird's simple, sono-
rous trill.

May 1, 1852. The tinkle of the huckleberry-bird
comes up from the shrub oak plain. He commonly lives
away from the habitations of men, in retired bushy fields
and sprout-lands.

Ajyril 13, 1854. On the hill near Moore's hear the
F. juncorum, — phe-pKe-jihe-phe-pKe^ pherjihe-e-e-e-e-
e-e-e. How sweet it sounds in a clear warm morning
in a wood-side pasture amid the old corn-hills, or in
sprout-lands, a [sic] clear and distinct, " like a spoon in
a cup," the last part very fast and ringing.

Ju7ie 24, 1857. Returning, heard a fine, clear note
from a bird on a white birch near me, — whit whit, whit
whit, whit whit, (very fast) ter phe phe phe, — sound-
ing perfectly novel. Looking round, I saw it was the
huckleberry-bird, for it was near and plain to be seen.

Api'il 22, 1859. When setting the pines at Walden

bird of the upland pastures. The scientific name now in use for the field
sparrow is Spizella pusilla.^

FIELD SPARROW 301

the last three days, I was sung to by the field sparrow.
For music I heard their jingle from time to time.
That the music the pines were set to, and I have no
doubt they will build many a nest under their shelter.
It would seem as if such a field as this — a dry open or
half-open pasture in the woods, with small jjines scat-
tered in it — was well-nigh, if not quite, abandoned to
this one alone among the sparrows. The surface of the
earth is portioned out among them. By a beautiful law
of distribution, one creature does not too much interfere
with another. I do not hear the song sparrow here. As
the pines gradually increase, and a wood-lot is formed,
these birds will withdraw to new pastures, and the
thrushes, etc., will take their place. Yes, as the walls
of cities are fabled to have been built by music, so my
pines were established by the song of the field sparrow.
They commonly place their nests here under the shelter
of a little pine in the field.

[^ee also under General and Miscellaneous, p. 403.]

SLATE-COLORED JUNCO ; SLATE-COLORED SNOWBIRD ;
FRINGILLA HYEMALIS [ JUNCO HYEMALIS]

April 14, 1852. The slate-colored snowbird's (for
they are still about) is a somewhat shrill jingle, like the
sound of ramrods when the order has been given to a
regiment to " return ramrods " and they obey strag-
glingly.

3farch 25, 1853. The Fringilla hyemalis sing most
in concert of any bird nowadays that I hear. Sitting
near together on an oak or pine in the woods or an elm
in the village, they keep up a very pleasant, enlivening,

302 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

and incessant jingling and twittering chill-lill-Ull, so
that it is difficult to distinguish a single bird's note, —
parts of it much like a canary. This sound advances me
furthest toward summer, unless it be the note of the
lark, who, by the way, is the most steady singer at pre-
sent. Notwithstanding the raw and windy mornings, it
will sit on a low twig or tussock or pile of manure in the
meadow and sing for hours, as sweetly and plaintively
as in summer.

March 28, 1853. The woods ring with the cheerful
jingle of the F. hyemalis. This is a very trig and com-
pact little bird, and appears to be in good condition.
The straight edge of slate on their breasts contrasts re-
markably with the white from beneath ; the short, light-
colored bill is also very conspicuous amid the dark slate ;
and when they fly from you, the two white feathers in
their tails are very distinct at a good distance. They are
very lively, pursuing each other from bush to bush.

Dec. 1, 1856. Slate-colored snowbirds flit before me
in the path, feeding on the seeds on the snow, the count-
less little brown seeds that begin to be scattered over
the snow, so much the more obvious to bird and beast.
A hundred kinds of indigenous grain are harvested now,
broadcast upon the surface of the snow. Thus at a crit-
ical season these seeds are shaken down on to a clean
white napkin, unmixed with dirt and rubbish, and ofP
this the little pensioners pick them. Their clean table is
thus spread a few inches or feet above the ground. Will
wonder become extinct in me ? Shall I become insen-
sible as a fungus ?

Oct. 26, 1857. At the hewing-place on the flat above,

SLATE-COLORED SNOWBIRD; JUNCO 303

many sparrows are flitting past amid the birches and
sallows. They are chiefly Fringilla hyemalis. How
often they may be seen thus flitting along in a strag-
gling manner from bush to bush, so that the hedgerow
will be all alive with them, each uttering a faint cJiip
from time to time, as if to keep together, bewildering
you so that you know not if the greater part are gone
by or still to come ! One rests but a moment on the
tree before you and is gone again. You wonder if they
know whither they are bound, and how their leader is
appointed.

Those sparrows, too, are thoughts I have. They come
and go; they flit by quickly on their migrations, utter-
ing only a faint chip, I know not whither or why ex-
actly. One will not rest upon its twig for me to scruti-
nize it. The whole copse will be alive with my rambling
thoughts, bewildering me by their very multitude, but
they will be all gone directly without leaving me a
feather. My loftiest thought is somewhat like an eagle
that suddenly comes into the field of view, suggesting
great things and thrilling the beholder, as if it were
bound hitherward with a message for me ; but it comes no
nearer, but circles and soars away, growing dimmer, dis-
appointing me, till it is lost behind a cliff or a cloud.

May 20, 1858. The note of the F. hyemalis, ov chill-
lill, is a jingle, with also a shorter and drier crachling
or shuffling chip as it flits by.

June 2, 1858. Some forty or fifty rods below the very
apex southeast, or quite on the top of the mountain,' I
^ [Mt. Monadnock.]

304 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

saw a little bird flit out from beneath a rock close by
the path on the left of it, where there were only very
few scattered dwarf black sprace* about, and, looking,
I found a nest with three eggs. It was the Fringilla
hyemalis^ which soon disappeared around a projecting
rock. It was near by a conspicuous spruce, six or eight
feet high, on the west edge of a sort of hollow, where a
vista opened south over the precipice, and the path as-
cended at once more steeply. The nest was sunk in the
ground by the side of a tuft of grass, and was pretty
deep, made of much fine dry grass or sedge (?) and
lined with a little of a delicate bluish hair-like fibre (?)
two or three inches long. The eggs were three, of a reg-
ular oval form, faint bluish-white, sprinkled with fine
pale-brown dots, in two of the three condensed into a
ring about the larger end. They had apparently just
begun to develop. The nest and tuft were covered by a
projecting rock. Brewer says that only one nest is known
to naturalists.^ We saw many of these birds flitting
about the summit, perched on the rocks and the dwarf
spruce, and disappearing behind the rocks. It is the
prevailing bird now up there, i. e. on the summit. They
are commonly said to go to the fur countries to breed,
though Wilson says that some breed in the Alleghanies.
The New York Reports make them breed on the moun-
tains of Oswego County and the Catskills.^ This was
a quite interesting discovery. They probably are never

^ [The red spruce of the uplands of northern New England was not
generally distinguished from the black in Thoreau's day.]

2 [" Synopsis of the Birds of North America," appended to the 1840
Boston edition of Wilson's American Ornithology (p. 703). J

^ Prevail in Nova Scotia according to Bryant and Cabot.

SONG SPARROW 305

seen in the surrounding low grounds at this season. The
ancestors of this bird had evidently perceived on their
flight northward that here was a small piece of arctic
region, containing all the conditions they require, —
coolness and suitable food, etc., etc., — and so for how
long have builded here. For ages they have made their
home here with the Arenaria Groenlandica and PoUn-
tilla tridentata. They discerned arctic isles sprinkled in
our southern sky. I did not see any of them below the
rocky and generally bare portion of the mountain. It
finds here the same conditions as in the north of Maine
and in the fur countries, — Labrador mosses, etc. Now
that the season is advanced, migrating birds have gone
to the extreme north or gone to the mountain-tops. By
its color it harmonized with the gray and brownish-gray
rocks. We felt that we were so much nearer to peren-
nial spring and winter.

[/See also under Sparrows, etc., p. 323 ; General and
Miscellaneous, pp. 418, 428.]

SONG SPARROW

1837-47.^ The song sparrow, whose voice is one of
the first heard in the spring, sings occasionally through-
out the season, — from a greater depth in the summer,
as it were behind the notes of other birds.

July 16, 1851. The song sparrow, the most familiar
and New England bird, is heard in fields and pastures,
setting this midsummer day to music, as if it were the
music of a mossy rail or fence post ; a little stream of
song, cooling, rippling through the noon, — the usually
1 [Undated paragraph in Journal transcript covering this period.]

306 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIEDS

unseen songster usually unheard like the cricket, it is so
common, — like the poet's song, unheard by most men,
whose ears are stopped with business, though perchance
it sans: on the fence before the farmer's house this morn-
ing for an hour. There are little strains of poetry in our
animals.

March 18, 1852. This snow has not driven back the
birds. I hear the song sparrow's simple strain, most
genuine herald of the spring, and see flocks of chubby
northern birds with the habit of snowbirds, passing north.

April 1, 1852. As I come over the Turnpike, the
song spai'row's jingle comes up from every part of the
meadow, as native as the tinkling rills or the blossoms
of the spirea, the meadow-sweet, soon to spring. Its
cheep is like the sound of opening buds. The sparrow is
continually singing on the alders along the brook-side,
while the sun is continually setting.

April 1, 1853. The three spots on breast of the song
sparrow seem to mark a difference of sex.^ At least, the
three-spotted is the one loftenest hear sing of late. The
accompanying one is lighter beneath and one-spotted.
One of the former by J. P. Brown's meadow-side, select-
ing the top of a bush, after lurking and feeding under
the alders, sang olit olit olit\ (faster) chip chip chip
che char\ (fast) che wiss wiss loiss. The last bar was
much varied, and sometimes one olit omitted in the first.
This, I have no doubt, is my bird of March 18th. An-
other three-spotted sang vlt chit chit char\ weeter char \
tee chu.

^ [No sexual difference is recognized in the song sparrow's mark-
ings.]

SONG SPARROW 307

Aijril 2, 1853. The song sparrows, the three-spotted,
away by the meadow-sides, are very shy and cunning :
instead of flying will frequently trot along the ground
under the bushes, or dodge through a wall like a swal-
low; and I have observed that they generally bring
some object, as a rail or branch, between themselves and
the face of the walker, — often with outstretched necks
will peep at him anxiously for five or ten minutes.

May 11, 1853. I nearly stepped upon a song sparrow
and a striped snake at the same time. The bird fluttered
away almost as if detained. I thought it was a case of
charming, without doubt, and should think so still if I
had not found her nest with five eggs there, which will
account for her being so near the snake that was about
to devour her.

Oct. 30, 1853. By the bathing-place, I see a song
sparrow. . . . He drops stealthily behind the wall and
skulks amid the bushes ; now sits behind a post, and
peeps round at me, ever restless and quirking his tail,
and now and then uttering a faint cTiij).

March 11, 1854. Song sparrows toward the water,
with at least two kinds or variations of their strain hard

quick

to imitate. Ozit^ ozit, ozif., psa te te te te te ter twe ter
is one ; the other began chip chip che we, etc., etc.

March 16, 1854. A. M. — Another fine morning.

Willows and alders along watercourses all alive these
mornings and ringing with the trills and jingles and
warbles of birds, even as the waters have lately broken
loose and tinkle below, — song sparrows, blackbirds, not
to mention robins, etc., etc. The song sparrows arc very

308 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

abundant, peopling each bush, willow, or alder for a
quarter of a mile, and pursuing each other as if now
selecting their mates. It is their song which especially
fills the air, made an incessant and undistinguishable
trill and jingle by their numbers.

March 20, 1855. A flurry of snow at 7 a. m. I go to
turn my boat up. Four or five song sparrows are flitting
along amid the willows by the waterside. Probably they
came yesterday with the bluebirds. From distant trees
and bushes I hear a faint tinkling te te te te te and at
last a full strain whose rhythm is tohit whit whit, ter
tche, tchear tche, deliberately sung, or measuredly, while
the falling snow is beginning to whiten the ground, —
not discouraged by such a reception.

3farch 21, 1855. The song sparrow is now seen
dodging behind the wall, with a quirk of its tail, or flit-
ting along the alders or other bushes by the side of the
road, especially in low ground, and its pleasant strain is
heard at intervals in spite of the cold and blustering
wind. It is the most steady and resolute singer as yet,
its strain being heard at intervals throughout the day,
more than any as yet peopling the hedgerows.

March 22, 1855. I hear a song sparrow on an alder-
top sing ozit ozit oze-e-e \ (quick) tchip tchip tchip tchip
tchay I te tchip ter che ter tchay ; also the same short-
ened and very much varied. Heard one sing uninter-
ruptedly, i. e. without a pause, almost a minute.

April 22, 1855. See a song sparrow getting its break-
fast in the water on the meadow like a wader.

April 6, 1856. Apparently song sparrows may have
the dark splash on each side of the throat but be

SONG SPAKROW 309

more or less brown on the breast and head. Some are
quite light, some quite dark. Here is one of the light-
breasted on the top of an apple tree, sings uuweariedly
at regular intervals something like tclmlp \ chilt chilt,
chilt chilt^ (faster and faster) chilt chilt^ chilt chilt \
tuller tchay ter splay -ee. The last, or third, bar I am not
sure about. It flew too soon for me. I only remember
that the last part was sprinkled on the air like drops
from a rill, as if its strain were moulded by the spray
it sat upon.

June 22, 1856. Ricketson says that they say at New
Bedford that the song sparrow says. Maids, maids,
maids, — hang on your tea-kettle-ettle-ettle-ettle-ettle.

Jan. 21, 1857. Minott tells me that Sam Barrgtt told
him once when he went to mill that a song sparrow took
up its quarters in his grist-mill and stayed there all
winter. When it did not help itself he used to feed it
with meal, for he was glad of its company ; so, what with
the dashing water and the crumbs of meal, it must have
fared well.

Jan. 28, 1857. Am again surprised to see a song
sparrow sitting for hours on our wood-pile in the yard,
in the midst of. snow in the yard. It is unwilling to
move. People go to the pump, and the cat and dog walk
round the wood-pile without starting it. I examine it
at my leisure through a glass. Remarkable that the
coldest of all winters these summer birds should remain.
Perhaps it is no more comfortable this season further
south, where they are accustomed to abide. In the after-
noon this sparrow joined a flock of tree sparrows on
the bare ground west of the house. It was amusing to

310 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

see the tree sparrows wash themselves, standing in the
puddles and tossing the water over themselves. Minott
says they wade in to where it is an inch deep and then
" splutter splutter," throwing the water over them.
They have had no opportunity to wash for a month, per-
haps, there having been no thaw. The song sparrow did
not go off with them.

Feb. 2, 1858. Still rains, after a rainy night with a
little snow, forming slosh. As I return from the post-
office, I hear the hoarse, robin-like chirp of a song spar-
row on Cheney's ground, and see him perched on the
topmost twig of a heap of brush, looking forlorn and
drabbled and solitary in the rain.

March 18, 1858. 7 A.M. — By river.

Almost every bush has its song sparrow this morning,
and their tinkling strains are heard on all sides. You
see them just hopping under the bush or into some
other covert, as you go by, turning with a jerk this way
and that, or they flit away just above the ground, which
they resemble. It is the prettiest strain I have heard yet.

June 13, 1858. I see a song sparrow's nest here in a
little spruce just by the mouth of the ditch.* It rests on
the thick branches fifteen inches from the ground, firmly
made of coarse sedge without, lined with finer, and then
a little hair, small within, — a very thick, firm, and port-
able nest, an inverted cone ; — four eggs. They build
them in a peculiar manner in these sphagnous swamps,
elevated apparently on account of water and of differ-
ent materials. Some of the eggs have quite a blue
ground.

^ [At Ledum Swamp, in Concord.]

FOX SPARROW 311

March, 3, 1860. The first song sparrows are very
inconspicuous and shy on the brown earth. You hear
some weeds rustle, or think you see a mouse run amid
the stubble, and then the sparrow flits low away.

\^See also under Robin, p. 387; Bluebird, pp. 398,
399; General and Miscellaneous, pp. 406, 413, 425,
426.]

FOX SPARROW; FOX-COLORED SPARROW

March 31, 1852. Methinks I would share every crea-
ture's suffering for the sake of its experience and joy.
The song sparrow and the transient fox-colored spar-
row,— have they brought me no message this year?
Do they go to lead heroic lives in Rupert's Land?
They are so small, I think their destinies must be large.
Have I heard what this tiny passenger has to say, wliile
it flits thus from tree to tree? Is not the coming of the
fox-colored sparrow something more earnest and sig-
nificant than I have dreamed of ? Can I forgive myself
if I let it go to Rupert's Land before I have appre-
ciated it? God did not make this world in jest ; no, nor
in indifference. These migrating sparrows all bear mes-
sages that concern my life. I do not pluck the fruits
in their season. I love the birds and beasts because
they are mythologically in earnest. I see that the spar-
row cheeps and flits and sings adequately to the great
design of tbe universe ; that man does not communi-
cate with it, understand its language, because he is not
at one with nature. I reproach myself because I have
regarded with indifference the passage of the birct ; I
have thought them no better than I.

312 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

March 14, 1854. A large company of fox-colored
sparrows in Heywood's maple swamp close by. I heard
their loud, sweet, canary-like whistle thirty or forty rods
off, sounding richer than anything yet ; some on the
bushes singing, twee twee twa twa ter tweer tweer twa,
— this is the scheme of it only, there being no dental
grit to it. They were shy, flitting before me, and I heard
a slight susurrus where many were busily scratch-
ing amid the leaves of the swamp, without seeing
them, and also saw many indistinctly. Wilson never
heard but one sing, their common note there being a
cheep.

March 25, 1858. P. M. — To bank of Great Meadows
by Peter's.

Cold northwest wind as yesterday and before. . . .

Going across A. Clark's field behind Garfield's, I
see many fox-colored sparrows flitting past in a strag-
gling manner into the birch and pitch pine woods on
the left, and hear a sweet warble there from time to
time. They are busily scratching like hens amid the
dry leaves of that wood (not swampy), from time to
time the rearmost moving forward, one or two at a time,
while a few are perched here and there on the lower
branches of a birch or other tree ; and I hear a very
clear and sweet whistling strain, commonly haK-finished,
from one every two or three minutes. It is too irregular
to be readily caught, but methinks begins like ar tche
tche tchear, te tche tchear, etc., etc., but is more clear
than these words would indicate. The whole flock is
moving along pretty steadily.

[/See also under Sparrows, etc., pp. 320, 321.]

TOWHEE; CHEWINK 313

TOWHEE; CHEWINK; GROUND-ROBIN

1850. Many a time I have expected to find a wood-
chuck, or rabbit, or a gray squirrel, when it was the
ground-robin rustling the leaves.

1850. I noticed a singular instance of ventriloquism
to-day in a male chewink singing on the top of a young
oak. It was difficult to believe that the last part
of his strain, the concluding jingle, did not proceed
from a different quarter, a woodside many rods off.
Hip-you^ he-he-he-he. It was long before I was satis-
fied that the last part was not the answer of his
mate given in exact time. I endeavored to get between
the two ; indeed, I seemed to be almost between them
already.

May 1, 1852. I hear the first towhee finch. He says
to-wee, to-wee, and another, much farther oft' than I sup-
posed when I went in search of him, says whip your
ch-r-r-r-r-r-r, with a metallic ring.

May 23, 1853. How different the ramrod jingle of
the chewink or any bird's note sounds now at 5 p. M. in
the cooler, stiller air, when also the humming of insects
is more distinctly heard, and perchance some impurity
has begun to sink to earth strained by the air ! Or is
it, perchance, to be referred to the cooler, more clarified
and pensive state of the mind, when dews have begun
to descend in it and clarify it ? Chaste eve ! A certain
lateness in the sound, pleasing to hear, which releases
me from the obligation to return in any particular
season. I have passed the Rubicon of staying out. 1
have said to myself, that way is not homeward ; I will

314 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

wander further from what I have called my home —
to the home which is forever iuviting: me. In such an
hour the freedom of the woods is offered me, and the
birds sing my dispensation.

June 9,1855. Achewink'snest sunk in ground under
a bank covered with ferns, dead and green, and huckle-
berry bushes ; composed of dry leaves, then grass stub-
ble, and lined with a very few slender, reddish moss
stems; four eggs, rather fresh; merely enough moss
stems to indicate its choice.

May 17, 1858. I see a chewink flit low across the
road with its peculiar flirting, undulating motion.

Sept. 19, 1858. Hear a chewink's chewink. But how
ineffectual is the note of a bird now ! We hear it as if
we heard it not, and forget it immediately. In spring
it makes its due impression, and for a long time will
not have done echoing, as it were, through our minds.
It is even as if the atmosphere were in an unfavorable
condition for this kind of music. Every musician knows
how much depends on this.

[/S'ee also ww^^er Nighthawk, p. 209; Wood Thrush,
p. 378 ; General and Miscellaneous, pp. 404, 414.]

EOSE-BEEASTED GEOSBEAK

June 13, 1853. What was that rare and beautiful
bird in the dark woods under the Cliffs, with black
above and white spots and bars, a large triangular
blood-red spot on breast, and sides of breast and be-
neath white ? Note a warble like the oriole, but softer
and sweeter. It was quite tame. I cannot find this bird

ROSE-BREASTED GROSBEAK 315

described, I think it must be a grosbeak.' At first I
thought I saw a chewiuk, as it sat withiu a rod side-
ways to me, and I was going to call Sophia to look at
it, but then it turned its breast full toward me and I
saw the blood-red breast, a large triangular painted
spot occupying the greater part of the breast. It was
in the cool, shaded underwood by the old path just
under the Cliff. It is a memorable event to meet with
so rare a bird. Birds answer to flowers, both in their
abundance and their rareness. The meeting with a
rare and beautiful bird like this is like meeting: with
some rare and beautiful flower, which you may never
find again, perchance, like the great purple fringed
orchis, at least. How much it enhances the wildness
and the richness of the forest to see in it some beautiful
bird which you never detected before !

May 24, 1855. Hear a rose-breasted grosbeak. At
first thought it a tanager, but soon I perceived its more
clear and instrumental — should say whistle, if one
could whistle like a flute; a noble singer, reminding
me also of a robin ; clear, loud and flute-like ; on the
oaks, hillside south of Great Fields. Black all above
except white on wing, with a triangular red mark on
breast but, as I saw, all white beneath this. Female
quite different, yellowish olivaceous above, more like a
muscicapa. Song not so sweet as clear and strong. Saw
it fly off and catch an insect like a flycatcher.

1 Probably a rose-breasted grosbeak. [Though the rose-breasted
grosbeak was formerly much less common about houses than it is now,
being chiefly confined to the woods, it is doubtful if it was quite so rare
in Concord as Thoreau thought at the time.]

316 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

May 21, 1856. Saw two splendid rose-breasted gros-
beaks with females in the young wood in Emerson's lot.
What strong-colored fellows, black, white, and fiery
rose-red breasts ! Strong-natured, too, with their stout
bills. A clear, sweet singer, like a tanager but hoarse
somewhat,^ and not shy.

July 15, 1858. At the base of the mountain,^ over
the road, heard (and saw), at the same place where I
heard him the evening before, a splendid rose-breasted
grosbeak singing. I had before mistaken him at first
for a tanager, then for a red-eye, but was not satisfied ;
but now, with my glass, I distinguished him sitting
quite still, high above the road at the entrance of the
mountain-path in the deep woods, and singing stead-
ily for twenty minutes. It was remarkable for sitting
so still and where yesterday. It was much richer and
sweeter and, I think, more powerful than the note of
the tanager or red-eye. It had not the hoarseness of
the tanasfer, and more sweetness and fullness than the
red-eye. Wilson does not give their breeding-place.
Nuttall quotes Pennant as saying that some breed in
New York but most further north. They, too, appear
to breed about the White Mountains.

June 2, 1859. Found within three rods of Flint's
Pond a rose-breasted grosbeak's nest. It was in a
thicket where there was much cat-briar, in a high blue-
berry bush, some five feet from the ground, in the forks
of the bush, and of very loose construction, being made

1 [The song, of course, is not really hoarse as compared with the
tanager's. See p. 317.]

2 [Mt. Lafayette.]

INDIGO-BIRD 317

of the (lead gray extremities of the cat-briar, with its
tendrils (and some of this had dropped on the ground
beneath), and this was lined merely with fine brown
stems of weeds like pinweeds, without any leaves or
anything else, — a slight nest on the whole. Saw the
birds. The male uttered a very peculiar sharp click-
ing or squeaking note of alarm while I was near the
nest.

June, 14, 1859. The rose-breasted grosbeak is com-
mon now in the Flint's Pond woods. It is not at all
shy, and our richest singer, perhaps, after the wood
thrush. The rhythm is very like that of the tanager,
but the strain is perfectly clear and sweet. One sits on
the bare dead twig of a chestnut, high over the road,
at Gourgas Wood, and over my head, and sings clear
and loud at regular intervals, — the strain about ten
or fifteen seconds long, rising and swelling to the end,
with various modulations. Another, singing in emula-
tion, regularly answers it, alternating with it, from a
distance, at least a quarter of a mile off. It sings thus
long at a time, and I leave it singing there, regardless
of me.

July 9, 1860. See two handsome rose-breasted gros-
beaks on the Corner causeway. One utters a peculiar
squeaking or snapping note, and, both by form of bill
and this note, and color, reminds me of some of those
foreign birds with great bills in cages.

INDIGO-BIRD

June 9, 1857. In the sprout-land beyond the red
huckleberry, an indigo-bird, which chij)S about me as

318 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

if it had a nest there. This is a splendid and marked
bird, high-colored as is the tanager, looking strange in
this latitude. Glowing indigo. It flits from top of one
bush to another, chirping as if anxious. Wilson says
it sings, not like most other birds in the morning and
evening chiefiy, but also in the middle of the day. In
this I notice it is like the tanager, the other fiery-plu-
maged bird. They seem to love the heat. It probably had
its nest in one of those bushes.

SPARROWS, ETC. (MISCELLANEOUS)

1837-47. It is a marvel how the birds contrive to
survive in this world. These tender sparrows that flit
from bush to bush this evening, though it is so late, do
not seem improvident, [but appear] to have found a
roost for the night. They must succeed by weakness
and reliance, for they are not bold and enterprising,
as their mode of life would seem to require, but very
weak and tender creatures. I have seen a little chip-
ping sparrow, come too early in the spring, shivering
on an apple twig, drawing in its head and striving to
warm it in its muffled feathers ; and it had no voice to
intercede with nature, but peeped as helpless as an in-
fant, and was ready to yield up its spirit and die with-
out any effort. And yet this was no new spring in the
revolution of the seasons.

Nov. 9, 1850. A rusty sparrow or two only remains
to people the drear spaces. It goes to roost without
neighbors.

June 30, 1851. The cuckoo is faintly heard from a
neighboring grove. Now that it is beginning to be dark,

SPARROWS 319

as I am crossing a pasture I hear a happy, oricl<et-like,
shrill little lay from a sparrow, either in the grass or
else on that distant tree, as if it were the vibrations of
a watch-spring; its vespers.

Sept. 28, 1851. Flocks of small birds — apparently
sparrows, bobolinks (or some bird of equal size with a
pencilled breast which makes a musical clucking), and
piping goldfinches — are flitting about like leaves and
hopping up on to the bent grass stems in the garden,
letting themselves down to the heavy heads, either shak-
ing or picking out a seed or two, then alighting to pick
it up. I am amused to see them hop up on to the slen-
der, drooping grass stems; then slide down, or let them-
selves down, as it were foot over foot, with great flut-
tering, till they can pick at the head and release a few
seeds; then alight to pick them up. They seem to pre-
fer a coarse grass which grows like a weed in the gar-
den between the potato-hills, also the amaranth.

March 20, 1852. As to the winter birds, — those
which came here in the winter, — I saw first that rusty
sparrow-like bird flying in flocks with the smaller spar-
rows early in the winter and sliding down the grass
stems to their seeds, which clucked like a hen, and F.
Brown thought to be the young of the purple finch ;
then I saw, about Thanksgiving time and later in the
winter, the pine grosbeaks, large and carmine, a noble
bird ; then, in midwinter, the snow bunting, the white
snowbird, sweeping low like snowflakes from field to
field over the walls and fences. And now, within a day
or two, I have noticed the chubby slate-colored snow-
bird (^Fringilla hyemalisf), and I drive the flocks be-

320 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

fore me on the railroad causeway as I walk. It has two
white feathers in its tail.

Jan. 20, 1853. I see where snowbirds^ in troops have
visited each withered chenopodium that rises above the
snow in the yard — and some are large and bushlike —
for its seeds, their well-filled granary now. There are a
few tracks reaching from weed to weed, where some have
run, but under the larger plants the snow is entirely
trodden and blackened, proving that a large flock has
been there and flown.

. March 31, 1853. I afterward heard a fine concert
of little songsters along the edge of the meadow. Ap-
proached and watched and listened for more than half
an hour. There were many little sparrows, difficult to
detect, flitting and hopping along and scratching the
ground like hens, under the alders, willows, and cor-
nels in a wet leafy place, occasionally alighting on a low
twig and preening themselves. They had bright-bay
crowns, two rather indistinct white bars on wings, an
ashy breast and dark tail. These twittered sweetly,
some parts very much like a canary and many together,
making it the fullest and sweetest I have heard yet, —
like a shopf ul of canaries. The blackbirds may make
more noise. About the size of a song sparrow. I think
these are the tree sparrow. Also, mixed with them, and
puzzling me to distinguish for a long time, were many
of the fox-colored (?) sparrows mentioned above, with
a creamy cinnamon-tinged ashy breast, cinnamon shoul-
derlet, ashy about side head and throat, a fox-colored

* [Thoreau used tlie term snowbird indefinitely, of any small sparrow-
like bird, seen in winter.]

SPARROWS 321

tail ; a size larger than the others ; the spot on breast
very marked. Were evidently two birds intimately
mixed. Did not Peabody confound them when he men-
tioned the mark on the breast of the tree sparrow ? '
The rich strain of the fox-colored sparrow, as I think
it is, added much to the quire. The latter solos, the
former in concert. I kept off a hawk by my presence.
These were for a long time invisible to me, except when
they flitted past.

Feh. 13, 1855. One of these pigweeds in the yard
lasts the snowbirds all winter, and after every new
storm they revisit it. How inexhaustible their granary !

March 14, 1855. I observe the tracks of sparrows
leading to every little sprig of blue-curls amid the
other weeds which (its seemingly empty pitchers) rises
above the snow. There seems, however, to be a little
seed left in them. This, then, is reason enough why
these withered stems still stand, — that they may raise
these sfranaries above the snow for the use of the snow-
birds.

Oct. 11, 1856. The sprout-land and stubble behind
the Cliffs are all alive with restless flocks of sparrows
of various species. I distinguish F. hyemalis, song
sparrow, apparently F. juncorum or maybe tree spar-
row, ^ and chip-birds (?). They are continually flitting
past and surging upward, two or more in pursuit of
each other, in the air, where they break like waves,
and pass along with a faint cheep. On the least alarm
many will rise from a juniper bush on to a shrub oak

1 [Thoreau afterwards detected the breast spot of the tree sparrow.]

2 Probably not. [Too early in the season.]

322 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

above it, and, when all is quiet, return into the juniper
perhaps for its berries. It is often hard to detect them
as they sit on the young trees, now beginning to be bare,
for they are very nearly the color of the bark and are
very cunning to hide behind the leaves.

Oct. 19, 1856. The fall, now and for some weeks, is
the time for flocks of sparrows of various kinds flitting
from bush to bush and tree to tree — and both bushes
and trees are thinly leaved or bare — and from one
seared meadow to another. They are mingled together,
and their notes, even, being faint, are, as well as their
colors and motions, much alike. The sparrow youth are
on the wing. They are still further concealed by their
resemblance in color to the gray twigs and stems, which
are now beginning to be bare.

I have often noticed the inquisitiveness of birds, as
the other day of a sparrow, whose motions I should not
have supposed to have any reference to me, if I had
not watched it from first to last. I stood on the edge of
a pine and birch wood. It flitted from seven or eight
rods distant to a pine within a rod of me, where it
hopped about stealthily and chirped awhile, then flew
as many rods the other side and hopped about there a
spell, then back to the pine again, as near me as it
dared, and again to its first position, very restless all
the while. Generally I should have supposed that there
was more than one bird, or that it was altogether acci-
dental,— that the chipping of this sparrow eight or
ten rods [away] had no reference to me, — for I could
see nothing peculiar about it. But when I brought my

SPARROWS 323

glass to bear on it, I found that it was almost steadily
eying me and was all alive with excitement.

3Iarch 20, 1859. P. M. — I see under the east side of
the house, amid the evergreens, where they were shel-
tered from the cold northwest wind, quite a parcel of
sparrows, chiefly F. hyemalis, two or three tree sparrows,
and one song sparrow, quietly feeding together. I watch
them through a window within six or eight feut. They
evidently love to be sheltered from the wind, and at
least are not averse to each other's society. The tree
sparrows sinf/ a little. One perches on a bush to sing,
while others are feeding on the ground, but he is very
restless on his perch, hopping about and stooping as if
dodging those that fly over. He must perch on some
bit of stubble or twig to sing. They are evidently pick-
ing up the seeds of weeds which lie on the surface of
the ground invisible to our eyes. They suffer their
wings to hang rather loose. The F. hi/nnalis is the
largest of the three. They have remarkably distinct
light-colored bills, and when they stretch, show very
distinct clear- white lateral tail-feathers. This stretching
seems to be contagious among them, like yawning with
us. They have considerable brown on the quill-feathers.
The tree sparrows are much brighter brown and white
than the song sparrow. The latter alone scratches once
or twice, and is more inclined to hop or creep close to
the ground, under the fallen weeds. Perhaps it deserves
most to be called the grou7id-hiTd.

Ajiril 8, 1859. These windy days the sparrows resort
to the pines and peach trees on the east side of our
house for shelter, and there they sing all together, —

324 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

tree sparrows, fox-colored sparrows, and song sparrows.
The F. hyemalis with them do not sing so much of late.
The first two are most commonly heard together, the
fine canary-like twitter of the tree sparrow appearing
to ripen or swell from time to time into the clear, rich
whistle of the fox-colored sparrow, so that most refer
both notes to one bird.

[/See also under General and Miscellaneous, p. 405.]

XVI
TANAGERS AND SWALLOWS

SCARLET TANAGER

July 8, 1852. I hear many scarlet tanagers, the first
I have seen this season, which some might mistake
for a red-eye. A hoarse, rough strain, comparatively,
but more easily caught owing to its simplicity and
sameness ; something like heer chip-er-way-heer chory
chay.

May 20, 1853. Saw a tanager in Sleepy Hollow. It
most takes the eye of any bird. You here have the red-
wing reversed, — the deepest scarlet of the red-wing
spread over the whole body, not on the wing-coverts
merely, while the wings are black. It flies through the
green foliage as if it would ignite the leaves.

May 23, 1853. At Loring's Wood heard and saw a
tanager. That contrast of a refZ bird with the green
pines and the blue sky ! Even when I have heard his
note and look for him and find the bloody fellow, sitting
on a dead twig of a pine, I am always startled. (They
seem to love the darkest and thickest pines.) That in-
credible red, with the green and blue, as if these were
the trinity we wanted. Yet with his hoarse note he pays
for his color. I am transported ; these are not the woods
I ordinarily walk in. He sunk Concord in his thought.
How he enhances the wildness and wealth of the woods !
This and the emperor moth make the tropical phenomena

326 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

of our zone. There Is warmth in the pewee's strain, but
this bird's colors and his note tell of Brazil.

May 29, 1853. At A. Hosmer's hill on the Union
Turnpike I see the tanager hoarsely warbling in the
shade ; the surprising red bird, a small morsel of Brazil,
advanced picket of that Brazilian army, — parrot-like.
But no more shall we see ; it is only an affair of out-
posts. It appears as if he loved to contrast himself with
the green of the forest.

May 23, 1854. We soon get through with Nature.
She excites an expectation which she cannot satisfy.
The merest child which has rambled into a copsewood
dreams of a wilderness so wild and strange and inex-
haustible as Nature can never show him. The red-bird
which I saw on my companion's string on election days ^
I thought but the outmost sentinel of the wild, immor-
tal camp, — of the wild and dazzling infantry of the
wilderness, — that the deeper woods abounded with red-
der birds still ; but, now that I have threaded all our
woods and waded the swamps, I have never yet met with
his compeer, still less his wilder kindred. The red-bird
which is the last of Nature is but the first of God. The

^ [" Old election day " in Massachusetts came on the last Wednesday
in May. It was the day when the Legislature met, to organize, to count
the vote for governor and liejitenant-governor, and to hear an " election
sermon " in one of the Boston churches. The actual voting for gov-
ernor, lieutenant-governor, and State senators came on the first Monday
in April, and the representatives to the General Court were elected at
different times in the different towns. The last of these May " elec-
tions " was held in 1831, but " old election day " was observed as a sort
of holiday for years after, and it was the custom to conduct shooting-
matches on that day, when birds of all kinds were shot indiscriminately.
See p. 358.]

SCARLET TANAGER 327

White Mountains, likewise, were smooth molehills to
my expectation. We condescend to climb the crags of
earth. It is our weary legs alone that praise them. That
forest on whose skirts the red-bird flits is not of earth.
I expected a fauna more infinite and various, birds of
more dazzling colors and more celestial song.

May 28, 1855. I see a tanager, the most brilliant
and tropical-looking bird we have, bright-scarlet with
black wings, the scarlet appearing on the rump again
between wing- tips. He brings heat, or heat him, A re-
markable contrast with the green pines. At this dis-
tance he has the aspect and manners of a parrot, with
a fullness about the head and throat and beak, indo-
lently inspecting the limbs and twigs — leaning over to
it — and sitting still a long time. The female, too, is a
neat and handsome bird, with the same indolent ways,
but very differently colored from the male ; all yellow
below with merely dusky wings, and a sort of clay(?)-
color on back.

June 24, 1857. Looked over Farmer's eggs and list
of names. He has several which I have not. Is not his
" chicklisee," after all, the Maryland yellow-throat ?
The eggs were numbered with a pen, — 1, 2, 3, etc., —
and corresponding numbers written against the names
on the cover of the pasteboard box in which were the
eggs. Among the rest I read, " Fire never redder.''''
That must be the tanager. He laughed and said that
this was the way he came to call it by that name : IMany
years ago, one election-day, when he and other boys, or
young men, were out gunning to see how many birds
they could kill, Jonathan Hildreth, who lived near by,

328 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

saw one of these birds on the top of a tree before him in
the woods, but he did not see a deep ditch that crossed
his course between him and it. As he raised his gun, he
exclaimed, " Fire never redder I " and, taking a step or
two forward, with his eye fixed on the bird, fell head-
long into the ditch, and so the name became a byword
among his fellows.

June 23, 1858. The tanager's nest of the 19th is four
and a half to five inches wide and an inch or more deep,
considerably open to look through ; the outside, of many
very slender twigs, apparently of hemlock, some um-
belled pyrola with seed-vessels, everlasting, etc. ; within,
quite round and regular, of very slender or fine stems,
apparently pin weed or the like, and pine-needles ; hardly
any grass stubble about it. The ^^^ is a regular oval,
nine tenths of an inch long by twenty-seven fortieths,
pale-blue, sprinkled with purplish-brown spots, thick-
est on the larger end. To-day there are three rather
fresh eggs in this nest. Neither going nor returning
do we see anything of the tanager, and conclude it
to be deserted, but perhaps she stays away from it
long.

May 24, 1860. As I sit just above the northwest end
of the Cliff, I see a tanager perched on one of the top-
most twigs of a hickory, holding by the tender leafets,
now five inches long, and evidently come to spy after
me, peeping behind a leaf et. He is between me and the
sun, and his plumage is incredibly brilliant, all aglow.
It is our highest-colored bird, — a deep scarlet (with a
yellower reflection when the sun strikes him), in the
midst of which his pure-black wings look high-colored

CLIFF SWALLOW 329

also. You can hardly believe that a living creature can
wear such colors. A hickory, too, is the fittest perch
for him.

PURPLE MARTIN

June 15, 1852. The chuckhng warble of martins
heard over the meadow, from a village box.

[/^ee also undet General and Miscellaneous, pp. 408,
409.]

CLIFF SWALLOW; REPUBLICAN SWALLOW

1850. Returning, I saw in Sudbury twenty-five nests
of the new (cliff ?) swallow ' under the eaves of a barn.
They seemed particularly social and loquacious neigh-
bors, though their voices are rather squeaking. Their
nests, built side by side, looked somewhat like large
hornets' nests, enough so to prove a sort of connection.
Their activity, sociability, and chattiness make them
fit pensioners and neighbors of man — summer com-
panions — for the barn-yard.

Nov. 9, 1857. Mr. Farmer tells me that one Sunday
he went to his barn, having nothing to do, and thought
he would watch the swallows, republican swallows. The
old bird was feeding her young, and he sat within fif-
teen feet, overlooking them. There were five young, and
he was curious to know how each received its share ;

^ [This bird was then a comparatively recent addition to the avi-
fauna of eastern Massachusetts, whither it had spread from its early
home in the West. The name " republican " was given to it by Audu-
bon on account of its social nesting habits. The notion that its irruption
into the East was coincident with the rise of the Republican Party, and
that this gave it its popular name, is, of course, a false one.]

330 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIKDS

and as often as the bird came with a fly, the one at the
door (or opening) took it, and then they all hitched
round one notch, so that a new one was presented at
the door, who received the next fly; and this was the in-
variable order, the same one never receiving two flies
in succession. At last the old bird brought a very small
fly, and the young one that swallowed it did not desert
his ground but waited to receive the next, but when
the bird came with another, of the usual size, she com-
menced a loud and long scolding at the little one, till it
resigned its place, and the next in succession received
the fly.

BARN SWALLOW

May 19, 1852. A barn swallow accompanied me
across the Depot Field, methinks attracted by the in-
sects which I started, though I saw them not, wheeling
and tacking incessantly on all sides and repeatedly
dashing within a rod of me. It is an agreeable sight to
watch one. Nothing lives in the air but is in rapid
motion.

April 30, 1855. I observed yesterday that the barn
swallows confined themselves to one place, about fifteen
rods in diameter, in Willow Bay, about the sharp rock.
They kept circling about and flying up the stream (the
wind easterly), about six inches above the water, — it
was cloudy and almost raining, — yet I could not per-
ceive any insects there. Those myriads of little fuzzy
gnats mentioned on the 21st and 28th must afford an
abundance of food to insectivorous birds. Many new
birds should have arrived about the 21st. There were

BARN SWALLOWS

TEEE SWALLOW 331

plenty of myrtle-birds and yellow redpolls' where the
gnats were. The swallows were confined to this space
when I passed up, and were still there when I returned,
an hour and a half later. I saw them nowhere else.
They uttered only a slight twitter from time to time and
when they turned out for each other on meeting. Get-
ting their meal seemed to be made a social affair. Pray,
how long will they continue to circle thus without rest-
ing?

TREE SWALLOW; WHITE-BELLIED SWALLOW

June 12, 1852. Small white-bellied (?) swallows in a
row (a dozen) on the telegraph-wire over the water by
the bridge. This perch is little enough departure from
unobstructed air to suit them. Pluming themselves. If
you could furnish a perch aerial enough, even birds of
paradise would alight. Swallows have forked tails, and
wings and tails are about the same length. They do
not alight on trees, methinks, unless on dead and bare
boughs, but stretch a wire over water and they perch
on it. This is among the phenomena that cluster about
the telegraph.

June 14, 1855. I told C." to look into an old mortise-
hole in Wood's Bridge for a white- bellied swallow's
nest, as we were paddling under • but he laughed, in-
credulous. I insisted, and when he climbed up he scared
out the bird. Five eggs. "You see the feathers about,
do you not?" "Yes," said he.

1 [Myrtle warblers and yellow palm warblers.]

2 [W. E, Channing.]

332 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

BANK SWALLOW

May 23, 1854. Saw in Dakin's land, near the road,
at the bend of the river, fifty-nine bank swallows' holes
in a small upright bank within a space of twenty by
one and a half feet (in the middle), part above and
part below the sand-line. This would give over a hun-
dred birds to this bank. They continually circling about
over the meadow and river in front, often in pairs, one
pursuing the other, and filling the air with their twit-
tering.

May 7, 1856. In the first hollow in the bank this
side of Clamshell, where sand has been dug for the
meadow, are a hundred or more bank swallows at 2 P. M.
(I suspect I have seen them for some time) engaged in
prospecting and digging their holes and circling about.
It is a snug place for them, — though the upright
portion of the bank is only four or five feet high, — a
semi-circular recess facing the southeast. Some are
within scratching out the sand, — I see it cast out of
the holes behind them, — others hanging on to the en-
trance of the holes, others on the flat sandy space be-
neath in front, and others circling about, a dozen rods
off over the meadow. Theirs is a low, dry, grating twit-
ter, or rather rattle, less metallic or musical than the
vite vite and twittering notes of barn and white-bellied
swallows. They are white-bellied, dark winged and
tailed, with a crescent of white [s^c] nearly around the
lower part of the neck, and mouse-colored heads and
backs. The upper and greater part of this bank is a
coarse sliding gravel, and they build only in the per-

BANK SWALLOW 333

pendicular and sandy part (I sit and watch them within
three or four rods) and close to the upper part of it.
While I am looking, they all suddenly with one consent
take to wing, and circle over the hillside and meadow,
as if they chose to work at making their holes a little
while at a time only. I find the holes on an average
about a foot deep only as yet, some but a few inches.

May 12, 1856. I see, in the road beyond Luther
Hosmer's, in different places, two bank swallows which
were undoubtedly killed by the four days' northeast rain
we have just had.

May 13, 1856. In the swallows' holes behind Den-
nis's, I find two more dead bank swallows, and one on
the sand beneath, and the feathers of two more which
some creature has eaten. This makes at least seven dead
bank swallows in consequence of the long, cold north-
east rain. A male harrier, skimming low, had nearly
reached this sandpit before he saw me and wheeled.
Could it have been he that devoured the swallows ?

The swallows were 10|-f alar extent, 4| inches
long; a wing 4|+ by 1|. Above they were a light
brown on their backs, wings blackish, beneath white,
with a dark-brown band over the breast and again white
throat and side of neck ; bill small and black ; reddish-
brown legs, with long, sharp, slender claws. It chanced
that each one of two I tried weighed between five and
six sixteenths of an ounce, or between five and six drams
avoirdupois. This seems to be the average weight, or
say six drams because they have pined a little. A man
who weighs one hundred and fifty pounds weighs sixty-
four hundred times as much as one. The wing of one

334 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

contains about seven square inches, the body about five,
or whole bird nineteen. If a man were to be provided
with wings, etc., in proportion to his weight, they would
measure about 844 square feet, and one wing would
cover 311 feet, or be about 33 feet long by 14 wide.
This is to say nothing of his muscles.

Dec. 4, 1856. I notice that the swallow-holes in the
bank behind Dennis's, which is partly washed away,
are flat-elliptical, three times or more as wide horizon-
tally as they are deep vertically, or about three inches
by one.

Nov. 20, 1857. Some bank swallows' nests are ex-
posed by the caving of the bank at Clamshell. The very
smallest hole is about two and a half inches wide hori-
zontally, by barely one high. All are much wider than
high (vertically). One nest, with an Qg'g in it still, is
completely exposed. The cavity at the end is shaped
like a thick hoe-cake or lens, about six inches wide and
two plus thick, vertically. The nest is a regular but
shallow one made simply of stubble, about five inches
in diameter, and three quarters of an inch deep.

Jan. 24, 1858. The inside of the swallow-holes there
appears quite firm yet and regular, with marks where
it was pecked or scratched by the bird, and the top is
mottled or blotched, almost as if made firm in spots by
the saliva of the bird. There is a low oven-like expan-
sion at the end, and a good deal of stubble for the nest.
I find in one an empty black cherry stone and the re-
mains of a cricket or two. Probably a mouse left them
there.

June 23, 1858. Get an ^^^ out of a deserted bank

SWALLOWS 335

swallow's nest, in a bank only about four feet high dug
in the spring for a bank wall near Everett's. The nest
is flattish and lined abundantly with the small, some-
what downy, naturally curved feathers of poultry. Egg
pure white, long, oval, twenty-seven fortieths by eighteen
fortieths of an inch.

SWALLOWS (general AND MISCELLANEOUS)

July 16, 1851. The twittering of swallows is in the
air, reminding me of water.

July 23, 1851. The swallow's twitter is the sound of
the lapsing waves of the air, or when they break and
burst, as his wings represent the ripple. He has more
air in his bones than other birds ; his feet are defective.
The fish of the air. His note is the voice of the air. As
fishes may hear the sound of waves lapsing on the sur-
face and see the outlines of the ripples, so we hear the
note and see the flight of swallows.

Aug. 17, 1851. The birds seem to know that it will
not rain just yet. The swallows skim low over the pas-
tures, twittering as they fly near me with forked tail,
dashing near me as if I scared up insects for them. I
see where a squirrel has been eating hazelnuts on a
stump.

Aug. 4, 1855. Just after bathing at the rock near
the Island this afternoon, after sunset, I saw a flock of
thousands of barn swallows and some white-bellied, and
perhaps others, for it was too dark to distinguish them.
They came flying over the river in loose array, wheeled
and flew round in a great circle over the bay there,
about eighty feet high, with a loud twittering as if seek-

336 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

ing a resting-place, then flew up the stream. I was very
much surprised at their numbers. Directly after, hear-
ing a buzzing sound, we found them all alighted on the
dense golden willow hedge at Shattuck's shore, parallel
with the shore, quite densely leaved and eighteen feet
high. They were generally perched five or six feet from
the top, amid the thick leaves, filling it for eight or ten
rods. They were very restless, fluttering from one perch
to another and about one another, and kept up a loud
and remarkable buzzing or squeaking, breathing or
hum, with only occasionally a regular twitter, now and
then flitting alongside from one end of the row to the
other. It was so dark we had to draw close to see them.
At intervals they were perfectly still for a moment, as
if at a signal. At length, after twenty or thirty minutes
of bustle and hum, they all settled quietly to rest on
their perches, I supposed for the night. We had rowed
up within a rod of one end of the row, looking up so as
to bring the birds between us and the sky, but they
paid not the slightest attention to us. What was re-
markable was : first, their numbers ; second, their perch-
ing on densely leaved willows ; third, their buzzing or
humming, like a hive of bees, even squeaking notes ;
and fourth, their disregarding our nearness. I supposed
that they were preparing to migrate, being the early
broods.

Aug. 5, 1855. 4 A. M. — On river to see swallows.

They are all gone ; yet Fay saw them there last night
after we passed. Probably they started very early. I
asked Minott if he ever saw swallows migrating, not
telling him what I had seen, and he said that he used

SWALLOWS 337

to get up and go out to mow very early in the morning
on his meadow, as early as he could see to strike, ruid
once, at that hour, hearing a noise, he looked up and
could just distinguish high overhead fifty thousand
swallows. He thought it was in the latter part of
August.

April 30, 1856. About 3.30 p. m., when it was quite
cloudy as well as raw, and I was measuring along the
river just south of the bridge, I was surprised by the
great number of swallows — white-bellied and barn
swallows and perhaps republican — flying round and
round, or skimming very low over the meadow, just laid
bare, only a foot above the ground. Either from the
shape of the hollow or their circling, they seemed to
form a circular flock three or four rods in diameter
and one swallow deep. There were two or three of these
centres and some birds equally low over the river. It
looked like rain, but did not rain that day or the next.
Probably their insect food was flying at that height
over the meadow at that time. There were a thousand
or more of swallows, and I think that they had recently
arrived together on their migration. Only this could
account for there being so many together. We were
measuring through one little circular meadow, and
many of them were not driven off by our nearness. Tiie
noise of their wings and their twittering was quite
loud.

May 11, 1856. There are many swallows circling low
over the river behind Monroe's, — bank swallows, barn,
republican, chimney, and white-bellied. These are all
circling together a foot or two over the water, passing

338 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

within ten or twelve feet of me in my boat. It is re-
markable how social the different species of swallow are
one with another. They recognize their affinity more
than usual.

July 29, 1856. Pratt says he one day walked out
with Wesson, with their rifles, as far as Hunt's Bridge.
Looking down-stream, he saw a swallow sitting on a
bush very far off, at which he took aim and fired with
ball. He was surprised to see that he had touched the
swallow, for it flew directly across the river toward
Simon Brown's barn, always descending toward the
earth or water, not being able to maintain itself ; but
what surprised him most was to see a second swallow
come flying behind and repeatedly strike the other with
all his force beneath, so as to toss him up' as often as
he approached the ground and enable him to continue
his flight, and thus he continued to do till they were out
of sight. Pratt said he resolved that he would never fire
at a swallow again.

Aug. 26, 1856. The flooded meadow, where the grass-
hoppers cling to the grass so thickly, is alive with swal-
lows skimming just over the surfaqp amid the grass-
tops and aii-parently snapping up insects there. A re they
catching the grasshoppers as they cling to bare poles ?
(I see the swallows equally thick there at 5 p. m. when
I return also.)

May 20, 1858. P. M.— Up Assabet.

A cloudy afternoon, with a cool east wind, producing
a mist. Hundreds of swallows are now skimming close
over the river, at its broadest part, where it is shallow
and runs the swiftest, just below the Island, for a dis-

SWALLOWS 889

tance of twenty rods. There are bank, barn, cliff, and
chimney swallows, all mingled together and continually
scaling back and forth, — a very lively sight. They keep
descending or stooping to within a few inches of the
water on a curving wing, without quite touching it, and
I suppose are attracted by some small insects which
hover close over it. They also stoop low about me as I
stand on the flat island there, but I do not perceive the
insects. They rarely rise more than five feet above the
surface, and a general twittering adds to the impres-
sion of sociability. The principal note is the low grat-
ing sound of the bank swallow, and I hear the vit vit of
the barn swallow. The cliff swallow, then, is here. Are
the insects in any measure confined to that part of the
river? Or are they congregated for the sake of society?
I have also in other years noticed them over another
swift place, at Hubbard's Bath, and also, when they
first come, in smaller numbers, over the still and smooth
water under the lee of the Island wood. They are thick
as the gnats which perhaps they catch. Swallows are
more confident and fly nearer to man than most birds.
It may be because they are more protected by the senti-
ment and superstitions of men.

XVII
WAXWINGS, SHRIKES, AND VIREOS

CEDAR WAXWING ; CHERRY-BIRD

June, 21, 1852. Cherry-birds. I have not seen, though
I think I have heard them before, — their fine seringo
note, like a vibrating spring in the air. They are a hand-
some bird, with their crest and chestnut breasts. There
is no keeping the run of their goings and comings, but
they will be ready for the cherries when they shall be
ripe.

June 16, 1854. The note of the cherry-bird is fine
and ringing, but peculiar and very noticeable. With its
crest it is a resolute and combative-looking bird.

June 14, 1855. A cherry-bird's nest and two eggs
in an apple tree, fourteen feet from ground. One ^^;g^
round black spots and a few oblong, about equally but
thinly dispersed over the whole, and a dim, internal,
purplish tinge about the large end. It is difficult to see
anything of the bird, for she steals away early, and
you may neither see nor hear anything of her while ex-
amining the nest, and so think it deserted. Approach
very warily and look out for them a dozen or more
rods off.

March, 1, 1856. Goodwin says that somewhere where
he lived thiey called cherry-birds " port-royals."

March, 20, 1858. On that same tree by Conant's or-
chard, I see a flock of cherry-birds with that alert, chief-

NORTHERN SHRIKE 341

tain-like look, and hear their seringo note, as if made
by their swift flight through the air. They have been
seen a week or two.

\_See also under General and Miscellaneous, p. 429].

NORTHERN SHRIKE

jpeo. 25, 1839. the shrike

Hark ! hark ! from out the thickest fog
Warbles with might and main
The fearless shrike, as all agog
To find in fog his gain.

His steady sails he never furls
At any time o' year.
And, perched now on Winter's curls,
He whistles in his ear.

Dec. 24, 1850. Saw a shrike pecking to pieces a small
bird, apparently a snowbird. At length lie took him up
in his bill, almost half as big as himself, and flew slowly
off with his prey dangling from his beak. I find that I
had not associated such actions with my idea of birds.
It was not birdlike.

Feb. 3, 1856. Returning, saw near the Island a shrike
glide by, cold and blustering as it was, with a remark-
ably even and steady sail or gliding motion like a hawk,
eight or ten feet above the ground, and alight in a tree,
from which at the same instant a small bird, perhaps
a creeper or nuthatch, flitted timidly away. The shrike
was apparently in pursuit.

Nov. 29, 1858. I see a living shrike caught to-day in
the barn of the Middlesex House.

342 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIEDS

Nov. 30, 1858. The shrike was very violent for a long
time, beating itself against the bars of its cage at
Stacy's. To-day it is quiet and has eaten raw meat. Its
plain dark ash-colored crown and back are separated
by a very distinct line from the black wings. It has a
powerful hawk-like beak, but slender legs and claws.
Close to, it looks more like a muscicapa^ than anything.

March 7, 1859. 6.30 A. M. — To HiU.

I come out to hear a spring bird, the ground gener-
ally covered with snow yet and the channel of the river
only partly open. On the Hill I hear first the tapping
of a small woodpecker. I then see a bird alight on the
dead top of the highest white oak on the hilltop, on the
topmost point. It is a shrike. While I am watching him
eight or ten rods off, I hear robins down below, west of
the hill. Then, to my surprise, the shrike begins to sing.
It is at first a wholly ineffectual and inarticulate sound
without any solid tone to it, a mere hoarse breathing,
as if he were clearing his throat, unlike any bird that
I know, — a shrill hissing. Then he uttered a kind of
mew, a very decided mewing, clear and wiry, between
that of a catbird and the note of the nuthatch, as if to
lure a nuthatch within his reach; then rose into the
sharpest, shrillest vibratory or tremulous whistling or
chirruping on the very highest key. This high gurgling
jingle was like some of the notes of a robin singing in
summer. But they were very short spurts in all these
directions, though there was all this variety. Unless you
saw the shrike it would be hard to tell what bird it was.
This variety of notes covered considerable time, but

^ [That is, a flycatcher.]

NORTHERN SHRIKE ;J43

were sparingly uttered with intervals. It was a decided
chinking sound — the clearest strain — suggesting much
ice in the stream. I heard this bird sing once before,
but that was also in early spring, or about this time. It
is said that they imitate the notes of the birds in order
to attract them within their reach. Why, then, have I
never heard them sing in the winter? (I have seen
seven or eight of them the past winter quite near.) The
birds which it imitated — if it imitated any this morn-
ing — were the catbird and the robin, neither of which
probably would it catch, — and the first is not here to
be caught. Hearing a peep, I looked up and saw three
or four birds passing rather [sic], which suddenly de-
scended and settled on this oak-top. They were robins,
but the shrike instantly hid himself behind a bough and
in half a minute flew off to a walnut and alighted, as
usual, on its very topmost twig, apparently afraid of its
visitors. The robins kept their ground, one alighting
on the very point which the shrike vacated. Is not this,
then, probably the spring note or pairing note or notes
of the shrike ?

Dec. 18, 1859. I see three shrikes in different places
to-day, — two on the top of apple trees, sitting still in
the storm, on the lookout. They fly low to another tree
when disturbed, much like a bluebird, and jerk their
tails once or twice when they alight.

Dec. 30, 1859. Going by Dodd's, I see a shrike
perched on the tip-top of the topmost upright twig of
an English cherry tree before his house, standing s(juare
on the topmost bud, balancing himself by a slight mo-
tion of his tail from time to time. I have noticed this

344 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

habit of the bird before. You would suppose it incon-
venient for so large a bird to maintain its footing there.
Scared by my passing [?] in the road, it flew off, and
I thought I would see if it alighted on a similar place.
It flew toward a young elm, whose higher twigs were
much more slender, though not quite so upright as
those of the cherry, and I thought he might be excused
if he alighted on the side of one ; but no, to my surprise,
he alighted without any trouble upon the very top of
one of the highest of all, and looked around as before.

WARBLING VIREO

[/See under General and Miscellaneous, p. 426.]

YELLOW-THROATED VIREO

May 19, 1856. Hear and see a yellow-throated vireo,
which methinks I have heard before. Going and coming,
he is in the top of the same swamp white oak and sing-
ing indolently, ullia — eelya, and sometimes varied to
eelyee.

VIREOS (unspecified AND UNIDENTIFIED)

May 7, 1852. The vireo comes with warm weather,
midwife to the leaves of the elms.

Jan. 13, 1856. Took to pieces a pensile nest which I
found the 11th on the south shore of Walden on an
oak sapling (red or black), about fifteen feet from the
ground. Though small, it measures three inches by three
in the extreme, and was hung between two horizontal
twigs or in a fork forming about a right angle, the third
side being regularly rounded without any very stiff mate-

VIREOS 346

rial. The twigs extended two or three inches beyond the
nest. The bulk of it is composed of fine shreds or fibres,
pretty long (say three to six inches), of apparently
inner oak (?) bark, judging from some scraps of the
epidermis adhering. It looks at first sight like sedge
or grass. The bottom, which I accidentally broke off
and disturbed the arrangement of, was composed of this
and white and pitch pine needles and little twigs about
the same size and form, rough with little leaf-stalks
or feet (probably hemlock (?)')5 ^^^ ^^so strips and
curls of paper birch epidermis, and some hornet or
other wasp nest used like the last. I mention the most
abundant material first. Probably the needles and twigs
were used on account of theircurvedform - and elasticity,
to give shape to the bottom. The sides, which were not
so thick, were composed of bark shreds, paper birch, and
hornet-nest (the two latter chiefly outside, probably to
bind and conceal and keep out the wind), agglutinated
together. But most pains was taken with the thin edge
and for three quarters of an inch down, where, beside
the bark-fibres, birch paper, and hornets' nest, some
silky reddish-brown and also white fibre was used to
bind all with, almost spun into threads and passed over
the twigs and agglutinated to them, or over the bark
edge. The shreds of birch paper were smaller there,
and the hornets' nest looked as if it had been reduced
to a pulp by the bird and spread very thinly here and
there over all, mixed with the brown silk. This last
looked like cow's hair, but as I found a piece of a small
brown cocoon, though a little paler, I suspect it was
^ Yes, they are. ^ Perhaps bent by the bird.

346 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

from that.^ The white may have been from a cocoon,
or else vegetable silk. Probably a vireo's nest, maybe
red-eye's.

In our workshops we pride ourselves on discovering
a use for what had previously been regarded as waste,
but how partial and accidental our economy compared
with Nature's. In Nature nothing is wasted. Every
decayed leaf and twig and fibre is only the better fitted
to serve in some other department, and all at last are
gathered in her compost-heap. What a wonderful gen-
ius it is that leads the vireo to select the tough fibres
of the inner bark, instead of the more brittle grasses,
for its basket, the elastic pine-needles and the twigs,
curved as they dried to give it form, and, as I suppose,
the silk of cocoons, etc., etc., to bind it together with!
I suspect that extensive use is made of these abandoned
cocoons by the birds, and they, if anybody, know where
to find them. There were at least seven materials used
in constructing this nest, and the bird visited as many
distinct localities many times, always with the purpose
or design to find some particular one of these materials,
as much as if it had said to itself, "Now I will go and
get some old hornets' nest from one of those that I saw
last fall down in the maple swamp — perhaps thrust
my bill into them — or some silk from those cocoons I
saw this morning."

^ Some of the same on my red-eye's nest.

I

XVIII

WARBLERS

BLACK AND WHITE WARBLER ; BLACK AND WHITE
CREEPER

May 12, 1855. Watched a black and white creeper
from Bittern Cliff, a very neat and active bird, explor-
ing the limbs on all sides and looking three or four
ways almost at once for insects. Now and then it raises
its head a little, opens its bill, and, without closing it,
utters its faint seeser seeser seeser.

May 30, 1857. In the midst of the shower, though
it was not raining very hard, a black and white creeper
came and inspected the limbs of a tree before my rock,
in his usual zigzag, prying way, head downward often,
and when it thundered loudest, heeded it not. Birds ap-
pear to be but little incommoded by the rain. Yet they
do not often sing in it.

May 16, 1860. Near Peter's I see a small creeper
hopping along the branches of the oaks and pines, ever
turning this way and that as it hops, making various angles
with the bough ;
then flies across
to another bough, or to the base of another tree, and
traces that up, zigzag and prying into the crevices. Think
how thoroughly the trees are thus explored by various
birds ! You can hardly sit near one for five minutes now,
but either a woodpecker or creeper comes and examines

348 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

its bark rapidly, or a warbler — a summer yellowbird, for
example — makes a pretty thorough exploration about
all its expanding leafets, even to the topmost twig. The
whole North American forest is being thus explored for
insect food now by several hundred (?) species of birds.
Each is visited by many kinds, and thus the equilibrium
of the insect and vegetable kingdom is preserved. Per-
haps I may say that each opening bud is thus visited
before it has fully expanded.

l_See also under General and Miscellaneous, p. 414.]

YELLOW WARBLER; SUMMER YELLOWBIRD

3fay 7, 1852. The first summer yellowbirds on the
willow causeway. The birds I have lately mentioned
come not singly, as the earliest, but all at once, i. e.
many yellowbirds all over town. Now I remember the
yellowbird comes when the willows begin to leave out.
So yellow. They bring summer with them and the sun,
tche-tche-tche-tcha tcha-tchar. Also they haunt the oaks,
white and swamp white, where are not leaves.

May 10, 1853. At this season the traveller passes
through a golden gate on causeways where these willows
are planted, as if he were approaching the entrance to
Fairyland ; and there will surely be found the yellow-
bird, and already from a distance is heard his note, a
tche tche tche tcha tchartcha, — ah, willow, willow. Could
not he truly arrange for us the difficult family of the
willows better than Borrer, or Barratt of Middletown ?
And as he passes between the portals, a sweet fragrance
is wafted to him ; he not only breathes but scents and
tastes the air, and'he hears the low humming or susurrus

YELLOW WARBLER 349

of a myriad Insects which are feeding on its sweets. It
is, apparently, these that attract the yellowbird.

May 12, 1853. The yellowbird has another note,
tchut tchut tcJiar te tchit e war.

June 24, 1853. A yellowbird's nest in a fork of a
willow on Hubbard's Causeway, resting chiefly on the
leading branch ; of fine grass, lined with hair, bottom
outside puffing out with a fine, light, flax-like fibre,
perhaps the bark of some weed, by which also it is
fastened to the twigs. It is surprising that so many
birds find hair enough to line their nests with. If I
wish for a horsehair for my compass sights I must go
to the stable, but the hair-bird,^ with her sharp eyes,
goes to the road.

Jan. 18, 1856. Analyzed a nest which I found Janu-
ary 7th in an upright fork of a red maple sapling on the
edge of Hubbard's Swamp Wood, north side, near river,
about eight feet from the ground, the deep grooves made
by the twigs on each side. It may be a yellowbird's.

Extreme breadth outside, three inches ; inside, one
and a half. Extreme height outside, three inches ; in-
side, one and five eighths ; sides, three quarters of an
inch thick.

It is composed of seven principal materials. (I name
the most abundant first ; I mean most abundant when
compressed.)

1. Small compact lengths of silvery pappus about
seven eighths of an inch long, perhaps of erechthites,
one half inch deep and nearly pure, a very warm bed,
chiefly concealed, just beneath the lining inside.

1 [The chipping sparrow.]

350 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

2. Slender catkins, often with the buds and twig ends
(of perhaps hazel), throughout the whole bottom and
sides, making it thick but open and light, mixed with

(3) milkweed silk, i. e. fibres like flax, but white,
being bleached, also in sides and rim, some of it almost
threadlike, white with some of the dark epidermis.
From the pods ? ^

4. Thin and narrow strips of grape-vine bark, chiefly
in the rim and sides for three quarters of an inch down,
and here and there throughout.

5. Wads of apparently brown fern wool, mixed with
the last three.

6. Some finer pale-brown and thinner shreds of bark
within the walls and bottom, apparently not grape. If
this were added to the grape, these five materials would
be not far from equally abundant.

7. Some very fine pale-brown wiry fibres for a lining,
just above the pappus and somewhat mixed with it,
perhaps for coolness, being springy.

Directly beneath the pappus were considerable other
shreds of grape and the other bark, short and broken.
In the rim and sides some cotton ravellings and some
short shreds of fish-line or crow-fence. A red maple leaf
within the bottom ; a kernel of corn just under the lining
of fibres (perhaps dropped by a crow or blackbird or
jay or squirrel while the nest was building). A few short
lengths of stubble or weed stems in the bottom and
sides. A very little brown wool, like, apparently, that in
the nest last described, which may be brown fern wool.

* No, I am about certain, from comparison, that it is the fibres of the
bark of the stem. Vide 19th tnst.

YELLOW WARBLER 861

The milkweed and fern wool conspicuous without the
rim and about the twigs. I was most struck by that mass
of pure pappus under the inside lining.

Jan. 19, 1856. Gathered some dry water milkweed
stems to compare with the materials of the bird's nest
of the 18th. The bird used, I am almost certain, the
fibres of the bark of the stem, — not the pods, — just
beneath the epidermis ; only the bird's is older and more
fuzzy and finer, like worn twine or string. The fibres
and bark have otherwise the same appearance under the
microscope. I stripped off some bark about one sixteenth
of an inch wide and six inches long and, separating
ten or twelve fibres from the epidermis, rolled it in my
fingers, making a thread about the ordinary size. This
I could not break by direct pulling, and no man could.
I doubt if a thread of flax or hemp of the same size
could be made so strong. What an admirable material
for the Indian's fish-line ! I can easily get much longer
fibres. I hold a piece of the dead weed in my hands,
strip off a narrow shred of the bark before my neigh-
bor's eyes and separate ten or twelve fibres as fine as a
hair, roll them in my fingers, and offer him the thread
to try its strength. He is surprised and mortified to find
that he cannot break it. Probably both the Indian and
the bird discovered for themselves this same (so to call
it) wild hemp. The corresponding fibres of the mikania
seem not so divisible, become not so fine and fuzzy ;
though somewhat similar, are not nearly so strong. I
have a hang-bird's nest from the riverside, made almost
entirely of this, in narrow shreds or strips with the epi-
dermis on, wound round and round the twigs and woven

352 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

into a basket. That is, this bird has used perhaps the
strongest fibre which the fields afforded and which most
civilized men have not detected.

Knocked down the bottom of that summer yellow-
bird's nest made on the oak at the Island last sum-
mer. It is chiefly of fern wool and also, apparently,
some sheep's wool (?), with a fine green moss (ap-
parently that which grows on button-bushes) inmixed,
and some milkweed fibre, and all very firmly agglu-
tinated together. Some shreds of grape-vine bark about
it. Do not know what portion of the whole nest it is.

[/See also under Flicker, p. 198.]

MYRTLE WARBLER ; MYRTLE-BIRD

May 6, 1855. Myrtle-birds very numerous just be-
yond Second Division. They sing like an instrument,
teee teee te^ttt^tt t, on very various keys, i. e. high
or low, sometimes beginning like phe-he.^ As I sat by
roadside one drew near, perched within ten feet, and
dived once or twice with a curve to catch the little
black flies about my head, coming once within three
feet, not minding me much. I could not tell at first
what attracted it toward me. It saw them from twenty-
five feet off. There was a little swarm of small flies,
regularly fly-like with large shoulders, about my head.
Many white-throated sparrows there.

^ [The song- that Thoreau heard was, of course, that of the white
throated sparrows he saw at the same place. He was long in learning
the real authorship of this song, which he at first credited to the chicka-
dee and then for several years to the " myrtle-bird."]

MYRTLE WAKBLER 353

Oct. 19, 1856. See quite a flock of myrtle-birds, —
which I might carelessly have mistaken for slate-colored
snowbirds, — flitting about on the rocky hillside under
Conantum Clifif. They show about three white or light-
colored spots when they fly, commonly no bright yel-
low, though some are pretty bright. They perch on the
side of the dead mulleins, on rocks, on the ground, and
directly dart off, apparently in pursuit of some insect.
I hear no note from them. They are thus near or on
the ground, then, not as in spring.

Oct. 21, 1857. I see many myrtle-birds now about the
house this forenoon, on the advent of cooler weather.
They keep flying up against the house and the window
and fluttering there, as if they would come in, or alight
on the wood-pile or pump. They would commonly be
mistaken for sparrows, but show more white when they fly,
beside the yellow on the rump and sides of breast seen
near to and two white bars on the wings. Chubby birds.

PINE WARBLER

April 23, 1852. I hear this morning, in the pine
woods above the railroad bridge, for the first time,
that delicious cool-sounding wetter-wetter-wetter-wetter-
wet' from that small bird (pine warbler?) in the tops
of the pines. I associate it with the cool^ moist., ever-
green spring woods.

April 2, 1853. Heard and saw what I call the pine
warbler, — vetter vetter vetter vetter vet, — the cool
woodland sound. The first this year of the higher-col-
ored birds, after the bluebird and the blackbird's wing;
is it not ? It so affects me as something more tender.

354 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

April 8, 1853. Saw and heard my small pine warbler
shaking out his trills, or jingle, even like money com-
ing to its bearings. They appear much the smaller from
perching high in the tops of white pines and flitting
from tree to tree at that height.

April 9, 1853. On a pitch [pine] on side of J. Hos-
mer's river hill, a pine warbler, by ventriloquism sound-
ing farther off than it was, which was seven or eight
feet, hopping and flitting from twig to twig, apparently
picking the small flies at and about the base of the
needles at the extremities of the twigs. Saw two after-
ward on the walls by roadside.

April 9, 1856. While I am looking at the hazel, I
hear from the old locality, the edge of the great pines
and oaks in the swamp by the railroad, the note of the
pine warbler. It sounds far off and faint, but, coming
out and sitting on the iron rail, I am surprised to see
it within three or four rods, on the upper part of a
white oak, where it is busily catching insects, hopping
along toward the extremities of the limbs and looking
off on all sides, twice darting off like a wood pewee
two rods over the railroad after an insect and return-
ing to the oak, and from time to time uttering its simple,
rapidly iterated, cool-sounding notes. When heard a
little within the wood, as he hops to that side of the
oak, they sound particularly cool and inspiring, like
a part of the evergreen forest itself, the trickling of
the sap. Its bright-yellow or golden throat and breast,
etc., are conspicuous at this season, — a greenish yellow
above, with two white bars on its bluish-brown wings.
It sits often with loose-hung wings and forked tail.

PINE WARBLER 355

April 11, 1856. Hear in the old place, the pitch pine
grove on the bank by the river, the pleasant ringing
note of the pine warbler. Its a-che, vitter vitter, vitter
vitter, vitter vitter, vitter vitter, vet rings through the
open pine grove very rapidly. I also heard it at the
old place by the railroad, as I came along. It is re-
markable that I have so often heard it first in these
two localities, i. e. where the railroad skirts the north
edge of a small swamp densely filled with tall old white
pines and a few white oaks, and in a young grove com-
posed wholly of pitch pines on the otherwise bare, very
high and level bank of the Assabet. When the season
is advanced enough, I am pretty sure to hear its ring-
ing note in both those places.

April 15, 1859. The warm pine woods are all alive
this afternoon with the jingle of the pine warbler, the
for the most part invisible minstrel. That wood, for
example, at the Punk Oak, where we sit to hear it. It
is surprising how quickly the earth, which was covered
half an inch deep this morning, and since so wet, has
become comparatively dry, so that we sit on the ground
or on the dry leaves in woods at 3 P. m. and smell the
pines and see and hear the flies, etc., buzz about, thougli
the sun did not come out till 12 M. This morning, the
aspect of winter; at mid-forenoon, the ground reeking
with moisture ; at 3 P. M., sit on dry leaves and hear
the flies buzz and smell the pines! That wood is now-
very handsome seen from the westerly side, the sun
falling far through it, though some trunks are wholly
in shade. This warbler impresses me as if it were
calling the trees to life. I think of springing twigs. Its

356 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIKDS

jingle rings through the wood at short intervals, as if,
like an electric shock, it imparted a fresh spring life to
them. You hear the same bird, now here now there, as
.it incessantly flits about, commonly invisible and utter-
ing its simple jingle on very different keys, and from
time to time a companion is heard farther or nearer.
This is a peculiarly summer-like sound. Go to a warm
pine wood-side on a pleasant day at this season after
storm, and hear it ring with the jingle of the pine warbler.

OVEN-BIRD; GOLDEN-CROWNED THRUSH;
" NIGHT- WARBLER " ^

June 11, 1851. I hear the night-warbler breaking
out as in his dreams, made so from the first for some
mysterious reason.

June 29, 1851. The night- warbler sings the same
strain at noon.

May 10, 1853. P. M. — Hear the night-warbler now
distinctly. It does not soon repeat its note, and disap-
pears with the sound.

June 19, 1853. Heard my night-warbler on a soli-
tary white pine in the Heywood Clearing by the Peak.
Discovered it at last, looking like a small piece of
black bark curving partly over the limb. No fork to
its tail. It appeared black beneath ; was very shy, not
bigger than a yellowbird, and very slender.

^ [Practically all of Thoreau's references, however slight, to his mys-
terious " night-warbler " are here printed. He never satisfied himself
as to the identity of the bird, but the accumulated evidence makes it
clear that the night-warbler's song was no other than the flight-song of
the oven-bird, though the somewhat similar aerial song of the Mary-
land yellow-throat deceived him on one occasion.]

OVEN-BIRD; "NIGHT- WARBLER" 357

May 28, 1854. The night-warbler, after his strain,
drops down almost perpendicularly into a tree-top and
is lost.

May 29, 1854. Saw what I thought my night- war-
bler, — sparrow -like with chestnut (?) stripes on
breast, white or whitish below and about eyes, and
perhaps chestnut (??) head.

May 3, 1857. Emerson says that Brewer tells him
my " night warbler " is probably the Nashville war-
bler.

May 12, 1857. A night-warbler, plainly light be-
neath. It always flies to a new perch immediately after
its song.

May 16, 1858. A golden-crowned thrush hops quite
near. It is quite small, about the size of the creeper,
with the upper part of its breast thickly and distinctly
pencilled with black, a tawny head ; and utters now
only a sharp cluck for a chip. See and hear a redstart,
the rhythm of whose strain is tse,-tse, tse'-tse, tse\ em-
phasizing the last syllable of all and not ending with
the common tsear. Hear the night-warbler.

May 17, 1858. Just after hearing my night-warbler
I see two birds on a tree. The one which I examined
— as well as I could without a glass — had a white
throat with a white spot on his wings, was dark above
and moved from time to time like a creeper, and it was
about the creeper's size. The other bird, which I did
not examine particularly, was a little larger and more
tawny. ^

May 19, 1858. Heard the night-warbler begin his

^ Perhaps golden-crowned thrush.

358 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

strain just like an oven-bird ! I have noticed that when
it drops down into the woods it darts suddenly one side
to a perch when low.

Aug. 5, 1858. While passing there, I heard what I
should call my night-warbler's note, and, looking up,
saw the bird dropping to a bush on the hillside.
Looking through the glass, I saw that it was the
Maryland yellow-throat ! ! and it afterward flew to the
button-bushes in the meadow.

May 8, 1860. The night-warbler's note.

May 18, 1860. The night-warbler is a powerful
singer for so small a bird. It launches into the air
above the forest, or over some hollow or open space in
the woods, and challenges the attention of the woods
by its rapid and impetuous warble, and then drops
down swiftly into the tree-tops like a performer with-
drawing behind the scenes, and he is very lucky who
detects where it alights.

Aug. 28, 1860. Hear the night-warbler and the
whip-poor-will.

AMERICAN REDSTART

May 10, 1853. I hear, and have for a week, in the
woods, the note of one or more small birds somewhat
like a yellowbird's. What is it? Is it the redstart? I
now see one of these. The first I have distinguished.
And now I feel pretty certain that my black and yellow
warbler of May 1st was this. As I sit, it inquisitively
hops nearer and nearer. It is one of the election-birds*
of rare colors which I can remember, mingled dark and
^ [Birds shot on election day. See p. 32G. ]

AMERICAN REDSTART 859

reddish. This reminds me that I supposed much more
variety and fertility in nature before I had learned the
numbers and the names of each order. I find that I
had expected such fertility in our Concord woods alone
as not even the completest museum of stuffed birds of
all the forms and colors from all parts of the world
comes up to.

[/See also under Oven-bird, p. 357.]

WARBLERS (iN GENERAL)

April 19, 1854. Within a few days the warblers
have begun to come. They are of every hue. Nature
made them to show her colors with. There are as many
as there are colors and shades. In certain lights, as yes-
terday against the snow, nothing can be more splendid
and celestial than the color of the bluebird.

XIX

TITLAEKS, THRASHERS, AND WRENS

AMERICAN PIPIT; TITLARK

Oct. 26, 1853. I hear a faint twittering of the spar-
rows in the grass, like crickets. Those flitting spar-
rows ^ which we have had for some weeks, are they not
the sober snowbirds (tree sparrows ?)? They fly in a
great drifting flock, wheeling and dashing about, as if
preluding or acting a snow-storm, with rapid te te te.
They are as dry and rustling as the grass.

JVov. 6, 1853. It is remarkable how little we attend
to what is passing before us constantly, unless our gen-
ius directs our attention that way. There are these
little sparrows with white in tail, perhaps the prevailing
bird of late, which have flitted before me so many falls
and springs,^ and yet they have been as it were stran-
gers to me, and I have not inquired whence they came
or whither they were going, or what their habits were.
It is surprising how little most of us are contented to
know about the sparrows which drift about in the air
before us just before the first snows. I hear the downy
woodpecker's metallic tchip or peep. Now I see where
many a bird builded last spring or summer. These are
leaves which do not fall.

1 [From other entries in the Journal it is evident that these " spar-
' rows " which Thoreau saw in larg^e flocks in the fall were titlarks. J

2 [Though common in the autumn, the titlark is rare in the spring' in
New Eng-land. Thoreau was probably only taking it for granted that
he had often seen these birds in the spring.]

BROWN THRASHER 361

MOCKINGBIRD

Aitg. 18, 1854. I think I saw a mockingbird on a
black cherry near Pedrick's. Size of and like a cat-
bird ; bluish-black side-head, a white spot on closed
wings, lighter breast and beneath ; but he flew before I
had fairly adjusted my glass. There were brown thrash-
ers with it making their clicking note.

CATBIRD

May 8, 1852. I hear a catbird singing within a rod
among the alders, but it is too dark to see him. Now he
stops and half angrily, half anxiously and inquisitively,
inquires char-char^ sounding like the caw of a crow, not
like a cat.

May 21, 1852. The catbird sings like a robin some-
times, sometimes like a blackbird's sprayey warble.
There is more of squeak or mew, and also of clear
whistle^ than in the thrasher's note.

\^See also under General and Miscellaneous, p. 427.]

BROWN THRASHER

May 3, 1852. Hear the first brown thrasher, — two
of them. . . . They drown all the rest. He says cher-
ruwit, cherruwit ; go ahead, go ahead ; give it to him,
give it to him; etc., etc., etc.

May 16, 1852. The thrasher has a sort of laugh in
his strain which the catbird has not.

May 18, 1852. This afternoon the brown thrashers
are very numerous and musical. They plunge down-
ward when they leave their perch, in a peculiar way.

362 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

It is a bird that appears to make a business of singing
for its own amusement. There is great variety in its
strains. It is not easy to detect any repetition.

June 24, 1853. The brown thrasher's nest has been
robbed, probably by some other bird. It rested on a
branch of a swamp-pink and some grape-vines, effect-
ually concealed and protected by grape-vines and
green-briar in a matted bower above it. The foundation
of pretty stout twigs, eight or nine inches in diameter,
surmounted by coarse strips of grape bark, giving
form to the nest, and then lined with some harsh, wiry
root- fibres ; within rather small and shallow, and the
whole fabric of loose texture, not easy to remove.

April 30, 1856. A fine morning. I hear the first
brown thrasher singing within three or four rods of me
on the shrubby hillside in front of the Hadley place. I
think I had a glimpse of one darting down from a sap-
ling-top into the bushes as I rode by the same place
on the morning. of the 28th.

This, I think, is the very place to hear them early,
a dry hillside sloping to the south, covered with young
wood and shrub oaks. I am the more attracted to that
house as a' dwelling-place. To live where you would
hear the first brown thrasher! First, perchance, you
have a glimpse of one's ferruginous long brown back,
instantly lost amid the shrub oaks, and are uncertain
if it was a thrasher, or one of the other thrushes ; and
your uncertainty lasts commonly a day or two, until
its rich and varied strain is heard. Surveying seemed
a noble employment which brought me within hearing
of this bird. I was trying to get the exact course of a

WINTER WREN 363

wall thickly beset with shrub oaks and birches, mak-
ing an opening through them with axe and knife, while
the hillside seemed to quiver or pulsate with the sud-
den melody. Again, it is with the side of the ear that
you hear. The music or the beauty belong not to
your work itself but some of its accompaniments.
You would fain devote yourself to the melody, but
you will hear more of it if you devote yourself to- your
work.

May 4, 1859. We hear a thrasher sing for half an
hour steadily, — a very rich singer and heard a quarter
of a mile off very distinctly. This is first heard com-
monly at planting- time. He sings as if conscious of his
power.

June 19, 1860. Observe a nest crowded full with four
young brown thrashers half fledged. You would think
they would die of heat, so densely packed and over-
flowing. Three head one way, and the other lies across.
How quickly a fox would gobble them up !

WINTER WREN

July 10, 1858. The FHngilla hyemalis was most
common in the upper part of the ravine,' and I saw a
large bird of prey, perhaps an eagle, sailing over the
head of the ravine. The wood thrush and veery ' sang
regularly, especially morning and evening. But, above
all, the peculiar and memorable songster was that

1 [Tuckerman's Ravine on the side of Mt. Washingrton.]

2 [Doubtless the olive-backed thrush and Bicknell's thrush, which
are the only thrushes found on the upper slopes of Mt. Washington.
See note on wood thrush, p. 377.]

364 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

Monadnock-like one/ keeping up an exceedingly brisk
and lively strain. It was remarkable for its incessant
twittering flow. Yet we never got sight of the bird,
at least while singing, so that I could not identify it,
and my lameness ^ prevented my pursuing it. I heard
it afterward, even in the Franconia Notch, It was sur-
prising for its steady and uninterrupted flow, for when
one stopped, another appeared to take up the strain.
It reminded me of a fine corkscrew stream issuing with
incessant lisping tinkle from a cork, flowing rapidly,
and I said that he had pulled out the spile and left it
running.^ That was the rhythm, but with a sharper
tinkle of course. It had no more variety than that, but
it was more remarkable for its continuance and mo-
notonousness than any bird's note I ever heard. It evi-
dently belongs only to cool mountainsides, high up amid
the fir and spruce. I saw once flitting through the fir-
tops restlessly a small white and dark bird, sylvia-like,
which may have been it. Sometimes they appeared to
be attracted by our smoke. The note was so incessant
that at length you only noticed when it ceased.

SHORT-BILLED MARSH WREN

Aug. 5, 1858. Just opposite this bay,* I heard a pe-
culiar note which I thought at first might be that of a
kingbird, but soon saw for the first time a wren within

^ [On June 4 of the same year he had heard on Mt. Monadnock " a
very peculiar lively and interesting' strain from some bird," but had
been unable to see the singer.]

^ [He had sprained his ankle the day before.]

^ [The song described is evidently that of the winter wren.]

* [Lily Bay in the Sudbury River and in the town of Sudbury.]

SHORT-BILLED MARSH WREN 365

two or three rods perched on the tall sedge or the wool-
grass and making it, — probably the short-billed marsh
wren. It was peculiarly brisk and rasping, not at all
musical, the rhythm something like shar te dittle ittle
ittle ittle ittle, but the last part was drier or less liquid
than this implies. It was a small bird, quite dark
above and apparently plain ashy-white beneath, and
held its head up when it sang, and also commonly its
tail. It dropped into the deep sedge on our approach,
but did not go off, as we saw by the motion of the
grass ; then reappeared and uttered its brisk notes
quite near us, and, flying off, was lost in the sedge
again.

[See also under General and Miscellaneous, p. 424. J

XX

CREEPERS, NUTHATCHES, TITS, AND KINGLETS

BROWN CREEPER

Nov. 26, 1859. I see here to-day one brown creeper
busily inspecting the pitch pines. It begins at the base,
and creeps rapidly upward by starts, adhering close to
the bark and shifting a little from side to side often till
near the top, then suddenly darts off downward to the
base of another tree, where it repeats the same course.
This has no black cockade, like the nuthatch.

[/See also under General and Miscellaneous, pp. 416,
422.]

WHITE-BELLIED NUTHATCH

April 6, 1856. I went to the oaks. Heard there a
nuthatch's faint vibrating tut-tut, somewhat even like
croaking of frogs, as it made its way up the oak bark
and turned head down to peck. Anon it answered its
mate with a gnah gnah.

Dec. 5, 1856. As I walk along the side of the Hill,
a pair of nuthatches flit by toward a walnut,^ Ajing
low in midcourse and then ascending to the tree. I
hear one's faint tut tut or gnah, gnah — no doubt heard a
good way by its mate now flown into the next tree —
as it is ascending the trunk or branch of a walnut in a
zigzag manner, hitching along, prying into the crevices

^ [Thoreau was accustomed to use the name walnut for the various
species of hickory.]

WHITE-BELLIED NUTHATCH 367

of the bark ; and now it has found a savory morsel,
which it pauses to devour, then flits to a new bough.
It is a chubby bird, white, slate-color, and black.

Jan. 6, 1859. As I go over the causeway, near the
railroad bridge, I hear a fine busy twitter, and, looking
up, see a nuthatch hopping along and about a swamp white
oak branch, inspecting every side of it, as readily hang-
ing head-downwards as standing upright, and then it
utters a distinct gnah^ as if to attract a companion.
Indeed, that other, finer twitter seemed designed to
keep some companion in tow, or else it was like a very
busy man talking to himself. The companion was a
single chickadee, which lisped six or eight feet off.
There were, perhaps, no other birds than these two
within a quarter of a mile. And when the nuthatch
flitted to another tree two rods off, the chickadee un-
failingly followed.

March 5, 1859. Going down-town this forenoon, I
heard a white-bellied nuthatch on an elm within twenty
feet, uttering peculiar notes and more like a song than
I remember to have heard from it. There was a cliick-
adee close by, to which it may have been addressed.
It was something like to-ivhat what what what what^
rapidly repeated, and not the usual gnah gnah ; and
this instant it occurs to me that this may be that earli-
est spring note which I hear, and have referred to a
woodpecker ! (This is before / have chanced to see a
bluebird, blackbird, or robin in Concord this year.) It
is the spring note of the nuthatch. It paused in its pro-
gress about the trunk or branch and uttered this lively
but peculiarly inarticulate song, an awkward attempt to

368 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

warble almost in the face of the chickadee, as if it were
one of its kind. It was thus giving vent to the spring
within it. If I am not mistaken, it is what I have heard
in former springs or winters long ago, fabulously early
in the season, when we men had but just begun to anti-
cipate the spring, — for it would seem that we, in our
anticipations and sympathies, include in succession the
moods and expressions of all creatures. When only the
snow had begun to melt and no rill of song had
broken loose, a note so dry and fettered still, so inartic-
ulate and half thawed out, that you might (and would
commonly) mistake for the tapping of a woodpecker.
As if the young nuthatch in its hole had listened only
to the tapping of woodpeckers and learned that music,
and now, when it would sing and give vent to its spring
ecstasy, it can modulate only some notes like that.
That is its theme still. That is its ruling idea of
song and music, — only a little clangor and liquidity
added to the tapping of the woodpecker. It was the
handle by which my thoughts took firmly hold on
spring.

[See also under General and Miscellaneous, pp. 415,
416.]

CHICKADEE

[Dated only 1838.] Sometimes I hear the veery'3
silver clarion, or the brazen note of the impatient jay,
or in secluded woods the chickadee doles out her scanty
notes, which sing the praise of heroes, and set forth
the loveliness of virtue evermore. — JPhe-he.

Nov. 9, 1850. The chickadees, if I stand long enough,
hop nearer and nearer inquisitively, from pine bough

CHICKADEE 369

to pine bough, till within four or five feet, occasionally
lisping a note.

Oct. 10, 1851. As I stood amid the witch-hazels
near Flint's Pond, a flock of a dozen chickadees came
flitting and singing about me with great ado, — a most
cheering and enlivening sound, — with incessant day-
day-day and a fine wiry strain betweenwhiles, flitting
ever nearer and nearer and nearer, inquisitively, till
the boldest was within five feet of me ; then suddenly,
their curiosity satiated, they flit by degrees further
away and disappear, and I hear with regret their re-
treating day-day-days.

March 10, 1852. Heard the phoebe note of the
chickadee to-day for the first time. I had at first heard
their day-day-day ungratefully, — ah! you but carry
my thoughts back to winter, — but anon I found that
they too had become spring birds ; they had changed
their note. Even they feel the influence of spring.

Oct. 23, 1852. The chickadees flit along, following
me inquisitively a few rods with lisping, tinkling note,
— flit within a few feet of me from curiosity, head
downward on the pines.

March 22, 1853. I hear the phoebe note of the
chickadee, one taking it up behind another as in a catch,
phe-hee phe-hee.

Dec. 1, 1853. Those trees and shrubs which retain
their withered leaves through the winter — shrub oaks
and young white, red, and black oaks, the lower branches
of larger trees of the last-mentioned species, hornbeam,
etc., and young hickories — seem to form an interme-
diate class between deciduous and evergreen trees. They

370 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

may almost be called the ever-reds. Their leaves, which
are falling all winter long, serve as a shelter to rabbits
and partridges and other winter quadrupeds and birds.
Even the little chickadees love to skulk amid them and
peep out from behind them. I hear their faint, silvery,
lisping notes, like tinkling glass, and occasionally a
sprightly day-day-day ^ as they inquisitively hop nearer
and nearer to me. They are our most honest and inno-
cent little bird, drawing yet nearer to us as the winter
advances, and deserve best of any of the walker.

Feb. 9, 1854. I do not hear Therien's* axe far of late.
The moment I came on his chopping-ground, the chick-
adees flew to me, as if glad to see me. They are a pecul-
iarly honest and sociable little bird. I saw them go to
his pail repeatedly and peck his bread and butter. They
came and went a dozen times while I stood there. He
said that a great flock of them came round him the other
day while he was eating his dinner and lit on his clothes
"just like flies." One roosted on his finger, and another
pecked a piece of bread in his hand. They are consid-
erable company for the woodchopper. I heard one wiry
phe-he. They love to hop about wood freshly split. Ap-
parently they do not leave his clearing all day. They
were not scared when he threw down wood within a few
feet of them. When I looked to see how much of his
bread and butter they had eaten, I did not perceive that
any was gone. He could afford to dine a hundred.

Jan. 7, 1855. Here comes a little flock of titmice,
plainly to keep me company, with their black caps and

^ [Aleck Therien, the French-Canadian ■woodchopper celebrated in

Walden.]

CHICKADEE 371

throats making them look top-heavy, restlessly hopping
along the alders, with a sharp, clear, lisping note.

Dec. 15, 1855. This morning it has begun to snow
apparently in earnest. The air is quite thick and the
view confined. It is quite still, yet some flakes come
down from one side and some from another, crossing
each other like woof and warp apparently, as they are
falling in different eddies and currents of air. In the
midst of it, I hear and see a few little chickadees prying
about the twigs of the locusts in the graveyard. They
have come into town with the snow. They now and then
break forth into a short, sweet strain, and then seem
suddenly to check themselves, as if they had done it be-
fore they thought.

June 3, 1856. While running a line in the woods,
close to the water, on the southwest side of Loring's
Pond, I observed a chickadee sitting quietly within a
few feet. Suspecting a nest, I looked and found it in a
small hollow maple stump which was about five inches
in diameter and two feet high. I looked down about
a foot and could just discern the eggs. Breaking off a
little, I managed to get my hand in and took out some
eggs. There were seven, making by their number an
unusual figure as they lay in the nest, a sort of ^gg ro-
sette, a circle around with one (or more) in the middle.
In the meanwhile the bird sat silent, though rather rest-
less, within three feet. The nest was very thick and
warm, of average depth, and made of the bluish-slate
rabbit's (?) fur. The eggs were a perfect oval, five
eighths inch long, white with small reddish-brown or
rusty spots, especially about larger end, partly devel-

372 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

oped. The bird sat on the remaining eggs next day. I
called off the boy in another direction that he might
not find it.

Oct. 17, 1856. As I stood looking at Emerson's
bound under the railroad embankment, I heard a smart
tche-day-day-day close to my ear, and, looking up, saw
four of these birds, which had come to scrape acquaint-
ance with me, hopping amid the alders within three and
four feet of me. I had heard them further off at first,
and they had followed me along the hedge. They day-
day'di and lisped their faint notes alternately, and then,
as if to make me think they had some other errand than to
peer at me, they pecked the dead twigs with their bills, —
the little top-heavy, black-crowned, volatile fellows.

Dec. 3, 1856. Six weeks ago I noticed the advent of
chickadees and their winter habits. As you walk along
a wood-side, a restless little flock of them, whose notes
you hear at a distance, will seem to say, " Oh, there he
goes ! Let 's pay our respects to him." And they will
flit after and close to you, and naively peck at the near-
est twig to you, as if they were minding their own busi-
ness all the while without any reference to you.

Nov. 8, 1857. I do not know exactly what that sweet
word is which the chickadee says when it hops near to
me now in those ravines.

Ifarch 21, 1858. Standing by the mud-hole in the
swamp, I hear the pleasant phebe note of the chickadee.
It is, methinks, the most of a wilderness note of any
yet. It is peculiarly interesting that this, which is one
of our winter birds also, should have a note with which
to welcome the spring.

CHICKADEE 373

Nov. 7, 1858. We are left to the chickadee's familiar
notes, and the jay for trumpeter. What struck me was
a certain emptiness beyond, between the hemlocks and
the hill, in the cool, washed air, as if I appreciated even
here the absence of insects from it. It suggested agree-
ably to me a mere space in which to walk briskly. The
fields are bleak, and they are, as it were, vacated. The
very earth is like a house shut up for the winter, and I
go knocking about it in vain. But just then I heard a
chickadee on a hemlock, and was inexpressibly cheered
to find that an old acquaintance was yet stirring
about the premises, and was, I was assured, to be
there all winter. All that is evergreen in me revived
at once.

Dec. 28, 1858. I notice a few chickadees there in the
edge of the pines, in the sun, lisping and twittering
cheerfully to one another, with a reference to me, I
think, — the cunning and innocent little birds. One a
little further off utters the phoebe note. There is a foot
more or less of clear open water at the edge here, and,
seeing this, one of these birds hops down as if glad to
find any open water at this season, and, after drinking,
it stands in the water on a stone up to its belly and dips
its head and flirts the water about vigorously, giving
itself a good washing. I had not suspected this at this
season. No fear that it will catch cold.

Oct. 15, 1859. The chickadees sing as if at home.
They are not travelling singers hired by any Barnum.'
Theirs is an honest, homely, heartfelt melody. Shall not

1 [Jenny Lind made her American tour under an engagement with
P. T. Bamum in 1850-1851.]

374 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIKDS

the voice of man express as much content as the note of
a bird?

Nov. 26, 1859. The chickadee is the bird of the wood
the most unfailing. When, in a windy, or in any, day,
you have penetrated some thick wood like this, you are
pretty sure to hear its cheery note therein. At this sea-
son it is almost their sole inhabitant.

Dec. 12, 1859. Seeing a little hole in the side of a
dead white birch, about six feet from the ground, I
broke it off and found it to be made where a rotten limb
had broken off. The hole was about an inch over and
was of quite irregular and probably natural outline,
and, within, the rotten wood had been removed to the
depth of two or three inches, and on one side of this
cavity, under the hole, was quite a pile of bird-drop-
pings. The diameter of the birch was little more than
two inches, — if at all. Probably it was the roosting-
place of a chickadee. The bottom was an irregular sur-
face of the rotten wood, and there was nothing like a nest.

Jan. 12, 1860. As I stand by the hemlocks, I am
greeted by the lively and unusually prolonged tche de
de de de de of a little flock of chickadees. The snow
has ceased falling, the sun comes out, and it is warm
and still, and this flock of chickadees, little birds that
perchance were born in their midst, feeling the influ-
ences of this genial season, have begun to flit amid the
snow-covered fans of the hemlocks, jarring down -the
snow, — for there are hardly bare twigs enough for
them to rest on, — or they plume themselves in some
snug recess on the sunny side of the tree, only pausing
to utter their tche de de de.

CHICKADEE 876

Jan. 18, 1860. Standing under Lee's Cliff, several
chickadees, uttering their faint notes, come flitting near
to me as usual. They are busily prying under the bark
of the pitch pines, occasionally knocking off a piece,
while they cling with their claws on any side of the
limb. Of course they are in search of animal food, but
I see one suddenly dart down to a seedless pine seed
wing on the snow, and then up again. C* says that he
saw them busy about these wings on the snow the other
day, so I have no doubt that they eat this seed.

Jan. 20, 1860, The snow and ice under the hemlocks
is strewn with cones and seeds and tracked with birds
and squirrels. What a bountiful supply of winter food
is here provided for them ! No sooner has fresh snow
fallen and covered up the old crop than down comes a
new supply all the more distinct on the spotless snow.
Here comes a little flock of chickadees, attracted by me
as usual, and perching close by boldly; then, descending
to the snow and ice, I see them pick up the hemlock
seed which lies all around them. Occasionally they take
one to a twig and hammer at it there under their claws,
perhaps to separate it from the wing, or even the shell.
The snowy ice and the snow on shore have been black-
ened with these fallen cones several times over this
winter. The snow along the sides of the river is also all
dusted over with birch and alder seed, and I see where
little birds have picked up the alder seed.

\_See also under White-bellied Nuthatch, p. 367 ;
General and Miscellaneous, p. 404.]

1 [W. E. Channing.]

376 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

RUBY-CROWNED KINGLET

April 25, 1854. Saw a golden-crested wren * in the
woods near Goose Pond. It sounded far off and like an
imitation of a robin,^ — a long strain and often repeated.
I was quite near it before I was aware of it, it sounding
still like a faint imitation of a robin. Some chickadees
and yellow redpolls were first apparent, then my wren
on the pitch pines and young oaks. He appeared curi-
ous to observe me. A very interesting and active little
fellow, darting about amid the tree-tops, and his song
quite remarkable and rich and loud for his size. Begins
with a very fine note, before its pipes are filled, not
audible at a little distance, then woriter weter, etc., etc.,
winding up with teter teter, all clear and round.-' This
was at 4 p. M., when most birds do not sing. I saw it
yesterday, pluming itself and stretching its little wings.

1 [" Golden " crossed out in pencil and " ruby " substituted.]

2 And of a golden robin, wbich later I often mistook for him.
^ His song is comical and reminds me of the thrasher.

XXI

THRUSHES

WOOD THRUSH^

July 27, 1840. The wood thrush is a more modern
philosopher than Plato and Aristotle. They are now a
dogma, but he preaches the doctrine of this hour.

May 31, 1850. There is a sweet wild world which
lies along the strain of the wood thrush — the rich
intervales which border the stream of its sonjr — more
thoroughly genial to my nature than any other.

June 22, 1851. I hear around me, but never in sight,
the many wood thrushes whetting their steel-like notes.
Such keen singers ! It takes a fiery heat, many dry pine
leaves added to the furnace of the sun, to temper their
strains ! Always they are either rising or falling to a new
strain. After what a moderate pause they deliver them-
selves again ! saying ever a new thing, avoiding repetition,
methinks answering one another. While most other birds
take their siesta, the wood thrush discharges his song.
It is delivered like a bolas, or a piece of jingling steel.

^ [The hermit thrush as well as the wood thrush breeds in Concord,
but Thoreau never learned to distinguish between the songs of the two
species and they were all wood thrushes to him. In the White Moun-
tains and the Maine woods he mistook the olive-backed thrusli also for
the wood thrush. It is not unlikely that some of the observations in-
cluded under this head belong of right to the hermit thrush, but oa
they would apply equally well to the wood thrush they are retained
here without question. Those that from the date or some other evi-
% dence clearly refer to the hermit are placed under that species.]

378 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

July 21, 1851. Never yet did I chance to sit in a house,
except my own house in the woods, and hear a wood
thrush sing. Would it not be well to sit in such a cham-
ber within sound of the finest songster of the grove?

Aug. 12, 1851. The birds utter a few languid and
yawning notes, as if they had not left their perches, so
sensible to light to wake so soon, — a faint peeping
sound from I know not what kind, a slight, innocent,
half-awake sound, like the sounds which a quiet house-
wife makes in the earliest dawn. Nature preserves her
innocence like a beautiful child. I hear a wood thrush
even now, long before sunrise, as in the heat of the day.
And the pewee and the catbird and the vireo (red-
eyed?). I do not hear — or do not mind, perchance —
the crickets now. Now whip-poor-wills commence to
sing in earnest, considerably after the wood thrush. The
wood thrush, that beautiful singer, inviting the day once
more to enter his pine woods. (So you may hear the
wood thrush and whip-poor-will at the same time.) Now
go by two whip-poor-wills, in haste seeking some coverts
from the eye of day. And the bats are flying about on
the edge of the wood, improving the last moments of their
day in catching insects. The moon appears at length, not
yet as a cloud, but with a frozen light, ominous of her
fate. The early cars sound like a wind in the woods. The
chewinks make a business now of waking each other up
with their low yorrick in the neighboring low copse.

June 23, 1852. The wood thrush sings at all hours.
I associate it with the cool morning, sultry noon, and
serene evening. At this hour ^ it suggests a cool vigor.

^ [Early morning.]

WOOD THRUSH 379

July 5, 1852. Some birds are poets and sing all
summer. They are the true singers. Any man can write
verses during the love season. I am reminded of this
while we rest in the shade on the Major Heywood road
and listen to a wood thrush, now just before sunset.
We are most interested in those birds who sing for the
love of the music and not of their mates ; who meditate
their strains, and amuse themselves with singing ; the
birds, the strains, of deeper sentiment ; not bobolinks,
that lose their plumage, their bright colors, and their
song so early. The robin, the red-eye, the veery, the
wood thrush, etc., etc.

The wood thrush's is no opera music ; it is not so
much the composition as the strain, the tone, — cool
bars of melody from the atmosphere of everlasting
morning or evening. It is the quality of the song, not
the sequence. In the peawai's * note there is some sul-
triness, but in the thrush's, though heard at noon, there
is the liquid coolness of things that are just drawn
from the bottom of springs. The thrush alone declares
the immortal wealth and vigor that is in the forest.
Here is a bird in whose strain the story is told, though
Nature waited for the science of aesthetics to discover
it to man. Whenever a man hears it, he is young, and
Nature is in her spring. Wherever he hears it, it is
a new world and a free country, and the gates of heaven
'are not shut against him. Most other birds sing from
the level of my ordinary cheerful hours — a carol ; but
this bird never fails to speak to me out of an ether
purer than that I breathe, of immortal beauty and

^ [The wood pewee.]

380 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

vigor. He deepens the significance of all things seen in
the light of his strain. He sings to make men take
higher and truer views of things. He sings to amend
their institutions ; to relieve the slave on the plantation
and the prisoner in his dungeon, the slave in the house
of luxury and the prisoner of his own low thoughts.

July 27, 1852. How cool and assuaging the thrush's
note after the fever of the day ! I doubt if they have
anything so richly wild in Europe. So long a civiliza-
tion must have banished it. It will only be heard in
America, perchance, while our star is in the ascendant.
I should be very much surprised if I were to hear in
the strain of the nightingale such unexplored wildness
and fertility, reaching to sundown, inciting to emigra-
tion. Such a bird must itself have emigrated long ago.
Why, then, was I born in America? I might ask.

May 17, 1853. The wood thrush has sung for some
time. He touches a depth in me which no other bird's
song does. He has learned to sing, and no thrumming
of the strings or tuning disturbs you. Other birds may
whistle pretty well, but he is the master of a finer-
toned instrument. His song is musical, not from associa-
tion merely, not from variety, but the character of its
tone. It is all divine, — a Shakespeare among birds,
and a Homer too.

June 12, 1853. The note of the wood thrush answers
to some cool, unexhausted morning vigor in the hearer.

June 14, 1853. The wood thrush launches forth his
evening strains from the midst of the pines. I admire
the moderation of this master. There is nothing tumul-
tuous in his song. He launches forth one strain with all

WOOD THRUSH 381

his heart and life and soul, of pure and unmatchable
melody, and then he pauses and gives the hearer and
himself time to digest this, and then another and another
at suitable intervals. Men talk of the rich song of other
birds, — the thrasher, mockingbird, nightingale. But
I doubt, I doubt. They know not what they say ! There
is as great an interval between the thrasher and the
wood thrush as between Thomson's " Seasons " and
Homer. The sweetness of the day crystallizes in this
morning coolness.

June 22, 1853. As I come over the hill, I hear the
wood thrush singing his evening lay. This is the only
bird whose note affects me like music, affects the flow
and tenor of my thought, my fancy and imagination.
It lifts and exhilarates me. It is inspiring. It is a med-
icative draught to my soul. It is an elixir to my eyes
and a fountain of youtli to all my senses. It changes all
hours to an eternal morning. It banishes all trivialness.
It reinstates me in my dominion, makes me the lord of
creation, is chief musician of my court. This minstrel
sings in a time, a heroic age, with which no event in
the village can be contemporary. How can they be con-
temporary when only the latter is temporary at all?
How can the infinite and eternal be contemporary with
the finite and temporal? So there is something in the
music of the cow-bell, something sweeter and more
nutritious, than in the milk which the farmers drink.
This thrush's song is a ranz des vetches to me. I long
for wildness, a nature which I cannot put my foot
through, woods where the wood thrush forever sings,
where the hours are early morning ones, and there is

382 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

dew on the grass, and the day is forever unproved,
where I might have a fertile unknown for a soil about
me. I would go after the cows, I would watch the flocks
of Admetus there forever, only for my board and
clothes. A New Hampshire everlasting and unfallen.

All that was ripest and fairest in the wilderness and
the wild man is preserved and transmitted to us in
the strain of the wood thrush. It is the mediator be-
tween barbarism and civilization. It is unrepentant as
Greece.

Dec. 31, 1853. There are a few sounds still which
never fail to affect me. The notes of the wood thrush
and the sound of a vibrating chord, these affect me as
many sounds once did often, and as almost all should.
The strains of the seolian harp and of the wood thrush
are the truest and loftiest preachers that I know now
left on this earth. I know of no missionaries to us hea-
then comparable to them. They, as it were, lift us up
in spite of ourselves. They intoxicate, they charm us.

May 28, 1855. While we sit by the path in the
depths of the woods three quarters of a mile beyond
Hayden's, confessing the influence of almost the first
summer warmth, the wood thrush sings steadily for half
an hour, now at 2.30 p. m., amid the pines, — loud and
clear and sweet. While other birds are warbling between-
whiles and catching their prey, he alone appears to
make a business of singing, like a true minstrel.

July 31, 1858. Got the wood thrush's nest of June
19th (now empty). It was placed between many small
upright shoots, against the main stem of the slender

WOOD THRUSH 383

maple, and measures four and a half to five Inches in
diameter from outside to outside of the rim, and on6
and three quarters deep within. It is quite firm (except
the external leaves falling off), the rim about three
quarters of an inch thick, and it is composed externally
of leaves, apparently chiefly chestnut, very much de-
cayed, beneath which, in the place of the grass and
stubble of which most nests are composed, are appar-
ently the midribs of the same leaves, whose whole pulp,
etc., is gone, arranged as compactly and densely (in
a curving manner) as grass or stubble could be, upon a
core, not of mud, but a pale-brown composition quite
firm and smooth (within), looking like inside of a cocoa-
nut-shell, and apparently composed of decayed leaf
pulp (?), which the bird has perhaps mixed and ce-
mented with its saliva. This is about a quarter of an
inch thick and about as regular as a half of a cocoanut-
shell. Within this, the lower part is lined with consider-
able rather coarse black root-fibre and a very little fine
stubble. From some particles of fine white sand, etc.,
on the pale-brown composition of the nest, I thought it
was obtained from the pond shore. This composition,
viewed through a microscope, has almost a cellular
structure.

Aiig. 9, 1858. The wood thrush's was a peculiarly
woodland nest, made solely of such materials as that
unfrequented grove afforded, the refuse of the wood or
shore of the pond. There was no horsehair, no twine
nor paper nor other relics of art in it.

\_See also under General and Miscellaneous, pp.
404, 427.]

384 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

veery; Wilson's thrush

June 19, 1853. In the middle of the path to Wharf
Rock at Flint's Pond, the nest of a Wilson's thrush,
five or six inches high, between the green stems of three
or four golden-rods, made of dried grass or fibres of
bark, with dry oak leaves attached loosely, making the
whole nine or ten inches wide, to deceive the eye. Two
blue eggs. Like an accidental heap. Who taught it to
do thus?

HERMIT THRUSH ^

June, 15, 1851. I sit in the shade of the pines to hear
a wood thrush at noon. The ground smells of dry leaves ;
the heat is oppressive. The bird begins on a low strain,
i. e. it first delivers a strain on a lower key, then a
moment after another a little higher, then another still
varied from the others, — no two successive strains
alike, but either ascending or descending.^ He confines
himself to his few notes, in 'which he is unrivalled, as
if his kind had learned this and no more anciently.

April 30, 1852. I hear a wood thrush ^ here, with a
fine metallic ring to his note. This sound most ade-
quately expresses the immortal beauty and wildness of
the woods. I go in search of him. He sounds no nearer.

^ [See note to wood thrush, p. 377. The hermit thrush was a rare
bird to Thoreau. He detected it occasionally in spring and autumn, but
he seems never to have suspected that it was a regular summer resident
in Concord and that he had often listened to its song.]

^ [The song described seems to be that of the hermit thrush.]
' [Thoreau's April and very early May wood thrushes were all
doubtless hermit thrushes.]

HERMIT THRUSH 385

On a low bougli of a small maple near the brook in the
swamp, he sits with ruffled feathers, singing more low
or with less power, as it were ventriloquizing ; for though
I am scarcely more than a rod off, he seems further off
than ever.

May 1, 1852. I hear the first catbird also, mewing,
and the wood thrush, which still thrills me, — a sound
to be heard in a new country, — from one side of a
clearing.

May 3, 1852. The wood thrush reminds me of cool
mountain springs and morning walks.

April 27, 1854. The wood thrush afar, — so superior
a strain to that of other birds. I was doubting if it
would affect me as of yore, but it did measurably. I did
not believe there could be such differences. This is the
gospel according to the wood thrush. He makes a sab-
bath out of a week-day. I could go to hear him, could
buy a pew in his church. Did he ever practice pulpit
eloquence ? He is right on the slavery question.

Aiwil 21, 1855. At Cliffs, I hear at a distance a wood
thrush. It affects us as a part of our unfallen selves.

June, 22, 1856. R. W. E. imitates the wood thrush
by he willy willy — ha willy willy — 0 willy 0.

[^See also under Nighthawk, p. 209.]

AMERICAN ROBIN

March 26, 1846. The change from foul weather to
fair, from dark, sluggish hours to serene, elastic ones,
is a memorable crisis which all things proclaim. The
change from foulness to serenity is instantaneous. Sud-
denly an influx of light, though it was late, filled my

386 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

room. I looked out and saw that the pond was already
calm and full of hope as on a summer evening, though
the ice was dissolved but yesterday. There seemed to
be some intelligence in the pond which responded to the
unseen serenity in a distant horizon. I heard a robin
in the distance, — the first I had heard this spring, —
repeating the assurance. The green pitch pine sud-
denly looked brighter and more erect, as if now entirely
washed and cleansed by the rain. I knew it would not
rain any more. A serene summer-evening sky seemed
darkly reflected in the pond, though the clear sky was
nowhere visible overhead. It was no longer the end of
a season, but the beginning. The pines and shrub
oaks, which had before drooped and cowered the winter
through with myself, now recovered their several char-
acters and in the landscape revived the expression of an
immortal beauty. Trees seemed all at once to be fitly
grouped, to sustain new relations to men and to one
another. There was somewhat cosmical in the arrange-
ment of nature. O the evening robin, at the close of
a New England day ! If I could ever find the twig he
sits upon! Where does the minstrel really roost? We
perceive it is not the bird of the ornithologist that is
heard, — the Turdus migratorius.

July 27, 1851. After taking the road by Webster's^
beyond South Marshfield, I walked a long way at noon,
hot and thirsty, before I could find a suitable place to
sit and eat my dinner, — a place where the shade and
the sward pleased me. At length I was obliged to put
up with a small shade close to the ruts, where the only
^ [Daniel Webster's house at Marshfield, Mass.]

AMERICAN ROBIN 387

stream I had seen for some time crossed the road. Here,
also, numerous robins came to cool and wash them-
selves and to drink. They stood in the water up to their
bellies, from time to time wetting their wings and tails
and also ducking their heads and sprinkling the water
over themselves ; then they sat on a fence near by to dry.
Then a goldfinch came and did the same, accompanied
by the less brilliant female. These birds evidently en-
joyed their bath greatly, and it seemed indispensable
to them.

April 1, 1852. I hear a robin singing in the woods
south of Hosmer's, just before sunset. It is a sound as-
sociated with New England village life. It brings to
my thoughts summer evenings when the children are
playing in the yards before the doors and their parents
conversing at the open windows. It foretells all this
now, before those summer hours are come.

April 11, 1852. The song of a robin on an oak in
Hubbard's Grove sounds far ofiF. So I have heard a
robin within three feet in a cage in a dark barroom (how
unstained by all the filth of that place ?) with a kind
of ventriloquism so singing that his song sounded far
off on the elms. It was more 'pathetic still for this.
The robins are singing now on all hands while the sun
is setting. At what an expense any valuable work is per-
formed ! At the expense of a life ! If you do one thing
well, what else are you good for in the meanwhile ?

April 13, 1852. The robin is the only bird as yet
that makes a business of singing, steadily singing, —
sings continuously out of pure joy and melody of soul,
carols. The jingle of the song sparrow, simple and

388 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

sweet as it is, is not of sufficient volume nor sufficiently
continuous to command and hold attention, and the
bluebird's is but a transient warble, from a throat over-
flowing with azure and serene hopes ; but the song of
the robin on the elms or oaks, loud and clear and heard
afar through the streets of a village, makes a fit con-
clusion to a spring day. The larks are not yet in suf-
ficient numbers or sufficiently musical. The robin is
the prime singer as yet. The blackbird's congweree, when
first heard in the spring, is pleasant from the associa-
tions it awakens, and is best heard by one boating on
the river. It belongs to the stream. The robin is the
only bird with whose song the groves can be said to
be now vocal morning and evening, for, though many
other notes are heard, none fill the air like this bird.
As yet no other thrushes.

April 21, 1852. On the east side of Ponkawtasset I
hear a robin singing cheerily from some perch in the
wood, in the midst of the rain, where the scenery is
now wild and dreary. His song a singular antagonism
and offset to the storm. As if Nature said, " Have faith ;
these two things I can do." It sings with power, like a
bird of great faith thai sees the bright future through
the dark present, to reassure the race of man, like one
to whom many talents were given and who will improve
its talents. They are sounds to make a dying man live.
They sing not their despair. It is a pure, immortal
melody.

The birds are singing in the rain about the small
pond in front, the inquisitive chickadee that has flown

AMERICAN ROBIN 389

at once to the alders to reconnoitre us, the blackbirds,
the song sparrow, telling of expanding buds. But above
all the robin sings here too, I know not at what dis-
tance in the wood. " Did he sing thus in Indian days ?"
I ask myself ; for I have always associated this sound
with the village and the clearing, but now I do detect
the aboriginal wildness in his strain, and can im-
agine him a woodland bird, and that he sang thus when
there was no civilized ear to hear him, a pure forest
melody even like the wood thrush. Every genuine thing
retains this wild tone, which no true culture displaces.
I heard him even as he might have sounded to the
Indian, singing at evening upon the elm above his
wigwam, with which was associated in the red man's
mind the events of an Indian's life, his childhood.
Formerly I had heard in it only those strains which
tell of the white man's village life ; now I heard those
strains which remembered the red man's life, such as
fell on the ears of Indian children, — as he sang when
these arrowheads, which the rain has made shine so on
the lean stubble-field, were fastened to their shaft.
Thus the birds sing round this piece of water, some on
the alders which fringe, some farther off and higher up
the hills ; it is a centre to them.

March 18, 1853. I stand still now to listen if I may
hear the note of any new bird, for the sound of my
steps hinders, and there are so few sounds at this sea-
son in a still afternoon like this that you are pretty
sure to detect one within a considerable distance.
Hark ! Did I not hear the note of some bird then ?
Methinks it could not have been my own breathing

390 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

through my nose. No, there it is again, — a robin ; and
we have put the winter so much further behind us.
What mate does he call to in these deserted fields ? It
is, as it were, a scared note as he whisks by, followed
by the familiar but still anxious toot^ toot, toot. He does
not sing as yet. There were one or two more fine bird-
like tinkling sounds I could not trace home, not to be
referred to my breathing.

March 21, 1853. How suddenly the newly arrived
birds are dispersed over the whole town ! How numer-
ous they must be ! Robins are now quite abundant, fly-
ing in flocks. One after another flits away before you
from the trees, somewhat like grasshoppers in the
grass, uttering their notes faintly, — ventriloquizing,
in fact. I hear one meditating a bar to be sung anon,
which sounds a quarter of a mile off, though he is within
two rods. However, they do not yet get to melody.
I thank the red-wing for a little bustle and commotion
which he makes, trying to people the fields again.

March 31, 1853. The robins sing at the very earli-
est dawn. I wake with their note ringing in my ear.

April 4, 1853. Last night, a sugaring of snow, which
goes off in an hour or two in the rain. Rains all day,
. . . The robins sang this morning, nevertheless, and
now more than ever hop about boldly in the garden in
the rain, with full, broad, light cow-colored breasts.

April 6, 1853. The robin is the singer at present,
such is its power and universality, being found both in
garden and wood. Morning and evening it does not
fail, perched on some elm or the like, and in rainy
days it is one long morning or evening. The song spar-

AMERICAN ROBIN 391

row is still more universal but not so powerful. The lark,
too, is equally constant, morning and evening, but con-
fined to certain localities, as is the blackbird to some ex-
tent. The bluebird, with feebler but not less sweet war-
bling, helps fill the air, and the phoebe does her part.
The tree sparrow, F. hyemalis, and fox-colored sparrows
make the meadow-sides or gardens where they are flit-
ting vocal, the first with its canary-like twittering, the
second with its lively ringing trills or jingle. The third
is a very sweet and more powerful singer, which would
be memorable if we heard him long enough. The wood-
pecker's tapping, though not musical, suggests pleasant
associations in the cool morning, — is inspiriting, en-
livening.

The robins, too, now toward sunset, perched on the
old apple trees in Tarbell's orchard, twirl forth their
evening lays unweariedly.

Oct. 10, 1853. This morning it is very pleasant and
warm. There are many small birds in flocks on the elms
in Cheney's field, faintly warbling, — robins and purple
finches and especially large flocks of small sparrows,
which make a business of washing and pruning them-
selves in the puddles in the road, as if cleaning up after a
long flight and the wind of yesterday. The faint sup-
pressed warbling of the robins sounds like a reminis-
cence of the spring.

March 8, 1855. Stopping in a sunny and sheltered
place on a hillock in the woods, — for it was raw in the
wind, — I heard the hasty, shuffling, as if frightened,
note of a rohin from a dense birch wood, — a sort of

392 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

tcJie tche tche tche tche^ — and then probably it dashed
through the birches ; and so they fetch the year about.
Just fi'om the South Shore, perchance, it alighted not
in the village street, but in this remote birch wood.
This sound reminds me of rainy, misty April days in
past years. Once or twice before, this afternoon, I
thought I heard one and listened, but in vain.

May 4, 1855. A robin sings when I, in the house,
cannot distinguish the earliest dawning from the full
moonlight. His song first advertised me of the daybreak,
when I thought it was night, as I lay looking out into
the full moonlight. I heard a robin begin his strain,
and yielded the point to him, believing that he was
better acquainted with the springs of the day than I, —
with the signs of day.

June 2, 1855. Mr. Hoar tells me that Deacon Far-
rar's son tells him that a white robin has her nest on
an apple tree near their house. Her mate is of the
usual color. All the family have seen her, but at the
last accounts she has not been seen on the nest.

April 16, 1856. The robins sing with a will now.
What a burst of melody ! It gurgles out of all conduits
now ; they are choked with it. There is such a tide and
rush of song as when a river is straightened between
two rocky walls. It seems as if the morning's throat
were not large enough to emit all this sound. The robin
sings most before six o'clock now. I note where some
suddenly cease their song, making a quite remarkable
vacuum.

Feh. 27, 1857. Before I opened the window this cold
morning, I heard the peep of a robin, that sound so

AMERICAN ROBIN 393

often heard in cheerless or else rainy weather, so often
heard first borne on the cutting March wind or through
sleet or rain, as if its coming were premature.

Oct. 21, 1857. I see a robin eating prinos * berries.
Is not the robin the principal berry-eating bird nowa-
days ? There must be more about the barberry bushes
in Melvin's Preserve than anywhere.

Nov. 3, 1857. I see on many rocks, etc., the seeds
of the barberry, which have been voided by birds, —
robins, no doubt, chiefly. How many they must thus
scatter over the fields, spreading the barberry far and
wide ! That has been their business for a month.

March 24, 1858. The chip of the ground-bird ^ re-
sembles that of a robin, i. e., its expression is the same,
only fainter, and reminds me that the robin's peep,
which sounds like a note of distress, is also a chi'p^ or
call-note to its kind.

June 3, 1858. They seemed to me wild robins that
placed their nests in the spruce up there.^ I noticed
one nest. William Emerson, senior, says they do not
breed on Staten Island. They do breed at least at Hud-
son's Bay. They are certainly a hardy bird, and are at
home on this cool mountain-top.

March 7, 1859. The first note which I heard from
the robins, far under the hill, was 8veet sveet, suggesting
a certain haste and alarm, and then a rich, hollow, some-
what plaintive ^eep or peep-eep-eep, as when in distress
with young just flown. When you first see them alighted,
they have a haggard, an anxious and hurried, look.

1 [Black alder, or winterberry, {Ilex verticillata) .]
2 That is, song sparrow. ^ [On Mt. Monadnock.]

394 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIEDS

Oct. 5, 1861. This is a rainy or drizzling day at last,
and the robins and sparrows are more numerous in the
yard and about the house than ever. They swarm on
the ground where stood the heap of weeds which was
burned yesterday, picking up the seeds which rattled
from it. Why should these birds be so much more nu-
merous about the house such a day as this? I think of
no other reason than because it is darker and fewer
people are moving about to frighten them. Our little
mountain-ash is all alive with them. A dozen robins
on it at once, busily reaching after and plucking the
berries, actually make the whole tree shake. There are
also some little birds (1 think purple finches) with
them. A robin will swallow half a dozen berries, at
least, in rapid succession before it goes off, and appar-
ently it soon comes back for more.

[/S'ee also under Chipping Sparrow, p. 299 ; General
and Miscellaneous, pp. 403, 406, 419, 426, 427.J

BLUEBIRD

April 26, 1838. the bluebirds

In the midst of the poplar that stands by our door

We planted a bluebird box.

And we hoped before the summer was o'er

A transient pair to coax.

One warm summer's day the bluebirds came
And lighted on our tree,
But at first the wand'rers were not so tame
But they were afraid of me.

BLUEBIRD 395

They seemed to come from the distant south,
Just over the Walden wood,
And they skimmed it along with open mouth
Close by where the bellows stood.

Warbling they swept round the distant cliff,
And they warbled it over the lea,
And over the blacksmith's shop in a jiff
Did they come warbling to me.

They came and sat on the box's top
Without looking into the hole.
And only from this side to that did they hop,
As 't were a common well-pole.

Methinks I had never seen them before,
Nor indeed had they seen me,
Till I chanced to stand by our back door.
And they came to the poplar tree.

In course of time they built their nest
And reared a happy brood,
And every morn they piped their best
As they flew away to the wood.

Thus wore the summer hours away
To the bluebirds and to me.
And every hour was a summer's day.
So pleasantly lived we.

They were a world within themselves,
And I a world in me.

396 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

Up in the tree — the little elves —
With their callow family.

One morn the wind blowed cold and strong,
And the leaves went whirling away ;
The birds prepared for their journey long
That raw and gusty day.

Boreas came blust'ring down from the north,
And ruffled their azure smocks,
So they launched them forth, though somewhat loth,
By way of the old Cliff rocks.

Meanwhile the earth jogged steadily on
In her mantle of purest white,
And anon another spring was born
When winter was vanished quite.

And I wandered forth o'er the steamy earth,
And gazed at the mellow sky,
But never before from the hour of my birth
Had I wandered so thoughtfully. '

For never before was the earth so still,
And never so mild was the sky.
The river, the fields, the woods, and the hill
Seemed to heave an audible sierh.

*i3'

I felt that the heavens were all around,
And the earth was all below,
As when in the ears there rushes a sound
Which thrills you from top to toe.

BLUEBIRD 397

I dreamed that I was a waking thought,
A something I hardly knew,
Not a solid piece, nor an empty nought,
But a drop of morning dew.

'T was the world and I at a game of bo-peep,
As a man would dodge his shadow,
An idea becalmed in eternity's deep,
'Tween Lima and Segraddo.

Anon a faintly warbled note
From out the azure deep
Into my ears did gently float
As is the approach of sleep.

It thrilled but startled not my soul ;
Across my mind strange mem'ries gleamed.
As often distant scenes unroll
When we have lately dreamed.

The bluebird had come from the distant South

To his box in the poplar tree.

And he opened wide his slender mouth

On purpose to sing to me.

July 16, 1851. The plaintive, spring-restoring peep
of a bluebird is occasionally heard.

Oct. 10, 1851. The air this morning is full of blue-
birds, and again it is spring.

March 10, 1852. I see flocks of a dozen bluebirds
together. The warble of this bird is innocent and ce-
lestial, like its color. Saw a sparrow, perhaps a song

398 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

sparrow, flitting amid the young oaks where the ground
was covered with snow. I think that this is an indica-
tion that the ground is quite bare a little further south.
Probably the spring birds never fly far over a snow-
clad country. A woodchopper tells me he heard a robin
this morning.

March 15, 1852. A mild spring day. . . . The air
is full of bluebirds. The ground almost entirely bare.
The villagers are out in the sun, and every man is
happy whose work takes him outdoors. ... I lean
over a rail to hear what is in the air, liquid with the
bluebirds' warble.

April 3, 1852. The bluebird carries the sky on his
back.

March 10, 1853. What was that sound that came on
the softened air? It was the warble of the first blue-
bird from that scraggy apple orchard yonder. When
this is heard, then has spring arrived.

March 18, 1853. I no sooner step out of the house
than I hear the bluebirds in the air, and far and near,
everywhere except in the woods, throughout the town
you may hear them, — the blue curls of their warblings,
— harbingers of serene and warm weather, little azure
rills of melody trickling here and there from out the
air, their short warble trilled in the air reminding of
so many corkscrews assaulting and thawing the torpid
mass of winter, assisting the ice and snow to melt and
the streams to flow.

The bluebird and song sparrow sing immediately on
their arrival, and hence deserve to enjoy some preemi-

BLUEBIRD 399

nence. They give expression to the joy which the sea-
son inspires. But the robin and blackbird only peep
and chuck at first, commonly, and the lark is silent and
flitting. The bluebird at once fills the air with his sweet
warbling, and the song sparrow from the top of a rail
pours forth his most joyous strain. Both express their
delight at the weather which permits them to return to
their favorite haunts. They are the more welcome to
man for it.

April 5, 1853. The bluebird comes to us bright in
his vernal dress as a bridegroom. Has he not got new
feathers then?

March 11, 1854. Bluebirds' warbling curls in elms.

March 19, 1855. When I reach my landing I hear
my first bluebird, somewhere about Cheney's trees by
the river. I hear him out of the blue deeps, but do not
yet see his blue body. He comes with a warble. Now
first generally heard in the village.

April 9, 1856. Meanwhile a bluebird sits on the
same oak, three rods off, pluming its wings. I hear
faintly the warbling of one, apparently a quarter of
a mile off, and am very slow to detect that it is even
this one before me, which, in the intervals of plum-
ing itself, is apparently practicing in an incredibly low
voice.

May 11, 1856. A bluebird's nest and five eggs in a
hollow apple tree three feet from ground near the old
bank swallow pit, made with much stubble and dried
grass. Can see the bird sitting from without.

Jubj 12, 1856. Hear the plaintive note of young
bluebirds, a reviving and gleaming of their blue ray.

400 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

Sept 27, 1856. The bluebird family revisit their
box and warble as in spring.

Feb. 18, 1857. I am excited by this wonderful air
and go listening for the note of the bluebird or other
comer. The very grain of the air seems to have under-
gone a change and is ready to split into the form of the
bluebird's warble. Methinks if it were visible, or I could
cast up some fine dust which would betray it, it would
take a corresponding shape. The bluebird does not
come till the air consents and his wedge will enter
easily. The air over these fields is a foundry full of
moulds for casting bluebirds' warbles. Any sound
uttered now would take that form, not of the harsh,
vibrating, rending scream of the jay, but a softer, flow-
ing, curling warble, like a purling stream or the lobes
of flowing sand and clay. Here is the soft air, and the
moist expectant apple trees, but not yet the bluebird.
They do not quite attain to song.

Feb. 24, 1857. I am surprised to hear the strain of
a song sparrow from the riverside, and as I cross from
the causeway to the hill, thinking of the bluebird, I that
instant hear one's note from deep in the softened air.
It is already 40°, and by noon is between 50° and 60°.
As the day advances I hear more bluebirds and see
their azure flakes settling on the fence-posts. Their
short, rich, crispy warble curls through the air. Its
grain now lies parallel to the curve of the bluebird's
warble, like boards of the same lot.

March 2, 1859. The bluebird which some woodchop-
per or inspired walker is said to have seen in that sunny
interval between the snow-storms is like a speck of clear

BLUEBIRD 401

blue sky seen near the end of a storm, reminding us of
an ethereal region and a heaven which we had forgotten.
Princes and magistrates are often styled serene, but
what is their turbid serenity to that ethereal serenity
which the bluebird embodies? His Most Serene Bird-
ship! His soft warble melts in the ear, as the snow is
melting in the valleys around. The bluebird comes
and with his warble drills the ice and sets free the
rivers and ponds and frozen ground. As the sand flows
down the slopes a little way. assuming the forms of
foliage where the frost comes out of the ground, so
this little rill of melody flows a short way down the
concave of the sky. The sharp whistle of the blackbird,
too, is heard like single sparks or a shower of them
shot up from the swamps and seen against the dark
winter in the rear.

March 7, 1859. There are few, if any, so coarse and
insensible that they are not interested to hear that the
bluebird has come. The Irish laborer has learned to
distinguish him and report his arrival. It is a part of
the news of the season to the lawyer in his office and the
mechanic in his shop, as well as to the farmer. One
will remember, perchance, to tell you that he saw one
a week ago in the next town or county. Citizens just
come into the country to live put up a bluebird box, and
record in some kind of journal the date of the first ar-
rival observed, — though it may be rather a late one.
The farmer can tell you when he saw the first one, if
you ask him within a week.

March 10, 1859. The bluebird on the apple tree,
warbling so innocently to inquire if any of its mates are

402 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

within call, — the angel of the spring ! Fair and inno-
cent, yet the offspring of the earth. The color of the
sky above and of the subsoil beneath. Suggesting what
sweet and innocent melody (terrestrial melody) may
have its birthplace between the sky and the ground.

l_See also under Chipping Sparrow, p. 298 ; Warblers,
p. 359 ; Robin, p. 391 ; General and Miscellaneous, pp.
403, 425.]

XXII
GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS

March 4, 1840. I learned to-day that my ornithology
had done me no service. The birds I heard, which for-
tunately did not come within the scope of my science,
sung as freshly as if it had been the first morning of
creation, and had for background to their song an un-
trodden wilderness, stretching through many a Carolina
and Mexico of the soul.

April 25, 1841. A momentous silence reigns always
in the woods, and their meaning seems just ripening into
expression. But alas ! they make no haste. The rush
sparrow,* Nature's minstrel of serene hours, sings of an
immense leisure and duration.

When I hear a robin sing at sunset, I cannot help
contrasting the equanimity of Nature with the bustle
and impatience of man. We return from the lyceum
and caucus with such stir and excitement as if a crisis
were at hand ; but no natural scene or sound sympathizes
with us, for Nature is always silent and unpretending
as at the break of day. She but rubs her eyelids.

Sept. 29, 1842. To-day the lark sings again down in
the meadow, and the robin peeps, and the bluebirds, old
and young, have revisited their box, as if they would
fain repeat the summer without the intervention of
winter, if Nature would let them.

^ [The field sparrow. See note on p. 299.]

404 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

1850. In all my rambles I have seen no landscape
which can make me forget Fair Haven, I still sit on its
Cliff in a new spring day, and look over the awakening
woods and the river, and hear the new birds sing, with
the same delight as ever. It is as sweet a mystery to
me as ever what this world is. Fair Haven Lake in the
south, with its pine-covered island and its meadows, the
hickories putting out fresh young yellowish leaves, and
the oaks light-grayish ones, while the oven-bird thrums
his sawyer-like strain, and the chewink rustles through
the dry leaves or repeats his jingle on a tree-top, and
the wood thrush, the genius of the wood, whistles for
the first time his clear and thrilling strain, — it sounds
as it did the first time I heard it. The sight of these
budding woods intoxicates me, — this diet drink.

1850. Now, about the first of September, you will see
flocks of small birds forming compact and distinct
masses, as if they were not only animated by one spirit
but actually held together by some invisible fluid or film,
and will hear the sound of their wings rippling or fan-
ning the air as they flow through it, flying, the whole
mass, ricochet like a single bird, — or as they flow over
the fence. Their mind must operate faster than man's,
in proportion as their bodies do.

Nov. 8, 1850. Everything stands silent and expectant.
If I listen, I hear only the note of a chickadee, — our
most common and I may say native bird, most identified
with our forests, — or perchance the scream of a jay, or
perchance from the solemn depths of these woods I hear
tolling far away the knell of one departed. Thought
rushes in to fill the vacuum. As you walk, however, the

GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 405

partridge still bursts away. The silent, dry, almost
leafless, certainly fruitless woods. You wonder what
cheer that bird can find in them. The partridge bursts
away from the foot of a shrub oak like its own dry fruit,
immortal bird ! This sound still startles us.

Jan. 7, 1851. The snow is sixteen inches deep at
least, but it is a mild and genial afternoon, as if it were
the beginning of a January thaw. Take away the snow
and it would not be winter but like many days in the
fall. The birds acknowledge the difference in the air; the
jays are more noisy, and the chickadees are of tener heard.

June 13, 1851. I hear, just as the night sets in, faint
notes from time to time from some sparrow (?) falling
asleep, — a vesper hymn, — and later, in the woods, the
chuckling, rattling sound of some unseen bird on the
near trees. The nighthawk booms wide awake.

June 14, 1851. Now the sun is fairly gone, I hear
tlie dreaming frog,* and the whip-poor-will from some
darker wood, — it is not far from eight, — and the
cuckoo. The song sparrows sing quite briskly among
the willows, as if it were spring again, and the black-
bird's harsher note resounds over the meadows, and the
veery's comes up from the wood.

In Conant's orchard I hear the faint cricket-like sons:
of a sparrow saying its vespers, as if it were a link be-
tween the cricket and the bird. The robin sings now,
though the moon shines silverly, and the veery jingles
its trill.

^ Toad ? [Thoreau afterwards learned that his " dreaming frogs "
were toads. In this case it was probably Fowler's toad.]

406 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

July 10, 1851. The swallows are Improving this short
day, twittering as they fly, and the huckleberry-bird ^
repeats his jingling strain, and the song sparrpw, more
honest than most.

July 12, 1851. I hear that sort of throttled or chuck-
ling note as of a bird flying high, now from this side,
then from that.^ ... I am startled by the rapid transit
of some wild animal across my path, a rabbit or a fox, —
or you hardly know if it be not a bird. Looking down
from the clififs, the leaves of the tree-tops shine more
than ever by day. Here and there a lightning-bug shows
his greenish light over the tops of the trees.

As I return through the orchard, a foolish robin
bursts away from his perch unnaturally, with the habits
of man.

July 13, 1851. I hear, 4 p. m,, a pigeon woodpecker
on a dead pine near by, uttering a harsh and scolding
scream, spying me. The chewink jingles on the tops of
the bushes, and the rush sparrow,^ the vireo, and oven-
bird at a distance ; and a robin sings, superior to all ;
and a barking dog has started something on the oppo-
site side of the river; and now the wood thrush sur-
passes them all.

July 16, 1851. Now, at 4 p. m., I hear the pewee in
the woods, and the cuckoo reminds me of some silence
among the birds I had not noticed. The vireo (red-
eyed ?} sings like a robin at even, incessantly, — for I

1 [The field sparrow. See pp. 299, 300.]

' [Probably a cuckoo. See Mr. Gerald H. Thayer's account of the
nocturnal flights of the black-billed cuckoo in Bird-Lore. September-
October, 190o. vol. V, pp. 143-145.]

2 [The field sparrow. See note on p. 299.]

GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 407

have now turned into Conant's woods. The oven-bird
helps fill some pauses. . . . Here comes a small bird
with a ricochet flight and a faint twittering note like a
messenger from Elysium.

Nov. 9, 1851. Now the leaves are gone the birds'
nests are revealed, the brood being fledged and flown.
There is a perfect adaptation in the material used in
constructing a nest. There is one which I took from a
maple on the causeway at Hubbard's Bridge. It is fas-
tened to the twigs by white woolen strings (out of a
shawl?), which it has picked up in the road, though it
is more than half a mile from a house ; and the sharp
eyes of the bird have discovered plenty of horsehairs
out of the tail or mane, with which to give it form by
their spring ; with fine meadow hay for body, and the
reddish woolly material which invests the ferns in the
spring (apparently) for lining.

March 10, 1852. I was reminded, this morning be-
fore I rose, of those undescribed ambrosial mornings
of summer which I can remember, when a thousand
birds were heard gently twittering and ushering in the
light, like the argument to a new canto of an epic and
heroic poem. The serenity, the infinite promise, of such
a morning ! The song or twitter of birds drips from the
leaves like dew. Then there was something divine and
immortal in our life. When I have waked up on my
couch in the woods and seen the day dawning, and
heard the twittering of the birds.

April 2, 1852. 6 A. M. — The sun is up. The water
on the meadows is perfectly smooth and placid, reflect-
ing; the hills and clouds and trees. The air is full of

408 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

the notes of birds, — song sparrows, red-wiugs, robins
(singing a strain), bluebirds, — and I hear also a lark,
— as if all the earth had burst forth into songf. The
influence of this April morning has reached them, for
thej^ live out-of-doors all the night, and there is no
danger that they will oversleep themselves such a
morning.

Ajyril 4, 1852. P. M. — Going across AYheeler's large
field beyond Potter's, saw a large flock of small birds
go by, I am not sure what kind, the near ones contin-
ually overtaking the foremost, so that the whole flock
appeared to roll over as it went forward. When they
lit on a tree, they appeared at a distance to clothe it
like dead leaves.

Ajwil 17, 1852. Gilpin says, " As the wheeling mo-
tion of the gull is beautiful, so also is the figured flight
of the goose, the duck, and the widgeon ; all of which
are highly ornamental to coast-views, bays, and estua-
ries." ^ A flight of ducks adds to the wildness of our
wildest river scenery. Undoubtedly the soaring and
sailing of the hen-hawk, the red-shouldered buzzard (?),
is the most ornamental, graceful, stately, beautiful to
contemplate, of all the birds that ordinarily frequent
our skies. The eag^le is but a rare and casual visitor.
The goose, the osprey, the great heron, though interest-
ing, are either transient visitors or rarely seen ; they
either move through the air as passengers or too exclu-
sively looking for their prey, but the hen-hawk soars
like a creature of the air. The flight of martins is inter-
esting in the same way. When I was young and com-
^ [^Remarks on Forest Scenery.]

GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 409

pelled to pass my Sunday in the house without the aid
of interesting books, I used to spend many an hour till
the wished-for sundown watching the martins soar,
from an attic window ; and fortunate indeed did I deem
myself when a hawk appeared in the heavens, though
far toward the horizon against a downy cloud, and I
searched for hours till I had found his mate. They, at
least, took my thoughts from earthly things.

April 23, 1852. Vegetation starts when the earth's
axis is sufficiently inclined ; i. e., it follows the sun. In-
sects and all the smaller animals (as well as many
larger) follow vegetation. The fishes, the small fry,
start probably for this reason ; worms come out of the
trees ; buffaloes finally seek new pastures ; water-bugs
appear on the water, etc., etc. Next, the large fish and
fish hawks, etc., follow the small fry; flycatchers follow
the insects and worms. (The granivorous birds, who
can depend on the supplies of dry seeds of last year,
are to some extent independent of the seasons, and can
remain through the winter or come early in the spring,
and they furnish food for a few birds of prey at that
season.) Indians follow the buffaloes ; trout, suckers,
etc., follow the water-bugs, etc.; reptiles follow vege-
tation, insects, and worms ; birds of prey, the fly-
catchers, etc. Man follows all, and all follow the sun.
The greater or less abundance of food determines mi-
grations. If the buds are deceived and suffer from frost,
then are the birds. The great necessary of life for the
brute creation is food; next, perhaps, shelter, i. e. a
suitable climate ; thirdly, perhaps, security from foes.

May 3, 1852. It requires so much closer attention to

410 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

the habits of the birds, that, if for that reason only, I
am willing to omit the gun.

May 7, 1852. I think that birds vary their notes con-
siderably with the seasons. When I hear a bird singing,
I cannot think of any words that will imitate it. What
word can stand in place of a bird's note ? You would
have to bury [ ? ] it, or surround it with a chevaux de
frise of accents, and exhaust the art of the musical com-
poser besides with your different bars, to represent it,
and finally get a bird to sing it, to perform it. It has
so little relation to words. The wood thrush ^ says ah-
tuUy-tully for one strain. There appear to be one or
more little warblers in the woods this morning which
are new to the season, about which I am in doubt, myrtle-
birds among them. For now, before the leaves, they
begin to jaeople the trees in this warm weather. The
first wave of summer from the south.

June 4, 1852. The birds sing at dawn. What sounds
to be awakened by ! If only our sleep, our dreams, are
such as to harmonize with the song, the warbling, of
the birds, ushering in the day ! They appear compara-
tively silent an hour or two later.

June 25, 1852. I observe that young birds are usually
of a duller color and more speckled than old ones, as if
for their protection in their tender state. They have not
yet the markings (and the beauty) which distinguish
their species, and which betray it often, but by their
colors are merged in the variety of colors of the season.

July 7, 1852. 4 A. M. — The first really foggy morn-
ing. Yet before I rise I hear the song of birds from out
1 [The hermit thrush ?J

GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 411

it, like the bursting of its bubbles with music, the bead
on liquids just uncorked. Their song gilds thus the
frostwork of the morning. As if the fog were a great
sweet froth on the surface of land and water, whose
fixed air escaped, whose bubbles burst with music. The
sound of its evaporation, the fixed air of the morning
just brought from the cellars of the night escaping. The
morning twittering of birds in perfect harmony with it.
. . . The fog condenses into fountains and streams of
music, as into the strain of the bobolink which I hear,
and runs off so. The music of the birds is the tinkling
of the rills that flow from it. I cannot see twenty rods.

July 30, 1852. What a gem is a bird's egg^ especially
a blue or a green one, when you see one, broken or whole,
in the woods ! I noticed a small blue egg this afternoon
washed up by Flint's Pond and half buried by white
sand, and as it lay there, alternately wet and dry, no
color could be fairer, no gem could have a more advan-
tageous or favorable setting. Probably it was shaken
out of some nest which overhung the water. I fre-
quently meet with broken egg-shells where a crow, per-
chance, or some other thief has been marauding. And
is not that shell something very precious that houses
that winged life ?

Aug. 6, 1852. How different the feeble twittering
of the birds here at sunrise from the full quire of the
spring ! Only the wood thrush, a huckleberry-bird or
two, or chickadee, the scream of a flicker or a jay, or
the caw of a crow, and commonly only an alarmed note
of a robin. A solitary peawai ^ may be heard, per-

^ [Wood pewee.]

412 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

chance, or a red-eye, but no thrashers, or catbirds, or
oven-birds, or the jingle of the chewink. I hear the
ominous twittering of the goldfinch over all.

March 18, 1853. How eagerly the birds of passage
penetrate the northern ice, watching for a crack by
which to enter ! Forthwith the swift ducks will be seen
winging their way along the rivers and up the coast.
They watch the weather more sedulously than the
teamster. All nature is thus forward to move with the
revolution of the seasons. Now for some days the birds
have been ready by myriads, a flight or two south, to
invade our latitudes and, with this mild and serener
weather, resume their flight.

I came forth expecting to bear new birds, and I am
not disappointed. We know well what to count upon.
Their coming is more sure than the arrival of the sailing
and steaming packets. Almost while I listen for this
purpose, I hear the chuch, chuck of a blackbird in the
sky, whom I cannot detect. So small an object is lost
in the wide expanse of the heavens, though no obstacle
intervenes. When your eye has detected it, you can
follow it well enough, but it is difficult to bring your
sight to bear on it, as to direct a telescope to a particular
star. How many hawks may fly undetected, yet within
sight, above our heads ! And there 's the great gull I
came to see, already fishing in front of Bittern Cliff.
Now he stoops to the water for his prey, but sluggishly,
methinks. He requires a high and perhaps a head wind
to make his motions graceful. I see no mate. He must
have come up, methinks, before the storm was over,

GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 413

unless he started when I did. I believe it is only an
easterly wind or storm brings him up.

March 21, 1853. Morning along the river.

The air full of song sparrows, — swedlt swedit swedit
and then a rapid jingle or trill, holding up its head with-
out fear of me, the innocent, humble bird, or one pur-
suing another through the alders by the waterside. Why
are the early birds found most along the water ? These
song sparrows are now first heard commonly. The black-
birds, too, create some melody. And the bluebirds, how
sweet their warble in the soft air, heard over the water !
The robin is heard further off, and seen flying rapidly,
hurriedly through the orchard. And now the elms sud-
denly ring with the chill-lill-lill and canary -like notes of
the Fringilla hyem^alis^ which fill the air more than
those of any bird yet, — a little strange they sound be-
cause they do not tarry to breed with us, — a ringing
sound.

March 22, 1853. Already I hear from the railroad
the plaintive strain of a lark or two. They sit now
conspicuous on the bare russet ground. The tinkling
bubbles of the song sparrow are wafted from distant
fence-posts, — little rills of song that begin to flow and
tinkle as soon as the frost is out of the ground. The
blackbird tries to sing, as it were with a bone in his
. throat, or to whistle and sing at once. Whither so fast,
the restless creature, — chuch, chuch, at every rod, and
now and then whistle-ter-ee ? The chill-lill of the blue
snowbirds is heard again. A partridge goes off on
Fair Haven Hill-side with a sudden whir like the wad
of a six-pounder, keeping just level with the tops

414 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

of the sprouts. These birds and quails go off like a
report.

April 16, 1853. Birds loosen and expand their feath-
ers and look larger in the rain.

3fay 4, 1853. The woods and paths next them now
ring with the silver jingle of the field sparrow, the
medley of the brown thrasher, the honest qui vive of
the ehewink, or his jingle from the top of a low copse
tree, while his mate scratches in the dry leaves beneath ;
the black and white creeper is hopping along the oak
boughs, head downward, pausing from time to time to
utter its note like a fine, delicate saw-sharpening ; and
ever and anon rises clear over all the smooth, rich
melody of the wood thrush.

May 10, 1853. There is now a multiplicity of sounds,
in which the few faint spring ones are drowned. The
birds are in full blast, singing, warbling, chirping,
humming. Yet we do not receive more ideas through
our ears than before. The storms and ducks of spring
have swept by and left us to the repose of summer, the
farmers to the ignoble pursuits of planting and hoeing
corn and potatoes. The summer is not bracing, as when
you hear the note of the jay in the cool air of October
from the rustling chestnut woods.

June 16, 1853. Before 4 a. m., or sunrise, the sound
of chip-birds and robins and bluebirds, etc., fills the
air and is incessant. It is a crowing on the roost, rae-
thinks, as the cock crows before he goes abroad. They
do not sing deliberately as at eve, but greet the morn-
ing with an incessant twitter. Even the crickets seem
to join the concert. Yet I think it is not the same every

GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 415

morning, though it may be fair. An hour or two later
it is comparative silence. The awaking of the birds, a
tumultuous twittering.

Nov. 8, 1853. Birds generally wear the russet dress
of nature at this season. They have their fall no less
than the plants ; the bright tints depart from their
foliage or feathers, and they flit past like withered
leaves in rustling flocks. The sparrow is a withered
leaf.

Dec. 5, 1853. Saw and heard a downy woodpecker
on an apple tree. Have not many winter birds, like
this and the chickadee, a sharp, note like tinkling glass
or icicles ? The chip of the tree sparrow, also, and the
whistle of the shrike, are they not wintry in the same
way ? And the sonorous hooting owl ? But not so the
jay and Fringilla linaria^ and still less the crow.

Feb. 14, 1854. In Stow's wood, by the Deep Cut,
hear the gnah gnah of the white-breasted, black-capped
nuthatch. I went up the bank and stood by the fence.
A little family of titmice gathered about me, search-
ing for their food both on the ground and on the trees,
with great industry and intentness, and now and then
pursuing each other. There were two nuthatches at
least, talking to each other. One hung with his head
down on a large pitch pine, pecking the bark "for ia
long time, — leaden blue above, with a black cap and
white breast. It uttered almost constantly a faint but
sharp quivet or creak, difficult to trace home, which ap-
peared to be answered by a baser and louder gnah gnah
from the other. A downy woodpecker also, with the
red spot on his hind head and his cassock open behind,

416 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

showing his white robe, kept up an incessant loud tap-
ping on another pitch pine. All at once an active little
brown creeper makes its appearance, a small, rather
slender bird, with a long tail and sparrow-colored back,
and white beneath. It commences at the bottom of a
tree and glides up very rapidly, then suddenly darts to
the bottom of a new tree and repeats the same move-
ment, not resting long in one place or on one tree. These
birds are all feeding and flitting along together, but
the chickadees are the most numerous and the most con-
fiding. I observe that three of the four thus associated,
viz. the chickadee, nuthatch, and woodpecker, have black
crowns, — at least the first two, very conspicuous black
caps. I cannot but think that this sprightly association
and readiness to burst into song has to do with the
prospect of spring, — more light and warmth and thaw-
ing weather. The titmice keep up an incessant faint
tinkling tchip : now and then one utters a lively day
day day, and once or twice one commenced a gurgling
strain quite novel, startling, and springlike.

March 1, 1854. As for the birds of the past winter :
I have seen but three hawks, — one early in the winter
and two lately ; have heard the hooting owl pretty often
late in the afternoon. Crows have not been numerous,
but their cawing was heard chiefly in pleasanter morn-
ings. Blue jays have blown the trumpet of winter as
usual, but they, as all birds, are most lively in spring-
like days. The chickadees have been the prevailing
bird. The partridge common enough. One ditcher tells
me that he saw two robins in Moore's Swamp a month
ago. I have not seen a quail, though a few have been

GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 417

killed in the thaws. Four or five downy woodpeckers.
The white-breasted nuthatch four or five times. Tree
sparrows one or more at a time, oftener than any bird
that comes to us from the north. Two pigeon wood-
peckers, I think, lately. One dead shrike, and perhaps
one or two live ones. Have heard of two white owls, —
one about Thanksgiving time and one in midwinter.
One short-eared owl in December. Several flocks of
snow buntings for a week in the severest storm, and in
December, last past. One grebe in Walden just before
it froze completely. And two brown creepers once in
middle of February. Channing says he saw a little
olivaceous-green bird lately. I have not seen an F.
linaria^ nor a pine grosbeak, nor an F. hyemalis this
winter, though the first was the prevailing bird last
winter.

March 12, 1854. All these birds do their warbling
especially in the still, sunny hour after sunrise, as rivers
twinkle at their sources. Now is the time to be abroad
and hear them, as you detect the slightest ripple in
smooth water. As with tinkling sounds the sources of
streams burst their icy fetters, so the rills of music begin
to flow and swell the general quire of spring.

May 10, 1854. In Boston yesterday an ornitholo-
gist said significantly, " If you held the bird in your
hand — ; " but I would rather hold it in my affections.

Aug. 10, 1854. The tinkling notes of goldfinches and
bobolinks which we hear nowadays are of one character
and peculiar to the season. They are not voluminous
flowers, but rather nuts, of sound, — ripened seeds of
sound. It is the tinkling of ripened grains in Nature's

418 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

basket. It is like the sparkle on water, — a sound pro-
duced by friction on the crisped air.

April 6, 1855. The banks of the river are alive with
song sparrows and tree sparrows. They now sing in
advance of vegetation, as the flowers will blossom, —
those slight tinkling, twittering sounds called the sing-
ing of birds ; they have come to enliven the bare twigs
before the buds show any signs of starting.

May 3, 1855. Humphrey Buttrick, one of eight who
alone returned from Texas out of twenty-four, says he
can find woodcock's eggs ; now knows of several nests ;
has seen them setting with snow around them ; and
that Melvin has seen partridges' eggs some days ago.
He has seen crows building this year. Found in a hen-
hawk's nest once the legs of a cat. Has known of several
goshawks' nests (or what he calls some kind of eagle ;
Garfield called it the Cape eagle) ; one in a shrub oak,
with eggs.' Last year his dog caught seven black ducks
so far grown that he got sixty cents a pair for them ;
takes a pretty active dog to catch such. He frequently
finds or hears of them. Knew of a nest this year. Also
finds wood ducks' nests. Has very often seen partridges
drimi close to him. Has watched one for an hour. They
strike the body with their wings. He shot a white-
headed eagle from Carlisle Bridge. It fell in the water,
and his dog was glad to let it alone. He suggested that
my fish hawks found pouts in holes made by ice.

May IJ, 1855. Waked up at 2.30 by the peep of
robins, which were aroused by a fire at the pail-factory

^ [There are no authentic records of the nesting of the goshawk in

Massachusetts.]

GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 419

about two miles west. I hear that the air was full of
birds singing thereabouts. It rained gently at the same
time, though not steadily.

Aug. 5, 1855. 8 P. M. — On river to see swallows.

At this hour the robins fly to high, thick oaks (as
this swamp white oak) to roost for the night. The wings
of the chimney swallows flying near me make a whis-
tling sound like a duck's. Is not this peculiar among
the swallows ? They flutter much for want of tail. I
see martins about. Now many swallows in the twilight,
after circling eight feet high, come back two or three
hundred feet high and then go down the river.

Sept. 15, 1855. Three weeks ago saw many brown
thrashers, catbirds, robins, etc., on wild cherries. They
are worth raising for the birds about you, though ob-
jectionable on account of caterpillars.

Oct. 22, 1855. Birds are certainly afraid of man.
They [allow] all other creatures, — cows and horses,
etc., — excepting only one or two kinds, birds or beasts
of prey, to come near them, but not man. What does
this fact signify ? Does it not signify that man, too, is
a beast of prey to them ? Is he, then, a true lord of cre-
ation, whose subjects are afraid of him, and with rea-
son ? They know very well that he is not humane, as
he pretends to be.

Dec. 11, 1855. Standing there, though in this bare
November landscape, I am reminded of the incredible
phenomenon of small birds in winter, — that ere long,
amid the cold powdery snow, as it were a fruit of the
season, will come twittering a flock of delicate crimson-
tinged birds, lesser redpolls, to sport and feed on the

420 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

seeds and buds now just ripe for them on the sunny
side of a wood, shaking down the powdery snow there
in their cheerful social feeding, as if it were high mid-
summer to them. These crimson aerial creatures have
wings which would bear them quickly to the regions of
summer, but here is all the summer they want. What
a rich contrast! tropical colors, crimson breasts, on
cold white snow ! Such etherealness, such delicacy in
their forms, such ripeness in their colors, in this stern
and barren season ! It is as surprising as if you were
to find a brilliant crimson flower which flourished amid
snows. They greet the chopper and the hunter in their
furs. Their Maker gave them the last touch and
launched them forth the day of the Great Snow.^ He
made this bitter, imprisoning cold before which man
quails, but He made at the same time these warm and
glowing creatures to twitter and be at home in it. He
said not only. Let there be linnets in winter, but linnets
of rich plumage and pleasing twitter, bearing summer
in their natures. The snow will be three feet deep, the
ice will be two feet thick, and last night, perchance,
the mercury sank to thirty degrees below zero. All the
fountains of nature seem to be sealed up. The traveller
is frozen on his way. But under the edge of yonder
birch wood will be a little flock of crimson-breasted
lesser redpolls, busily feeding on the seeds of the birch
and shaking down the powdery snow ! As if a flower
were created to be now in bloom, a peach to be now

^ [The " Great Snow " to which Thoreau refers several times in his
Journal and in Walden occurred in 1780, as we learn from the entry
■for March 28, 1856.]

GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 421

first fully ripe on its stem. I am struck by the perfect
confidence and success of nature. There is no qiiestion
about the existence of these delicate creatures, their
adaptedness to their circumstances. There is super-
added superfluous paintings and adornments, a crystal-
line, jewel-like health and soundness, like the colors
reflected from ice-crystals.

When some rare northern bird like the pine grosbeak
is seen thus far south in the winter, he does not suggest
poverty, but dazzles us with his beauty. There is in them
a warmth akin to the warmth that melts the icicle.
Think of these brilliant, warm-colored, and richly war-
bling birds, birds of paradise, dainty-footed, downy-clad,
in the midst of a New England, a Canadian winter.
The woods and fields, now somewhat solitary, being de-
serted by their more tender summer residents, are now
frequented by these rich but delicately tinted and hardy
northern immigrants of the air. Here is no imperfection
to be suggested. The winter, with its snow and ice, is
not an evil to be corrected. It is as it was designed and
made to be, for the artist has had leisure to add beauty
to use. My acquaintances, angels from the north. I had
a vision thus prospectively of these birds as I stood in
the swamps. I saw this familiar — too familiar — fact
at a different angle, and I was charmed and haunted by
it. But I could only attain to be thrilled and enchanted,
as by the sound of a strain of music dying away. I had
seen into paradisaic regions, with their air and sky, and
I was no longer wholly or merely a denizen of this vulgar
earth. Yet had I hardly a foothold there. I was only
sure that I was charmed, and no mistake. It is only

422 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

necessary to behold thus the least fact or phenomenon,
however familiar, from a point a hair's breadth aside
froln our habitual path or routine, to be overcome, en-
chanted by its beauty and significance. Only what we
have touched and worn is trivial, — our scurf, repeti-
tion, tradition, conformity. To perceive freshly, with
fresh senses, is to be inspired. Great winter itself looked
like a precious gem, reflecting rainbow colors from oue
angle.

Dec. 21, 1855. Going to the post-office at 9 a. m. this
very pleasant morning, I hear and see tree sparrows on
Wheildon's pines, and just beyond scare a downy wood-
pecker and a brown creeper in company, from near the
base of a small elm within three feet of me. The former
dashes off with a loud rippling of the wing, and' the
creeper flits across the street to the base of another small
elm, whither I follow. At first he hides behind the base,
but ere long works his way upward and comes in sight.
He is a gray-brown, a low curve from point of beak to
end of tail, resting flat against the tree.

Dec. 30, 1855. He who would study birds' nests must
look for them in November and in winter as well as in
midsummer, for then the trees are bare and he can see
them, and the swamps and streams are frozen and he
can approach new kinds. He will often be surprised to
find how many have haunted where he little suspected,
and will receive many hints accordingly, which he can
act upon in the summer. I am surprised to find many
new ones (/. e. not new species) in groves which I
had examined several times with particular care in the
summer.

GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 423

Jan. 18, 1856. Observed some of those little hard
galls on the high blueberry pecked or eaten into by
some bird (ox iiossibhj mouse), for the little white gitibs
which lie curled up in them. What entomologists the
birds are ! Most men do not suspect that there are grubs
in them, and how secure the latter seem under these
thick, dry shells ! Yet there is no secret but it is confided
to some one.

Feb. 4, 1856. I have often wondered how red cedars
could have sprung up in some pastures which I knew
to be miles distant from the nearest fruit-bearing cedar,
but it now occurs to me that these and barberries,
etc., may be planted by the crows, and probably other
birds.

Feh. 8, 1856. E. Garfield says there were many quails
here last fall, but that they are suffering now. One
night as he was spearing on Conant's cranberry meadow,
just north the pond, his dog caught a sheldrake in the
water by the shore. Some days ago he saw what he
thought a hawk, as white as snow, fly over the pond,
but it may have been a white owl (which last he never
saw).^ He sometimes sees a hen-hawk in the winter, but
never a partridge or other small hawk at this season.
Speaks again of that large speckled hawk he killed
once, which some called a "Cape eagle." Had a hum-
bird's nest behind their house last summer, and was
amused to see the bird drive off other birds ; would pur-
sue a robin and alight on his back ; let none come near.
I. Garfield saw one's nest on a horizontal branch of a
white pine near the Charles Miles house, about seven

^ Was it a gyrfalcon ?

424 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

feet from ground. E. Garfield spoke of the wren's nest
as not uncommon, hang in the grass of the meadows,
and how swiftly and easily the bird would run through
a winrow of hay.

Ajjril 9, 1856. The air is full of birds, and as I go
down the causeway, I distinguish the seringo note. You
have only to come forth each morning to be surely ad-
vertised of each newcomer into these broad meadows.
Many a larger animal might be concealed, but a cun-
ning ear detects the arrival of each new species of bird.
These birds give evidence that they prefer the fields of
New England to all other climes, deserting for them
the warm and fertile south. Here is their paradise. It
is here they express the most happiness by song and
action. Though these spring mornings may often be
frosty and rude, they are exactly tempered to their con-
stitutions, and call forth the sweetest strains.

June 6, 1856. How well suited the lining of a bird's
nest, not only for the comfort of the young, but to keep
the eggs from breaking ! Fine elastic grass stems or
root-fibres, pine-needles, or hair, or the like. These
tender and brittle things which you can hardly carry in
cotton lie there without harm.

JF^eh. 20, 1857. What is the relation between a bird
and the ear that appreciates its melody, to whom, per-
chance, it is more charming and significant than to any
else ? Certainly they are intimately related, and the one
was made for the other. It is a natural fact. If I were
to discover that a certain kind of stone by the pond-
shore was affected, say partially disintegrated, by a par-
ticular natural sound, as of a bird or insect, I see that

GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 425

one could not be completely described without describ-
ing the other. I am that rock by the pond-side.

Sept. 7, 1857. Returning to my boat, at the white
maple, I see a small round flock of birds, perhaps black-
birds, dart through the air, as thick as a charge of shot,
— now comparatively thin, with regular intervals of sky
between them, like the holes in the strainer of a water-
ing-pot, now dense and dark, as if closing up their
ranks when they roll over one another and stoop down-
ward.

March 17, 1858. Sitting' under the handsome scarlet
oak beyond the hill, I hear a faint note far in the wood
which reminds me of the robin. Again I hear it ; it is
he, — an occasional peep. These notes of the earliest
birds seem to invite forth vegetation. No doubt the
plants concealed in the earth hear them and rejoice.
They wait for this assurance.

March 18, 1858. How much more habitable a few
birds make the fields ! At the end of winter, when
the fields are bare and there is nothing to relieve the
monotony of the withered vegetation, our life seems
reduced to its lowest terms. But let a bluebird come
and warble over them, and what a change ! The note
of the first bluebird in the air answers to the purling rill
of melted snow beneath. It is eminently soft and sooth-
ing, and, as surely as the thermometer, indicates a higher
temperature. It is the accent of the south wind, its ver-
nacular. It is modulated by the south wind. The song
sparrow is more sprightly, mingling its notes with the
rustling of the brash along the watersides, but it is at
the same time more terrene than the bluebird. The

426 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

first woodpecker comes screaming into the empty house
and throws open doors and windows wide, calling out
each of them to let the neighbors know of its return.
But heard further -off it is very suggestive of ineffable
associations which cannot be distinctly recalled, — of
long-drawn summer hours, — and thus it, also, has the
effect of music. I was not aware that the capacity to
hear the woodpecker had slumbered within me so long.
When the blackbird gets to a conqueree he seems to be
dreaming of the sprays that are to be and on which he
is to perch. The robin does not come singing, but utters
a somewhat anxious or inquisitive peep at first. The
song sparrow is immediately most at home of any that
I have named. I see this afternoon as many as a dozen
bluebirds on the warm side of a wood.

Each new year is a surprise to us. We find that we
had virtually forgotten the note of each bird, and when
we hear it again it is remembered like a dream, remind-
ing us of a previous state of existence. How happens
it that the associations it awakens are always pleasing,
never saddening ; reminiscences of our sanest hours ?
The voice of nature is always encouraging.

3fay 10, 1858. It is remarkable how many new birds
have come all at once to-day. The hollow-sounding note
of the oven-bird is heard from the depth of the wood.
The warbling vireo cheers the elms with a strain for
which they must have pined. The trees, in respect to
these new arrivers, have been so many empty music-
halls. The oriole is seen darting like a bright flash
with clear whistle from one tree-top to another over the

GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 427

street. The very catbird's mew in the copse harmonizes
with the bare twigs, as it were shaming them into life
and verdure, and soon he mounts upon a tree and is a
new creature. Toward night the wood thrush ennobles
the wood and the world with his strain.

June 7, 1858. It is evidence enough against crows
and hawks and owls, proving their propensity to rob
birds' nests of eggs and young, that smaller birds pur-
sue them so often. You do not need the testimony of
so many farmers' boys when you can see and hear the
small birds daily crying " Thief and murder " after these
spoilers. What does it signify, the kingbird, blackbird,
swallow, etc., etc., pursuing a crow ? They say plainly
enough : " I know you of old, you villain ; you want to
devour my eggs or young. I have often caught you at
it, and I '11 publish you now." And probably the crow
pursuing the fish hawk and eagle proves that the latter
sometimes devour their young.

June 16, 1858. No doubt thousands of birds' nests
have been destroyed by the flood, — blackbirds', bobo-
links', song sparrows', etc. I see a robin's nest high
above the water with the young just dead and the old
bird in the water, apparently killed by the abundance
of rain, and afterward I see a fresh song sparrow's nest
which has been flooded and destroyed.

July 16, 1858. About the mountains were wilder and
rarer birds, more or less arctic, like the vegetation. I
did not even hear the robin on them, and when I had
left them a few miles behind, it was a great change and
surprise to hear the lark, the wood jjewee, the robin,
and the bobolink (for the last had not done singing).

428 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIEDS

On the mountains, especially at Tuckerman's Ravine,
the notes even of familiar birds sounded strange to me.
I hardly knew the wood thrush and veery and oven-
bird at first. They sing differently there.' In two in-
stances,— going down the Mt. Jefferson road and along
the road in the Franconia Notch, — I started an F. hye-
malis within two feet, close to the roadside, but looked
in vain for a nest. They alight and sit thus close. I
doubt if the chipping sparrow is found about the moun-
tains.

March 7, 1859. It is a good plan to go to some old
orchard on the south side of a hill, sit down, and listen,
especially in the morning when all is still. You can
thus often hear the distant warble of some bluebird
lately arrived, which, if you had been walking, would
not have been audible to you. As I walk, these first
mild spring days, with my coat thrown open, stepping
over tinkling rills of melting snow, excited by the sight
of the bare ground, especially the reddish subsoil where
it is exposed by a cutting, and by the few green radical
leaves, I stand still, shut my eyes, and listen from time
to time, in order to hear the note of some bird of pas-
sage just arrived.

April 8, 1859. When the question of the protection
of birds comes up, the legislatures regard only a low use
and never a high use ; the best-disposed legislators em-
ploy one, perchance, only to examine their crops and see
how many grubs or cherries they contain, and never to
study their dispositions, or the beauty of their plumage,

^ [His wood thrush and veery of Tuckerman's Ravine were prohably
the olive-backed thrush and Bicknell's thrush, respectively]

GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 429

or listen and report on the sweetness of their song. The
legislature will preserve a bird professedly not because
it is a beautiful creature, but because it is a good scav-
enger or the like. This, at least, is the defense set up.
It is as if the question were whether some celebrated
singer of the human race — some Jenny Lind or an-
other— did more harm or good, should be destroyed,
or not, and therefore a committee should be appointed,
not to listen to her singing at all, but to examine the
contents of her stomach and see if she devoured any-
thing which was injurious to the farmers and gardeners,
or which they cannot spare.

Sept. 1, 1859. If you would study the birds now, go
where their food is, i. e. the berries, especially to the
wild black cherries, elder-berries, poke berries, moun-
tain-ash berries, and ere long the barberries, and for
pigeons the acorns. In the sprout-land behind Britton's
Camp, I came to a small black cherry full of fruit, and
then, for the first time for a long while, I see and hear
cherry-birds — their shrill and fine seringo* — and the
note of robins, which of late are scarce. We sit near
the tree and listen to the now unusual sounds of these
birds, and from time to time one or two come dashing
from out the sky toward this tree, till, seeing us, they
whirl, disappointed, and perhaps alight on some neigh-
boring twigs and wait till we are gone. The cherry-
birds and robins seem to know the locality of every wild
cherry in the town. You are as sure to find them on them
now, as bees and butterflies on the thistles. If we stay

^ [Thoreau's word for a note of the quality of the cedar waxwing's.
See pp. 290 note, 291.]

430 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

long, they go off with a fling, to some other cherry tree,
which they know of but we do not. The neighborhood
of a wild cherry full of fruit is now, for the notes of
birds, a little spring come back again, and when, a mile
or two from this, I was plucking a basketful of elder-
berries (for which it was rather early yet), there too,
to my surprise, I came on a flock of golden robins and
of bluebirds, apparently feeding on them. Excepting
the vacciniums, now past prime and drying up, the
cherries and elder-berries are the two prevailing fruits
now. We had remarked on the general scarcity and
silence of the birds, but when we came to the localities
of these fruits, there again we found the berry-eating
birds assembled, — young (?) orioles and bluebirds at
the elder-berries.

Nov. 11, 1859. Also, October 24th, riding home from
Acton, I saw the withered leaves blown from an oak by
the roadside dashing off, gyrating, and surging upward
into the air, so exactly like a flock of birds sporting with
one another that, for a minute at least, I could not be
sure they were not birds ; and it suggested how far the
motions of birds, like those of these leaves, might be
determined by currents of air, i. e., how far the bird
learns to conform to such currents.

Jan. 5, 1860. How much the snow reveals! I see
where the downy woodpecker has worked lately by the
chips of bark and rotten wood scattered over the snow,
though I rarely see him in the winter. Once to-day, how-
ever, I hear his sharp voice, even like a woodchuck's.
Also I have occasionally seen where (probably) a flock
of goldfinches in the morning ^:ad settled on a hemlock's

GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 431

top, by the snow strewn with scales, literally blackened
or darkened with them for a rod. And now, about the
hill in front of Smith's, I see where the quails have run
along the roadside, and can count the number of the
bevy better than if I saw them. Are they not peculiar
in this, as compared with partridges, — that they run
in company, while at this season I see but [one] or two
partridges together?

Jan. 22, 1860. Birds are commonly very rare in the
winter. They are much more common at some times
than at others. I see more tree sparrows in the begin-
ning of the winter (especially when snow is falling) than
in the course of it. I think that by observation I could
tell in what kind of weather afterward these were most
to be seen. Crows come about houses and streets in
very cold weather and deep snows, and they are heard
cawing in pleasant, thawing winter weather, and their
note is then a pulse by which you feel the quality of the
air, i. e., when cocks crow. For the most part, lesser
redpolls and pine grosbeaks do not appear at all. Snow
buntings are very wandering. They were quite numer-
ous a month ago, and now seem to have quit the town.
They seem to ramble about the country at will.

Jan. 29, 1860. Not only the Indian, but many wild
birds and quadrupeds and insects, welcomed the apple
tree to these shores. As it grew apace, the bluebird,
robin, cherry-bird, kingbird, and many more came with
a rush and built their nests in it, and so became orchard-
birds. The woodpecker found such a savory morsel
under its bark that he perforated it in a ring quite round
the tree, a thing he had never done before. It did not

432 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

take the partridge long to find out how sweet its buds
were, and every winter day she flew and still flies from
the wood to pluck them, much to the farmer's sorrow.
The rabbit too was not slow to learn the taste of its twigs
and bark. The owl crept into the first one that became
hollow, and fairly hooted with delight, finding it just
the place for him. He settled down into it, and has
remained there ever since. The lackey caterpillar sad-
dled her eggs on the very first twig that was formed,
and it has since divided her affections with the wild
cherry; and the canker-worm also in a measure aban-
doned the elm to feed on it. And when the fruit was
ripe, the squirrel half carried, half rolled, it to his hole,
and even the musquash crept up the bank and greedily
devoured it ; and when it was frozen and thawed, the
crow and jay did not disdain to peck it. And the
beautiful wood duck, having made up her mind to stay
a while longer with us, has concluded that there is no
better place for her too.

Aug. 28, 1860. There was no prolonged melody of
birds on the summit of Monadnock. They for the most
part emitted sounds there more in harmony with the
silent rocks, — a faint chipping or chinking, often some-
what as of two stones struck together.

Sept. 1, 1860. See how artfully the seed of a cherry
is placed in order that a bird may be compelled to
transport it. It is placed in the very midst of a tempting
pericarp, so that the creature that would devour a cherry
must take a stone into its mouth. The bird is bribed
with the pericarp to take the stone with it and do this
little service for Nature. Cherries are especially birds'

GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 433

food, and many kinds are called birds' cherry, and un-
less we plant the seeds occasionally, I shall think the
birds have the best right to them. Thus a bird's wing
is added to the cherry-stone which was wingless, and it
does not wait for winds to transport it.

Oct. 7, 1860. Rice ^ says that when a boy, playing
with darts with his brother Israel, one of them sent up
his dart when a flock of crows was going over. One of
the crows followed it down to the earth, picked it up,
and flew off with it a quarter of a mile before it dropped
it. He has observed that young wood ducks swim faster
than the old, which is a fortunate provision, for they
can thus retreat and hide in the weeds while their parents
fly off. He says that you must shoot the little dipper as
soon as it comes up, — before the water is fairly off its
eyes, — else it will dive at the flash.

^ [Reuben Rice, of Concord.]

XXIII
DOMESTIC BIRDS

DUCKS

April 7, 1853. Approach near to Simon Brown's
ducks, on river. They are continually bobbing their
heads under water in a shallow part of the meadow,
more under water than above. I infer that the wild
employ themselves likewise. You are most struck with
the apparent ease with which they glide away, — not
seeing the motion of their feet, — as by their wills.

June 29, 1856. A man by the riverside ^ told us that
he had two young ducks which he let out to seek their
food along the riverside at low tide that morning. At
length he noticed that one remained stationary amid the
grass or salt weeds and something prevented its follow-
ing the other. He went to its rescue and found its foot
shut tightly in a quahog's shell amid the grass which
the tide had left. He took up all together, carried to his
house, and his wife opened the shell with a knife, re-
leased the duck, and cooked the quahog.

[/S'ee also under Horned Grebe, pp. 1, 2; Domestic
Fowl, p. 436.]

DOMESTIC FOWL

July 11, 1851. And now, at half-past 10 o'clock, I

hear the cockerels crow in Hubbard's barns, and morn-

^ [In New Bedford, where Thoreau was visiting Mr. Daniel Ricket-
son.]

DOMESTIC FOWL 435

ing is already anticipated. It is the feathered, wakeful
thought in us that anticipates the following day. This
sound is wonderfully exhilarating at all times. These
birds are worth far more to me for their crowing and
cackling than for their drumsticks and eggs. How
singular the connection of the hen with man, — that
she leaves her eggs in his barns always ! She is a domes-
tic fowl, though still a little shyish of him. I cannot
help looking at the whole as an experiment still and
wondering that in each case it succeeds. There is no
doubt at last but hens may be kept. They will put their
eggs in your barn by a tacit agreement. They will not
wander far from your yard.

July 19, 1851. I see that hens, too, follow the cows
feeding near the house, like the cow troopial, and for
the same object. They cannot so well scare up insects
for themselves. This is the dog the cowbird uses to
start up its insect game.

July 22, 1851. I hear the cockerels crow through
it,* and the rich crow of young roosters, that sound in-
dicative of the bravest, rudest health, hoarse without
cold, hoarse with rude health. That crow is all-nature-
compelling; famine and pestilence flee before it.

Jan. 15, 1852. It is good to see Minott's hens peck-
ing and scratching the ground. What never-failing
health they suggest ! Even the sick hen is so naturally
sick, — like a green leaf turning to brown. No wonder
men love to have hens about them and hear their creak-
ing note. They are even laying eggs from time to time
still, — the undespairing race!
1 [Fog.]

436 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

June 17, 1852. I hear the universal cock-crowing
with surprise and pleasure, as if I never heard it before.
What a tough fellow ! How native to the earth ! Neither
wet nor dry, cold nor warm, kills him.

July 6, 1852. When the hen hatches ducks they do
not mind her clucking. They lead the hen. Chickens
and ducks are well set on the earth. What great legs
they have! This part is early developed. A perfect
Antseus is a young duck in this respect, deriving a
steady stream of health and strength, for he rarely gets
off it, ready either for land or water. Nature is not on
her last legs yet. A chick's stout legs ! If they were a
little larger they would injure the globe's tender organi-
zation with their scratching. Then, for digestion, consider
their crops and what they put into them in the course of
a day ! Consider how well fitted to endure the fatigue of
a day's excursion. A young chick will run all day in pur-
suit of grasshoppers and occasionally vary its exercise by
scratching, go to bed at night with protuberant crop, and
get up early in the morning ready for a new start.

July 25, 1852. As I came along, the whole earth
resounded with the crowing of cocks, from the eastern
unto the western horizon, and as I passed a yard, I saw
a white rooster on the topmost rail of a fence pouring
forth his challenges for destiny to come on. This salu-
tation was travelling round the world ; some six hours
since had resounded through England, France, and
Spain ; then the sun passed over a belt of silence where
the Atlantic flows, except a clarion here and there from
some cooped-up cock upon the waves, till greeted with
a general all-hail along the Atlantic shore.

I

I

DOMESTIC FOWL 437

April 2, 1853. The farmers are trembling for their
poultry nowadays. I heard the scream of hens, and a
tumult among their mistresses (at Dugan's}, calling
them and scaring away the hawk, yesterday. They say
they do not lose by hawks in midsummer. White quotes
Linnaeus as saying of hawks, " Paciscuntur induciascum
avibus, quamdiu cuculus cuculat," but White doubts it.*

tlu7ie 2, 1853. The birds are wide awake, as if know-
ing that this fog presages a fair day. I ascend Naw-
shawtuct from the north side. I am aware that I yield
to the same influence which inspires the birds and the
cockerels, whose hoarse courage I hear now vaunted.
So men should crow in the morning. I would crow like
chanticleer in the morning, with all the lustiness that
the new day imparts, without thinking of the evening,
when I and all of us shall go to roost, — with all the
humility of the cock, that takes his perch upon the
highest rail and wakes the country with his clarion.
Shall not men be inspii'ed as much as cockerels ?

JVov. 23, 1853. The cocks are the only birds I hear,
but they are a host. They crow as freshly and bravely
as ever, while poets go down the stream, degenerate
into science and prose.

Oct. 19, 1855. Therien tells me, when I ask if he has
seen or heard any large birds lately, that he heard a
cock crow this morning, a wild one, in the woods. It
seems a dozen fowls (chickens) were lost out of the cars
here a fortnight ago. Poland has caught some, and they

^ [Gilbert White, Natural History of Selborne, letter of Sept. 13,
1774, to Daines Barrington. " They make a truce with the birds as long
as the cuckoo siugs."]

438 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

have one at the shanty, but this cock, at least, is still
abroad and can't be caught. If they could survive the win-
ter, I suppose we should have had wild hens before now.

July 25, 1856. The haymakers getting in the hay
from Hubbard's meadow tell me the cock says we are
going to have a long spell of dry weather or else very
wet. " Well, there 's some difference between them," I
answer ; " how do you know it? " " I just heard a cock
crow at noon, and that 's a sure sign it will either be
very dry or very wet."

Dec. 4, 1856. Sophia says that just before I came
home Min ^ caught a mouse and was playing with it in
the yard. It had got away from her once or twice, and
she had caught it again ; and now it was stealing off
again, as she lay complacently watching it with her
paws tucked under her, when her friend Riordan's stout
but solitary cock stepped up inquisitively, looked down
at it with one eye, turning his head, then picked it up
by the tail and gave it two or three whacks on the
ground, and giving it a dexterous toss into the air,
caught it in its open mouth, and it went head foremost
and alive down his capacious throat in the twinkling
of an eye, never again to be seen in this world, Min,
all the while, with paws comfortably tucked under her,
looking on unconcerned. What matters it one mouse
more or less to her? The cock walked off amid the
currant bushes, stretched his neck up, and gulped once
or twice, and the deed was accomplished, and then he
crowed lustily in celebration of the exploit. It might
be set down among the gesta (if not digesta) Gallorum.
^ [The Thoreaus' cat.J

DOMESTIC FOWL 439

There were several human witnesses. It is a question
whether Min ever understood where that mouse went to.

Feb. 4, 1857. Minott says that Dr. Heywood used to
have a crazy hen (and he, too, has had one). She went
about by herself uttering a peevish craw craw, and did
not lay. One day he was going along on the narrow penin-
sula of Goose Pond looking for ducks, away in Walden
Woods a mile and a half from Heywood's, when he
met this very hen, which passed close by him, uttering
as usual a faint craw craw. He knew her perfectly well,
and says that he was never so surprised at anything
in his life. How she had escaped the foxes and hawks
was more than he knew.

Feb. 8, 1857. Hiordan's solitary cock, standing on
such an icy snow-heap, feels the influence of the soft-
ened air, and the steam from patches of bare ground
here and there, and has found his voice again. The
warm air has thawed the music in his throat, and he
crows lustily and unweariedly, his voice rising to the
last.

April 26, 1857. Riordan's cock follows close after
me while spading in the garden, and hens commonly
follow the gardener and ploughman, just as cowbirds
the cattle in a pasture.

Sept. 30, 1857. Talked with Minott, who was sitting,
as usual, in his wood-shed. His hen and chickens, find-
ing it cold these nights on the trees behind the house,
had begun last night to roost in the shed, and one by
one walked or hopped up a ladder within a foot of his
shoulder to the loft above. He sits there so much like
a fixture that they do not regard him. It has got to be

440 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS

so cool, then, that tender chickens seek a shelter at
night ; but I saw the hens at Clark's (the R. Brown
house) were still going to roost in the apple trees.

Oct. 1, 1858. Let a full-grown but young cock stand
near you. How full of life he is, from the tip of his bill
through his trembling wattles and comb and his bright
eye to the extremity of his clean toes ! How alert and
restless, listening to every sound and watching every
motion ! How various his notes, from the finest and
shrillest alarum as a hawk sails over, surpassing the
most accomplished violinist on the short strings, to a
hoarse and terrene voice or cluck ! He has a word for
every occasion, — for the dog that rushes past, and part-
let cackling in the barn. And then how, elevating him-
self and flapping his wings, he gathers impetus and air
and launches forth that world-renowned ear-piercing
strain ! not a vulgar note of defiance, but the mere
effervescence of life, like the bursting of a bubble in a
wine-cup. Is any gem so bright as his eye ?

Aug. 6, 1860. I heard a cock crow very shrilly and
distinctly early in the evening of the 8th. ^ This was the
most distinct sound from the lower world that I heard
up there at any time, not excepting even the railroad
whistle, which was louder. It reached my ear perfectly,
to each note and curl, — from some submontane cock.
We also heard at this hour an occasional bleat from a
sheep in some mountain pasture, and a lowing of a cow.
And at last we saw a light here and there in a farmhouse
window. We heard no sound of man except the railroad
whistle and, on Sunday, a church-bell. Heard no dog

^ [Id camp on the soiuiuit of Mt. Monadnock.]

PARROT 441

that I remember. Therefore I should say that, of all
the sounds of the farmhouse, the crowing of the cock
could be heard furthest or most distinctly under these
circumstances. It seemed to wind its way through the
layers of air as a sharp gimlet through soft wood, and
reached our ears with amusing distinctness.

DOMESTIC PIGEON

April 16,1855. I am startled sometimes these morn-
ings to hear the sound of doves alighting on the roof
just over my head; they come down so hard upon it,
as if one had thrown a heavy stick on to it, and I wonder
it does not injure their organizations. Their legs must
be cushioned in their sockets to save them from the
shock ?

PARROT

May 21, 1857. I saw yesterday a parrot exceedingly
frightened in its cage at a window. It rushed to the
bars and struggled to get out. A piece of board had
been thrown from the window above to the ground,
which probably the parrot's instinct had mistaken for
a hawk. Their eyes are very open to danger from
above.

FOli INDEX TO MAP SEE OVEli

FOI! ISDE.X TO MM' .S££ OVEU

o

NOTE TO MAP OK CO\( ORI)

The material used in tins Mai) "f ("oneoid has been derived from a
variety of sources. The town Ixniiids, streets, and residences liave Ihcii
taken from a township map of MidcUesex Connty made hy II. F. WalUnp
in 185(), reference also being had to a local maj) of Concord by the same
engineer, dated KS.VJ, on which credit for the surveys of ^\'hite Pond and
Walden Pond is given to " II. 1). Thoreau, ("iv. Eng'." The course of
the Concord River is drawn from an elaborate manuscript plan of Tho-
reau's, based on earlier surveys, showing the river from East .Sudbury
to Billerica Uam. This plan, on which Thoreau has entered the results
of his investigation of tiie river in the summer of l.S.7.1, is now in the
Concord Public Library. Tlie outlines of Walden and White Ponds
have also been taken from Thoreau's original surveys, now in the Con-
cord Library. Loring's and Hateman's Ponds are according to surveys
by Mr. Albert E. Wood of Concord, and Flint's Pond is from a survey
for the t^oncord Water Works by Mr. \\'illiani Wlieeler, also of Concord.

All names of places are those used by Thoreau, no attention being
given to other names perhaps more current either in his own time or at
])resent. Only such names of residents are given as are mentioned in
the Journal.

A few old wood roads, pasture lanes, etc. (Thoreau's preferred high-
ways), are indicated, as to their general direction, by dotted lines.

The irregularity of the northeastern boundary of Concord arose from
the fact that when Carlisle was set off from Concord in 17.S0, the farmers
living on the border were given the option of remaining within th«
bounds of Concord or of being included in the new town. In 1!M);< the
Massachusetts Legislature abolished this old division and continued
the straight line forming the western half of the boundary directly to
the river.

The identification of localities which were named by Thoreau ai)par-
ently for his personal u.se alone has been accomplished, so far as it has
proceeded, by a careful study of all the .lournal references to each local-
ity, an examination of a large number of Thoreau's manuscript surveys,
and an extended personal investigation on the ground. Many of these
locjilities are given more than one name in the Journal, and in a few
cases the same name is given to different localities. Where doubt exists
as to any particular location, the name is omitted from the map.

Hon. F. B. Sanborn, Judge John S. Keyes, Dr. Edward W. Emerson,
the Misses Ilosmer, and others among the older residents of Concord
have been consulted in the invjiaration of the map, and have kindly
supplied helpful information from their personal accjuaintancc! with
Thoreau.

H. W. Glkason.

December, I'JOG.

INDEX TO MAP OF CONCORD

Fi"ures in parentheses correspond with fi^'ures on the map. A letter and ligure comhined indicate the space with-
in wlfich the locality may be found, this space liein^' determined by the intersection ot imaginary lines drawn Irom
the corresponding letter and figure in the margin.

(5)

(10)

(11)
(1-)
(13)

(1-1)
(15)
(IG)
(17)

(18)

Agricultural Fair Ground. F 7
Alcott, A. Biouson. F S
Almshouse. G T
Andromeda, or Cassan-
dra, Ponds. J T
Aunursnack Hill. D 3
Arethiisa Meadow. H G
Assabet Bath. E 5
Assabet River, or North

Brancli. E5

Assabet Spring. E 5
Assabet Stone Bridge.
(See One-Arch Bridge.)
Austin, L. H. KIO

Back Road. 6 G

Baker, Jacob. J 8

Baker, James. J 8

Baker Bridge. J 8

Baker Farm. K 7

Bairs Hill. D'J
Bare Hill.

(See Pine Hill.)

Barrett, G. M. E4

Barrett, Nathan. D7

Barrett, Prescott. E5

Barrett, Sam. E 5

Barrett's Bar. D 8

Barrett's Pond. D5
Barrett's Saw and Grist

Mills. Ef)

Bartlett, Dr. F 7

Bateman's Pond. C G
Battle-Ground.
(See Old North Bridge.)

Bear Garden Hill. H G

Bear Hill. J '.)

Beaver Pond. L 1 1

Beck Stow's Swamp. E H

Bedford Levels. F 10

Bedford Road (new). E 8

Bedford Road (old). E 9
Bidens Brook.

(See Pole Brook.)

Bigelow, F. E. F 7

Bittern, or Tupelo, Cliff. J G

Blood, Perez. B 8

Blood's Pasture. B 8

Boaz's Meadow. C G

Boiling Spring. H G
Boston, or Lexington,

Road. F 8
Botrychium Swamp.
(See Yellow Birch Swamp.)
Boulder Field. C 7
Bound Rock. L.5
Brigham, J. G. KG
Brister's Hill. G 8
Bri.ster's Spring. G 8
Britton's Camp. H 9
Britton's Hollow. G9
Brooks, A. FT
Brooks, Geo. D 4
Brown, J. P. G 5
Brown's (J. P.) Pond-
Hole, or Cold Pool. H4
Brown, Simon. E G
Brown, Wm. B 5
Bull, E. W. F 8

Button-bush Pond.

(See Clematis Pond.)
Buttrick, Abner. DS

Buttrick, Stedman. D 7

Buttrick's Hill. C 8

Calla Swamp. BG

(19) Callitriche Pool. G8
Cambridge Turnpike. G 8
Canoe Birch Road. Ko

(20) Cardinal Shore. H G
Carlisle Bridge. A 9
Carlisle Reach. B 9
Cassandra Ponds.

(See Andromeda Ponds.)
Cedar Hill. J 10

Cedar Swamp, White. D 4
(■21)Channing, W. E. FG

(22) Cheney, J. M. F G

(23) Clamshell Bank or Hill. G 0

(24) Clamshell, or Sunset,

Reach. G 5

Clark, Brooks. DG

Clark, D. DG

Clark, Jo.seph, D G

Clematis Brook. K 7

(25) Clematis, Bntton-bush, or

Nightshade, Pond. K 7

(26) Cliffs. J 7

(27) Clintonia Swamp. G 8
Cold Brook. L4
College Road. D 4

(28) Columbine Cliff. J G

(29) Common. F 7
Conant, E. J 5

(30) Conant House, Site of Old. J G
Conantum, J G
Copan. D 9
Corner Bridge.

(See Lee's Bridge.)
Corner Road. H G

Corner Spring. H 5

County House. F7

Conrt-House. F7

Creel Brook.

(See Pole Brook.)
Curly-Pate Hill. B G

Cyanean Meadow. G 5

Dakin, E. E 6

Dakin, Dea. L. K 3

Dakin's Brook.

(See Dodge's Brook.)
Damon's Mills.
Davis's Hill.
Deep Cut.
Dennis, S.
Dennis's Lupine Hill or

Promontory.
Derby, J.
Derby's Bridge.
Diving-Ash.
Dodge's, or Dakin's,

Brook.
Dodd, J. M.
Dove Rock.
Dugan, Jenny.
Dugan Desert.
Dunge Hole Brook.
Easterbrook Country.

(31)
(32)
(33)

(34)

(35)

(36)

(37)
(38)

(39)

G.".
C9
H7
G5

G5
F4
F4

D8

DG
FG
EG
H4
H4
K5
CG

(40) Easterbrook House. Site

of. CG
Echo Wood.
(See Holden Wood.)
Eddy Bridge.
(See One-Arcli Bridge.)

(41) Egg Rock. EG

(42) Eltin Burial-Groimd. G 4
Emerson's Cliff. H 8
Emerson, R. W. F7

(43) Everett, Geo. G 9
Fair Haven Hill. H 7
Fair Haven Pond or Bay. J 7

(44) Fair Haven Pond Island

(at high water). J 7

Farmer, J. B. D 5

Farmer's Cliff'. C 0

Farrar, Dea. James. L7

(45) Farrar's Blacksmith Shop. 6 G
Fitchburg Railroad. G 7
Flint, J. E7
Flint's, or North, Bridge. E7
Flint's, or Sandy, Pond. J 10
Fort Pond Brook. F2
Fox Castle Swamp.

(See Owl- Nest Swamp.)

(4G) French's Rock. E7

(47) Frost, B. FG
Garfield, D. J 5

(48) Garrison, J. F7

(49) Gentian Lane. E7

(50) Goodwin, John. G G
Goose Pond. H8

(51)Gourgas, F. R. F7

Gowing, J. F9

Gowing"s Swamp. F9

Great Fields. F 8

Great Meadows. D 8

Green, Lsaiah. A 7

Groton Road. E 3

Hapeood, S. C 3

Harrington, J. G 3

(52) Harrington's Spring. G3

Hawthorne, Nathaniel. F8

Hayden, E. G 66

Hayward,! J. E4

Hayward.' R. G2

Hayward's' Pond. G2

(.53) Heywood, A. B. E7

(.54) Hey wood, Geo. F7

(55) Heywood's Brook. J 7

(.5(;) Heywood's Meadow. J 7

(.57) Heywood's Peak. H 8

(.58) Heywood's Wood-lot. H8

Hildreth, G. W. D6

Hill. (See Nawshawtuct.)

(.59) Hoar, E. Rockwood. F fi

(00) Hoar, Samuel. F7

Hodgman, J. B8

(Gl) '■ Hogepen-Walke." D4

(62) Holbrook, J. FT

Holden, T. J 5

(G3) Holden, or Echo, Wood. H6

Holden Spruce Swamp.

(See Kalnila glauca Swamp.)

(G4) Hollowell Place. H 5

(G5) Ho!t, the. D8

Hosmer, Abel. F 4

spelled " Uey wood " by Thoreau.

{(JG) Hosiiior, EclinuiiJ (before i

Ks.-.;;). G'.i

Husiiier, Edmund (after |
1853). E(i

Hosiner, Jesse. G 4 I

Hosiiier, John. G 5

Hosmer. Just-pli. Vil

Howard's Meadow.
( See Hey wood's Meadow.)
Hubbard, t". G li

(G7) Hubbard, Ebbv. FT

(G8) Hubbard's Bath. G (! j

Hubbard's Bridge. H G

Hubbard's Biook. GG

Hubbard's Close. G 8

(G'.I) Hubbard's Grove. G 5

Hubbard's Hill. C 7

Hunt, D. D7

Hunt, Wni. D7

Hunt House, Old, or Win-

tlirop House. EG

Hunt's, or lied. Bridge. E G

(70) Hunt's Pasture. C 7
Hutcliinson, Peter. E8

(71) Indian Field. EG

(72) Inn kept by Tlioreau's

Aunts. F 7

(73) I.sland,tlie (at liigli water). F G

(74) Jail. F7
Jarvis, P'rancis. E 7

(75) Jones, Mrs. D7
Kalmia glauca, or Holden

Spruce, Swamp. H G

Kettell Place. E 10

(7G)Keyes, J. S. FT

Kibbe Place. B7

(77) Laurel Glen. H7
Leaning Hemlocks. E G

(78) Ledum Swamp. H4
Lee Farm. E5
Lee, I. S. KG
Lee's, or Corner, Bridge. K G
Lee's Cliff. KG
Lee's Hill.

(See Nawshawtuct.)
Legro.s8, J.
Lexington Road.

(See Boston Road.)
Lily Bay.= (See Willow

Bay.)

(79) Lime-kiln.

(80) Lime Quarry.
(81)Linnrea Hills.

Little Goose Pond
Ripple Lake.

(82) Little Truro.

(83) Lonely Graveyard.
Loring's Pond.
Lowell Road.
Mackintosh, \V.

(84) Mantatuket Point

Rock.
Marlborough Road, Old. H3
Ma.son, J. B8

Maynard's Place. J 2

Melvin, Geo. D6

Melvin, J. B5

Melvin Preserve.
(See Easterbrook Country.)
Merriam, D. E 5

Merrjam, J. E 10

B4

CG
CG
H4

Hi)
G5
GG
F3
C5
J9

EG

Merriam, R. FO
85) Merrick's Pasture. F (!
Mile.s, Charles. H5
Miles, J. L5
Miles, Martial and War-
ren. H 4

(8G) Miles's Mill. Warren. H 4

Miles's Run, Charles. H5

Miles Swamp. H4

Mill Brook. F'.l

(S7).Mill-ilam. F7

Mill Road. J 4

Ministerial Swamp. II .'1

Minn's Place. K .S

(S.S)Minolt, Abel. K7

Minott, Geo. F7

(S;t) Money-Diggers" Shore. G5

(IM)) Monroe, Francis. FG

(UI) Monroe. Wni. FG

Moore, J. B. F8

Moore's Swamp. E S

Mt. Misery. K 7

Mt. Tabor K 10

Nashoba Brook. E2

Nawshawtuct, or Lee's,

Hill. FG

Nightshade Pond.

(See Clematis Pond.)
North Branch.

(Sec As.sabi't River.)

(92) North I'.ridge. Site of Old. E 7
(Battlf-Oroinid.i

North Bridge, Pre.sent.

(See Flint's Bridge.)
Nut Meadow' Brook. H 4

One-Arch, Eddy, or Assa-

bet Stone, Bridge. E4

(93) Orchis Swamj). J 7

(94) Orthodox Church. F 7
Owl-Nest, or Fox Castle,

Swamp. C 0

(95) Painted-Cup Meadow. E 4
Peter's Path. E8
Pine Hill (in Concord). E 10
Pine Hill (in Lincoln), or

Bare Hill. J 9

(9C) Pinxter Swamp. EG

Pleasant Meadow. J 7

Pole, Creel, or Bidens,

Brook. K G

Ponkawta.sset Hill. D 7

Poplar Hill. E 7

Potter, Jonas. G G

(97) Potter's Field. H G

(98) Potter's Swamp Meadow. H G

(99) Pout" s Ne&t, or Wyman
Meadow. H8

Pratt, Minot. D7

(lOO)Prescott, G. L. E7

(lOl)Pricliard, M. F7

Powder-Mills. H 1

Putter, B. H 5

(102) Purple Utricularia Bay. K 7

(103) Railroad Depot (Concord). F G
Railroad Depot (Lincoln). L 9
Red Bridge.

(See Hunt's Bridge.)
Rice, Israel. L 5

(104) Rice, Reuben. F7

(105) Ripley, Mrs. (-'Old
Manse ").

Ripley Hill.

(Sec Poplar Hill.)
Ripple Lake
(See Little Goose Pond.)
Sandy Pond.

(See Flint's Pond).
Saw Mill Brook (N. E.).
Saw Mill Brook (S. E.).3
(lOG) School where Thoreau
taught.
Second Division Brook.
(107) Second Division Spring

(108) Seven-Star Lane. J5

(lOU)Shatturk, D. y ,;

Shattuck, H. L. D7

(110) Shrub Oak Plain. J 7

Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. K7

Smith. ('. H Id

Smith. J. A. in

(UljSmith, J.M. KG

Smith's Hill. G III

South Bridge.

(Sep Wood's Bridge.)

Spanish Brook.
(See Well Meadow Brook.)

E-

07
G9

F7
J 2
H2

Spencer Brook.

(112) Squam Harbor.

(113) Staples, Sam.
Stone Bridge.

(114) Stow, Cyrus
Strawberry Hill
Sudbury Sleadow
Sudbury Road.
Sun.set Reach.

(See Clamshell Reach.)

( 1 15) Swauip Bridge Brook. G (
Tarl.ell, D.
Tarbell. W.

(llG)Tarbcll's Spring.

Temjile's Place.

Thoreau"s Birthplace.
(117) Tlioreau's Boat-Landing.
(ll.S)Tlioreau's Grave.

Tlioreau's H\it, Site of.
(119) Tlioreau's Home in the

Village. F fi

(l'20)Tlirreau's "Texas" House. FG

Three Friends', or Lin-
coln. Hill.
(121) Town Hall.
(1-22) Trillium Wood.s.

Tupelo Cliff.

(See Bittern Cliff.)

Tuttle. Aug.

Union Turnpike.
(1'23) Unitarian (First) Church.

Virginia Road.

"Waldeii Pond.

Walden Road.
(124)WaIden Wood.s.
(125) Warner Pail Factory.

Well Meadow.
(12G)Well Meadow, or Span-

C5
I) '.I
F7
FG
F7
B3
L5
H5

G4

(■'.)

(;4

D4
ElO
F(.
FT
H7

JIO
F7
H7

G8
F5
F7
E9
HS
G7
HT
F3
J 7

isli, Brook

Weston, Daniel.

Wetherbee, L.

Wharf Rock.

Wheeler, Cyrus.

Wheeler, F. A.

Wheeler, Samuel G.

Wheeler, T.
(127) Wlieeler's Swamp.

White Pond.

Willis, J.
(12S)Winow Bay. or Lily Bay

(129) Willow Inland.
Winn, P.
Winthroj) Hou.se.

(See Old Hunt House.

(130) Withered Vale or Glade.
Wood, Elijah.
Wood, .las.

(131) Wood's, or South. Bridge. F (

J 10
B4

H 10
K5
.15
F5
G4
FG
J 4
(i 2

. (;5
KG
E G

Woodis Park.
(132)W.)od Thru.sh Path.
Wright, J.
Wynian Me.idow.

(See Pout's Nest.)
Yellow Birch Swamp.

E 5

H 10

G9

2 This name was also siven to a bay on the river in Siiillniry

3 This is the " Saw .Mill Brook " most frequently mentioued by Thi)

APPENDIX

Index to Passages Relating to Birds in Thoreao's
Works Exclusive of the Journal

Eiv. = Riverside Edition. Wal. = Walden Edition.

Week = A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers.
Walden ^ Walden, or Life in the Woods.
M. W. =: The Maine Woods. C. C. = Cape Cod.

Exc. = Excursions. Misc. = Miscellanies.

References in parentheses are to passages taken from the Journal (and appearing
in this book) but usually somewhat revised.

Bittern, Riv. : Week, 21 ; Exc, 137. Wal. : Week, 17; Exc, 111.

Blackbirds, Riv. : Week, 514. Wal. : Week, 417.

Bluebird, Riv. : Exc, 136. Wal. : Exc, 110.

Bunting, Black-throated, Riv. : C. C, 156. Wal. : C. C, 131.

Chickadee, Riv. : Walden, 426 ; M. W., 130, 144 ; Exc, 138.
Wal. : Walden, 304; M. W., 108, 118 ; Exc, 112.

Coots, sea, Riv. : C. C, 134, 135. Wal. : C. C, 113, 114.

Crow, Riv. : Exc, 139. Wal. : Exc, 113.

" Dipper," Riv. : M. W., 226, 227. Wal. : M. W., 184.

Duck, domestic, Riv.: C. C, (100, 101). Wal.: C. C, (86).

Duck, Wood, Riv. : Exc, 328. Wal. : Exc, 268.

Ducks, wild, Riv.: Week, 6; Walden, 385; Exc, 135. Wal.:
Week, 6; Walden, 274,275; Exc, 110.

Eagle, Bald, Riv. : M. W., 35, 36, 384. Wal. : M. W., 30, 309.

Flicker, Riv. : Exc, (137). Wal. : Exc, (111).

Flycatcher, Olive-sided, Riv.: M. W., 226. Wal. : M. W., 183.

Fowl, domestic, Riv.: Walden, 199, 200; Exc, 301,302; Misc,
360, 361. Wal. : Walden, 140, 141; Exc, 246, 411, 412.

General and Miscellaneous, Riv. : Week, 70, 71, 208, 293, 419;
Walden, 135, 330, 478, 479; M. W., 143, 144, 178; C. C, 204,
222; Exc, 134-140, 182, 218, (230), (360, 361). Wal. : Week,
56, 57, 167, 236, 237, 339 ; Walden, 95, 234, 342 ; M. W., 118,
146, 184 ; C. C, 170, 184, 185; Exc, 108-114, 149, 179, (187,
188), (293, 294).

444 APPENDIX

Goldfinch, American, Riv. : Exc, 139. Wal. : Exc, 113.
Goose, Canada, Riv. : AValden, 385, 421, (482, 483). Wal. : Wal-

den, 274, 275, 300, (345).
Grouse, Ruffed, Riv.: Walden, 352-354, 427, 435; Exc, 134.

Wal. : Walden, 250-252, 304, 305, 310, 311; Exc, 109.
Gulls, Riv. : C. C, 83, 84, 104, 105, 306. Wal. : C. C, 71, 72, 89,

253.
Hawk, Fish, Riv.: M. W., 178; Exc, 136, 137. Wal: M. W.,

146; Exc, 110, 111.
Hawk, Marsh, Riv. : Walden, 479. Wal. : Walden, 342.
Hawks, Riv.: Walden, 487,488; M. W., 298. Wal.: Walden,

348, 349 ; M. W., 240, 241.
Hen-hawks, Riv. : Walden, 248. Wal. : Walden, 176.
Heron, Great Blue, Riv. : Week, 514. Wal. : Week, 416, 417.
Heron, Green, Riv. : Week, 309, 310, (311). Wal. : Week, 249,

(250).
Jay, Blue, Riv. : Walden, 425, 426 ; Exc, 138, 243, 244. Wal.-

Walden, 303, 304 ; Exc, 112, 199.
Jay, Canada, Riv. : M. W., 293. Wal. : M. W., 237.
Loon, Riv. : Walden, 363-368 (mostly from Journal) ; M. W., 225,

251, 307, 308, 362, 377 ; Exc, 140. Wal. : Walden, 258-262 ;

M. W., 182, 203, 247, 248, 291, 303, 304 ; Exc, 114.
Merganser, American, Riv. : M. W., 224, 225, 340, 343, 384, 385.

Wal. : M. W., 182, 274, 276, 309.
Nighthawk, Riv. : Walden, 247, 248. Wal. : Walden, 175, 176.
Owl, Barred, Riv. : Walden, 411, 412. Wal. : Walden, 293.
Owl, Great Horned, Riv. : Walden (196, 197), 420, 421 ; M. W.,

384. Wal. : Walden, (138, 139), 300, 301; M. W., 309.
Owl, Screech, Riv. : Walden, (194, 195). Wal. : Walden, (138).
Owls, Riv. : Week, 70. Wal. : Week, 56.
Phalarope, Riv. : C. C, 134. Wal. : C. C, 113.
Phcebe, Riv. : Walden, 491; Exc, 134 note, 138. Wal. : Walden,

351; Exc, 109 note, 112.
Pigeon, Passenger, Riv. : Week, 292; Walden, (179), 248. Wal. :

Week, 235, 236; Walden, (127), 176.
Plover, Piping, Riv. : C. C, 82, 134, 222. Wal. : C. C, 71, 113,

185.

APPENDIX 445

Plover, Upland, Riv. : C. C, 156, 196. Wal. : C. C, 131, 132, 164.
Robin, Riv. : Walden, (481); Exc, 134. Wal. : Walden, (344) ;

Exc, 109.
Sandpiper, Spotted, Riv. : M. W., 178, 225. Wal. : M. W., 146,

182.
Shrike, Riv. : Exc, 134. Wal. : Exc, 109.
Snipe, Riv. : Exc, 140. Wal. : Exc, 113.
Sparrow, Song, Riv. : Walden, (480). Wal. : Walden, (343).
Sparrow, White-throated, Riv. : M. W., 263, 264, 308. Wal. :

M. W., 213, 214, 248, 249.
Swallow, Bank, Riv. : C. C, 196. Wal. : C. C, 164.
Teru (Mackerel Gull), Riv. : C. C, 82. Wal. • C. C, 71.
Thrasher, Brown, Riv. : Walden, 246, 247. Wal. : Walden, 175.
Thrush, " wood," Riv. : M. W., 229, 376. Wal. : M. W., 186, 303.
Veery, Riv. : Exc, 138. Wal. : Exc, 112.
Vireo, Riv. : Exc, 138. Wal. : Exc, 112.
Whip-poor-will, Riv. : Walden, 194. Wal. : Walden, 137.
Woodcock, Riv. : Walden, 355. Wal. : Walden, 252, 253.
Woodpecker, Pileated (" red-headed "), Riv. : M. W., 384. Wal. :

M. W., 309.

INDEX

America, the yacht, 164 note.
Apple tree, its welcome to these

shores, 431, 432.
Audubon, John James, quoted and

cited, 183, 270, 329 note.
August, tinkling notes of, 417, 418.
Auk, Little. See Dovekie.
Autumn, colors of birds in, 415.

Barrett, Samuel, 113 and note, 309.
Barroom, a robin in a, 387.
Bartlett, Edward, 81, 128, 273.
Bay-wing. See Sparrow, Vesper.
Bechstein, Dr. J. M., quoted, 268,

269.
Bird, in the hand, 417.
Bird-Lore, cited, 103 note.
Bittern, the genius of the Concord

River, 218.
Bittern, American (Stake-driver),

63-71 ; 3, 79.
Bittern, Green. See Heron, Green.
Blackbird, Cow. See Cowbird.
Blackbird, Crow. See Grackle,

Bronzed.
Blackbird, Red-winged, 249-253 ;

260,390,426; liquid notes of, 261;

song belongs to the stream, 388.
Blackbird, Rusty, (Grackle), 255-

257; 251,252, 260, 413.
Blackbirds (Miscellaneous), 259-

264 ; 399.
Blake, Harrison G. O., 41.
Blueberry "trees," 108.
Bluebird, 394-402 ; 298, 388, 391, 403,

413,420,428, 430; the note of the

first, 425.
Bobolink, 244-247; 379, 411.
Bob-white (Quail), 94,95; 414, 416,

423, 431.
Boon Plain, 138.

Bradshaw, Mr., of Wayland, 7, 8.
Brant, 46 note, 56.
Breast, of a hawk, the pure white,

165.
Brewer, Dr. Thomas M., quoted and

cited, 124, 304, 357.
Brewster, William, 138 note.

Brooks, George, 113 and note, 116,

185.
Brown, Frank, 47, 270, 319.
Buffle-head, 44, 45 ; 2 note.
Bunting, Black-throated, 08 note.
Bunting, Snow, 277-285; 285, 319,

417, 431.
Buttrick, Humphrey, 104, 418.

Cabot, J. Elliot, cited, 266 note.

Cape Cod, 17, 18.

Cat, the Thoreaus', 438.

Catbird, 361; 427.

Cedar, red, 423.

Channing, William EUery, 2d, 52
and note, 59, 90-92, 105, 247, 331,
375.

Cherries, and the birds, 432, 433.

Cherry, wild, 419.

Cherry-bird. See Waxwing, Cedar,
48.

Chewink. See Towhee.

Chickadee (Titmouse), 368-375; 226,
367, 368, 388, 404, 415, 416.

Chickens. See Fowl, domestic.

Clark, D. B., 228.

Climbing a tall pine, 231.

Cock. See Fowl, domestic.

Conantum, 22.

Concord, History of, quoted, 261.

Coombs, of Concord, 26, 116, 117.

Cooper, Susan Fenimore, her Rural
Hours cited, 5 note.

Coot, American, 83.

Cowbird (Cow Blackbird, Cow
Troopial), 247-249 ; 435.

Creeper, Black and White. See
Warbler, Black and White.

Creeper, Brown, 366 ; 416, 422.

Crossbill, Red, 267-269.

Crow, American, 229-243; 17, 142,
153, 175, 226, 416; teetering along
the water's edge, 14; buffeting a
fish hawk, 156; alert to detect fish
hawks, 160, 161 ; pursued by small
birds, 427 ; pursuing flsh hawk and
eagle, 427; their note a pulse, 431;
and a boy's dart, 433.

448

INDEX

Cuckoo, Black-billed (St. Domingo),
190, 191; 111, 406; nocturnal
flights of, 406 and note.

Dickcissel, 68 note.

Dipper, 1-3, 433.

Dove, Mourning (Turtle), 118, 119;

113.
Dovekie (Little Auk), 7, 8.
Duck, Black, 36-40; 4, 14, 15, 25, 27,

34, GO, 418.
Duck, Buffle-head, 44, 45 ; 2 note.
Duck, Wood (Surumerj, 40-44; 68,

418, 432, 433.
Ducks, domestic, 434; 1, 2, 436.
Ducks, wild, (species unnamed), 45-

51; 4, 61, 408, 412.
Dugan, of Concord, 112 and note.

Eagle, 166 ; in captivity, 146 ; thought

likened to, 303.
Eagle, Bald (White-headed), 148-

150; 158,418.
Eagle, Cape, 418, 423.
Ear, the, the bird and, 424.
East Harbor River, 17.
Eggs, 411.

Election day, 326 and note.
Emerson. Edward W., 118, 123, 128.
Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 357, 385.
Emerson, William, 393.
Ever-reds, the, 369, 370.

Farmer, Jacob, 92, 102, 130 and note,

144, 212, 327, 329.
Feathers, of a hawk's tail-coverts,

143, 144.
Finch, Grass. See Sparrow, Vesper.
Finch, Purple, 266, 267.
Fire, birds awakened by a, 418,

419.
Flicker (Pigeon Woodpecker), 197-

201; 406.
Flight, 408, 409.
Flint's Pond, 24, 39, 108.
Flocks, solidarity of, 404; rolling

over in flight, 408, 425.
Flycatcher, 01ive-suled,(Pe-pe), 220.
Fog, bird-song in, 410, 411.
Fowl, domestic, 434-440 ; 231.
Franconia Notch, 364.
Fringilla hyemalis. See Junco,

Slate-colored.
Frog, dreaming, 405.
Frost, Rev. Barzillai, 71.

Garfield, Daniel, 132.

Garfield, Edward, 103, 232, 423, 424.

Garfield, Isaac, 423.

Garfield, John, 71.

Genius, wildness of, 145.

Gilpin, William, quoted, 9, 10, 408.

Golden-eye (Whistler), 24, 25, 28, 47.

Goldfinch, American, 272-277 ; 387,
412, 431.

Goodwin, John, 7, 43, 55, 83, 113, 235,
340.

Goosander. See Merganser, Ameri-
can.

Goose, Canada, 51-62 ; 4, 72.

Goose Pond, 4, 37, 40, 48, 58.

Goshawk, 418.

Grackle. See Blackbird, Rusty.

Grackle, Bronzed, (Crow Blackbird),
258,259; 260.

Grebe, Horned, 1, 2.

Grebe, Pied-billed, 2, 3. See also
Dipper.

Grosbeak, Pine, 265 ; 319 ; dazzling
beauty of, 421.

Grosbeak, Rose-breasted, 314-317.

Ground-Robin. See Towhee.

Grouse, Ruffed, (Partridge), 95-109 ;
47, 168, 405, 413, 414, 416, 431 ; tracks
of, 234 ; drumming, 418 ; and apple-
buds, 432.

Gull, Herring, 9-17 ; 46, 50, 61, 412,
413.

Gull, Mackerel. See Tern, Common.

Gun, the, 410.

Hair, used in birds' nests, 349.

Hair-bird. See Sparrow, Chipping.

Hangbird, Fiery. See Oriole, Balti-
more.

Hawk, Cooper's, 130, 131.

Hawk, Fish, 150-162; 110,418; skel-
eton of, 79.

Hawk, Marsh, (Frog Hawk, Hen-
harrier), 120-127; 333.

Hawk, Red-shouldered, 138 note.

Hawk, Red-tailed, (Hen-hawk), 131-
137.

Hawk, Rough-legged, 146-148-

Hawk, Sharp-shinned, 128-130;2&1.

Hawk, Sparrow, 150.

Hawks (species unnamed), 163-
168; 59, 409, 436; two at play, 150,
151.

Hayden, senior, of Concord, 94.

Heater piece, 278 note.

INDEX

449

Hen-harrier. See Hawk, Marsh.
Hen-hawks, 138-146; 418; flight of,

408. See also Hawk, Red-tailed.
Hens, 231. See also Fowl, domestic.
Herbert, Mr., 86.
Heron, Great Blue, 71-79; 3, 68, 69,

159.
Heron, Green, (Green Bittern), 79-

81.
Heywood, George, 111.
Hildreth, Jonathan, 327, 328.
Hoar, Mr., of Concord, 88, 392.
Hoar, Edward, 7.
Hodge, Dr. C. F., 103 note.
Holmes, Dr. Ezekiel, quoted, 188.
Hosmer, Abel, 115.
Hosmer, Joseph, 184.
Huckleberry-bird. See Sparrow,

Field.
Hummingbird, Ruby-throated, 213,

214; 423.

Indian, the, and the robin, 389.
Indigo-bird, 317, 318.

Jay, Blue, 225-229 ; 163, 368, 373,

414, 416.
Jones, Josh, 236, 237.
Junco, Slate-colored, (Slate-colored

Snowbird, Fringilla hyemalis),

301-305 ; 260, 276, 319, 320, 323, 324,

363, 391, 413, 428.

Kingbird, 215-218.
Kingfisher, Belted, 192.
Kinglet, Ruby-crowned, (Ruby-crest-
ed Wren), 376; 114 note.

Lark. See Meadowlark.

Lark, Shore, 224, 225.

Leaves, rustling of, 48; withered,

like birds, 430.
Lightning-bug, 406.
Linaria. See Redpoll, Lesser.
Lind, Jenny, 373 note.
Linnaeus, quoted, 436.
Loon, 3-6.

Loon, Redrthroated, 7.
Loring, Mr., of Concord, 54.

MacGillivray, William, quoted, 133-

136.
Maine woods, in the, 105.
Man, the birds' fear of, 419.
Mann, Horace, Jr., 70, 79, 243.

Marshfleld, 386.

Martin, Purple, 329; watched from
an attic window, 403, 409.

Meadow-Hen. See Rail, Virginia.

Meadowlark (Lark), 253, 254; 302,
391, 399, 413.

Melvin, George, 38, 105, 182, 285, 418.

Merganser, American, (Sheldrake,
Goosander), 19-36; 14, 74, 423; in-
tensely white specks, 15 ; sunk low
in the water, 50, 51 ; at home on the
river, 50, 51.

Merganser, Red-breasted, 33.

Merriam, Joe, 39.

Miles, Martial, 125 and note, 172.

Milkweed, water, fibres of, 250, 351,
352.

Minot's Ledge, 18.

Minott, George, 37, 39, 56, 65, 69, 115,
117, 168, 235, 236, 299, 309, 310, 336,
337, 439.

Mockingbird, 361.

Moore, J. B., 49.

Morning, awakening of birds in, 414,
415.

Mornings, ambrosial, 407.

Mother-Carey's-Chicken. See Pe-
trel, Wilson's.

Mt. Lafayette, 265 and note, 316.

Mt. Monadnock, 209-211, 303-305, 364
note, 393 and note, 432, 440 and
note.

Mt. Tabor, 112.

Mt. Washington, 363, 364, 427, 428.

Musketicook, 80 and note.

Myrtle-bird. See Warbler, Myrtle.

Nature, the voice of, 426.

Nests, adaptation in material of,

407; to be studied in winter, 422;

linings of, 424.
New Bedford, 287 and note, 434 and

note.
Nighthawk, 204-211; 405.
Night-warbler, 366-358-
Northeast Carry, 105 note.
Nuthatch, White-bellied, 366-368;

415, 416.
Nuttall, Thomas, quoted and cited,

129, 134, 172 note, 190 note, 205, 220

note, 265, 270, 299 note, 316.

Oriole, Baltimore, (Golden Robin,
Fiery Hangbird), 264, 255; 426,
430.

450

INDEX

Ornithology, of no service, 403.
Oven-bird (Golden-crowned Thrush,

"Night-warbler"), 366-368; 404,

426.
Owl, Barred, 171, 172.
Owl, Great Homed (Cat), 183-189 ;

415, 416.
Owl, Long-eared, 169, 170.
Owl, Saw-whet, 172.
Owl, Screech, 173-183; 432.
Owl, Short-eared, 170, 171; 417.
Owl, Snowy (White), 417.
Owls, eggs of, 176 and note; fitted

to withstand the winter, 183.

Parrot, 441.

Partridge. See Grouse, Ruffed.

Peabody, W. B. O., his Report on the

Birds of Massachusetts cited, 64,

103, 321.
Peetweet. See Sandpiper, Spotted.
Pe-pe. See Flycatcher, Olive-sided.
Petrel, Wilson's, (Mother-Carey's-

Chicken), 18.
Pewee. See Phoebe.
Pewee, Wood, 220-223 ; 379.
Phoebe (Pewee), 218-220.
Pigeon, domestic, 440-441.
Pigeon, Passenger (Wild), 110-118.
Piper grass, 280 and note.
Pipit, American, (Titlark), 360.
Plover, 93.
Plover, Upland, 91.
Plymouth, 67 note.
Pokelogan, 219 and note.
Pratt, Miss Caroline, 246.
Pratt, Minot, 212, 338.
Protection of birds, 428, 429.
Puffer, of Concord, 103.

Quahog, a duck caught by a, 434.
Quail. See Bob-white.

Rabbit, 432.

Rail, Carolina, 82.

Rail, Virginia, (Meadow-Hen), 81.

Railroad, partridge run over on, 107,

108.
Rails (unidentified), 82 ; 3.
Redpoll, Lesser, (Linaria), 269-272 ;

417; the wonder of their presence

in winter, 419-421.
Redstart, American, 368, 359.
Rice, Israel, 16, 115, 433.
Rice, Reuben, 117, 276, 433.

Rice, William, 276.

Ricketson, Daniel, 287 note, 309.

Robin, American, 385-394; 14, 298-
300, 343, 399, 403, 406, 413, 416, 418,
419, 425-427, 429.

Robin, Golden. See Oriole, Balti-
more.

Rockport, 116 and note.

Sanborn, F. B., 56.

Sandpiper, Solitary, 90, 91.

Sandpiper, Spotted, (Peetweet), 91-
93.

Sawyer, E. J., 103 note.

Seringo-bird, 254. See also Sparrow,
Savannah.

Shadows, of birds, 165.

Shattuck, Henry, 94.

Shattuck, Lemuel, his History of
Concord, quoted, 261.

Sheldrake. See Merganser, Ameri-
can.

Shrike, Northern, 341-344;; 416,
417.

Skinner, the bamess-maker, 38, 188,
189

Skinning and stuffing a bird, 23.

Sky, birds seen in, 412.

Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, 118.

Snares, 106.

Snipe, Wilson's, 86-89; 84, 159.

Snow, tracks in, 99-102, 108, 232-235,
282-284, 321, 431; the great be-
trayer, 291, 430, 431.

Snowbird, Slate-colored. See Junco,
Slate-colored.

Sora, 82.

Sparrow, Chipping, (Chip-bird, Hair-
bird), 298, 299; 286, 349; shivering
on an apple twig, 318.

Sparrow, Field, (Rush Sparrow,
Huckleberry-bird), 299-301; 406,
414; Nature's minstrel of serene
hours, 403.

Sparrow, Fox, 311, 312; 260, 320,
321, 324, 391.

Sparrow, Savannah, (Seringo-bird),
290,291; 167.

Sparrow, Song, 306-311; 14,324,387,
390, 391, 393, 398-400, 405, 406, 413,
418, 425-427; a true ground-bird,
323; rills of song from, 413.

Sparrow, Tree, 291-297; 14, 260,
285, 309, 310, 320, 321. 323, 324, 391,
415, 418.

INDEX

461

Sparrow, Vesper, (Grass Finch, Bay-
wing), 286-290.

Sparrow, White-throated, 352 and
note.

Sparrows (miscellaneous), 318-324;
391, 394; pursued by a hawk, 167;
a cricket-like song, 405.

Spruce, black and white, 175 and
note, 184 and note.

Spy-glass, advantages of, 19, 149;
purchase of, 149 note.

Stake-driver. See Bittern, American.

Storms, wild life in, 49, 72, 158, 159.

Stow, INIass., 138 note.

Suckers, dead, 10.

Summer, reminiscence of, 230; the
repose of, 414.

Sun, the, all things follow, 409.

Swallow, Bank, 332; 337, 339.

Swallow, Barn, 330, 331; 335-337,
339.

Swallow, Chimney. See Swift, Chim-
ney.

Swallow, Cliff (Eave, Republican),
329, 330; 337, 339.

Swallow, Tree (White-bellied), 331;
46, 335-337.

Swallows (general and miscella-
neous), 335-339 ; 11, 63, 406.

Swift, Chimney (Chimney Swallow),
212, 213 ; 337, 339, 419.

Tanager, Scarlet, 326-329.

Teal, 4.

Telltale. See Yellow-legs, Greater.

Tern, Common, (Mackerel Gull), 17.

" Texas," Concord, 280 note, 287, 289.

Therien, Aleck, 370, 437.

Thoreau, Sophia E., 88, 438.

Thoughts, like birds, 303.

Thrasher, Brown, 381-36S; 177, 361,
414 ; compared with the wood
thrush, 381.

Thrush, Bicknell's, 363 note, 428
note.

Thrush, Golden-crowned. See Oven-
bird.

Thrush, Hermit, 384, 386; 209 note,
377 note, 410 note.

Thrush, Olive-backed, 209 note, 263
note, 428 note.

Thrush, Wilson's. -See Veery.

Thrush, Wood, 377-383; 406, 414;
the genius of the wood, 404; enno-
bles the wood and the world, 427.

Thrush Alley, 113.

Titlark. See Pipit, American.

Titmouse. See Chickadee.

Toad, Fowler's, 405 note.

Towhee (Chewink, Ground-Robin),

313, 314; 378, 404, 406, 414; on

mountain-tops, 209.
Townsend, Dr. Charles W., cited,

124 note.
Tracks, in snow, 99-102, 108, 232-235,

282-284, 321, 431.
Troopial, Cow. See Cowbird.
Tuckerman's Ravine, 303, 364, 428.
Turtle, snapping, 242, 243.

Umbrella, in a boat, 48 ; as a blind,
52, 53.

Veery (Wilson's Thrush), 384; 368,
405.

Vireo, Red-eyed, 406.

Vireo, Warbling, 426.

Vireo, Yellow-throated, 344.

Vireos (unspecified and unidenti-
fied), 344-340.

Walden Pond, 1, 3, 10, 31, 32, 47, 54,
55, 152, 162, 232, 233.

Warbler, Black and AVhite, (Black
and White Creeper), 347, 348;
song of, 414.

Warbler, Myrtle, (Myrtle-bird), 362,
363.

Warbler, Pine, 363-366 ; 153.

Warbler, Yellow, (Summer Yellow-
bird), 348-352; 198.

Warblers (in general), 369.

Waxwing, Cedar,(Cherry-bird), 340,
341; 429.

Wayland, 7, 8.

Wetherbee, 114.

Whip-poor-will, 203, 204; 173, 378.

Whistler. See Golden-eye.

White, Gilbert. 436.

White Mountains, birds of, 427, 428.
See also Mt. Lafayette and Mt.
Washington.

White T>ond, 39.

Wilson, Alexander, quotations and
citations from, 22, 55, 93, 102, 129,
144, 157 note, 182, 210, 265, 284, 312,
316, 318.

Winter, birds of a, 416, 417; beauti-
ful birds in, 419-422.

Woodcock, 84-86; 418.

452

INDEX

Woodpecker, Arctic Three-toed,

196, 197.
Woodpecker, Downy, 193-196 ; 360,

415-417, 422, 430; keeps the other

side of the bough, 226.
Woodpecker, Hairy, 192, 193.
Woodpecker, Pigeon. See Flicker.
Woodpecker, Pileated, 197.
Woodpeckers (species unnamed),

201-202 ; 391, 431 ; arrival of the

first, 426.
Wren, Ruby-crested. See Kinglet,

Ruby-crowned.

Wren, Short-billed Marsh, 364, 365;

424.
Wren, Winter, 363, 364.
Wyman, John, 236, 237.

Yellowbird, Summer. See Warbler,

Yellow.
Yellow-legs, Greater, (Telltale), 89,

90.
Yellow-throat, Maryland, 356 note,

358.
Young birds, in August, 68; colors

of, 410.

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