«rP,
'^^c^Os
?
FOR THE PEOPLE
FOR EDVCATION
FOR SCIENCE
LIBRARY
OF
THE AMERICAN MUSEUM
OF
NATURAL HISTORY
BIRDS AND NATURE
IN NATURAL COLORS
^y
A NEW EDITION
PAGE PLATES OF FORTY -EIGHT COMMON BIRDS BY
COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY
A GUIDE IN THE STUDY OF BIRDS AND THEIR HABITS
VOLUME I
COMPLETE IN FIVE VOLUMES WITH 240 PAGE PLATES IN COLORS.
BEING A SCIENTIFIC AND POPULAR TREATISE ON
FOUR HUNDRED BIRDS OF THE UNITED
STATES AND CANADA.
CHICAGO
A. W. MUMFORD. Publisher
536 S. CLARK ST.
COPYRIGHT, 191 3, BY A. W. MUMFORD.
PREFACE
The first of the 82 parts of the original edition of Birds and Nature
was published January, 1897, and at once took first place among the works
on Nature Study.
Volume I reached a sale of more than fifty thousand copies.
In December, 1904, 16 volumes with 648 color plates had appeared and
twenty-five thousand complete sets sold.
The text plates were destroyed and the work has been out of print for
several years. So this is not a revised edition, but a new edition, by writers
of authority on birds, their foods, habits, their economic value; also the
little good and much harm the very few birds do.
The color plates are the best that can be made; they were awarded the
Grand Prize at the Paris Exposition in 1900 and the Gold Medal at the
World's Fair, St. Louis, 1904.
The 240 plates in Birds and Nature, together with 408 others of birds,
animals, plants and flowers, insects, shells, minerals, fish, etc., cost over sixty
thousand dollars ($60,000), and they are likely to remain for at least another
17 years the largest and best collection of color plates of Natural History in
the world. The color plates are so natural as to enable one to identify birds
at a glance. No effort of expense or pains has been spared to achieve the
highest possible excellence in this work. It is the fruit of twenty years of
labor.
While 648 plates were used in the first edition of 16 volumes, the pub-
lisher believes that five volumes with the best 240 plates of the 240 most
common birds of the United States and Canada will meet with more favor,
and it is not very likely that 240 such exquisite color plates will appear in a
similar work for a good many years to come. Many features commend this
edition ; the type, print and paper are good, right size of page and the
volumes of 192 pages of text and 48 pages of color plates to each volume
make books that are easy to handle and a joy to possess.
Not since Audubon's Birds of America, published in 1830-39, eighty-three
years ago, has there been published a work on Ornithology to at all compare
with Birds and Nature, which has stood and remains a monument to the
study of Birds and the debt we owe them.
Audubon's Birds of America have sold as high as $3,000. He used the
gun and drawing material.
Birds and Nature used the color-photograph process — photographing
each color — made plates of each color and printed each color separately so
as to blend and make all colors true to life.
The color plates are not reproduced from paintings, but from the real
birds in nature — hence the exact colors.
In addition to the 240 birds illustrated in colors. 160 others are described,
making 400 of the best known and most important birds of the Ignited
States and Canada.
Chicago, May 26, 1913. A. W. Mumford.
LIST OF COLORED PLATES
7x9 inches
Two hundred and forty of the most common of these appear in Vols. I, II, III, IV and V
of Birds and Nature.
•67 Anhinga — Snake Bird.
64 Avocet.
130 Baldpate.
193 Bird of Paradise, King bird of
7 Bird of Paradise, Red.
649 Bird Group (15 kinds).
<)50 Group (14 kinds).
321 Bittern.
129 Least.
19 Blackbird, Red Winged.
411 Rusty.
299 Yellow-headed.
21 Bluebird.
Ill Mountain.
25 Bobolink.
124 Bob-white.
594 Brant, Black.
362 Buffle-head.
47 Bunting, Indigo.
110 Lazuli.
98 Snow.
569 Bush-Tit.
284 Canary, Wild.
65 Canvas-back.
20 Cardinal.
644 Cassowary.
50 Catbird.
120 Chat, Yellow-breasted.
45 Chickadee.
499 Carolina.
530 Chuck-wills Widow.
127 Cockatoo, Rose.
6 Cock of the Rock.
140 Coot.
420 Cormorant, Brandt's.
602 Cormorant, Double-crested.
294 Cowbird.
224 Crane, Sandhill.
163 Creeper, Brown.
35 Crossbill.
377 White-winged.
26 Crow.
£87 Cuckoo, Black-billed.
84 Yellow-billed. "
•401 Curassow, Crested.
538 Curlew, Eskimo.
.506 Long-billed.
150 Dickcissel.
'604 Dipper, American.
89 Dove, Mourning.
332 Ring-necked.
404 Dovekie.
386 Dowitcher, Short-billed.
137 Duck, Black.
371 Fulvous Tree.
402 Harlequin.
626 Lesser Scaup.
3 Mandarin.
324 Ring-billed.
316 Ruddy.
66 Wood.
61 Eagle, Bald.
€18 Golden.
70 Egret, Snowy.
«25 Finch, House.
131 Purple.
27 Flicker.
116 Flamingo.
617 Flycatcher, Ash-throated.
615 Green-crested.
434 Olive-sided.
44 Scissor-tailed.
603 Traill's.
109 Vermilion.
433 Yellow-billed.
560 Fowls, Domestic.
276
Rooster and Hen.
34
554
Gadwall.
180
578
Gallinule, Florida.
18
33
Purple.
293
139
Gnatcatcher, Blue-gray.
329
410
Godwit, Marbled.
63
215
Golden-eye.
331
92
Goldfinch.
29
523
Arkansas.
236
537
European.
74
102
Goose, White-front.
62
162
Canada.
14
628
Goshawk.
161
118
Crackle, Bronzed.
396
387
Great-tailed.
48
363
Grebe, Eared.
148
37
Pied-billed.
1
570
Grosbeak, Black-headed.
580
78
Evening.
459
441
Pine.
330
31
Rose-breasted.
90
327
Western-blue.
165
115
Grouse, Black.
409
403
Canada.
56
151
Dusky.
417
201
Prairie-sharp-tailed.
10
59
Ruffed.
529
252
Gull, Bonaparte's.
42
185
Herring.
71
54
Ring-billed.
145
385
Hawk, Rough-legged.
242
142
Sparrow.
482
468
Broad-winged.
514
548
Ferruginous-Rough-leg.
30
43
Marsh.
380
188
Red-shouldered.
133
291
Red-tailed.
41
460
Sharp-shinned.
126
564
Western Red-tail.
57
53
Heron, Black-crowned Night.
369
159
Great Blue.
5
489
Green.
285
556
Little Blue.
394
212
Humming Birds.
157
113
Hummingbird, Allen's.
15
425
Anna's.
393
481
Black-shinned.
80
467
Broad-tailed.
323
450
Rivoli.
128
85
Ruby-throated.
144
426
Rufous.
313
166
Ibis, White-faced Glossy.
395
322
Scarlet.
138
228
White.
97
40
Jay, Arizona.
475
11
Blue.
77
32
Canada.
4
370
Long-crested.
572
315
Stellar's.
24
545
Junco, Pink-sided.
119
99
Slate-colored.
143
305
Killdeer.
87
100
Kingbird.
121
167
Arkansas.
344
17
Kingfisher, Belted.
125
108
European.
156
457
Kinglet, Golden-crowned.
204
88
Ruby-crowned.
104
507
Kite, Everglade.
524
497
Swallow-tailed.
62
627
Kittiwake.
135
379
Knot, Robin Snipe.
147
94
Lark, Horned.
172
531
Leucosticte, Gray-crowned.
136
619
Longspur, Lapland.
196
Smith's.
Loon.
Lory, Blue-mountain.
Lyre Bird.
Magpie.
Mallard.
Martin, Purple.
Meadowlark.
Merganser, Hooded.
Red-breasted.
Mockingbird.
Mot Mot, Mexican.
Murre, Brunnich's.
Murrelet, Marbled.
Nighthawk.
Nightingale
Nonpareil.
Nutcracker, Clarke's.
Nuthatch, Brown-headed.
Red-breasted.
White-breasted.
Old-squaw.
Oriole, Audubon's.
Baltimore.
Bullock's.
Golden.
Hooded.
Orchard.
Osprey.
Oven-bird.
Owl, Barn._
Burrowing.
Great Gray.
Great Horned.
Hawk.
Saw-whet.
Screech.
Short-eared.
Snowy.
Western Horned.
Parakeet, Australian.
Paroquet, Carolina.
Parrot, Gray.
Double Yellow-headed.
King.
Owl.
Partridge, Gambel's.
Massena.
Mountain.
Scaled.
Peacock.
Pelican, White.
Petrel, Wilson's.
Pewee. Wood.
Phalarope, Northern.
Wilson's.
Pheasant, Golden.
Impeyan.
Japanese.
Ring-necked.
Silver.
Phoebe.
Pigeon, Crowned.
Homing.
Passenger.
Pintail.
Plover, Golden.
Piping.
Black-bellied.
Ringed.
Snowy.
Upland.
Prairie Chicken.
Lesser.
Puffin, Tufted.
586
Ptarmigan, White-iailefl.
314
Willow.
307
Rail, Clapper.
458
King.
297
Virginia.
636
Yellow.
336
Raven.
199
Redhead.
547
Redpoll.
357
Redstart.
153
Rhea, So. American.
553
Redbreast.
16
Robin.
610
Road-runner.
12
Roller, Indian.
418
Sanderling.
183
Sandpiper, Least.
192
Pectoral.
484
Red-backed.
562
Spotted.
372
Sapsucker, Red-breasted.
95
Yellow-bellied.
412
Scoter, Surf,
69
White-winged.
546
Shoveller.
419
Shrike, Northern.
55
Loggerhead.
601
Siskin, Pine.
76
Skylark.
169
Snipe, Wilson's.
72
Sora.
452
Sparrow, Chipping.
112
English.
442
Field.
123
Fox.
641
Golden-crowned.
608
Grasshopper.
655
Harris.
686
Lark.
474
Leconte's.
639
Savannah.
83
Song.
677
Swamp.
436
Tree.
349
Vesper.
532
White-crowned.
427
White-throated.
149
Spoonbill, Roseate.
522
Starling.
155
Stilt, Black-necked.
513
Sunbird, Philippine.
22
Swallow, Barn.
609
Tree.
500
Northern Violet-green.
270
Swans and Water Lilies.
134
Swan, Black.
93
Swift, Chimney.
364
Tanager. Louisiana.
9
Red-rumped.
58
Scarlet.
101
Summer.
306
Teal, Cinnamon.
298
Blue-winged.
114
Green-winged.
28
Tern. Black.
207
Caspian.
177
Common.
620
Forster's.
23
Thrasher. Brown.
466
California.
498
Thrush, Gray-cheeked.
679
European Song.
82
Hermit.
571
Olive-backed.
490
X'aricd.
49
Wood.
588
Titmouse, Crested (Europe).
SS3
Tufted.
8
Toucan, Yellow-throated.
283
Towhee.
563
Arctic.
635
California.
595
White.
2
Trogan, Resplendent.
107
Tropic Bird, Yellow-billed.
105
Turkey, Wild.
103
Turnstone.
117
Verdin.
337
Veery.
465
\'ireo. Blue-headed.
122
Red-eyed.
96
Warbling.
449
White-eyed.
51
Yellow-throated.
634
Vulture, Black.
214
California.
79
Turkey.
483
Warbler, Audubon's.
154
Bay-breasted.
91
Blackburnian.
444
Black-poll.
60
Black and White.
264
Black-throated Blue.
436
Black-throated Green.
260
Blue-winged Yellow.
633
Canadian.
231
Cape May.
106
Cerulean.
263
Chestnut-sided.
261
Golden-winged.
73
Kentucky.
388
Hooded.
158
Magnolia.
262
Mourning.
259
Myrtle.
245
Nashville.
611
Orange-crowned.
505
Palm.
428
Parula.
492
Prairie.
46
Prothonotary.
643
Swainson's.
693
Tennessee.
378
Townsend's.
451
Worm-eating.
81
Yellow.
254
Water Thrush, Grinnell's.
516
Louisiana.
38
Waxwing, Bohemian.
249
Cedar.
612
Wheatear.
222
Whip-poor-will.
361
Willet, Western.
68
Woodcock.
146
Woodpecker, Three-toed.
36
California.
164
Downy.
696
Green.
476
Hairy.
141
Ivory-billed.
540
Nuttall's.
521
Pileated.
132
Red-bellied.
13
Red-headed.
661
Wren, Bewick's.
443
Carolina.
86
House.
39
Long-billed Marsh.
491
Short-billed Marsh.
473
Winter.
642
Yellow-legs.
75
Greater.
293
Yellow-throat, Maryland.
258
Western.
Price. 2 rents each; $1.80 per 100; any 240 for $4.00; or the 379 for $5.00. Order
number If all are not wanted. A. W. MUMFORD. Publisher.
536 S. Clark St., Chicago, 111.
by
American Goldfinch {Astragaiinus tnsHs)
By I. N. Mitchell
Length about five inches; sexes unhke; nest a thick walled, compact,
well made cup, outside of fine grasses, fibres of bark, wool and moss, inside
thickly lined with thistle-down, wool and cotton ; eggs three to six.
Range : United States ; breeds from middle regions north, and winters
mainly within the United States.
This is the yellow bird that so many people call the wild canary. The
resemblance between our wild finch and the cultivated immigrant from the
Canary Islands is so striking, sometimes, both in color and voice, that the
name seems almost justified. Let us be patriotic, however, and claim our own
bird as the American goldfinch. How well the name suggests his clear, beauti-
ful, yellow body color. This, with his black crown, wings and tail make the
male bird an easy one to know. The female, though dressed in the same
general colors, is much harder to identify. The yellow is darkened to a
brownish olive, and the black of the wings and tail is a dusky, brownish black.
The crown patch is wanting. She may be known by the company she keeps
better, perhaps, than by the colors of her coat.- In the fall the male changes
color and then looks like the female.
The goldfinch is one of the birds that is easy to recognize by the man-
ner of flight. He adopted the coaster-brake style of locomotion ages before
the days of the bicycle. He pumps vigorously for a few strokes and sends
himself forward on an upward, wave-like curve, then takes it easy for a bit
and falls through another graceful curve. He seems to enjoy the coasting
slide and sings "Now, here we go" as he falls. The wavy line of flight and
the song "per-chic-o-ree" as so many know it, are in a peculiar adulatory
manner.
The voice of the goldfinch is peculiarly soft and clear. His call is a short
"sweet" and "dearie" that arouses in his human hearer feelings of tenderness
and affection caused by no other wild bird and rivaled only by those sug-
gested by the sweetest notes of the canary. In the mating season the song
is prolonged and canary like. To hear a flock of them singing in chorus is
an event of a season.
Being a seed eater, the goldfinch finds it possible to remain in the northern
states throughout the winter. They are so much less noticeable in their
winter plumage that many people do not recognize them. They rove through
the fields in large flocks feeding on the seeds of the weeds that stick above
the snow.
They are most abundant during the last week of April and the first week
of May. This may be because many of them have returned from farther south.
92
l-l'MN, 11.
(bpinus tristi^).
h Life-size.
BT A. W. MUMPOHD CHICAGO
or they may only seem commoner because the male has again put on his
summer coat and because they go in flocks. The goldfinches are a happy,
jolly, care-free lot of rovers. They seem to be strongly attached to each
other and prolong the life in the flock well into the summer ; then they go
oi¥ in pairs to begin their house making and house keeping duties in the
crotch of some bush or tree.
From the viewpoint of the farmer and gardener the goldfinch is a most
desirable neighbor. He takes no liberties with anything that man in his
selfishness has tried to appropriate to his own exclusive use. He is not only
negatively good, he is very positively good. He is one of the unpaid but
very efficient assistants of the weed commissioner, and never hesitates to
invade a thistle patch for fear of hurting the feelings of the owner of the
land, nor for fear of injuring his own chances of re-election. He helps with
the dandelions and plantain, with the ragweed and dock. He is fond of sun-
flower seeds but gets hardly a taste of them if English sparrows are about.
These beautiful birds are more than weed-seed destroyers. Like their
relatives, the finches and sparrows, they feed their young on insects and thus
help to hold in check the beetles and grasshoppers and the rest of that
pestilential army.
Brown Thrasher
Habits and economic status : The brown thrasher is more retiring than
either the mocking bird or catbird, but like them is a splendid singer. Not
infrequently, indeed, its song is taken for that of its more famed cousin, the
mocking bird. It is partial to thickets and gets much of its food from the
ground. Its search for this is usually accompanied by much scratching and
scattering of leaves; whence its common name. Its call note is a sharp
sound like the smacking of lips, which is useful in identifying this long-
tailed, thicket-haunting bird, which does not much relish close scrutiny. The
brown thrasher is not so fond of fruit as the catbird and mocker, but devours
a much larger percentage of animal food. Beetles form one-half of the animal
food, grasshoppers and crickets one-fifth, caterpillars, including cut-worms,
somewhat less than one-fifth, and bugs, spiders, and millipeds com-
prise most of the remainder. The l)rown thrasher feeds on such coleopterous
pests as wire-worms. May beetles, rice weevils, rose beetles, and figeaters.
By its destruction of these and other insects, which constitute more than
60 per cent of its food, the thrasher much more than compensates for that
portion (about one-tenth) of its diet derived from cultivated crops.
Brown Thrasher (Toxostoma rujum)
By W. Leon Dawson
Length — About 11 inches.
Range — Eastern United States west to the Rocky Mountains ; north to
Maine, Ontario and Manitoba. Breeds from Gulf States to southern Canada
and west to Colorado, Wyoming and Montana; winters in the southern half
of eastern United States.
The last of this splendid trio of mocking singers is even more secretive
than all the others in its ordinary habits, and bolder yet in song. Early in
the spring the Thrashers steal northward up the river valleys, skulking along
fence-rows or hiding in brush-heaps and tangles, and rarely discovering
themselves to human eyes until the breeding ground is reached. Here, too,
if the weather is unpropitious, they will mope and lurk silently; but as soon
as the south wind repeats the promise of spring the Thrasher mounts a tree-
top and clears his throat for action.
Choosing usually a spot a little way removed from the road, the singer
sends his voice careering over field and meadow, lane and wood-lot, till all
may hear him for a hundred rods around. What a magnificent aria he sings !
Precise, no doubt, and conscious, but it is full-voiced and powerful. Now and
then he lapses into mimicry, but for the most part his notes are his own —
piquant, incisive, peremptory, stirring. There is in them the gladness of the
open air, the jubilant boasting of a soul untamed. Each phrase is repeated
twice.
"That's the wise thrush ; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture."
He opens his bill wide, his body vibrates with emotion, and each note is
graced by a compensating movement of the drooping tail.
Altho the Brown Thrasher does not make such hopeless confusion of
jest and earnest as does the Catbird, there is still something of the buflfoon
about him, and his ways in the bush are not altogether above criticism.
Possibly with the best motives, but still in a very annoying fashion, the bird
sneaks about through the brush and insists upon knowing your business.
From time to time it utters a sharp, repulsive (tsook), and occasionally a
suggestive (you-uh), which makes one feel conspicuous and uncomfortable.
The bird's eye. too, with its orange iris, while it must be admitted to har-
monize perfectly with the warm russet of the plumage, has a sinister cast
which might prejudice the unthinking.
In defense of its home the Thrasher is almost fearless, often placing
itself within reach of the observer's hand, and calling down upon him all the
8
while the most dreadful woes. The female is a close sitter, and portraits
(in nido) are not difficult to obtain.
Nesting sites are various, but the bird shows a decided preference for
those which are naturally defended by thorns Nearly every full sized Crategus
(thorn apple) has at one time harbored a nest. Hedges of osage-orange are
well patronized almost exclusively so in the prairie states further west —
and the honey-locust tree is not forgotten. Next after these come wild
plum thickets, grape-vine tangles, brush heaps, fence corners, and last of all,
the ground.
From "Birds of Ohio" by Permission.
Birds in Winter Fields
By Edward B. Clark
A crow was calling from the Skokie,* while from the oak at the door-
step a bluejay, in a voice more grating than usual, answered the salutation
with the epithet "thief," twice repeated. It may seem strange that the sum-
mons of two harsh bird-voices should be potent enough to draw one to the
outdoor world from the front of a pile of genially crackling birch-logs, when
the thermometer is dangerously near zero. There are some people, however,
to whom a jay and his jargon, and the call of a bird as common as a crow,
are preferred to the warmth of a hearth, though the fire be of birch. The
same persons who tell you that since the English sparrow was imported
every other winged thing except the mosquito and the house-fly has disap-
peared, will tell you also, even if they admit the presence of a few songsters
in summer, that there are no more birds in winter than there are in last
year's nests. There are winter birds, however, and interesting winter birds
at that. Those who will take the trouble and who will learn how to look,
will find them lurking in the shrul)bery just beyond the snow which banks
the doorstep, or it may be, calling with voices as blithe as of the summer
from the bare apple-boughs of the orchard.
When the crow called me that cold January morning. I struck out for a
tramp through the Skokie swamp, and all the country that lay between it
and the hill on the east. It was a bitter morning, and cvon the owl, hidden
in the hole in the oak, "for all his feathers was a-cold." I halted at the foot
of the dooryard steps, and cast an anxious look upward to see if the jay
which I had heard from the fireside had deserted. I am superstitious enough
to think that it augurs well for the success of a bird-hunting trip to see
some feathered character at the start. This bit of superstition is. I believe,
common to all bird-students. The jay was still there. It is perhaps the
commonest bird of this locality, both in winter and summer. You can
•Few miles north of Chicago.
always count upon the jay's doing something new. This doorstep jay did
something decidedly new — he dropped from his beak to the ground at my
feet a round, flat, smooth stone of the diameter of an inch. It was one of
the kind of which thousands may be found along the lake shore. I should
judge, from a long and somewhat intimate acquaintance with jays, that they
have not the regular habit of making stone-boats of their beaks. I picked
the stone up, and asked the bird what he had intended to do. with it. He
cocked his head on one side, looked down on me, and screamed "Thief" at
the top of his lungs. I agree with Bradford Torrey that this bird says
"thief" much more plainly than he says "jay." Thus he characterizes him-
self as well as if he spoke English more fluently. The jay is essentially a
thief, and seems to take delight in proclaiming the fact to the world.
On the outskirts of Highland Park, 111., there is a patch of dense under-
growth. Before the heavier timber was cut down, the place was known as
Hamilton's Woods. Some years ago these acres of underbrush were divided
into town lots, and a new city was to spring up. One house and an ambitious
cement sidewalk with plank extensions are all that remain as monuments
to the purpose and hope of the projectors. This town-site is on the very
summit of the ridge which slopes down westward to the Skokie. Far off
beyond the stretches of coarse swamp-grass one sees, blue in the distance,
the woods that skirt the river. From this spot it is that sunsets may be seen
having in them something of the higher glories of color that are associated
with the close of day in the hill countries far removed from the level plains
of Illinois. The undergrowth is not uninhabited. There, summer and win-
ter, live the rabbits, a squirrel or two, the red-headed and downy wood-
peckers, the jay and the chickadee, and the not infrequent quail. In summer
this spot is the haunt of the scarlet tanager, the catbird, the brown thrasher,
and the oriole.
When I reached Hamilton's Woods on that winter's day, I stopped to
examine some bits of bird architecture ; for though man failed to build here,
there are enough bird homes in the patch to give evidence of its excellence
as a dwelling place. In a hazel-bush, not more than twenty feet from the
highroad, I found the deserted nest of a catbird. The July previous I had
watched the outgoing of the fledgeling family from this little home. I had
reached a point within five feet of the nest when I was struck by the fact
that it was moving. There was a rustling of the dry oak leaves which
formed its base, and the twigs above were swaying in a way which pre-
cluded the possibility of the movement being the work of the wind. Then
through my mind flashed the thought of Dr. Abbott's tales of winter cat-
birds in New Jersey, and of the story I had heard of one of the birds which
for a whole winter did not go nearer the equator than South Chicago. Was
it possible that one of these gray, scolding, querulous creatures was revisit-
ing its summer home, and marking the exception which proved the Spanish
10
proverb, "There are no birds in last year's nest?" I made a cautious step
or two, and the mystery was explained. A piercing little black eye, with a
world of fright in its narrow compass, was peering at me from above the
edge of the nest. Then there was more rustling, and I caught a glimpse of
something as it flashed down the stem of the hazel-bush. Then there was
disappearance and quiet. It was a mouse, of course. He had taken posses-
sion of the catbird's summer home for a winter residence. There was too
strong a temptation to resist to pry into the housekeeping of Master Mouse.
He had "bulged up" the inner bark lining of the structure a little, and
beneath this he placed his store of provender, which consisted of corn and
hazelnuts. There was no corn-field within fifty rods, and this diminutive
four-footed "beastie" must have made many a weary journey for his corn
supply. The hazelnuts were close at hand and in abundance.
It is hard work to get away from a jay. Even though he be at a dis-
tance, his voice is a constant reminder that he is on earth. I have said that
the jay is essentially a thief — now for proof positive. A pair of these steel-
blue coated creatures had been watching my operations on the catbird's nest
with apparent interest, though I had given them little attention, because of
the greater matter in hand. I had walked away from the thorn bush to a
distance of about fifty yards, when a jay call that had something of jubila-
tion in it caused me to turn. The two birds were engaged in rifling the
mouse's larder. I was conscience-stricken at being the cause of the loss of
food, so I drove the birds away. I found that they had secured already a
large share of the supply, and I have little doubt that they returned later to
complete the robbery.
A little log hut, built after the fashion of fifty years ago, stands at a
corner of Hamilton's Woods, upon what was intended for a town lot. The
path leads away from the highway at this point and strikes down straight
toward the Skokie. A pair of downy woodpeckers flew over the path, and
began playing hide-and-seek around the bole of an oak. The downy wood-
pecker is everlastingly cheerful. Whenever there is a lireak in the interest
of a winter morning's walk, he is certain to appear and do what he can to
enliven the occasion. This morning he did more. One of the pair went to
the top of a tree, and wiiilc my eye was following his course along the
branch there came within the range of vision ten great birds far up in the
sky and flying westward. They were wild geese. There was the gander
leader, and trailing along forming the V-shaped wedge were the followers.
I blesscfl the downy for calling my attention to the geese. It was the mid-
dle of January; the thermometer was close to zero, and yet here was a flock
of geese in northern Illinois. Thr birds wore heading for the swamp. Wiiat
two months before had been a stream in the center of the marsh was now a
long, glistening ice ribbon, with here and there, as it were, a white knot
tied, where the rushes parted a little to the right and left. The ten geese
11
settled slowly toward the swamp, and then rose again at the direction of
their leader, who doubtless said, "No rest nor forage here, but I know of a
corn-field beyond."
I put these ten birds down as geese indeed, for forgetting the warmth
and food plenty in the South, and for trusting for a living to the poor pick-
ings of a frozen, storm-swept country. In a few moments I found there were
other geese. A second V-shaped flock of thirteen individuals passed over
in the wake of the leading ten. Apparently there was some trouble in the
second group, for the birds kept changing sides ; the two immediately behind
the leader moved one in the place of the other, and then the maneuver was
repeated at the middle of the gathering, and then at the extreme rear. This
continued for some time, and there came into my mind the irresistible c(3n-
clusion that the old gray gander leader was telling his followers that five
birds on one side and seven on the other of the V was an uncouth flying
order, and that in trying to get one bird to change over, his orders were so
misunderstood that a general mix-up resulted. Finally, however, before the
flock was lost to sight, the old fellow succeeded in getting things straight-
ened out.
A man in a brickyard near the swamp said that the geese were coming
from the lake because a storm was brewing. There was no storm for a week,
however. The same man said that he had seen a thousand geese "a few days
before." Pinned down, however, he admitted that the "few days before" was
in November.
The bluffs against which the waves of Lake Michigan beat just north of
Chicago are cut by deep ravines. In the summer these ravines are thickly
tenanted by birds. All through June they ring with the notes of the rose-
breasted grosbeak, the wood thrush and the brown thrasher. I determined
one winter morning, in the same month as that of my Skokie trip, though in
another year, to find out what one of these great gullies held in winter that
was of interest to a bird lover. The weather conditions of the night before
and of the early morning were unusual for midwinter. At midnight the air
was warm and heavy ; at five o'clock in the morning there was a thunder-
storm raging which would not have been out of place in late April. The ther-
mometer marked seventy degrees, and the lightning played through a heavy
downfall of rain. At seven o'clock there were signs of clearing. The sun
peeped out through a break in a cloud bank that hung low over Michigan. An
hour later as I stood on the lake shore ready to begin the threading of the
ravine, there was no longer any rain, and the air was beginning to take on
a crispness.
The first glimpse of bird life came just before I turned inland. The ad-
vance guard of what became a great army of gulls crossed the horizon. They
were herring gulls, and in color were in keeping with the gray day. A flock
of ducks flew rapidly along below the gulls and parallel to the shore line.
12
They were moving like thought, and soon left the gulls far behind. I recog-
nized them as old squaws, wanderers from the far off Arctic. In the middle
of winter the old squaw is not an uncommon bird at the southern end of Lake
Michigan. When the lake is well filled with ice these northern ducks search
for the stretches of open water, and there they seek rest and food. A gunner
who took station at the end of the government pier in Chicago one winter's
day killed a hundred old squaws in a few hours' time. When the killing was
complete, he found out that the birds were unfit for food, and the bodies of
the beautiful creatures were thrown away. I left the lake and went into the
ravine. On the bank of the little brook at the bottom the air was warm and
still. The stream was ice-bound only in places. The locality was like one of
the constant succession of scenes that are found in a ramble in New England.
Sadly enough, however, June sees this ravine brook dried up, and the July sun
withers the flowers at its edge and the foliage on its banks. The ravine's
beauty largely will pass, while in New England the mountain-fed streams
will keep the summer blossoms bright and the leaves green.
I started a junco from his feeding place on the brook's bank. He was all
alone. I think that was the only time in my field experience that I have
found a junco separated from his fellows. While the books put this little
snowbird down as a common winter resident in this latitude, I have found it
in the heart of winter only on three occasions, and then in limited numbers.
A few yards beyond the junco's foraging place I found the empty tenement
of a red-eyed vireo. The vireo had used a piece of newspaper as a part of his
building material. The print was still clear, and I found the date line of a
dispatch at the heading of a short article. The date was July 3, of the year
before. This was proof beyond question that the vireo had begun house-
keeping rather later in the season than is usual with his tribe. Judging from
other empty nests that I found close at hand the vireo had pleasant neighbors,
the redstarts and the yellow war1)lers. The birds must have found this ravine
an ideal summer resort, plenty of shade, good water, lake breezes, and a larder
well supplied with all the insect delicacies of the season.
The pathway of the stream was lined in places with snow which the thaw
had spared. I found that I was not the first traveler of the morning. A rab-
bit had preceded me, and apparently he had gone a long way from home, for
the marks of his footsteps led on until the ravine was at an end. A jay re-
sented my intrusion into the ravine. The jay finds his perfect setting in a
winter day. His coloring makes the bird seem like a bit broken from the blue
sky and from the edge of a cold gray cloud, ^^^hen I finally reached the plain
above the ravine, I found that a blizzard was raging. In the sheltered depths
I had not known of the change in the weather. Within an hour the worst
storm of the year was sweeping over the lake. It was on that day, which had
opened with a spring-like mildness, that the steamship Chicora. plying Lake
Michigan, went down to destruction. The air was filled with particles of
13
snow that cut like sleet. I reached a field finally where the storm had full
sweep, and was compelled to brace myself to resist its force. I edged into it
as best I could, and before I had made many yards I found that even in the
tempest I had bird companions. A flock of snow buntings were whirling
over a depression in the prairie. The wind tossed them about almost at will,
but in some way they managed to hold their place over the same low spot in
the field. They went to the ground finally, but as I passed them they rose in
a body and went hurtling down the wind. What I saw was but little more
than some streaks in the snow-laden air. A blizzard is of but little more
moment to a snow bunting than a zephyr. How the wind did hurl them !
They were not more than four feet above the ground, and were being borne
straight at a close board fence. I thought they were about to be dashed head-
long against it, but the buntings had ridden on the breast of a storm before.
When within a few feet of the fence they rose and went scuttling over the
top, showing white against the treetops beyond.
Slate-Colored JunCO {Junco hyemalis)
By W. Leon Dawson
Length: Six and one-fourth inches. Range: North America, chiefly
east of the Rockies, breeding in the hilly portions of the Northern States.
South in winter to the Gulf States.
Common in spring and fall, a few remain through the winter; sexes
similar, female duller; nest usually on the ground in a clump of low bushes,
of grass, and moss lined with fine grass and hair ; eggs four or five ; song a
modest trill.
A summer in Laurentia is certainly good for the health, for when Junco
returns in the fall he is chockfull of animal spirits and good cheer. He is a
very energetic body at any time of year, but his high spirits are especially
grateful to the beholder when the numbing cold of winter has silenced all
feathered kind but the invincible Tree Sparrows and Snow-birds. The
plumage of the Junco exactly matches his winter surroundings — "Leaden
skies above; snow below," Mr. Parkhurst says — and he proceeds to make
himself thoroughly at home. Not content to mope about within the limits of
a single brush-patch, like Tree Sparrows, large companies of Snow-birds
rove restlessly through tree-tops and weedy dingles as well, and cover con-
siderable areas in a day.
On such occasions, and commonly, they employ a peculiar twitter of
mingled greeting and alarm,— a double note which escapes them whenever
any movement of wing is made or contemplated. I have called this the
14
w
SLATF. C DI.UKKK Jl Ni u
(I unco hvemali')
1 ■!,. .,.,.
CtM-tRiGMT »«0C, eV ■'
"banner" note, partly because it is uttered when the bird, in rising from the
ground or fluttering from twig to twig, displays the black and white banner
of its tail and partly because it sounds like the double clank-clank of a rail-
road switch when the heavy trucks pass over it. The connection between a
banner and a railroad switch may not be perfectly obvious at first, but any-
one who is not color-blind is hereby respectfully challenged to forget if pos-
sible the lurid colors which decorate the average assemblage of militant
switch-posts.
Junco, while a reckless fellow to appearance, is not indifferent to the com-
fort of well-appointed lodgings. His nights are spent in the thickest cover
of cedar hedges, under logs or sheltered banks, along streams, or else buried
in the recesses of corn-shocks. One crisp November evening a year or two
ago, with my ornithological chum, Mr. Lynds Jones, I watched a com-
pany of Juncoes to bed. The birds would steal along from shock to shock
with twitter of inquiry until they found an empty bed or one to their taste,
and then would settle down into the top, not without considerable rustling
of dry leaves. When the company was quiet, we started out, boy-like to
undo the work. We saluted the shocks in turn with distantly flung clods
-which shivered to powder as they struck the stalks and made a noise like
the Day of Judgment. Out dashed Juncoes by twos and threes from every
shock thus rudely assaulted, and many were the pertinent remarks made in
most emphatic Junkese when the mischief-makers were discovered. Oh,
well, they really wer'n't scared quite out of their wits, and they had plenty
of time to get back into bed again after we were gone. Besides, variety is
the spice of life — even of a Snow-bird's. But the boys! Say, Jones, how
old are you, anyway?
When the first warm days of March bring up the Bluebirds and the
Robins, the Juncoes get the spring fever. But they do not rush oflf to fill
premature graves in the still snowy north. The company musters instead
in the tree-tops on the quiet side of the woods, and indulges in a grand
eisteddfod. I am sure that the birds are a little Welch and that this term is
strictly correct. All sing at once a sweet little tinkling trill, not very pre-
tentious, but tender and winsome. Interspersed with this is a variety of
sipping and suckling notes whose uses are hard to discern. Now and then
also a kissing note, of repulsion instead of attraction, is heard, such as is
employed during the breeding season to frighten enemies. During the
progress of the concert some dashing young fellow, unable fully to express
his emotion in song, runs amuck and goes charging about through the woodsy
mazes in n fine frenzy, without, however, quite spilling his brains. Others
catch the infection, and I have seen a scare at once in a mad whirl of this
harmless excitement.
Juncoes linger surprisinglv late sometimes, well on into April or even
May. Perhaps this is because they are so near the southern limit of their
15
breeding ranges that they cannot be sure they care to move. The birds are
said to breed still in the wilder portions in the northeastern part of the
states, but of this I have no certain knowledge.
From "Birds of Ohio" by Permission.
Scarlet Xanager {Pira?iga erythromelas)
By Herman C. DeGroat
Male — Scarlet with black wing and tail. Female and young, olive green
above and beneath ; wings dusky. Length seven inches.
Nest, in the woods, sometimes in an orchard, placed on a limb ten to
twenty feet from the ground, loosely made of twigs and pieces of bark and
lined with leaves of evergreens. Eggs, usually four, dusky white marked
with brown, .80x.65 inch.
This is one of the most brilliant birds seen in the United States. Coming
out of Central and South America, where it winters, this species spreads
over the Northern States and Canada early in May. Arriving in the North
about the time the trees put out their leaves and confining itself quite closely
to the thick woods, it would be difficult to find this bird were it not for its
bright colors and its cheerful song, which is much like that of the Robin.
The male precedes the female by ten days during which time his call
note of chip chur-r-r is constantly heard. Upon the arrival of a possible
mate which he soon wins by his graceful actions and cheery song, he retires
to the deep woods, where, a horizontal limb being chosen as a site for a
nest, the real business of bird life begins.
Sometimes the three or four eggs of the Tanagers may be increased
by two or three from the Cowbird, that sly, shirk of family cares. Both
parents join in feeding their young and show great attachment to them. The
male, shy and timid at all other times, will now expose himself to any danger
in the protection of his family.
The olive-green dress of the female and the young birds is in striking
contrast to the bright scarlet of the male. This wise provision of nature
renders the mother quite unnoticeable on her nest aad tends to preserve the
species from extermination.
The food of the Tanagers is insects with a little fruit now and then for
variety. In August the male moults and takes on the colors of the female
which he wears until the following spring when he again dons his scarlet
suit. Early in September the family depart together for the South, traveling
leisurely to the land of constant summer.
Copyright 1911 by Herman C. DeGroat.
16
'T.
'X
^^
CO
Ti. —
o
• p
•-M
^^
■^
w --^
•~,
5^
>.
—
^_
1
•c/3
'rt
•^
is
^"
—
<-t-i
t/i
^-^-^
<u
-^ ^*^
— '
"^
'n
>
y _-,
•7^
X
i>
^
_o
-x;
5
-if ^^
p
3i
'^^
■r.
•r,
— '/)
_;^ 5 o 5 '>
'v: ^ ^ rr
■J. — •
-- c/;
10
I II I^T -f "^ -III J s 1^
"^ ^ M-i 1; O
2- l>
0^ 'x a> •—
rt
Y!
3
<-t-i
3
OJ
u
""*
^
<r. ,
'X
3
'-'
t/j
rt
rt
^—
. 3
X
u
•:-
oT
^
S^'rt rt^.= c
^ •- SJ «-^
*- r '31
c
, .
>
^
^
^
C '-'
V.
^
■f.
ti:
> -^
N
..
•-' CG
r/. ' —
^-
Ti
c <,>
ZJ >.
5
'Z:
^ ,
tr.
■5 ""* £
a;
5
■^
X
(A
"-f-4
C
^ re
^*- ;v .t;
.— ' ''•-*
V
3
f"*
V" 1-^
-2 ^
>^
iT.
>>
> _£:
"^
■/.
-^ -^
c "^
■Z'y- T-.
5
■SI n
:^
>,
, ^
'SL
3 c
z:. Z z
The Barn-Swallow {Hirundo erythwgaster)
By Alexander Wilson
Length, seven inches, deeply forked tail.
Range: Breeds throughout United States (except the South Atlantic
States and Gulf States) and most of Canada; winters in South America.
In the United States there are but few persons who are not acquainted
with this gay, innocent and active little bird. Indeed the whole tribe are so
distinguished from the rest of small birds by their sweeping rapidity of flight,
their peculiar aerial evolutions of wing over our fields and rivers and through
our very streets from morning to night, that the light of Heaven itself, the
sky, the trees, or any other common objects of nature are not better known
than the Swallows. We welcome their first appearance with delight, as the
faithful harbingers and companions of flowery spring and ruddy summer; and
when after a long, frost-bound and boisterous winter, we hear it announced
that "the swallows are come," what a train of ideas are associated with the
simple tidings !
The wonderful activity displayed by these birds forms a striking con-
trast to the slow habits of most other animals. It may fairly be questioned
whether among the whole feathered tribes which Heaven has formed to adorn
this part of creation, there be any that, in the same space of time, pass over
an equal extent of surface with the Swallow. Let a person take his stand on
a fine summer evening by a new-mown field, meadow or river shore for a short
time, and, among the numerous individuals of this tribe that flit before him,
fix his eye on a particular one, and follow for a while all its circuitous laby-
rinths, its extensive sweeps, its sudden rapidly-reiterated zigzag excursions,
little inferior to the lightning itself, and then attempt by the powers of
mathematics to calculate the length of the various lines it describes. Alas"!
even his omnipotent fluxions would avail him little here, and he would soon
abandon the task in despair.
Yet, that some definite conception may be formed of this extent, let us
suppose that this little bird flies in his usual way at the rate of one mile in a
minute, which, from the many experiments I have made, I believe to be within
the truth, and that he is so engaged for ten hours in every day, and further
that this active life is extended to ten years (many of our small birds being
known to live much longer even in a state of domestication). The amount of
all these, allowing three hundred and sixty-five days to a year, would give
us two million, one hundred and ninety thousand miles, upward of eighty-
seven times the circumference of the globe.
The Barn-swallow arrives in parts of Pennsylvania from the south on
the last week in March or the first week in April, and passes on to the north
17
as far at least as the river St. Lawrence. On the east side of the great range
of the Allegheny, they are dispersed very generally over the country, where-
ever there are habitations, even to the summit of high mountains, but on
account of the greater coldness of such situations they are usually a week
or two later in making their appearance there. On the 16th of May, being on
a shooting expedition on the top of Pocono Mountain, Northampton, where
the ice on that and on several successive mornings was more than a quarter
of an inch thick, I observed with surprise a pair of these Swallows which had
taken up their abode on a miserable cabin there. It was then about sunrise,
the ground white with hoar frost, and the male was twittering on the roof by
the side of his mate with great sprightliness. The man of the house told me
that a single pair came regularly there every season and built their nest on a
projecting beam under the eaves, about six or seven feet from the ground.
At the bottom of the mountain, in a large barn belonging to the tavern
there, I counted upward of twenty nests, all seemingly occupied. In the
woods they are never met with ; as you approach a farm they soon catch the
eye, cutting their gambols in the air. Scarcely a barn to which these birds
can find access is without them, and as the public feeling is universally in
their favor they are seldom or never disturbed. The proprietor of the barn
just mentioned, a German, assured me that if a man permitted the Swallows
to be shot, his cows would give bloody milk, and also that no barn where
Swallows frequented would ever be struck by lightning, and I nodded assent.
When the turrets of superstition "lean to the side of humanity" one can
readily respect them.
Early in May they begin to build. From the size and structure of the
nest it is nearly a week before it is completely finished. One of these nests,
taken on the 21st of June from the rafter to which it was attached, is now
lying before me. It is in the form of an inverted cone with a perpendicular
section cut ofif on that side by which it adhered to the wood. At the top it has
an extension of the edge, or ofifset, for the male or female to sit on occasion-
ally; the upper diameter is about six inches by five, the height externally
seven inches. This shell is formed of mud, mixed with fine hay as plasterers
do their mortar with hair to make it adhere the better; the mud seems to have
been placed in regular strata, or layers, from side to side ; the hollow of this
cone (the shell of which is about an inch in thickness) is filled with fine hay,
well stufTed in ; above that is laid a handful of very large downy goose
feathers. The eggs are five, white, speckled and spotted all over with reddish-
brown. Owing to the semi-transparency of the shell the eggs have a slight
tinge of flesh color. The whole weighs about two pounds.
There are generally two broods in the season. The first makes its ap-
pearance about the second week in June, and the last brood leaves the nest
about the 10th of August. Though it is not uncommon for twenty or even
18
thirty pairs to build in the same barn, yet everything seems to be conducted
with great order and affection; all seems harmonious among them, as if the
interest of each was that of all. Several nests are often within a few inches
of each other, yet no appearance of discord or quarreling takes place in this
peaceful and affectionate community.
When the young are fit to leave the nest the old ones entice them out by
fluttering backward and forward, twittering and calling to them every time
they pass, and the young exercise themselves for several days in short essays
of this kind within doors before they first venture abroad. As soon as they
leave the barn they are conducted by their parents to the trees, or bushes,
by the pond, creek or river shore, or other suitable situation, where their
proper food is most abundant, and where they can be fed with the greatest
convenience to both parties. Now and then they take a short excursion them-
selves, and are also frequently fed while on wing by an almost instantaneous
motion of both parties rising perpendicularly in air and meeting each other.
About the middle of August they seem to begin to prepare for their de-
parture. They assemble on the roof in great numbers, dressing and arrang-
ing their plumage and making occasional essays, twittering with grfeat cheer-
fulness. Their song is a kind of sprightly warble, sometimes continued for a
considerable time. From this period to the 8th of September they are seen
near the Schuylkill and Delaware every afternoon for two or three hours be-
fore sunset, passing along to the south in great numbers, feeding as they skim
along. I have counted several hundreds pass within sight in less than a quar-
ter of an hour, all directing their course toward the south. The reeds are now
their roosting places, and about the middle of September there is scarcely an
individual of them to be seen.
How far south they continue their route is uncertain ; none of them re-
main in the United States. Mr. Bartram informs me that during his residence
in Florida he often saw vast flocks of this and our other Swallows passing
from the peninsula toward the south in September and October, and also on
their return to the north about the middle of March. It is highly probable
that, were the countries to the south of the Gulf of Mexico visited and ex-
plored by a competent naturalist, these regions would be found to be the
winter rendezvous of the very birds now before us, and most of our other
migratory tribes.
19
The Chickadee {Penthestes atricapUlus)
By Thomas Nuttall
Length, about 5% inches.
Range: Resident in the United States (except the southern half east of
the plains), Canada, and Alaska.
Habits and economic status : Because of its delightful notes, its confiding
ways, and its fearlessness, the chickadee is one of our best-known birds. It
responds to encouragement, and by hanging within its reach a constant supply
of suet the chickadee can be made a regular visitor to the garden and orchard.
Though insignificant in size, titmice are far from being so from the economic
standpoint, owing to their numbers and activity. While one locality is being
scrutinized for food by a larger bird, 10 are being searched by the smaller
species. The chickadee's food is made up of insects and vegetable matter in
the proportion of 7 of the former to 3 of the latter. Moths and caterpillars are
favorites and form about one-third of the whole. Beetles, ants, wasps, bugs,
flies, grasshoppers, and spiders make up the rest. The vegetable food is com-
posed of seeds, largely those of pines, with a few of the poison ivy and some
weeds. There are few more useful birds than the chickadees.
This familiar, hardy and restless little bird chiefly inhabits the northern
and middle states, as well as Canada. In the latter country it is found even
in winter around Hudson's Bay.
During autumn and winter families of these birds are seen chattering and
roving through the woods, busily engaged in gleaning food. Along with the
Creepers and Nuthatches they form a busy, active and noisy group, whose
manners, habits and food bring them together in a common pursuit. Their
diet varies with the season; for besides insects and their eggs, of which they
are particularly fond, in September they leave the woods and assemble fa-
miliarly in our orchards and gardens. Sometimes they even enter cities in
quest of food. Large seeds of many kinds, particularly those which are oily,
are now sought after. Fat of various kinds is also greedily eaten, and the
Chickadees regularly watch the retreat of the hog-killers in the country to
glean up the fragments of meat which adhere to the places where the carcasses
have been suspended. At times they feed upon the wax of the candleberry
myrtle. They likewise pick up crumbs near the houses, and search the
weather-boards, and even the window-sills for insect prey. They are particu-
larly fond of spiders and the eggs of destructive moths, especially those of
the canker worm, which they greedily devour In all stages of its existence.
In winter, when hunger is satisfied, they will descend to the snow and
quench their thirst by swallowing small bits. In this way their various and
frugal meal is always easily supplied ; and hardy and warmly clad in light and
20
45
( II K K \l Ml-.
About Life-size.
very downy feathers, they suffer little inconvenience from the inclemency of
the seasons. Their roost is in the hollows of decayed trees, where they also
breed, making a soft nest of moss, hair and feathers, and laying from six to
twelve eggs, which are white, with specks of brown-red. They begin to lay
about the middle or close of April, and though they commonly make use of
natural or deserted holes of the woodpecker, yet they frequently excavate a
cavity for themselves with much labor. The first brood takes wing about
the 7th or 10th of June, and there is sometimes a second brood toward the
end of July. The young, as soon as fledged, have all the external marks of
the adult, the head is equally black, and they chatter and skip about with all
the agility and self-possession of their parents, who appear nevertheless very
solicitous for their safety.
From this time on the whole family continue to associate together
through the autumn and winter. They seem to move in concert from tree
to tree, keeping up a continued 'tshe-de-de-de-de and 'tshe-dc-de-de-dait, pre-
ceded by a shrill whistle, all the while busily engaged picking around the
buds and branches, hanging from their extremities and proceeding often in
reversed posture, head downward, like so many tumblers, prying into every
crevice of the bark and searching round the roots and in every possible retreat
of their insect prey or its larvae. If the object chance to fall, they industri-
ously descend to the ground and glean it up with the utmost economy.
Almost the only note of this bird which may be called a song, is one
which is frequently heard at intervals in the depth of the forest, or from the
orchard trees. Although more frequently uttered in spring, it is now and
then whistled on warm days even in winter; it may be heard, in fact, in every
month of the year. It consists of two, or, less frequently, three clearly-
whistled and rather melancholy notes, like the syllables phee-bee, not drawled
like the song of the wood Pewee, and sweeter and more even than the cry of
the Phoebe.
The Chickadee is found in summer in dry, shady and secluded woods, but
when the weather becomes cold, and as early as October, roving families,
pressed by necessity and failure of their ordinary insect fare, now begin to
frequent orchards and garden, appearing extremely familiar, hungry, indigent,
but industrious, prying with restless anxiety into every cranny of
the bark or holes in decayed trees after dormant insects, spiders and
larvae. The Chickadee adds by its presence, indomitable action antl chatter,
an air of cheerfulness to the silent and dreary winters of the coldest parts of
North America.
21
Bobolink {DoUchonyx orizivorus)
By Elizabeth and Joseph Grinnell
"The Happiest Bird of Our Spring."
Length, about 7 inches.
Range : Breeds from Ohio northeast to Nova Scotia, north to Manitoba,
and northwest to British Columbia, winters in South America.
Habits and economic status: When American writers awoke to the
beauty and attractiveness of our native birds, among the first to be enshrined
in song and story was the bobolink. Few species show such striking con-
trasts in the color of the sexes, and few have songs more unique and whim-
sical. In its northern home the bird is loved for its beauty and its rich
melody; in the South it earns deserved hatred by its destructiveness. Bobo-
links reach the southeastern coast of the United States the last half of April
just as rice is sprouting and at once begin to pull up and devour the sprout-
ing kernels. Soon they move on to their northern breeding grounds, where
they feed upon insects, weed seeds, and a little grain. When the young are
well on the wing, they gather in flocks with the parent birds and gradually
move southward, being then generally known as reed birds. They reach the
rice fields of the Carolinas about August 20, when the rice is in the milk.
Then until the birds depart for South America planters and birds fight for
the crop, and in spite of constant watchfulness and innumerable devices for
scaring the birds a loss of 10 per cent of the rice is the usual result.
Common summer resident, sexes, unlike ; nest, made on the ground, of
grasses ; eggs, four to seven.
He was just a bird to start with, half blackbird and the other half spar-
row, with some of the meadow-lark's ways of getting along. As to the
naming of him, everybody settled that matter at random, until one day he
grew tired of being called nicknames and named himself.
Think of having "skunk-blackbird" called after a fellow when he de-
serves the title no more than half a dozen of his feathered friends! He could
never imagine what gave him the disagreeable epithet, unless it be his own
individual hatred for the animal whose name clung to him like mud.
To be sure, the coat of the bird was striped, something like that of the
detestable beastie ; but so were the coats of many other birds, and he could
never tell why he should be called a blackbird, either.
True, he loved the marshes for personal reasons ; but who has seen a
blackbird twist its toes around a reed stalk and sing like mad?
So, as we said, he named himself, constituting himself a town crier on
behalf of his own concerns. "Bobolink ! bobolink !" As often as the black-
bird attempted to talk of himself, bobolink chimed in and drowned every
22
other note. And he kept it up for two or three months, until everybody
understood that he had given himself a proper name. And each year he re-
turns to remind the skunk and blackbird that he is no other than himself, and
to assure people that he is deserving of an original name, whatever else may
be said of him.
The bobolink has a hard time! But still he named himself out of the
glee of his heart, and he sings a fourth part of the year as only a bobolink
can sing.
You can make almost anything you please of the song. Children sit on
the fence-rails and mimic him, and "guess" what he says, and cry, "Spink,
spank, Spink," "meadow wink, meadow wink," "just think, just think," "don't
you wink, don't you wink," "want a drink, want a drink?" Coming back to
his real name, "bobolink, bobolink," as if, after all, that were the nearest
right.
Shy, suspecting little birds, sharp of eye, fresh from a winter tour in
the West Indies, they come exactly when they are expected. Bobolink
makes no April fool of himself or anybody else, unless it be Master Skunk
in his hollow tree, who rubs his eyes at the first word from Robert o'Lincoln.
But the male birds have come in advance of their women folk, and roost high
and dry out of reach of four-footed marauders. It is as if the mother bobo-
links would be quite sure the spring storms are over before they put them-
selves in the way of housework.
The bobolinks nest would seldom be found if the foolish birds would
keep a close mouth about the matter. It does seem as if they would learn
after a while, but they don't. As soon as a stranger with two legs or four
comes within sight of the spot, the birds set up what they intend for a warn-
ing cry, but which is in reality an "information call." Under its spell one
can walk straight to the nest, which even yet, on account of its color and
surroundings, may be taken for an innocent bunch of grass, provided one has
as good eyes as the skunk has nose.
Now, taking all things into account, the bobolinks are the most sensible
of people. Persons who ought to know better by experience and observation
hurry on a journey, take no time to enjoy the scenery and the people that live
along the route. At the journey's end they are depleted, tired, worn to skin
and bone, and out of sorts with travel. Not so the bobolinks! They have
no bones at the journey's end. They have fattened themselves into butter.
They have put on flesh as the bare spring trees put on leaves, and the but-
ternut takes in oil. All the way they eat and drink, and make as merry as
they can with so much fat on them.
The yesterday's bird of mad music is to-day the bird of mad appetite.
True, they may call out "chink" in passing, but "chink" means "chock-full,"
and people who delight in bobolink tal)lc-farc recognize the true meaning of
the note.
23
Bobolink has forgotten to call his own name, so he answers to any nick-
name the epicurean lovers of him please to call him by — "rice-bird," "reed-
bird," "Boblincoln."
Do Birds Have Sense ?
By John Burroughs
I was much amused lately by a half-dozen or more letters that came to
me from some California school children who wrote to ask if I would please
tell them whether or not birds have sense. One little girl said: "I would be
pleased if you would write and tell me if birds have sense. I wanted to see
if I couldn't be the first one to know." I felt obliged to reply to the children
that we ourselves do not have sense enough to know just how much sense
the birds do have, and that they do appear to have some, though their actions
are probably the result of what we call instinct, or natural prompting like that
of the bean-stalk when it climbs the pole.
How much or how little sense or judgment our wild neighbors have is
hard to determine. The crows and other birds that carry shell-fish high in the
air and then let them drop upon the rocks to break the shell show something
very like reason, or a knowledge of the relation of cause and effect. Froude
tells of some species of bird that he saw in South Africa flying amid the
swarm of migrating locusts and clipping off the wings of the insects so that
they would drop to the earth, where the birds could devour them at their
leisure.
The birds probably think without knowing that they think; that is they
have not self-consciousness.
Probably in a state of wild nature birds never make mistakes, but where
they come in contact with our civilization and are confronted by new condi-
tions, they very naturally make mistakes. For instance, their cunning in nest
building sometimes deserts them. The art of the bird is to conceal its nest
both as to position and as to material, and now and then it is betrayed into
weaving into its structure showy and bizarre bits of this or that, which give
its secret away and which seem to violate all the traditions of its kind. I
have the picture of a robin's nest before me, upon the outside of which are
stuck a small muslin flower, a leaf from a small calendar, and a photograph of
a local celebrity. A more incongruous use of material in bird architecture it
would be hard to find. I have been told of another robin's nest upon the
outside of which the bird had fastened a wooden label from a near-by flower
bed, marked "Wake Robin." Still another nest I have seen built upon a large,
showy foundation of the paper-like flowers of Antennaria, or everlasting. The
24
wood thrush frequently weaves a fragment of newspaper or a white rag into
the foundation of its nest. "Evil communications corrupt good manners."
The newspaper and the rag-bag unsettle the wits of the birds. The phoebe-
bird is capable of this kind of mistake or indiscretion. All the past genera-
tions of her tribe have built upon natural and, therefore, neutral sites, usually
under shelving and overhanging rocks, and the art of adapting the nest to its
surroundings, blending it with them, has been highly developed. But phoebe
now frequently builds under our sheds and porches, where, so far as conceal-
ment is concerned, a change of material, say from moss to dry grass or shreds
of bark, would be an advantage to her; but she departs not a bit from the
family traditions; she uses the same woodsy mosses, which in some cases,
especially when the nest is placed upon unevenly sawed timber, makes her
secret an open one to all eyes.
It does indeed often look as if the birds had very little sense. Think of a
bluebird, or an oriole, or a robin, or a jay, fighting for hours at a time its own
image as reflected in a pane of glass; quite exhausting itself in its fury to de-
molish its supposed rival ! Yet I have often witnessed this little comedy. It
is another instance of how the arts of our civilization corrupt and confuse the
birds. It may be that in the course of many generations the knowledge of
glass will get into their blood, and they will cease to be fooled by it, as they
may also in time learn what a poor foundation the newspaper is to build upon.
The ant or the bee could not be fooled by the glass in that way for a moment.
Have the birds sense, as distinguished from instinct? Is a change of
habits to meet new conditions, or the taking advantage of accidental circum-
stances, an evidence of sense? How many birds have taken advantage of the
protection afforded by man in building their nests! How many of them
build near paths and along roadsides, to say nothing of those
that come to our dwellings! Even the quail seems to prefer the.
borders of the highway to the open fields. I have chanced upon only
three quails' nests, and tiiese were all by the roadside. One season a
scarlet tanager, that had failed with her first nest in the woods, came to try
again in a little cherry tree that stood in the open, a few feet from my cabin,
where I could almost touch the nest with my hand as I passed. But in my
absence again she came to grief, some marauder, probably a red squirrel, tak-
ing her eggs. It was clearly an act of judgment that caused this departure
in the habits of a wood bird. Will her failure in this case cause her to lose
faith in the protective influence of the shadow of a human dwelling? I hope
not. I have known the turtledove to make a similar move, occupying an old
robin's nest near my neighbor's cottage.
It would be interesting to know how long our chimney-swifts saw the
open chimney stacks of the early settlers beneath them before they aban-
doned the hollow trees in the woods and entered them for nesting and ro(ist-
JD
ing purposes. Was the act an act of judgment, or simply an unreasoning im-
pulse, like so much else in the lives of the wild creatures?
In the choice of nesting material the swift shows no change of habit. She
still snips the small dry twigs from the tree tops and glues them
together, and to the side of the chimney, with her own glue. The
soot is a new obstacle in her way, and she does not yet seem to have
learned to overcome it, as the rains often loosen it and cause her nest
to fall to the bottom. She has a pretty way of trying to frighten you oflf
when your head suddenly darkens the opening above her. At such times she
leaves the nest and clings to the side of the chimney near it. Then, slowly
raising her wings, she suddenly springs out from the wall and back again,
making as loud a drumming with her wings in the passage as she is capable
of. If this does not frighten you away, she repeats it three or four times. If
your face still hovers above her, she remains quiet and watches you.
What a creature of the air this bird is, never touching the ground, so far
as I know, and never tasting earthly food ! The swallow does peich now and
then and descend to the ground for nesting material ; but the swift, I have rea-
son to believe, even outrides the summer storms, facing them on steady wing,
high in air. The twigs for her nest she gathers on the wing, sweeping along
like children at a "merry-go-round" who try to seize a ring, or to do some
other feat, as they pass a given point. If the swift misses the twig, or it fails
to yield to her the first time, she tries again and again, each time making
a wide circuit, as if to tame and train her steed a little and bring him up more
squarely to the mark next time.
The swift is a stifif flyer; there appear to be no joints in her wings; she
suggests something made of wires or of steel; yet the air of frolic and of
superabundance of wing power is more marked with her than with any other
of our birds. Her feeding and the twig-gathering seem like asides in a life
of endless play. Several times both spring and fall I have seen swifts gather
m immense numbers toward nightfall, to take refuge in large unused chim-
ney stacks. At such times they seem to be coming together for some aerial
festival or grand celebration ; and, as if bent upon a final effort to work off
some of their superabundant wing power before settling down for the night,
they circle and circle high above the chimney top, a great cloud of them,
drifting this way and that, all in high spirits and chippering as they fly. Their
numbers constantly increase as other members of the clan come dashing in
from all points of the compass. They seem to materialize out of empty air on
all sides of the chippering, whirling ring. For an hour or more this assem-
bling of the clan and this flight festival go on. The birds must gather in from
whole counties, or from half a State. They have been on the wing all day,
and yet now they seem as tireless as the wind, and as if unable to curb their
powers.
Last fall they gathered in this way and took refuge for the night in a
26
large chimney stack in a city near me, for more than a month and a half. Sev-
eral times I went to town to witness the spectacle, and a spectacle it was; ten
thousand of them, I should think, filling the air above a whole square like a
whirling swarm of huge black bees, but saluting the ear with a multitudinous
chippering, instead of a humming. People gathered upon the sidewalks to
see them. It was a rare circus performance, free to all. After a great many
feints and playful approaches, the whirling ring of birds would suddenly grow
denser above the chimney ; then a stream of them, as if drawn down by some
power of suction, would pour into the opening. Only a few seconds would
this downward rush continue; as if the spirit of frolic had again got the up-
per hand of them, the ring would rise, and the chippering and circling go on.
In a minute or two the same manoeuver would be repeated, the chimney, as
it were, taking its swallows at intervals to prevent choking. It usually took
a half hour or more for the birds all to disappear down its capacious throat.
There was always an air of timidity and irresolution about their approach to
the chimney, just as there always is about their approach to the dead tree top
from which they procure their twigs for nest-building. Many times did I see
birds hesitate above the opening and then pass on. Apparently they had not
struck it at just the right angle. On one occasion a solitary bird was left
flying, and it took three or four trials either to make up its mind or to catch
the trick of the descent. On dark or threatening or stormy days the birds
would begin to assemble by mid-afternoon, and by four or five o'clock were all
in their lodgings.
The chimney is a capacious one, forty or fifty feet high by nearly three
feet square, yet it did not seem adequate to afiford breathing space for so
many birds. I was curious to know how they disposed themselves inside
there. At the bottom was a small opening. Holding my ear to it. I could
hear a continuous chippering and humming, as if the birds were still all in
motion, like an agitated beehive. At nine o'clock this multitudinous sound of
wings and voices was still going on, and doubtless it was kept up all night.
What was the meaning of it? Was the press of birds so great that tliey
needed to keep their wings moving to ventilate the shaft, as do certain of the
bees in a crowded hive? Or were these restless spirits unal)le to fold their
wings even in sleep ? I was very curious to get a peep inside that chimney when
the swifts were in it. So one afternoon this opportunity was afforded me by
the removal of the large smoke-pipe of the oil steam lioiler. This left an
opening into which I could thrust my head and shoulders. The sound of
wings and voices filled the hollow shaft. On looking up I saw the sides of
the chimney for about half its length paved with the restless birds: they sat so
closely together that their bodies touched. But a large number of them were
constantly on the wing, showing against the .sky light as if they were leaving
the chimney. But they did not leave it. They rose up a few feet and tiien
resumed their positions upon the sides. It was this movement that caused
27
the humming sound. All the while the droppings of the birds came down
like a summer shower. At the bottom of the shaft was a mine of Peruvian
guano three or four feet deep, with a dead swift here and there upon it.
Probably one or more birds out of such a multitude died every night. I had
fancied there would be many more. It was a long time before it dawned
upon me what this uninterrupted flight within the chimney meant. Finally
I saw that it was a sanitary measure; only thus could the birds keep
from soiling each other with their droppings. Birds digest very rapidly, and
had they all continued to cling to the sides of the wall, they would have been
in a sad predicament before morning. Like other acts of cleanliness on the
part of birds, this was doubtless the prompting of instinct and not of judg-
ment. It was nature looking out for her own.
In view, then, of the doubtful sense or intelligence of the wild creatures,
what shall we say of the new school of nature writers or natural history ro-
mancers that has lately arisen, and that reads into the birds and animals al-
most the entire human psychology? This, surely: so far as these writers
awaken an interest in the wild denizens of the field and wood, and foster a
genuine love of them in the hearts of the young people, so far is their influ-
ence good ; but so far as they pervert natural history and give false impres-
sions of the intelligence of our animals, catering to a taste that prefers the fan-
ciful to the true and the real, is their influence bad. Of course, the great
army of readers prefers this sugar-coated natural history to the real thing, but
the danger always is that an indulgence of this taste will take away a liking
for the real thing, or pervert its development. The knowing ones, those who
can take these pretty tales with the pinch of salt of real knowledge, are not
many; the great majority are simply entertained while they are being hum-
bugged. There may be no very serious objection to the popular love of
sweets being catered to in this field by serving up the life history of our ani-
mals in a story, all the missing links supplied, and all their motives and acts
humanized, provided it is not done covertly and under the guise of a real his-
tory.
I am reminded of a mystery connected with a snake-skin, and a bird.
Why does our great crested fly-catcher weave a snake-skin into its nest,
or, in lieu of that, something that suggests a snake-skin, such as an
onion-skin, or fish-scales, or a bit of oiled paper? It is thought by some
persons that it uses the snake-skin as a kind of scarecrow, to frighten away
its natural enemies. But think what this purpose in the use of it would imply.
It would imply that the bird knew that there were among its enemies crea-
tures that were afraid of snakes — so afraid of them that one of their faded and
cast-off skins would keep them away. How could the bird obtain this knowl-
edge? It is not afraid of the skin; why should it infer that squirrels, for in-
stance, are? I am convinced there is nothing in this notion. In all the nests
28
that have come under my observation, the snake-skin was in faded fragments
woven into the texture of the nest, and one would not be aware of its presence
unless he pulled the nest to pieces. True, Mr. Frank Bolles reports finding a
nest of this bird with a whole snake-skin coiled around a single egg; but it
was the skin of a small garter-snake, six or seven inches long, and could not
therefore have inspired much terror in the heart of the bird's natural enemies.
Dallas Lore Sharp, author of that delightful book, "Wild Life Near Home,"
tells me he has seen a whole skin dangling nearly its entire length from the
hole that contained the nest, just as he has seen strings hanging from the
nest of the king-bird. The bird was too hurried or too careless to pull in
the skin. Mr. Sharp adds that he cannot "give the bird credit for appreciat-
ing the attitude of the rest of the world toward snakes and making use of the
fear." Then, a cast-off snake-skin looks very little like a snake. It is thin,
shrunken, faded, papery, and there is no terror in it. Then, too, it is dark in
the cavity of the nest, consequently the skin could not serve as a scarecrow in
any case. Hence, whatever its purpose may be, it surely is not that. It looks
like a mere fancy or whim of the bird. There is that in its voice and ways
that suggests something a little uncanny. Its call is more like that of the
toad than that of a bird. If the toad did not always swallow its own cast-ofif
skin, the bird would probably seize upon that.
At the best we can only guess at the motives of the birds. As I have
elsewhere said, they nearly all have reference in some way to the self-preser-
vation of these creatures. But how the bits of an old snake-skin in a bird's
nest can contribute specially to this end, I cannot see.
Nature is not always consistent ; she does not always choose the best
means to a given end. For instance, all the wrens seem to use about the best
material at hand for their nests except our house-wren. What can be more
unsuitable, untractable, for a nest in a hole or cavity than the twigs the house-
wren uses? Dry grasses or bits of soft bark would bend and adapt themselves
easily to the exigencies of the case, but stift, unyielding twigs! What a con-"
trast to the suitableness of the material the humming-bird uses — the down of
some plant, which seems to have a poetic fitness!
Beside my path in the woods a downy woodpecker, late one fall, drilled
a hole in the top of a small dead black birch for his winter quarters. My
attention was first called to his doings by his white chips upon the ground.
Every day as I passed I would rap upon his tree, and if he was in he would
appear at his door and ask plainly enough what I wanted now. One day
when I rapped, something else appeared at the door — I could not make out
what. I continued my rapping, when out came two flying-squirrels. On the
tree being given a vigorous shake, it broke off at the hole, and the squirrels
went sliding down the air to the foot of a hemlock, up which they disappeared.
They had dispossessed Downy of his house, had carried in some grass and
29
leaves for a nest, and were as snug as a bug in a rug. Downy drilled another
cell in a dead oak farther up the hill, and, I hope, passed the winter there
unmolested. Such little incidents, comic or tragic, as we happen to look at
them, are happening all about us, if we have eyes to see them.
The next season, near sundown of a late November day, I saw Downy
trying to get possession of a hole not his own. I chanced to be passing under
a maple when white chips upon the ground again caused me to scrutinize the
branches overhead. Just then I saw Downy come to the tree, and, hopping
around on the under side of a large dry limb, begin to make passes at some-
thing with his beak. Presently I made out a round hole there, with some-
thing in it returning Downy's thrusts. The sparring continued some moments.
Downy would hop away a few feet, then return to the attack, each time to
be met by the occupant of the hole. I suspected an English sparrow had
taken possession of Downy's cell in his absence during the day, but I was
wrong. Downy flew to another branch, and I tossed up a stone against the
one that held the hole, when, with a sharp, steely note, out came a hairy
woodpecker and alighted on a near-by branch. Downy then had the "cheek"
to try to turn his large rival out of doors ; and it was Hairy's cell, too : one
could see that by the size of the entrance. Thus loosely does the rule of
meum and tuum obtain in the woods. There is no moral code in nature.
Might reads right. Man in communities has evolved ethical standards of con-
duct, but nations, in their dealings with one another, are still largely in a state
of savage nature, and seek to establish the right, as dogs do, by the appeal
to battle.
One season a wood-duck laid her eggs in a cavity in the top of a tall
yellow birch near the spring that supplies my cabin with water. A bold
climber "shinned" up the fifty or sixty feet of rough tree-trunk and looked in
upon the eleven eggs. They were beyond the reach of his arm, in a well-like
cavity over three feet deep. How would she get her young up out of that well
and down to the ground? We watched, hoping to see her in the act. But
we did not. She may have done it at night or very early in the morning. All
we know is that when Amasa one morning passed that way, there sat eleven
little tufts of black-and-yellow down in the spring, with the mother duck
near by.
Our moral code must m some way have been evolved from our rude
animal instincts. It came from within ; its possibilities were all in nature.
If not, where were they?
I have seen disinterested acts among the birds, or what looked like such,
as when one bird will feed the young of another species when it hears it
crying for food. But that a bird would feed a grown bird of another species,
or even of its own, to keep it from starving, I have my doubts. — Atlantic
Monthly.
30
^i\
■^^^^n^
94
HORNED LARK.
t Life-size.
COPYRIGHT
The Horned Lark {Otocons alpestns praticola)
By Henry W. Henshavv
Length, about seven and three-quarter inches. The black mark across
the breast and the small, pointed tufts of dark feathers above and behind the
eyes distinguish the bird.
Range: Breeds throughout the United States (except the South Atlantic
and Gulf States) and Canada ; winters in all the United States except Florida.
Habits and economic status: Horned larks frequent the open country,
especially the plains and deserts. They associate in large flocks, are hardy,
apparently delighting in exposed situations in winter, and often nest before
snow disappears. The flight is irregular and hesitating, but in the breeding
season the males ascend high in air, singing as they go, and pitch to the
ground in one thrilling dive. The preference of horned larks is for vegetable
food, and about one-sixth of this is grain, chiefly waste. Some sprouting
grain is pulled, but drilled grain is safe from injury. California horned larks
take much more grain than the eastern birds, specializing on oats, but this
is accounted for by the fact that oats grow wild over much of the State.
Weed seeds are the largest single element of food. The insect food, about
20 per cent of the whole, includes such pests as May beetles and their larvae
(white grubs), leaf beetles, clover-leaf and clover-root weevils, the potato-
stalk borer, nut weevils, billbugs, and the chinch bug. Grasshoppers are a
favorite food, and cutworms are freely eaten. The horned larks, on the
whole, may be considered useful birds.
The horned lark is a bird of the open fields, common not only during
the summer but still more abundant during the cold winter months, even
when the ground is covered with snow.
This lark is about the size of an English sparrow, but is very differently
marked. The general color is a pinkish brown, the throat is yellow, there is a large
black mark on the breast, and just above and behind the eyes are small tufts of
black feathers which, when erect, have the appearance of horns, a feature from
which the bird derives its name. In the country one may often see companies
of horned larks running along the roadsides, in plowed fields and closely
grazed pastures, or, when the ground is covered with snow, in barnyards,
feeding on the waste grain left by stock. When encountered on a road or n
foot path, they often run before the observer for long distances, but if sud-
denly startled they take wing with a series of sharp whistling notes, flying
with hesitating movement to some adjoining field, or making a considerable
circuit and returning to the spot whence tiiey were startled.
The horned lark begins its nesting operations very early, raising two or
three broods in a year, and the first of its nests is often built before the snow
has wholly disappeared. Commonly placed in a slight dcjiression in the
31
ground in meadows or cultivated fields, it is well and carefully made of corn
husks, grasses and horse hair, but as the weather warms less care is used in
construction. The eggs, from three to five in number, are olive, buff streaked
and spotted with drab and lavender,
A most interesting habit of the horned lark is its notable preference for
bare ground. Twenty-nine per cent of all the birds seen in plowed fields dur-
ing our year's statistical work on Illinois birds consisted of this one species.
Its next decided preference was for pastures and fields of stubble. As would
naturally be supposed, the food of this bird differs with the changing seasons.
From an almost entirely vegetable diet in winter it gradually changes to a
midsummer diet about equally divided between insects and seeds. Taking the
year together, something more than a fifth of the food has been found to con-
sist of insects, about an eighth of it of grain, and the remainder of seeds of
weeds. Practically all the corn and oats eaten was waste, as the bird feeds
only on the ground.
There can be no doubt that this lark is, on the whole, much more helpful
to the farmer than injurious — a fact of some importance since it remains with
us throughout the year and is among the more abundant of our farm birds.
Mr. Audubon says : "The male soars into the air, sings with cheerfulness
over the resort of his mate, and roosts beside her and his nest on the ground,
having at this season a very remarkable appearance in the development of
the black and horn-like egrets." Mr. Langille gives an interesting account of
the male's song habits. "Hearing its song, now quite familiar to me, I strolled
warily through the open field, hoping to find its nest. But whence came the
song? It was as puzzling as the voice of a ventriloquist. Now it seemed on
the right, and now on the left, and now in some other direction. Presently I
caught the way of the sound, and lo ! its author was soaring high in the air,
moving in short curves up, up, singing for a few moments as it sailed with ex-
panded wings before each flitting curve upward, till it became a mere speck
in the zenith, and finally I could scarcely tell whether I saw it or not. But
I still heard the song, one that never can be mistaken, so unlike is it to that of
any other bird." Finally the bird started to descend and Mr. Langille says:
"Down, down it comes, meteor-like, with wings almost closed, until one fears
it will dash out its life on the earth. But no, it alights in safety, and steps
along with all its wonted stateliness."
32
Our Bird Neighbors
By cTheodore Roosevelt
Sagamore Hill takes its name from the old Sagamore Mohannis, who, as
chief of his little tribe, signed away his rights to the land two centuries and a
half ago. The house stands right on the top of the hill, separated by fields and
belts of woodland from all other houses, and looks out over the bay and the
Sound. We see the sun go down beyond long reaches of land of water.
Many birds dwell in the trees round the house or in the pastures and the woods
near by, and of course in winter gulls, loons, and wild fowl frequent the waters
of the bay and the Sound.
Most of the birds in our neighborhood are the ordinary home friends of
the house and the barn, the wood lot and the pasture ; but now and then the
species make queer shifts. The cheery quail, alas ! are rarely found near us now ;
and we no longer hear the whippoorwills at night. But some birds visit us now
which formerly did not. When I was a toy neither the black-throated green
warbler nor the purple finch nested around us. nor were bobolinks found in our
fields. The black-throated green w^arbler is now one of our commonest summer
warblers ; there are plenty of purple finches ; and, best of all, the bobolinks are
far from, infrequent. I had written about these new visitors to John Burroughs,
and once when he came out to see me I was able to show them to him.
Around our West Virginia home many of the birds were different from
our Long Island friends. There were mocking birds, the most attractive of all
birds, and blue grosbeaks, and cardinals and summer redbirds instead of scarlet
tanagers, and those wonderful singers, the Bewick's wrens, and Carolina wrens.
Like most Americans interested in birds and books, I know a good deal about
English birds as they appear in books. I know the lark of Shakespeare and
Shelley and the Ettrick Shepherd ; I know the nightingale of Milton and Keats ;
I know Wordsworth's cuckoo ; I know mavis and merle singing in the merry
green wood of the old ballads ; I know Jenny Wren and Cock Robin of the
nursery books. Therefore, I had always much desired to hear the birds in real
life; and the opportunity offered in June, 1910, when I spent two or three
weeks in England. As I could snatch but a few hours from a very exacting
round of pleasures and duties, it was necessary for me to be with some com-
panion who could identify both song and singer. In Sir Edward Grey, a keen
lover of outdoor life in all its phases, and a delightful companion, who knows
the songs and ways of English l)irils as very few do know them. I found the
best possible guide.
We left London on the morning of June 9, twenty-four hours before I
sailed from Southampton. Getting oft' the train at Basingstoke, we drove to
the prcttv. smiling valley of the Ttchen. Here we tramped for three or four
hours, then again drove, this time t(i the edge of the New Forest, where wc first
33
took tea at an inn and then tramped through the forest to an inn on its other
side, at Brockenhnrst. At the conclusion of our walk my companion made a
list of the birds we had seen, putting an asterisk ("*') opposite those which we
had heard. sing. There were forty-one of the former and twenty-three of the
latter, as follows :
*Thrush, ^blackbird, *lark, '''yellowhammer, '■•'robin, 'Hvren, *golden-crested
wren, ^''goldfinch, =^chafifincl\, ^greenfinch, pied wagtail, sparrow, 'Munnock
(hedge accentor), missel thrush, starling, rook, jackdaw, *blackcap, *garden
warbler, *willow warbler, ''xhifiFchaff, *wood warbler, treecreeper, *reed bunt-
ing, *sedge warbler, coot, water hen, little grebe (dabchick), tufted duck, wood
pigeon, stock dove, *turtle dove, peewit, tit (? coal tit), *cuckoo, *nightjar,
*swallow, martin, swift, pheasant, partridge.
Birds were plentiful ; I know few places in America where one would
see such an abundance of individuals, and I was struck by seeing such large
birds as coots, water hens, grebes, tufted ducks, pigeons, and peewits. In places
in America as thickly settled as the valley of tlie Itchen I should not expect to
see any like number of birds of this size.
The bird that most impressed me on my walk was the blackbird. I had
already heard nightingales in abundance near Lake Como, and had also listened
to larks, but I had never heard either the blackbird, the song thrush, or ;the
blackcap warbler ; and while I knew that all three were good singers, I did
not know what really beautiful singers they were. Blackbirds were very abundant,
and they played a prominent part in the chorus which we heard throughout the
day on every hand, though perhaps loudest the following morning at dawn.
In its habits and manners the blackbird strikingly resembles our American robin,
and indeed looks exactly like a robin with a yellow bill and coal-black plumage.
It hops everywhere over the lawns, just as our robin does, and it lives and nests
in the gardens in the same fashion. Its song has a general resemblance to that
of our robin, but many of the notes tare far more musical, more like those. of
our wood thrush. Indeed, there were individuals among those we heard certain
of whose notes seemed to me almost to equal in point of melody the chimes
of the wood thrush ; and the highest possible praise for any song-bird is to liken
its song to that of the wood thrush or hermit thrush. I certainly do not think
that the blackbird has received full justice in the books. I knew that he was a
singer, but I really had no idea how fine a singer he was. I suppose one of his
troubles has been his name, just as with our own catbird. When he appears in
the ballads as the merle, bracketed with his cousin the mavis, the song thrush,
it is far easier to recognize him as the master singer that he is. It is a firte
thing for England to have such an asset of the countryside, a bird so common,
so much in evidence, so fearless, and such a really beautiful singer.
The thrush is a fine singer too, a better singer than our American robin,
but to my mind not at the best quite as good as the blackbird at his best ; although
34
often I found difficulty in telling the song of one from the song of the other,
especially if I heard only two or three notes.
The larks were, of course, exceedingly attractive. It was fascinating to see
them spring from the grass, circle upwards, steadily singing and soaring for
several minutes, and then return to the point whence they had started. As my
companion pointed out, they exactly fulfilled Wordsworth's description ; they
soared but did not roam. It is quite impossible wholly to differentiate a bird's
voice from its habits and surroundings. Although in the lark's song there are
occasional musical notes, the song as a whole is not very musical, but it is so
joyous, buoyant, and unbroken, and uttered under such conditions, as fully to
entitle the bird to the place he occupies with both poet and prose writer.
The most musical singer we heard was the blackcap warbler. To my ear its
song seemed more musical than that of the nightingale. It was astonishingly
powerful for so small a bird ; in volume and continuity it does not come up to the
songs of the thrushes and of certain other birds, but in quality, as an isolated
bit of melody, it can hardly be surpassed.
Among the minor singers the robin was noticeable. We all know this pretty
little bird from the books, and I was prepared to find him as 'friendly and attrac-
tive as he proved to be, but I had not realized how well he sang. It is not a loud
song, but very musical and attractive, and the bird is said to sing practically all
through the year. The song of the w^ren interested me much, because it was
not in the least like that of our house wren, but, on the contrary, like that of our
winter wren. The theme is the same as the winter wren's, but the song did not
seem to me to be as brilliantly musical as that of the tiny singer of the North
Woods. The sedge warbler sang in the thick reeds a mocking ventriloquial lay,
which reminded me at times of the less pronounced parts of our yellow-breasted
chat's song. The cuckoo's cry was singularly attractive and musical, far more so
than the rolling, many times repeated note of our rain-crow.
We did not reach the inn at Brockenhurst until about nine o'clock, just at
nightfall, and a few minutes before that we heard a night-jar. It did not sound
in the least like either our whippoorwill or our night-hawk, uttering a long-con-
tinued call of one or two syllables, repeated over and over. The chaffinch was
very much in evidence, continually chaunting its unimportant little ditty. I was
pleased to see the bold, masterful missel thrush, the stormcock as it is often called;
but this bird breeds and sings in the early spring, when the weather is still tem-
pestuous, and had long been silent when we saw it. The starlings, rooks, and
jackdaws did not sing, and their calls were attractive merely as the calls of our
grackles are attractive; and the other birds that we heard sing, though they
played their part in the general chorus, were performers of no especial note, like
our tree-creepers, pine warblers, and chi])ping-sparr(iws. The great spring chorus
hnd already begun to subside, but the woods and licjils were still vocal with
beautiful bird music, the c^>untry wa^^ very lovely, the inn as c(imfortahle as
3.^
possible, and the bath and supper very enjoyable after our tramp ; and altogether
I passed no pleasanter twenty-four hours during my entire European trip.
Ten days later, at Sagamore Hill, I was among my own birds, and was much
interested as I listened to and looked at them in remembering the notes and
actions of the birds I had seen in England. On the evening of the first day I
sat in my rocking chair on the broad veranda, looking across the Sound towards
the glory of the sunset. The thickly grassed hillside sloped down in front of me
to a belt of forest fnoni which rose the golden, leisurely chiming of the wood
thrushes, chanting their vespers ; through the still air came the warble of vireo
and tanager; and after nightfall we heard the flight song of an oven-bird from
the same belt of timber. Overhead an oriole sang in the weeping elm, now and
then breaking his song to scold like an overgrown wren. Song-sparrows and cat-
birds sang in the shrubbery ; one robin had built its nest over the front and
one over the back door, and there was a chippy's nest in the wistaria vine by the
stoop. During the next twenty-four hours I saw and heard, either right around
the house or while walking down to bathe, through the woods, the following
forty-two birds :
Little green heron, night heron, red-tailed hawk, yellow-billed cuckoo, king-
fisher, flicker, humming-bird, swift, meadow-lark, red-winged blackbird, sharp-
tailed finch, song-sparrow, chipping-sparrow, bush-sparrow, purple finch, Balti-
more oriole, cowbunting, robin, wood thrush, thrasher, catbird, scarlet tanager,
red-eyed vireo, yellow warbler, black-throated green warbler, kingbird, wood
peewee, crow, blue jay, cedar-bird, Maryland yellowthroat, chickadee, black and
white creeper, barn swallow, white-breasted swallow, ovenbird, thistle-finch,
vesper-finch, indigo bunting, towhee, grasshopper-sparrow, and screech owl.
The birds were still in full song, for on Long Island there is little abatement
in the chorus until about the second w^eek of July, when the blossoming of the
chestnut trees patches the woodland v;ith frothy greenish yellow.
Our most beautiful singers are the wood thrushes ; they sing not only in the
early morning, but throughout the long, hot June afternoons. Sometimes they
sing in the trees immediately around the house, and if the air is still we can always
hear them from among the tall trees at the foot of the hill. The thrashers sing
in the hedgerows beyond the garden, the catbirds everywhere. The catbirds
have such an attractive song that it is extremely irritating to know that at any
moment they may interrupt it to mew and squeal. The bold, cheery music of the
robins always seems typical of the bold, cheery birds themselves. The Baltimore
orioles nest in the young elms around the house, and the orchard orioles in the
apple trees near the garden and outbuildings. Among the earliest sounds of
spring is the cheerful, simple, homely song of the song-sparrow ; and in March
we also hear the piercing cadence of the meadow-lark — to us one of the most
attractive of all bird calls. Of late years now and then we hear the rollicking,
bubbling melody of the Ixibolink in the pastures back of the barn ; and when the
full chorus of these and of many other of the singers of spring is dying" down,
36
'X
11
.\.\ii:kic.\n HLl kj.\>
i Life-size
there are some true hot-weather songsters, such as the brightly hued indigo bunt-
ings and thistle-finches. Among the finches one of the most musical and plaintive
songs is that of the bush-sparrow — I do not know why the books call it field-
sparrow, for it does not dwell in the open fields like the vesper-finch, the savannah-
sparrow, and the grasshopper-sparrow, but among the cedars and bayberry bushes
and young locusts in the same places where the prairie warbler is found. Nor is
it only the true songs that delight us. We love to hear the flickers call, and we
readily pardon any one of their number which, as occasionally happens, is bold
enough to wake us in the early morning by drumming on the shingles of the
roof. In our ears the red-winged blackbirds have a very attractive note. We
love the screaming of the red-tailed hawks as they soar high overhead, and even
the calls of the night herons that nest in the tall water maples by one of the wood
ponds on our place, and the little green herons that nest beside the salt marsh.
It is hard to tell just how much of the- attraction in any bird-note lies in the
music itself and how much' in the associations. This is w^hat makes it so use-
less to try to compare the bird songs of one country with those of another. A
man who is worth anything can no more be entirely impartial in speaking of the
bird songs with which from his earliest childhood he has been familiar than he
can be entirely impartial in speaking of his own family. — The Outlook.
Black-Headed Grosbeak
{Zamelodia melanocephala)
Length, about 8J4 inches.
Range: Breeds from the Pacific coast to Nebraska and the Dakotas, and
from southern Canada to southern Mexico ; winters in Mexico.
Habits and economic status : The black-headed grosbeak takes the place in
the West of the rosebreast in the East, and like it is a fine songster. Like it
also, the blackhead readily resorts to orchards and gardens and is common in agri-
tural districts. The bird has a very powerful bill and easily crushes or cuts into
the firmest fruit. It feeds upon cherries, apricots and other fruits, and also does
some damage to green peas and beans, but it is so active a foe of certain horti-
cultural pests that we can afford to overlook its faults. Several kinds of scale
insects are freely eaten, and one, the black olive scale, constitutes a fifth of the
total food. In May many cankerworms and codling moths are consumed, and
almost a sixth of the bird's seasonal food consists of flower beetles, which do
incalculable damage to cultivated flowers and to ripe fruit. For each quart of
fruit consumed by the black-headed grosbeak it destroys in actual bulk more
than one and one-half quarts of black olive scales and one quart of flower beetles,
besides a generous quantity of codling moth pupa^ and cankerworms. It is
ol)vious that such work as this pays many times over for the fruit destroyed.
37
The Blue Jay {Cyanocitta crtstata,)
By William Dutcher
Mr. Bluejay, full o' sass.
In them baseball clothes o' his,
Sportin' 'round the orchard jes'
Like lie owned the jireinises.
— James Whitcomb Riley.
Length, 11^ inches. The brilHant bhie of the wings and tail combined with
the black crescent of the upper breast and the crested head distinguish this species.
Range : Resident in the eastern United States and southern Canada, west to
the Dakotas, Colorado and Texas.
It certainly is a tyro in bird study who does not know this noisy braggart
fellow with his inquisitive ways. Such characteristics usually repel, but in the
case of the blue jay they rather attract, and no one can help admiring this con-
spicuous member of the Corvine family. He has all the cunning of his somber-
hued cousins the crows, but not their sedateness ; he is life and activity personified.
Audubon, although he admired the beauty of the blue jay, did not give him
a good reputation as the following pen, picture shows: "Reader, look at the
plate on which are represented three individuals of this beautiful species — rogues
though they be, and thieves, as I would call them, were it fit for me to pass judg-
ment on their actions. See how each is enjoying the fruits of his knavery, suck-
ing the tgg which he has pilfered from the nest of some innocent dove or harmless
partridge. Who could imagine that a form so graceful, arrayed by nature in a
garb so resplendent, should harbor so much mischief; — that selfishness, duplicity
and malice should form the moral accompaniments of so much physical perfection !
Yet so it is, and how like beings of a much higher order, are these gay deceivers.
Aye, I could write you a whole chapter on this subject, were not my task of a dif-
ferent nature."
Alexander Wilson esteemed the blue jay a frivolous fellow : "This elegant
bird is distinguished as a kind of beau among the feathered tenants of our woods,
by the brilliancy of his dress ; and, like most other coxcombs, makes himself still
more conspicuous by his loquacity, and the oddness of his tones and gestures. In
the charming season of spring, when ever}- thicket pours forth harmony, the part
performed by the jay always catches the ear. He appears to be, among his fellow-
musicians, what the trumpeter is in a band, some of his notes having no distant
resemblance to the tones of that instrument. These he has the faculty of chang-
ing through a great variety of modulations, according to the particular humor he
happens to be in. When disposed for ridicule, there is scarce a bird whose pecu-
liarities of song he cannot tune his notes to. When engaged in the blandishments
of love they resemble the soft chatterings of a duck ; and, while he nestles among
the thick branches of the cedar, are scarce heard at a few paces distance ; but no
sooner does he discover your approach than he sets up a sudden and vehement
outcry, flying off and screaming with all his might, as if he called the whole
38
feathered tribes of the neighborhood to witness some outrageous usage he had
received. When he hops undisturbed among the high branches of the oak and
hickory, they become soft and musical ; and his call of the female, a stranger
would readily mistake for the repeated creakings of an ungreased wheelbarrow.
All these he accompanies with various nods, jerks and other gesticulations, for
which the whole tribe of jays is so remarkable, that, with some other peculiarities,
thev might have very well justified the great Swedish naturalist in forming them
into a separate genus by themselves.'"
Of the more modern writers on tlie life-history of the blue jay, the late
Major Bendire says : "Few of our native birds compare in beauty of plumage
and general bearing with the blue jay, and, while one cannot help admiring him
on account of amusing and interesting traits, still even his best friends cannot
say much in his favor, and, though I have never caught one actually in mischief,
so many close ol)servers have done so, that one cannot very well, even if so in-
clined, disprove the principal charge brought against this handsome freebooter."
It is an unfortunate fact that if a bad name is attached to a person or a bird
it is hard work to live it down, even though the bearer has been condemned on
hearsay evidence. The story of guilt may have been started on the most trivial
evidence, but every time it is repeated it gains in strength and is soon magnified
into huge proportions ; and what might have been easily explained at the outset,
by a careful examination into the facts, casts a lifelong slur on the character of
an innocent victim.
Even so careful and exact a writer as the late Major Bendire is compelled
to add from his strict sense of justice, that he had "never caught a blue jay in
mischief." The writer's experience with this bird is exactly parallel with that
of Major Bendire, and he is therefore loth to believe all the bad stories that have
been printed about the noisy, handsome jay.
Probably the most accurate brief respecting the blue jay's feeding habits
that has ever been written is by Mr. F. E. L. Beal. After citing three cases of
field observers who saw blue jays in the act of sucking eggs or taking young
birds, Mr. Beal adds: "In view of such explicit testimony from observers whose
accuracy cannot be impeached, special pains have been taken to ascertain how far
the charges were sustained by a study of the bird's food. An examination was
made of 292 stomachs collected in every month of the year from 22 states, the
District of Columbia and Canada. The real food is composed of 24.3 per cent
of animal matter and 75.7 per cent of vegetable matter. The animal food is
chiefly made up of insects, with a few spiders, myriapods, snails and small verte-
brates, such as fish, salamanders, tree-frogs, mice and birds. Everything was care-
fully examined which might by any possibility indicate that birds or eggs had
been eaten, but remains of birds were found only in two, and the shells of small
birds' eggs in three of the 292 stomachs. One of these, taken on I'ebruary IC,
contained the bones, claws, and a little skin of a bird's foot. Another, taken on
June 24, contained remains of a young bird. The three stomachs with birds' eggs
39
were collected in June, August and October. The shell eaten in October be-
longed to the egg of some larger bird like the ruffled grouse, and, considering
the time of the year, was undoubtedly merely an empty shell from an old nest.
Shells of eggs which were identified as those of domestic fowls, or some bird of
equal size, were found in 11 stomachs collected at irregular times during the year.
This evidence would seem to show that more eggs of domestic fowls than of wild
birds are destroyed, but it is much more probable that t-hese shells were obtained
from refuse heaps about farm houses.
Insects are eaten in every month in the year. The great bulk consists of
beetles, grasshoppers and caterpillars. The average for the year is 23 per cent,
but in August it reaches 66 per cent. Three-fourths of the blue jay's food con-
sists of vegetable matter, 42 per cent of which consists of "mast," under which
are grouped large seeds of trees and shrubs, such as acorns, chestnuts, beechnuts,
chinquapins, and some others. Blue jays prefer mast to corn, or indeed any other
vegetable food, for they eat the greatest amount at a time when fruit, grain and
other things are most abundant. The blue jay gathers its fruit from nature's
orchard and vineyard, and not from man's ; corn is the only vegetable food for
which the farmer sufifers any loss, and here the damage is small. In fact, the
examination of nearly 300 stomachs shows that the blue jay certainly does far
more good than harm.
Their nesting places vary greatly as to kind of trees selected and position in
the tree. Sites may be found in conifers and also in deciduous trees, and even
in shrubbery. The nest is usually bulky, but compactly built of twigs, bark, moss,
leaves and various other materials. A set of eggs varies from 4 to 6.
As parents, blue jays are patterns. Whatever may be their reputation re-
garding the young of other birds, there is no question regarding their extreme
solicitude for their own offspring.
The blue jay's popular screams are "Jay," "D Jay" and "Thief" — ^all of which
he speaks plainly and these signals guard the field and forest from hawk, owl,
crow, squirrel, etc.
WE THANK THEE
For flowers that bloom about our feet;
For tender grass, so fresh, so sweet ;
For song of a bird, and hum of bee ;
For all things fair we hear or see.
Father in heaven, we thank Thee!
For blue of stream and blue of sky;
For pleasant shade of branches high ;
For fragrant air and cooling breeze ;
For beauty of the blooming trees.
Father in heaven, we thank Thee!
— Ralph Waldo Emerson.
40
The Blue Jay
By Henry W. Roby
You saucy, cerulean jay,
You chatter and clatter all day;
From the dawn 'till the dark
Round the lawn and the park,
You keep up a fractious foray.
You meddlesome master of spite,
A conflict affords you delight;
From the day of your birth,
In your madness or mirth.
You're always in search of a fight.
But still you're a cowardly jay ;
If a kingfisher ventures your way.
You abandon your pride
And you sneak ofif and hide
And lurk in the bushes all dav.
And such a malevolent thief.
You bring all your kindred to grief,
And make the Lord wish
He iiad made you a fish
Chained down to a submarine reef.
You rol) all the squirrels and birds.
You plunder the flocks and the herds,
You filch from the hens
And the pigs in their pens.
And steal like the Kafiirs and Kurds.
No wonder men call you a "Jay."
And hate you from Nome to Cathay!
But the reason is plain
Why you're pomjious and vain,
God wanted one wingster that way.
41
The Robin CPlaiiesticus migratorius).
By T. Gilbert Pearson
Length, 10 inches.
Range: Breeds in the United States (except the Gulf States), Canada,
Alaska, and Mexico ; winters in most of the United States and south to Guatemala.
Habits and economic status : In the North and some parts of the West the
robin is among the most cherished of our native birds. Should it ever become
rare where now common, its joyous summer song and familiar presence will be
sadly missed in many a homestead. The robin is an omnivorous feeder, and its
food includes many orders of insects, with no very pronounced preference for
any. It is verv fond of earthworms, but its real economic status is determined
by the vegetable food, which amounts to about 58 per cent of all. The principal
item is fruit, w-hich forms more than 51 per cent of the total food. The fact
that in the examination of over 1,200 stomachs the percentage of wild fruit was
found to be five times that of the cultivated varieties suggests that berry-bearing
shrubs, if planjted near the orchard, will serve to protect more valuable fruits.
In California in certain years it has bee^i possible to save the olive crop from
hungry robins only by the most strenuous exertions and considerable expense.
The bird's general usefulness is such, however, that all reasonable means of pro-
tecting orchard fruit should be tried before killing the birds.
No bird holds so prominent a place in the minds of the American people as
the robin. It is distinctively a companion of man, and wherever his hand has
cleared the wilderness the robin has followed. From Mexico to the Yukon the
traveler meets it, and the residents will tell him of its coming and going. It has
passed into the literature of the country, and one reads of it in the books of
science and of romance. Poets weave its image into their witchery of rhyme,
lovers fondly spy upon its wooing, and by the fireside of every household children
lisp its name when stories are told in the twilight.
Heedless indeed is the ear that does not harken when the robin sings. Loud
and clear it calls at dawn, and sweet are the childhood memories it brings of fresh
green fields swept by gentle winds and apple blossoms filled with dew.
One spring, a pair built their nest on the limb of a balsam standing beside a
much-used walk near my home. In gathering the material for the nest, the
greatest care was exercised to worI<! at those hours when there was the least
chance of being observed. Thus, the greater part was done in the early morning
when few people were astir. Perhaps one reason for this was that the blades of
dead grass, twigs, and other nesting material, were then damp and pliable from
the dews of night, and were much more easily woven into position than after
they had become dry and brittle. Only during the last few days of construction
did I detect the birds working in the afternoon. The mud for their nest was
found by a little pool at the end of a leaky horse-trough.
42
On April 18 the nest appeared to be completed, for no more materials were
brought. On the 22nd the female began sitting. I could see her tail extending
over one side of the nest, her bill pointing upward at a sharp angle from the
other. She flew ofif the first day when the half-hundred boys who frequented the
walk came along on their way to dinner. But she soon became accustomed to
them, and would sit quietly, although numerous heads passed within five or six
feet. No one disturbed the nest with its four blue eggs, and on May 6 I saw
her feeding the young. Four days after this event, I noticed the heads of the
younglings bobbing above the rim of the nest. They were gaining strength
rapidly.
The morning of May 17 was cool, and a drizzling rain had been falling for
some hours. This dreary morning happened to come on the day when the young
robins desired to leave the nest. Rain could neither dampen their desire nor check
their plans. At seven o'clock, three of them were found sitting motionless, a
foot or more from the nest, on the limb which held it. Each had gathered itself
into as small a space as possible, and, with head drawn close, seemed waiting for
something to happen. But their eyes were bright, as they looked out over the
vast expanse of the lawn before them — that trackless region, to explore which
they dared not yet trust their strength. The fourth one could not be found. The
next day two others disappeared, after spending some hours of joyous, happy
life on the grass and in the shrubbery. I strongly suspected the academy cat
knew where they had gone.
Knowing that the family would never return to the nest, I removed it from
the limb, for I wanted to see how the wonderful structure was put together.
In its building, a framework of slender balsam twigs had first been used. There
were sixty-three of these, some of which were as much as a foot in length. In-
tertwined with these were twenty fragments of weed stalks and grass stems.
The yellow clay cup, which came next inside, varied in thickness from a quarter
of an inch at the rim to an inch at the bottom. Grass worked in with the clay
while it was yet soft aided in holding it together, and now, last of all, came the
smooth, dry carpet of fine grass. The whole structure measured eight inches
across he top; inside it was three inches in width, and one and a half deep. It
was one of those wonderful objects which is made for a purpose and it had
served that purpose well.
It is good to watch the robins when a tt)uch of autumn is in the air and the
wander-lust is strong upon them. On rajiidl) beating wings they drive swiftly
across the fields, or pause on the topmost sjjray of a roadside tree and look eagerly
away to the southward. Their calls are sharp and inf|uisitive. Clearly the un-
suppressed excitement of starting on a long journt.) pervade^ their nature. In a
little while they will be gone.
Later you may find them in their winlrr home, feeding on the black gum
trees in a Carolina swamp, thr berries of the China tree in Georgia, or the fruit
43
of the cabbage palmetto in Florida. But their whole nature seems to have suf-
fered change. No cheerful notes of song await you, no gathering of food from
the grass on the lawn, no drinking from the cup on the window sill, none of the
confiding intimacies so dear to their friends at the North. We see them in flocks,
wild and suspicious. Often they gather to feed on the great pine barrens far
from the abode of man. They grow fat from much eating, and are hunted for
the table. Recently I found strings of them in the markets of Raleigh, and was
told they were worth sixty cents a dozen, the highest price I had ever been asked
for them.
That protection should be extended to the robin because of its economic value
as a destroyer of injurious insects many observers unite in stating, despite the ob-
jection sometimes raised to his fondness for small fruits. The United States
Department of Agriculture, which looks so carefully into various subjects of vital
importance to our country, sent Mr. W. L. McAtee, a brilliant naturalist, to Louis-
iana the past winter, and he made many observations on the feeding habits of
these birds. Under date of February 20, he reported :
"I collected twelve robins near here yesterday, and got the following results
from an examination of their gizzards : Eight had eaten nothing but insects, the
other four had taken respectively 95, 80, 65 and per cent of insects and other
invertebrates. The insects eaten included grasshoppers, bugs, beetles, beetle
larvae, and caterpillars, including cut worms. Another day I collected three robins
which had eaten insects, including larvae of crane flies, which are sometimes
known as leather-jackets. The larvae feed on the roots of grasses, including
grain crops and other plants, and are sometimes quite injurious. Each of the
three birds had eaten one or more specimens of leaf beetle, a plant feeder, and
injurious. On a basis of the eighteen stomachs I have examined this month, I
consider the robin to be essentially an insectivorous bird in Louisiana in February.
I notice that great numbers of the robins feed in open grassy fields, where their
diet must consist largely of animal matter, as the birds do not eat weed seeds.
The Crossbill {Loxia curvirostra minor).
By W. Leon Dawson
Length, .66 inches.
Range, northern North America, but sparingly in southeastern United States.
There are several species of northern birds which behave as if they had been
moon-struck on some chilly arctic night and whose most ardent friends as a con-
sequence cannot deny that they are a little "queer" ; the red crossbills, for ex-
ample, — dear unsophisticated mortals, who are still following the Julian calen-
dar, and that only spasmodically. Normally confined to the coniferous timber of
the Canadian highlands, they nevertheless drift south in straggling flocks and
44
KK1> CKl)>.>blLL>.
i Li(.-si/e.
»i «. w. HuiaroiiD, CMioaa
in every unmethodical fashion, and occasionally come upon us in great hordes
which even the park policemen notice.
Then in spring, either because they dread to face renewed privations or be-
cause they vary their plans, fare with the lotus buds of forgetfulness in the balmy
southlands, some linger to nest and spend a careless summer. Especially is this
the case in the Alleghenies and in the mountain regions of New York and New
England. The nesting takes place according to no known law, eggs having been
taken in mid-winter where the snow lay deep upon the ground, and again in July.
And although conifers are the sites usually chosen, the birds are not particular
in this matter either — a leafless maple will do as well.
The crossbill owes particular mandibles to an age-long hankering for pine
seeds — a desire fully satisfied according to the fashion of that Providence which
works so variously through nature, and whose method we are pleased to call
evolution. The bill of the bird was not meant for an organ of the finest precision,
and Bufifon, the Deist, once won a cheap applause by railing at the Almighty for
a supposed oversight; in this direction; but as a matter of fact its wonderful
crossed mandibles enable the crossbill to do what no other bird can, viz., pry
open the scales of a pine cone and extract the tiny seed with its tongue. Besides
this the bird is not so awkward in the use of its bill as was formerly supposed,
since it frequently alights on the ground and picks up the fallen seeds, together
with other food. Apples, left hanging and mellowed by the frosts, are favorite
winter tidbits, and the birds have been accused of doing trifling damages to the
grain.
Crossbills give out an intermittent rattling cry or excited titter, tew, tew, tew
while feeding. The flight note is a short, clear whistle, and a flock composed of
separately undulating individuals affords a pleasing sensation to both eye and ear
as it rapidly passes. The male is said to have a sprighty whistling song of a
most agreeable character, and he sometimes opens the season as early as February.
Specimens kept in captivity exhibit some of the traits of parrots. Thus, they
grasp the wires of the cage with their bill as well as with their feet and move
about by its aid. They hang head downward with indift'erence and they convey
food to the month by holding it in one foot. It is not surprising that the birds
are easily domesticated even when full grown, since they are so unsuspicious as
to admit of capture by the hand. T once caught an adult female in mid-air as a
flock fluttered up confusedly from the ground, .\ccording to Dr. Brewer, a
nest with eggs of this species was once secured in March by Mr. Charles S. Paine,
in East Randolph, Vt. "The nest was Iniilt in an upper branch of an elm —
which, of course, was leafless — the ground was covered with snow, and the
weather severe. The birds were very tame and fearless, refusing to leave tlieir
eggs, and had to be several times taken off by the hand. After its nest had been
taken, and as Mr. Paine was descending with it in his hand, the female again
resumed her place ujxin it. to protect her eggs from the biting frost."
From "Birds of Oliio," liy pLTiuission.
45
The Myrtle Warbler [Dendrocia coronata)
By Henry W. Henshaw
Length, 5^ inches. The similarly colored Audubon's warbler has a yellow
throat instead of a white one. •
Range, breeds throughout most of the forested area of Canada and south
to Minnesota, Michigan, New York and Massachusetts ; winters in the southern
two-thirds of the United States and south to Panama.
Habits and economic status: This member of our beautiful wood warbler
family, a family peculiar to America, has the characteristic voice, coloration, and
habits of its kind. Trim of form and graceful of motion, when seeking food it
combines the methods of the wrens, creepers, and flycatchers. It breeds only in
the northern parts of the eastern United States, but in migration it occurs in
every patch of woodland and is so numerous that it is familiar to every observer.
Its place is taken in the West by Audubon's warbler. More than three-fourths
of the food of the myrtle warbler consists of insects, practically all of them harm-
ful. It is made up of small beetles, including some weevils, with many ants and
wasps. This bird is so small and nimble that it successfully attacks insects too
minute to be prey for larger birds. Scales and plant lice form a very considerable
part of its diet. Flies are the largest item of food ; in fact only a few flycatchers
and swallows eat as many flies as this bird. The vegetable food (22 per cent) is
made up of fruit and the seeds of poison oak or ivy also the seeds of pine and of
the bayberry.
When the vanguard of the warbler host arrives in later April, the bird man
knows it is time to overhaul the daily schedule, to decline with thanks all evening
engagements, and to hie him forth in the gray of the morning to welcome his
winged friends. The wind is still asleep, the dew is full-bodied and lusty, and
sounds of traffic have not yet begun to burden the air. It is at such a time the
birds confess their inmost secrets of love and longing, and sing purest praises to
the great All-Father. As the signals of dawn are hoisted the chorus swells and
the rising sun is greeted with a burst of vocal splendor. Upon his appearance
the winged voyageurs of the night descend and mingle their lispings and trillings
with the full tide of song.
The myrtles are usually the first of the warblers to arrive in the spring, as
they are the last to depart in the fall. For a week they are abundant, and their
sturdy chip becomes easily familiar of warbler notes. Other enterprising warblers
not a few accept their promise of safe conduct, but one scrutinizes a dozen of
the myrtles to find one of another species. During the first ten days of May
the order of abundance is reversed, and the last dilatory matron has disappeared
or every lazy black-poll comes.
Myrtle is a handsome fellow, but he is too sensible to put on airs. Trees,
bushes or fence rails are alike to him, and he is not above alighting on the
ground to secure a fat grub. Now and then a pleasant song is heard, a dainty,
46
2^)9
MVKTLF, WARBLER.
I.ife-si/f.
CO^TRIOMT ttOO, IV A. W. WUMrORO, CHICAGO
silvery warble, rather light, and, one suspects, since the singer is so far from
home, not full-voiced yet.
The autumnal movement is less hurried than that of spring. x\t this season
the birds often gather in flocks of forty or more, and linger for weeks in sunny,
half-wooded pastures, or about the orchards. Plere they spend much time in the
tall weeds, after the fashion of goldfinches, hunting for insects, indeed, but in lieu
of them often accepting seeds. Thus they will occasionally tarry late into No-
vember and do not fear the exposure resulting from the falling leaves, since a
yellow rump-spot is all that is left them of the garish beauties of spring.
Yellow-rumped warblers are reported as wintering commonly in southern
Indiana, but Rev. W. F. Henninger did not find them in the lower Scioto valley.
Dr. Langdon of Cincinnati has records for March 4 and November 29, and it is
not improbable that they winter sparingly in the more sheltered spots of the
Ohio river counties. They are reported as abundant at that season in Florida,
where they subsist on the berries of the myrtle (myrica cerifera) whence the
name.
Little Brother Chickadee
By William Hale
Little brother of the wood,
Ermine-cloaked, with sable hood,
Bravest of brave brothers, thou.
Calling to me softly now
From the icy hemlock tree,
Cheery, chirping chickadee :
"Never fear !
Spring is here.
And the blithest of the year
For thee and me
Is yet to be.
For man and ciiickadee."
Fearless free-lance of the fields,
Though scant fare the bleak earth yields,
Thou art harbinger of spring.
And each sweet and beautifying thing.
So, wee herald, sing away ;
Blessings on thy cheery lay :
"Never fear!
Love is here,
And the blithest of the year
For thoc and nie
Is yet to be
For man and chickadee."
47
The Bluebird {Si all a si alts).
By I. N. Mitchell
Length seven inches ; sexes much alike, female duller ; nest in hollow stumps,
trees, jxjsts and in bird-boxes ; eggs, four to six ; note a short but very pleasing
contralto warble.
Range: Breeds in the United States (west to Arizona, Colorado, Wyoming,
and ^Montana), southern Canada, Mexico and Guatemala; winters in the southern
half of the eastern United States and south to Guatemala.
Habits and economic status: The bluel^ird is one of the most familiar
tenants of the farm ^nd dooryard. Everywhere it is hailed as the harbinger of
spring, and wherever it chooses to reside it is sure of a warm w'clcome. This
bird, lihce the robin, phoebe, house wren, and some swallows, is very domestic in
its habits. Its favorite nesting sites are crannies in the farm buildings or boxes
made for its use or natural cavities in old apple trees. For rent the bird pays
amply by destroying insects, and it takes no toll from the farm crop. The blue-
bird's diet consists of 68 per cent of insects to 32 per cent of vegetable matter.
The largest items of insect food are grasshoppers first and beetles next, while
caterpillars stand third. All of these are harmful except a few of the beetles.
The vegetable food consists chiefly of fruit pulp, only an insignificant portion of
which is of cultivated varieties. Among wild fruits elderberries are the favorite.
From the above it will be seen that the bluebird does no essential harm, but on the
contrary eats many harmful and annoying insects.
To think of the bluebird is to think of spring. The long weeks of winter
have had their rugged pleasures. The bird lover may have taken snow-shoe
tramps afield to search for traces of the quail and grouse, to share a meal with
the friendly chickadee, to watch the w^oodpeckers or tree sparrows, or to dis-
cover some occasional resident as the robin or red-winged blackbird, shrike or
crossbill ; but in the main, the fields have been deserted and the wild life, like the
woods, has seemed wrapped in a long, restful sleep. We begin to long for the
ringing up of the white curtain and the lowering of the green one. How glad
we are when the warble of the blue-bird, the cackle of the robin, and the joyous
whistle of the meadow-lark give us warning that the change of curtains is about
to be made.
The bluebird ventures back about the first week in March. His back never
looks so blue as when in contrast with the March and April snow. It is in har-
mony with the sky from the first, but his breast must help to melt away the
lingering snow before it can be in keeping with the rich, brown earth.
Returning together, the bluebird and his mate soon set about looking over
available nesting places. The English sparrow^ is, at this time, their only com-
petitor, but a severe competitor he is. As cold weather approached in the fall,
he appropriated for winter quarters every bird-box into which he could squeeze;
48
21
BLUEBIRD.
Life-size.
more than that, he began carrying in new nesting materials on any mild, sunny
day in February. Now he feels that the box is his both by right of discovery
and possession and possession is nine points of the law with birds as with higher
animals. Unless some one comes to the aid of the bluebirds, they must leave their
last year's home in the hands of the enem}- — "The little beast," as Mr. Van Dyke
calls the English sparrow, and go off to the woods in search of a hollow tree or
stump. This seizing of nesting places is the chief way in which the beast drives
our native birds from the city into the country and from the country home to the
woodsi and fences. If then, we w4sh to keep the bluebird, tree swallow and mar-
tins about our homes in city and country we must work out some plan for beating
the beast. To that end it is well to take down the bird boxes in November and
to put them up again in the spring, for the bluebird, the fifth or sixth of March,
for the tree-swallow, the fifth or sixth of April; for the purple martins, the first
of May.
There will be a fight for the boxes just the same, but the chances of war
will be more evenly balanced. The native birds may be aided further if the door-
way of the birdhouse is guarded by a little door so arranged that it may be
pulled aside from the ground by a string.
There never was a happier or more devoted husband than the male bluebird.
He is the gay champion and escort of the female at all times, and while she is
sitting he feeds her regularly. Tt is very pretty to watch them building their nest.
The male is very active in hunting out a place and exploring the boxes and cavi-
ties, but seems to have no choice in the matter and is anxious only to please
and encourage his mate, who has the practical turn and knows what will do
and what will not. After she has suited herself he applauds her immensely,
and away the two go in quest of material for the nest, the male acting as guard
and flying above and in advance of the female. She brings all the material and
does all the work of building, he looking on and encouraging her with gesture
and song. He acts also as inspector of her work, but I fear is a very partial one.
She enters the nest with her bit of dry grass or straw, and. having adjusted it to
her notion, withdraws and waits near by uiuil he goes in and looks it over. On
coming out he exclaims, very plainl}-. ''Excellent ! excellent !" and iway the two
go again for more material.
Some Odd Bits of Bird Life
By Edward B. Clark
Somewhere in the woods west of Highland Park, Illinois, tlicrc lives a crow
that bears on his back a pure white mark of the size and shape of a silver dollar.
"Jim," for so I've named him. seems to know that he is distinguished alx)ve other
birds and as a result he is much shyer than hi*; l>rother crows. I have satisfied
myself that certain nf thr bird's characteristics are dircctl} traceable to the big
40
white spot on his back as the first cause. Jim has learned now that if he wishes
any comfort in life he must flock by himself. There is no doubt in the minds
of his fellow crows that white-spotted Jim is a freak. They keep him always at
the distance of a big field's width, and any attempt on his part to approach nearer
is met by assault.
The first time that I saw my friend Jim he was rounding the edge of a belt
of timber and making for a plowed field in ^^ hich four other crows were feeding.
From their position they could by no chance have seen his back, and! yet they
seemed to know that the approaching bird was branded and a pariah. The feed-
ing crows rose as one bird, met Jim half-way, and chased and bufifeted him back
into the woods. It was in this hurried retreat that Jim's white spot showed
prominently and told better than words the story of his persecution. Is it not pos-
sible that the crows felt that their brother's marked peculiarity would attract
undue attention to them in case he were admitted to comradeship?
I met Jim during two seasons when the other crows were paired and keeping
house. He was unquestionably leading a bachelor existence. Twice I saw other
crows go out oi their way to attack him, but despite his unhappy and lonely lot
he clings tenaciously to life and only recently I have seen him foraging for food
in the northern Illinois cornfields.
There is no love in my heart for the English sparrow. I have seen his per-
secution of our native birds until I cannot summon up a particle of sympathy for
him, no matter into what straits he may come. I confess to a secret rejoicing
every time a predatory shrike strikes a sparrow and trusses him for breakfast.
The Britisher has a busy time all winter dodging the butcher-bird, and even after
the enemy has gone to its northern home the sparrow trembles at passing shadows.
I was idly watching a flock of sparrows one summer day feeding at the edge
of the Lake Shore Drive in Chicago. Suddenly every individual in the flock
crouched close to the ground, and then all rose like a feathered entity and made
for shelter. No sparrow nor gathering of sparrows ever made a quicker move-
ment that did that flock. The journey from the ground to the thickness of an
evergreen tree standing in the grounds of a private residence, was made in arrow
flight time. It is probable that no feathered gathering ever had a better apparent
reason for adjourning than did that bunch of city sparrows. Coincident with the
sight of their scurrying there fell upon my ear a dismal cry from above. It was a
half croak, half file rasp, a sort of disaster- foreboding wail. Then a shadow
swept over the ground, and a look upward showed me a big red and gray parrot
making a lumbering flight in full and awful cry from the back piazza of a third-
story flat. The sparrows probably have family traditions of all sorts of feathered
horrors. It is doubtful, however, if a search of the archives of their remote
ancestors would show anything descriptive of more terror of voice, beak, and
plumage than that which had just broken on their sight and hearing. Small
wonder is it that the sparrows took to the woods. The parrot lighted in a tree
50
which towered above that in which the sparrows had taken refuge. The bird's
intention of perching in this tree was no sooner expressed by the direction of its
flight than the sparrow horde left one hiding-place and fled to another.
English sparrows, like all other birds, are inquisitive, and when they saw
that this bird nightmare, which strangely had chosen a bright day to be abroad,
showed no signs of hostility they gathered about it by the hundreds. They
hurled all sorts of names at the parrot. Never before had I realized the extent
of the sparrow vocabulary. The parrot made its awkward way from tree to tree,
followed by all the sparrows resident in that section of the city. The feathered
street gamins gave over eating and the delights of fighting for the pure pleasure
of swearing at this interrupter of their breakfast. Poll contented herself with
croaking at the assembled throng, and with occasionally asking an individual spar-
row for a cracker. The sparrows were gaining courage, and apparently were
contemplating an attack in force when a boy who knew how to climb trees cap-
tured Poll and carried her back to her cage.
Some birds have become accustomed to many of the appurtenances of civili-
zation. Those that have been shot at once, or have seen their kind shot at, know
a gun as far as they can see it. They will all but perch on the shoulder of an
unarmed man, but will keep a ten-acre lot between them and a man with a breech-
loader. Glass, however, is one of man's belongings which the most astute bird
as yet fails thoroughly to understand. A window which has light back of it as
well as in front of it is a perfect death trap for birds of many species. The
oven-bird, sometimes called the golden-crowned thrush, is constantly dashing
against window panes, always to its discomfiture and frequently to its death.
One of these birds at noon one day brought up against a pane of glass in the
window of a great department store on one of the busiest street corners df the
city of Chicago. The bird recovered itself, but in its bewilderment it left the
window only to fly into the crowded mart through an open door. The oven-bird
was caught and caged. Then it promptly and properly died. All caged birds
ought to die in self-defense. The .Audubon Society members say that death for
the songsters is preferable to imprisonment. There are few bird lovers who will
try to gainsay the society's dictum.
Not long ago a kingfisher tried to fly into the Academy of Sciences through
a pane of plate glass. The shock killed the bird. It now stands stuffed with
cotton and plaster of paris looking out of the very window against which it hurled
itself to death.
T once found the body of a small hawk which had met death in a peculiar
wa\-. I doubt if a stranger fate ever overtook any living creature. I found the
hir<l hanging by the upper tendon^ ef its left wing to a bar!) on the strand of a
wire fence. Unqucsti<)nal)ly the iiav.k was pur'^uing its quarry when it struck
the fence with terrific force. The barb entered the skin and tendons of the wing
and held the bird fast. Such was the impetus acquired from the force of the
51
flig-ht that the bird's body swung .ironnd the wire strand two or three times, a
fact shown by the twisted condition of the tendons. The hawiv was dead when
discovered, but whether the shock of the impact killed it or whether it died as the
result of the fierce struggle to free itself cannot be told. There was no wound
save that of the broken wing and torn skin and tendons, a circumstance that
shows that the bird was not shot and afterward impaled upon the wire. Doubtless
some meadow mouse is still congratulating itself on the narrowest escape of its
life, and on the death of one of its implacable enemies.
Recently the undoubtedly wise and humane members of the Illinois legisla-
ture granted the right hitherto denied, to shoot during certain months of the
year the mourning-dove, the emblem of peace and of all gentleness. I am chari-
table enough to doubt if any member of the state body would have voted for
such a provision of the game law if he could have seen the exhibition of cour-
age and devotion to duty by a dove that once came under my notice. A pair
of the birds had built a nest about four feet from the ground in a little evergreen
tree on a side hill. The nesting site was in the outskirts of one of Chicago's
suburbs. The month of the nest building, April, had been unusually dry; the
fallen oak leaves and the grass where the tender green had not yet sprung were
as dry as chips. A fire, started by a spark from a passing engine, spread rapidly
and ran along the hillside toward the dove's nest. I knew the location of the
bird's home and I watched the mother dove all through the subsequent ordeal.
The jflames reached the tree upon which the frail nest was placed, and though
the fire mounted high enough for the dove to feel the intensity of the heat,
she lifted not a wing to leave her charge. The flames swept under her and passed
on, but for fully five minutes thereafter the devoted mother was shrouded in
smoke. The bird's courage was of little avail, however, for some creature,
man or beast, robbed the nest the day after the fire.
The jay is unquestionably a good deal of a rascal, but he is one of the most
mteresting creatures that fly. I confess to a liking for him though he does steal
eggs once in a while and is the common scold of every bird neighborhood. I
watched a pair of jays once while they Imilt their nest in a small fir tree in 'the
dooryard of a hotel at Highland Park. The birds built the bulkiest jay's nest I
had ever seen. When the structure was about two-thirds completed I heard a
loud jay conversation in the lane back of the hotel and I looked over the fence
to discover the cause. The two jays were on an ash pile, and were having an
animated discussion about a very dirty paper collar which lay between them.
It was apparent that one of the birds doubted the utility of the collar as nest-
making material, while the other was an advocate of trying it if for no other
reason than that it was something new. Womanlike. Madame Jay finally had her
way (I suppose it was the madame), and into the wall of the nest the paper
collar went. When the home was completed six egg?, were deposited, one more
than I had ever before found in a jay's nest. Mother jay staid on the nest con-
52
tinuously for fourteen days with the exception of a few short trips for daily
bread. On the fourteenth day the young jays ought to have been poking their
heads through the shells. They didn't poke. Mrs. Bluejay kept on sitting.
Eighteen days had passed and then the husband began to plead with his mate in
the few soft notes which he could command. He asked her to leave the nest,
but she paid no heed. Three weeks were up. Young jays that occupied a nest
whose foundation had been laid many days later than that of the fir tree home,
were feathering out and clamoring for food. This fact was duly called to the
attention of Mrs. Jay by her husband. She wouldn't budge an inch. He made
many trips to and from a laden cherry tree, carrying his spouse specimens of the
finest fruit and telling her there were thousands more like them on the tree.
There was found one female who was proof against the fruit temptation. Five
days more passed, and the devoted sitting bird looked tired and seedy. Her hus-
band, who throughout the ordeal had confined himself solely to mellifluous plead-
ings, now got mad. He flew to a perch a foot above his sitting mate, cocked his
head on one side, looked down at her, and with marked emphasis and significance
uttered the one word, "J^y-" Sarcasm won and madame left her nest and six
eggs for good and aye. After the desertion of the nest I took it down and broke
the eggs. They were dried up and showed no signs that incubation had advanced
beyond a day or two.
One or two of my experiences makes me bold to say that I believe the birds
are much hardier creatures than generally is supposed. It is something of a
journey from our middle western fields to the rocky little spot known as David's
Island, in Long Island Sound. Let us make the journey if only for the sake of
a story of the hardihood of a song sparrow. I spent the winter of the year 1888
at David's Island which was then a United States military station. The first week
in March a song sparrow arrived on the island and made his headquarters near a
woodpile at the government dock. The bird sang daily from the top of an upright
pole which marked one of the divisions of the woodpile into cords. At the end
of the second week there came that awful blizzard which buried buildings in snow.
rooted trees out of the earth, and cost many human lives. The storm was the
worst in the history of the land and it raged unremittingly ior two days. Then
there came a lull ; the sun shone on a buried country ; the wooden barracks of the
army recruits in places were hidden from sight. So terrific had been the storm
that strong men sentinels had been overcome at their posts. On the morning of
the clearing of the skies the soldiers of the garrison attacked the snow-drifts and
broke a road to the woodpile where three days before the sparrow sang. When
the last great white mass was overcome the attacking party was greeted by as
cheerful a note as ever fell on soldiers' ears. The minstrel was the song sparrow
with his melody still unfrozen in his tlir<int and with a s[)irit that the storm could
not conf|ucr.
It wr>uld be edifying to a degree, ddubtless. if we could put ourselves in
touch with the thoughts di birds. I would give much to know just what it was
tliat i)romptecl a red-headed woodpecker to a certain line of conduct on one occa-
sion. I concluded he was moved by a spirit of pure mischief and nothing else, but
possibly he had some graver reason in his head. I saw a brilliant Baltimore
oriole sunning himself on a limb and holding in his bill a piece of newspaper as
large as himself. I never knew on oriole to use newspaper for nesting material,
and although it was homesteading time I did not think that the bird seriously
contemplated playing the vireo and using wall paper in his residence. There was
a red-headed woodpecker on the trunk of the tree. He seemed to take something
more than passing interest in the oriole and his bit of paper. Perhaps his thought
was, "There's a foolish bird laboring with something that it has no possible use
for." Whatever the thought, the red-head presently darted out, snatched the bit
of paper from the oriole, and flew far across the field with it to another tree.
There he dropped the paper to the ground and began a search for grubs in the
bark. The woodpecker had no more use for the paper than did the oriole. Per-
haps its purloining of the paper was prompted simply by a bad temper. It has
often been intimated that infirmities of temper are not infrequentlv the accom-
paniments of red heads.
The Bronzed Grackle [Quiscalus quiscula aeneus).
By W. Leon Dawson
Length, 13 inches; lustrous black.
Range, from Allegheny mountains to Rocky Mountains and north from
southern New England to Newfoundland and Great Slave Lake.
Aesop tells of a crow which, appropriating some cast-ofif feathers of a pea-
cock, succeeded in cutting quite a swath among his plain-hued friends, until
a clever rival disclosed the sham and brought him into deserved contempt. The
crow blackbird has improved upon the trick. Without trying to parade feathers
manifestly too big for him, he has borrowed the peacock's sheen, and he struts
about, in a manner accommodated to his surroundings, with all the peacock's
pride. He is a handsome fellow. See him as in the full sunlight he submits a
wing to the critical gaze of his coveted Juliet! Burnished brass, brass over steel,
resplendent as a coat of mail ! She approves, although she w^ill not say so. But,
lo ! how insolent he is ! She likes that too and snickers softly as he shouts down
to you, "Jup, jup. What are you doing here in my orchard?" If one is taken
unawares he is apt to stammer out, "Why, why, I thought it was my orchard until
you spoke."
For all he is so vain, no one ever accused the grackle of being graceful.
He is capable of bold, vigorous flight, but in the spring he chooses to exhibit the
dimensions of his rudder-like tail, and sometimes he lets it swing him around in
a small circle as though it were a weight from which he was struggling to get
54
free ! His love making antics, too, are all the more ridiculous for being earnest.
Perched upon the tip-top of an evergreen tree, he thrusts his wings out, spreads
his tail, ruffles his feathers, and then throws his head forward like a person about
to obtain relief from seasickness. The outcome of all this effort is a sound by no
means ravishing, flee-e-k-starr, or simply nve-e-e-t. When the female has been
sufficiently impressed by the accomplishments of this vocal contortionist the pair
converse in jups of much modified insolence, and in a series of prolonged squeaks
of unquestionable affection.
The tops of evergreen trees have long been favorite nesting places for the
bronzed grackle, but, in the comparative scarcity of these, apple trees are second
choice. While not strictly gregarious during nesting season, the birds often
occupy neighboring trees, and a good sized orchard may contain twenty or thirty
nests. They are placed without much regard to concealment, at first, since the
nesting is often under way by the 20th of April, but the advancing season is more
lavish of its foliage. The nest is quite a bulky affair of dried weed stalks and
grasses, with a deep cupshaped matrix of mud and a bountiful lining of grasses
and horsehair. As to manner of attachment it combines all known characters,
being saddled and settled, as well as anchored by the edge or half swung. The
eggs are quaintly spotted and stained or scrawled with umber and purplish black
on a dull green or vitreous blue ground.
During the nesting season the crow blackbird betrays affinity with the crows
and jays by helping itself occasionally to the eggs and young of other birds.
Although the fault is a grave one, a special investigator does not find that such
food bears any sensible proportion to the total amount and concludes that the
offense is too infrequent to require discipline at our hands. More serious from;
any economic standpoint is the charge that these birds consume quantities of
grain, especially corn. Although the mischief is offset by the consumption of an
equal amount of insects, and those largely of injurious sorts, it becomes at times
unquestionably necessary for the farmer to discourage the depredations of this
bird when the corn is in the milk.
Before the breeding season is over the male begins to gather in some favor-
ite "roost" to spend the night, and these companies form the nucleus of large
flocks, which are augmented by the arrival of females and young as rapidly as
the latter are sufficiently matured. One of these "roosts" comes to include the
grackle population for miles around, and often numbers thousands. If quarters
are taken up in a village grove or city park, as is not infrequently the case, the
noisy congregation affords occasion for comments and conjecture on the part of
hundreds of citizens.
From "Birds of Ohio," by pcrniission.
55
The Fox Sparrow [Tasserella Iliaca)
By Charles W. Richard
Common migrant; sexes, alike; length, 7^4 inches; nest, on or near the
ground; song, a short, sweet, warbling melody; arrives about the 21st of March.
The fox sparrow is one of our commonest migrants. Soon after the cheer
up of the robin and the fluting of the bluebird proclaim the promise oi'f the
spring, you may chance to see a commotion among the old dry leaves under the
bushes. A reddish-brown bird is very vigorously hunting his dinner.
The commotion among the leaves suggests a scratching hen, but beyond the
disturbance of the leaves, the comparison fails. Our fox sparrow is only about
half as large as a robin. The wings and tail are a bright red-brown, and the
throat, sides, and breast are white dashed generously with the same red-brown.
His movements are quick, nervous, alert. He scratches with both feet at once,
throwing them back so violently that the litter goes scurrying and uncovers
many a sprouting seed and lurking insect or worm.
The illustration gives an excellent idea of the coloring of thisi sparrow.
If it were a front view, it would show the dashes massed in three regions :
on each side of the throat — the left one shows nicely — and in the middle of the
breast as in the song sparrow. But in the song sparrow they are a brownish
black.
More bird students will confuse the hermit thrush with our fox sparrow.
He, too, is red-brown, though not so bright, and his dashes are not so positive
nor so red. Remember, too, that the hermit has become conscious of his tail
and moves it up and down as any one may see in a minute's observation, while
to the fox sparrow, that worthy member is just a common rudder.
Every spring has its surprises. Frequently a new or rare bird, sometimes an
unusual display of color, sometimes a momentary glimpse into the inner life
of a bird. It may be a chorus of song or some surpassing solo.
It may be set down as a maxim for the encouragement of the faithful that
all birds which should sing at all do sing sometimes during migrations. There
is the fox sparrow, a bird of most engaging appearance, nearly as large as a
thrush and quite as fine. We feel sure that he is concealing a rare gift of song
under that rusty cloak of reserve. As for him his one ambition seems to be to
slip away unobserved, unless indeed it be to steal a sly glance at you from behind
some tree hole. His only note as he speeds with strong wing into cover is a
thrasher-like chuck of alarm. Year after year, it may be, one comes upon shy
companies of these handsome fellows in brush-strewn woods or in the under-
growth of river bottoms, but never a song do they vouchsafe.
Finally on some favored day — there is not a breath to tell you of the good
fortune in store — a clear, strong, exultant song bursts upon your ears from some
56
123
FOX SPARROW.
:i-.^.Tflla ili.ica Merr.)
' Life-size.
half -distant copse. Chee-hoo, ker-weeoo, weeoo, weeoo. The fox sparrow has
found his voice.
There is a sweetness and vivacity about the song which wins our admira-
tion at once. It speaks so eloquently of anticipated joy, that we must envy the
bird his summer glade in wild Keewatin. Our vesper sparrow whistles a some-
what similar tune, but he is all contentment, realization now, and at half that
cost. Professor T. C. Smith, who has been exceptionally favored at Columbus,
says in this connection : "The voice of the fox sparrow in its full power is clear,
sustained, and rendered rich by overtones. It has not, of course, the metallic ring
of the thrushes or the bobolink, it is rather the sparrow or finch voice at its best,
a whistle full of sweetness with continual accompanying changes of timbre.
"Unlike most of the sparrows the fox sparrow displays an ability to let his
notes drop into one another by a quick flexible slide, usually accompanied by a
slight change in timbre, which is the characteristic of the warbling birds such as
the vireos. In this respect he surpasses all of his race that I have ever heard
except the rose-breasted grosbeak and the cardinal."
More frequently the fox sparrows are heard singing — sometimes in chorus —
in a subdued tone or half-voice. The effect at such a time is very pleasing, but
one does not get any adequate impression of the bird's powers of modulation or
sweetness.
Cooper's Hawk {Accipiter cooperi)
Length, about 15 inches. Medium sized, with long tail and short wings, and
without the white patch on rump winch is characteristic of the marsh hawk.
Range : Breeds througliout most of the United States and southern Canada ;
winters from the United States to Costa Rica.
Ha])its and economic status: The Cooper's hawk, or "blue darter," as it
is familiarly known throughout the South, is preeminently. a poultry and bird-
eating species, and its destructiveness in this direction is surpassed only by that
of its larger congener, the goshawk, whicli occasionally in autumn and winter
enters the United States from the North in great numbers. The almost uni-
versal prejudice against birds of prey is largely due to the activities of these two
birds, assisted by a third, the sharp-shinned hawk, wliich in habits and appear-
ance might well pass for a small Cooper's hawk. These birds usually approach
under cover and drop upon unsuspecting victims, making great inroads ujxdh
poultry yards and game coverts favorably situated for this style of hunting. Out
of 123 stomachs examined, 38 contained the remains of poultry and game birds,
66 the remains of other birds, and 12 the remains of mammals. Twenty-eight
species of wild birds were identified in the above-mentioned material. This de-
structive hawk, together with its two near relatives, should be destroyed by every
possible means.
57
The Ruffed Grouse {Bonasa umbellus).
By Herman C. De Groat
Length, 17 inches. The broad black band near tip of tail distinguishes this
from other grouse.
Range, eastern United States and southern Canada, south to Georgia, Mis-
sissippi and Arkansas.
Habits and economic status : The ruffed grouse, the famed drummer and
finest game bird of the northern woods, is usually wild and wary and under sea-
sonable protection well withstands the attacks of hunters. Moreover, when re-
duced in numbers, it responds to protection in a gratifying manner and has proved
to be well adapted to propagation under artificial conditions. Wild fruits, mast,
and browse make up the bulk of the vegetable food of this species. It is very
fond of hazelnuts, beechnuts, chestnuts, and acorns, and it eats practically all
kinds of wild berries and other fruits. Nearly 60 kinds of fruits have been iden-
tified from the stomach contents examined. Various weed seeds also are con-
sumed. Slightly more than 10 per cent of the food consists of insects, about half
being beetles. The most important pests devoured are the potato beetle, clover-
root weevil, the pale-striped flea beetle, grapevine leaf-beetle, Alay beetle, grass-
hoppers, cotton worms, army worms, cutworms, the red-humped apple worm,
and sawfly larvae. While the economic record of the ruffed grouse is fairly com-
mendable, it does not call for more stringent protection than is necessitry to main-
tain the species in reasonable numbers.
These fine game birds are found in the woods throughout the United States
and Canada. They are permanent residents and before game laws were enforced
they were hunted during every month of the year. Now, however, they may be
shot in the fall for a few weeks only. This plan protects the species and prevents
their complete destruction.
The grouse spends much time ujion the ground searching for food. When
frightened they rise with a loud whirring sound of the wings and fly away many
rods, If they are started by a hunter's dog, they perch in trees overhead and fall
an easy prey to the gun. Many are killed and sold in the city markets during
the open season.
Their food in winter consists of acorns, seeds and the buds of trees, but in
summer they live principally upon wild berries. Being fond of grapes, they some-
times wander to the fields in search of them; but a dense forest, especially one
containing small evergreens, is their preferred home.
The drumming of the male is a striking trait of this bird. Early in the
morning or late in the afternoon, he will perch on an old log or rock in the woods
and beat a resounding tattoo with his wings. This done by striking his sides
with his wings, producing a noise like a roll of distant thunder. On a quiet day
this sound may be heard a half mile. He does this to call his mate and soon
the female comes flving through the woods to meet him.
58
(Itonasa urahelliis).
2 Life-si^e.
The nest is a soft cushion of leaves and moss, and when filled with eggs,
closely resembles a hen's nest. It is difficult to find because the bird covers it
with leaves when she goes away from it. The young can run about as soon
as they are hatched and when ten days old they begin to fly.
If you come suddenly upon a mother bird and her little ones, she will sound
an alarm note to them and then flutter and limp away as though her wing or leg
were broken. Follow her a short distance and she will rise and sail ofif with
perfect ease. Turn now to find her chicks and they are nowhere to be seen. At
their mother's signal they squatted on the ground or dived under the leaves out
of sight. They are so near the color of dead leaves that they can rarely be
found. Instead of trying to find them, hide yourself and await the return of
the mother. Soon a few call notes from her will unite the family and as they
move away together, you are glad that you did not capture one of those fluflfy
balls of yellow.
(Copyright, 1911, by Herman C. De Groat.)
The New Bird (Bill) Law
By Alvin W. Mumford
One of the last measures signed by ex-President Taft was the bird bill regu-
lating the shooting of migratory birds and extending the closed season for insec-
tivorous birds to one year in most of the states. These new regulations were
approved by President Wilson October 1, 1913, the beginning of the annual
hunting season, and became a law, going into effect at once.
]\Iuch is due the agricultural schools for this measure. At last the birds
are decorated with a law that means something. In some states this new law-
will not materially affect the hunting privileges, because it will not make any
greater restrictions than are imposed by the state laws already in existence. In
others the change will be more keenly felt. The five years' closed season for
certain game birds, the prohibition of shooting between sunset and sunrise, and
the long closed season for birds along certain navigable rivers are the most im-
portant features of the new regulations.
The Department of Agriculture was authorized to formulate regulations
covering the points needed for the Federal protection of migratory birds. These
regulations fixed and prescribed the closed seasons with due regard to tempera-
ture, breeding habits and the times and lines of migration of the different classes
of birds. A committee of experts upon the subjects involved prepared these
regulations. The knowledge possessed by the committee upon the habits of birds
enabled them to fix suitable districts in different parts of the country in which it
.«;hall be unlawful to shoot, kill or capture migratory birds, and at the same time
to give the hunter all the sport possible without threatening the total extinction
(>\ the birds. W'licrc liic states have suitable laws for protection of the migratory
59
birds nothing in the new regulations shall be permitted to conflict with them.
The approval with which these regulations have been received as a whole has
been most gratifying to the committee. It demonstrates thoroughly that public
sentiment has become aroused to the need of protection to native birds.
Thq provision that the new law should not interfere with the bird laws
already existing in the states required nuich work from the committee formulat-
ing the regulations. Over 700 laws regarding bird shooting are in existence in
the forty-eight states. In order to harmonize them a number of exceptions have
been included with the regulations which will make the new law a harmonious
scheme for conserving the bird life uniformly throughout the country.
The country is divided into two zones. Zone 1 is to be known as the breeding
zone. It includes twenty-five states, lying chiefly north of the Ohio River and
latitude 40 degrees. The closed season for this zone shall be from December 16 to
September 1 for water fowls and rails, with exceptions in nine states, where the
dates vary slightly. For woodcock the closed season extends to October 1, with
exceptions in ten states. The closed season for .shore birds, excepting for those
coming under the regulation of the five years' closed season, extends from De-
cember 16 to September 1, with slight modifications of these dates in ten states.
Zone 2 is to be known as the wintering zone. It includes all the states south
of the breeding zone. In this, the closed sea.son for water fowl extends from
January 16 to October 1, excepting in Maryland, Virginia and the Garolinas,
where it is from February to November, and in Kansas, Oklahoma, New Mexico
and Arizona, where it comes between December 16 and September 1. The closed
season for rails, and also for coots and gallinules, comes between December 1 and
September 17, with slight differences in Tennessee, Louisiana and Arizona. For
woodcock the closed season extends from January 1 to November 1, excepting
in Louisiana and Georgia. The closed season for shore birds, including only
black breasted and golden plover, jack snipe or Wilson snipe and yellow legs,
the rest coming under the five years' regulation, is from December 16 to Sep-
tember 1, with the exceptions in Alabama, Louisiana, Tennessee, Arizona and
Utah.
The new law prohibits the shooting of all migratory game birds between
sunset and sunrise. This restriction has been objected to in New England and
in some of the western states, but the objection is not sustained because this pro-
tection already exists in a number of states, including New York, Ohio. Indiana,
Illinois, Iowa, Arkansas and Alissouri. At least half of the hunters in the country
have been subject to this restriction for years by the laws of their states and
most of them indorse it as a proper measure. Louisiana has even gone a step
farther. The shooting of birds after the noon hour is prohibited there, thus
giving them an additional advantage.
The closed season for insectivorous birds now extends throughout the year,
excepting for reed birds and rice birds in Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, the
60
District of Columbia and South Carolina. In these states they may still be shot
between August 31 and November 1. Many bird lovers object even to this small
killing, for these insectivorous birds may almost be classed as song birds. The
reed birds are really the northern bobolinks which have been greatly decreased
by the greed of the hunters.
It has been claimed that the rice birds of the South interfered with the crops,
but a scientific examination proves that the}' feed largely upon insects which
damage the grain. The substitution of the much hated English sparrow for
the reed bird in many restaurants is now admitted. Many claim that the dif-
ference is not easily detected. At present no consideration is being given to
sparrow conservation, and in the minds of most people they can be spared with
less loss to the countr}- than the bobolink. The migratory insectivorous birds
covered by the regulation include bobolinks, catbirds, chickadees, cuckoos, gros-
beaks, humming birds, martins, meadow larks, night hawks, orioles, robins,
shrikes, swallows, tanagers, titmice, thrushes, warblers, whippoorwills, wood-
peckers, wrens, and all other perching birds which feed entirely upon insects.
A five-year closed season has been authorized, extending until September
of 1918. covering band tailed pigeons, swans, curlews and three varieties or
cranes. The enormous decrease in these birds threatens their total extinction,
so that a long closed season is considered absolutely essential to the continuation
of the species. A closed season shall extend also from January 1 to November 1
fc»r all migratory birds passing over or at rest upon any of the following navi-
gable rivers between certain designated points. These are the INIississippi from
New Orleans to Minneapolis, the Ohio between its mouth and Pittsburgh, and
the Missouri between its mouth and Bismarck, N. D. The prohibition of the
killing of birds along these waters, either from the shore or from boats, will no
doubt be keenly felt by many hunters. Yet it was considered necessary that the
birds should have a safe pathway to and from the Gulf of Mexico.
Aside from the aesthetic value of birds, their destruction by the wholesale
methods which have been in operation has meant a great financial loss to the
nation. All parts of the country have sufifered from insect pests which did not
exist until the slaughter of the birds had lessened their protection. John Davey,
the pioneer tree surgeon, claims that millions of dollars are lost annually from
the destruction of trees by insects because of the scarcity of song birds. Where
there are plenty of song birds, no trees are seriously disturbed by insects.
Scientists claim that the unrestricted natural increase of the gypsy moth
would defoliate the entire United States in less than eight years. Birds can do
more than any human device to overcome this pest. A scarlet tanager has been
seen to eat thirty-five gypsy moths a minute for eighteen minutes. Other birds
are equally rapacious. The spread of the gypsy moth in New England is directly
due to the decrease of the song birds. The destruction of blackbirds, prairie
chickens and other birds in the mifldle west is held responsible for the rax'ages
of the Rocky Mountain locust.
61
Birds and Their Songs
By Elizabeth and Joseph Grinnell
Some barbarous peoples possess a rude taste for the beautiful plumage of
birds, decorating- their bodies in feathers of softest and brightest tints. But we
have record of few, if any, savage tribes the world over which delight in bird
melody. True, the savage may seek his food by sound, or even song, but to
feast the ear on music for music's sake — ah, this is reserved for culture.
An ear cultivated to melody is one of the soul's luxuries. Attuned to sweet
and varied sound, it may become the guide to bird secrets never imparted to
the eye.
Sitting in the close shrubbery of a home garden, or crouching moveless in
a forest, one may catch whispers of bird language never imparted to human ears
when the listener is moving about or talking with a comrade.
If one has accidentally or by patience discovered the evening resort of shy
birds, let him precede the birds by half an hour. Sitting low among* rocks or
fallen trees, having the forethought to wear plainly colored clothes, and as move-
less as the neighboring objects, one may be treated to such a feast of sounds as
will both surprise and entertain him. The birds will come close, and even hop
over one's coat sleeves and shoes, though so much as a full-fledged wink may
dissipate the charm.
Just before bedtime there are whisperings, and salutes, and low-voiced con-
versations, and love notes, and "O's" and "Ah's" at sight of a belated insect,
and lullaby ditties, and if one be possessed of a good deal of imagination, "evening
prayers."
Birds that fly from their night-time perches in the thicic shrubbery in the
morning dusk with a whirr, and a scream, or emphatic call-note, in evening time
just whisper or sing in half-articulate tones.
To be out in their haunts late in the day and very early in the dawn is to
learn things about birds one never forgets. And if one chance to remain late at
night, one may often hear some feathered person mumble, or talk, or scold, or
complain, or sing a short melody in his sleep. Some students of bird lore sug-
gest that all-night singers, like the mockers, and some thrushes, do "talk in their
sleep," instead of from intent and choice. If one will watch a tame canary in
its cage one may hear a very low, sweet warble from the bird while its head
is tucked under its feathers. This act wakens the little creature, and it may be
seen to finish its note while it looks about in the lamplight in a half-bewildered
way.
Take our domestic fowls ! Go noiselessly out to the chicken roost and stand
stock-still for a while. Now and then some hen or cock will speak a few words
in its own language, in a rambling, dozing way. Then the suggestion passes on,
62
and perhaps half a dozen individuals engage in nocturnal conversation. One,
more "nervous" from yesterday's overwork perhaps, actually has a nightmare
and cackles in fright. All this has no connection with the usual time for the
head of the family to give his warning crow that midnight or daytime is close
at hand and there is scarcely time for another wink of sleep.
Once in the secret of bird notes, even a blind person may locate the imme-
diate vicinity of a nest. And he may identify species by the call-notes and songs.
We have a blind girl neighbor who declares she would rather have her hearing
than her sight, she has learned so well to hear what her sight might deprive her of.
When once the ear has learned its better lessons, glimpses, so to speak, of
bird life flutter to it as naturally as leaves flutter to the sward in autumn. It is
the continual chatter, chatter, that deprives many of us of the best enjoyments of
life. We talk when we should listen. Nature speaks low more often than she
shouts. A taciturn child or person finds out things that are worth the habit of
keeping still to know.
These remarks are in the interest of singing birds, A bird is sometimes
interrupted and comes to a sudden stop. A footstep, a word, a laugh, and the
very next note is swallowed by the singer. By studying our songsters one may
come to know for one's self how individuals differ even among the same species.
There is the sad-voiced phoebe ! Even she forgets her customary dismal cry
at certain times when flies are winging their midday dance on invisible floors
that never were waxed. It is when she takes a "flat stand" on the roof-corner
and "bewails her lot" that her notes are utterly disconsolate. Take a couple of
phoebes on a cloudy day, just after "one's folks have gone away from home on a
long visit," and nothing lends an aid to sorrow like their melancholy notes. Really
we do believe phrebe thinks he is singing. But he has mistaken his calling.
Some of the goldfinches have a plaintive note, especially while nesting, which
appeals to the gloomy side of the listener, if he chance to have such a side.
Were Coleridge listening to either of these, the phcebe or the goldfinch, he
would doubtless say, in answer to the charge of sadness :
"A melancholy bird? Oh, idle thought!
In nature there is nothing melancholy."
And he would have us believe the birds are "merry" when they sing.
And so they shall be merry. Even the mourning dove shall make us glad.
She does not intend to mourn ; the appearance of sadness being only the cadence
of her natural voice. She has not learned the art of modulation ; though the
bluebird and the robin and all the thrushes call her attention to the matter every
year.
If one will closely watch a singer, unbeknown to him, when he is in the
very act, one may note the varying expression of the body from the tip of his
beak to the tip of his tail. Sometimes he will stand still with closely fitting
plumage and whole attitude on tiptoe. Sometimes he will crouch, and lift the
63
plumag-e, and gyrate gracefully, or flutter, or soar off at random on quick wings.
Sometimes he sings flat on the breast like a song-sparrow, or again high up
in the sky like the lark. However he sings, heaven bless the singer ! "The earth
would be a cheerless place were there no more of these."
But legend tells the story of singing birds in its own way — the story of a
time long, long eons ago, when not a single bird made glad the heart of anything
or anybody.
True, there were some large sea birds and great walking land birds, too
deformed for any one to recognize as birds in these days, but there was no such
thing as a singing bird.
One day there came a great spring freshet, the greatest freshet ever dreamed
of, and all the land animals sought shelter in the trees and high mountains. But
the water came up to the peaks and over the treetops, and sorrow was in all
the world. Suddenly a giraffe, stretching its long neck in all directions, espied
a big boat roofed over like a house. The giraffe made signs to the elephant,
and the elephant gave the signal, as elephants to this day do give signals that
are heard for many a mile, so they say ! Then there carne a scurrying for the
big boat. A few of all the animals got on board, by hook or crook, and the rain
was coming down in sheets. All at once along came the lizards, crawling up
the sides of the boat and hunting for cracks and l<:not-holes to crawl into, just
as lizards are in the habit of doing on the sly to this day. But not a crack or
knot-hole could they find in the boat's side, for the loose places, wide enough
for a lizard to flatten himself into, had all been filled up with gum, or something.
Then the lizards began to hiss, exactly the way they hiss to this day when
they are frightened, and the big animals inside the boat poked out their noses
to see what was to pay.
"Oh, they are nothing but lizards !" exclaimed the giraffe to the elephant,
who had naturally taken possession of more than his share of the only foothold
in existence. "Let them drown in the freshet."
But a big, awkward land bird, with teeth, and a tail like a church steeple,
took pity on the lizards and gnawed a hole in the wall of the boat.
Of course, in trooped the lizards. Once in, they disposed themselves in
nooks and corners, and right under the flapping ears of the telephant and between
the pointed ears of the giraffe. And they began to whisper.
It was a very low, hissing whisper, as if they had never gotten farther than
the s's in the alphabet, but the big animals understood.
Plenty of room was made for the lizards, and they were allowed to make a
square meal now and then on the flies that had come in at the boat's door, unin-
vited, plenty of them.
After a few days the spring freshet came to an end, and the giraffe opened
the door of the boathouse and looked out. He made signs to the elephant, and
the elephant gave the signal, and out walked all the animals on "dry ground,"
which, to tell the truth, was rather muddy.
64
Birds in Orchards
By John Burroughs
There are few places on the farm where there is so much live natural history
to be gathered as in the orchard. The trees bear a crop of birds, if not of apples,
every season. Few are the winged visitors from distant climes that do not,
sooner or later, tarry a bit in the orchard. Many birds, such as the robin, the
chippy, the humming-bird, the cedar-bird, the goldfinch, and some of the flycatch-
ers, nest there. The great-crested flycatcher loves the old hollow limbs, and the
little red owl often lives in a cavity in the trunk. The jays visit the orchard
on their piratical excursions in quest of bird's eggs, and now and then they
discover the owl in his retreat and set up a great hue and cry over their discovery.
On such occasions they will take turns in looking into the dim cavity and crying,
"Thief, thief !" most vociferously, the culprit meanwhile, apparently, sitting
wrapped in utter oblivion.
In aVIay and June the cuckoo comes to the orchard for tent caterpillars, and the
woodpeckers come at all seasons — the downy and the hairy to the good of the
trees, the yellow-bellied often to their injury. The two former search for the
eggs and the larvse of the insects that infest the trees, as do the nuthatches and
the chickadees, which come quite as regularly, but the yellow-bellied come for
the life-blood of the trees themselves. He is popularly known as the "sap-sucker,"
and a sap-sucker he is. Many apple trees in every orchard are pock-marked by
his bill, and occasionally a branch is evidently killed by his many and broad
drillings. As I write these lines, on September 26, in my bush-tent in one of
the home orchards, a sap-sucker is busy on a veteran apple tree, whose fruit
has often gone to school with me in my pockets during my boyhood days on
the farm. He goes about his work systematically, visiting one of the large
branches and then a portion of the trunk, and drilling his holes in rows about
one-quarter of an inch apart. Every square foot of the trunk contains from
three to four hundred holes, new and old. cut through into the inner vital cambium
layer. The holes are about the size of the end of a rye straw, and run in rings
around the tree, the rings being about half an inch apart. The newly cut ones
quickly fill with sap, which, to my tongue, has a rather insipid taste, but which
is evidently relished by the woodpecker. He drills two or three holes, then pauses
a moment, and when they are filled sips his apple tree tij^i^lc leisurely. The drain
upon the vitality of the tree at any one time, by this tapping, cannot be very
serious, but in the course of years must certainly aft'ect its vigor considerably.
I have seen it stated in print by a writer who evidently draws upon his fancy
for his facts, that in making these holes the bird is setting a trap for insects, and
that these arc what it feeds upon. I-?ut the bird is a sap-sucker; there are no
insects at his wells today: Ik- visits them vor\' regularly, and is constantly
65
drilling new ones. His mate, or at least a female, comes, and I overhear the two
in soft, gentle conversation. When I appear upon the scene the female scurries
away in alarm, calling as she retreats, as if for the male to follow; but he does
not. He eyes me for a moment, and then sidles around behind the trunk of the
tree, and as I go back to my table I hear his hammer again. Very soon the
female is back and I hear their conversation going on as before.
Day after day the male is here tapping the trees. His blows are soft and
can be heard only a few yards away. He evidently has his favorites. In this
orchard of twenty or more trees, only two are worked now, and only three have
ever been much worked. The two favorites bear hard, sour fruit. The bark
of a sweet apple tree does not show a single hole. A grafted tree shows no
holes on the original stock, but many punctures on the graft. One day I saw
the bird frequently leave his drilling on one tree and go to another, drilling into
a small red apple which had lodged amid some twigs on a horizontal branch ;
he ate the pulp and had made quite a large hole in the apple, when it became
dislodged and fell to the ground. It is plain, therefore, that the sap-sucker likes
the juice of the apple, and of the tree that bears the apple. He is the only orchard
bird who is a tippler. Among the forest trees, he sucks the sap of the sugar
maples, in spring, and I have seen evidence of his having drilled into small white
pines, cutting out an oblong section from the bark, apparently to get at the soft
cambium layer.
Red-Headed Woodpecker {Melanerpes ertkrocephalus)
By Florence Merriam Bailey
Length, 9^ inches.
Range : Common throughout Eastern North America.
The Woodpeckers are a band of foresters most of whom spend their lives
saving trees. Many of them do their work hidden in the dark forests, but the
Red-heads hunt largely out in plain sight of passers-by. Why? Because, while
they devour enough enemies of the trees to deserve the name of foresters, they
are particularly fond of vegetable foods and large beetles found in the open.
Watch one of the handsome Red-headed birds on a fence. Down he drops
to pick up an ant or a grasshopper from the ground ; then up he shoots to catch
a wasp or beetle in the air. Nor does he stop with fly-catching. Nutting — beech-
nutting — is one of his favorite pastimes ; while berries, fruits, and seeds are all
to his taste. If, in his appreciation of the good things that man offers, the Red-
head on rare occasions takes a bit more cultivated fruit or berries than his rightful
share, his attention should be diverted by planting some of his favorite wild
fruits, such as dogwood, mulberry, elderberry, chokecherry, or wild black cherry.
But, in judging of what is a bird's fair share of man's crops, many things
should be considered. Food is bought for the canary and other house pets ; and
66
i;{
KKl) HK ADKI) WOODHKCKEK.
Li(e-»ize.
CO^TNIOMT 1*00, tT A. M- MUMrOMO,
many people who do not care for caged pets buy food for the wild birds summer
and winter, to bring them to their houses. Flowers cost something, too. But
without birds and flowers, what would the country be? Before raising his hand
against a bird, a man should think of many things. A man who is unfair to a bird
is unfair to himself.
It would be a stingy man, indeed, who w^ould begrudge the Woodpeckers their
acorns and beechnuts. While the leaves are still green on the trees, the Redheads
discover the beechnuts and go to work. "It is a truly beautiful sight," Dr. Mer-
riam says, "to watch these magnificent birds creeping about after the manner of
Warblers, among the small branches and twigs, which bend low with their weight,
while picking and husking the tender nuts."
The nuts are not always eaten on the spot, for, like their famous California
cousins, the Redheads store up food for winter use. All sorts of odd nooks and
crannies serve the Redheads for storehouses — knot-holes, pockets under patches
of raised bark, cracks between shingles and in fences, and even railroad ties.
Sometimes, instead of nuts, grasshoppers and other eatables are put away in
storage. The wise birds at times make real caches, concealing their stores by
hammering down pieces of wood or bark over them.
Beechnuts are such a large part of the fall and winter food of the Redheads
in some localities that, like the gray squirrels, the birds are common in good
beechnut winters and absent in others. Cold and snow do not trouble them, if
they have plenty to eat, for, as Major Bendire says, many of them "winter along
our northern border, in certain years, when they can find an abundant supply
of food." In fact, in the greater part of the eastern states the Redhead is "a
rather regular resident," but in the western part of its range "it appears to migrate
pretty regularly," so that it is rare to see one "north of latitude 40°, in winter."
The western boundary of the Redhead's range is the Rocky Mountains, but east
of the mountains it breeds from Manitoba and northern New York south to
the Gulf of Mexico ; though it is a rare bird in eastern New England.
In sections where this erratic Woodpecker migrates, it leaves its nesting-
grounds early in October, and returns the latter part of April or the beginning
of May. Before too much taken up with the serious business of life, the Redhead
goes gaily about, as Major Bendire says, "frolicking and playing hide-and-seek
with its mate, and when not so engaged, amusing itself by drumming on some
resonant dead limb, or on the roof and sides of houses, barns, etc." For, though
like other drummers, the Woodpeckers are not found in the front ranks of the
orchestra, they beat a royal tattoo that may well express many fine feelings.
When the musical spring holiday is over and the birds have chosen a tree
for the nest, they hew out a pocket in a trunk or branch, anywhere from eight
to eighty feet from the ground. When the young hatch, there comes a happy
day for the looker-on who, by kind intent and unobtrusive way, has earned the
right to watch the lovely birds flying back and forth, caring for their brood.
()7
And then, at last, come the days when the gray-headed youngsters, from
lianging out of the window, boldly open their wings and launch into the air.
Anxious times these are for old birds, — times when the watcher's admiration
may be roused by heroic deeds of parental love; for many a parent bird fairly
flaunts in the face of the enemy, as if trying to say, "Kill me ; spare my young!"
One family of Redheads once gave me a delightful three weeks. When the
old birds were first discovered, one was on a stub in a meadow. When joined
by its mate, as the farmer was coming with oxen and hayrack to take up the
rows of haycocks that led down the field, the pair flew slowly ahead along a
line of locusts, pecking quietly at the bark of each tree before flying on. At the
foot of the meadow they flew over to a small grove in the adjoining pasture.
As it was July, it was easy to draw conclusions. And when I went to the
grove to investigate, the pair were so much alarmed that they at once corroborated
my conclusions. Did I mean harm? Why had I come? One of them leaned far
down across a dead limb and inspected me, rattling and bowing nervously; the
other stationed itself on the back of a branch over which it peered at me with
one eye. Both of them cried krit'-tar-rah every time I ventured to take a step.
As they positively would not commit themselves as to which one of the many
woodpecker holes in sight belonged to them I had to make a tour of the grove.
On its edge was a promising old stub with a number of big, round holes
and, picking up a stick, I rapped on the trunk. Both birds were over my head
in an instant, rattling and scolding till you would have thought I had come to
chop down the tree and carry ofif the young before their eyes. I felt injured,
but, having found the nest, could afford to watch from a distance.
It was not long before the old birds began feeding their young. They would
fly to the stub and stand under the nest while rousing the brood by rattling into
the hole, which had the odd efifect of muffling their voices. When, as they flew
back and forth a yellow-hammer stopped in passing, they drove him off in a
hurry. They wanted that grove to themselves.
On my next visits, if, in spite of many precautions, they discovered me, they
flew to dead tree tops to watch me, or startled me by an angry "quarr, quarr,
quarr" over my head. • When they found that I made no attempt to go near the
nest, however, they finally put up with me and went about their business.
After being at the nest together they would often fly ol¥ in opposite directions,
to hunt on different beats. If one hunted in the grove, the other would go out
to the rail fence. A high maple was a favorite lookout and hunting-ground for
the one who stayed in the grove, and cracks in the bark afforded good places
to wedge insects into. The bird who hunted on the fence, if suspecting a grub
in a rail, would stand as motionless as a robin on the grass, apparently listening;
but when the right moment came would drill down rapidly and spear the grub.
If an insect passed that way the redhead would make a sally into the air for it,
sometimes shooting straight up for fifteen or twenty feet and coming down almost
68
as straight ; at others flying out and back in an ellipse, horizontally or obliquely
up in the air or down over the ground. But oftener than all, perhaps, it flew
down onto the ground to pick up something which its sharp eyes had discovered
there. Once it brought up some insect, hit it against the rail, gave a business-lika
hop and flew off to feed its young.
The young left the nest between my visits, but when, chancing to focus my
glass on a passing wood])ecker. I discovered that its head was gray instead of red.
I knew for a certainty what had happened. The fledgling seemed already much
at home on its wings. It flew out into the air, caught a white miller and went
back to the tree with it, shaking it and then rapping it vigorously against a branch
before venturing to swallow it. When the youngster flew, I followed, rousing a
robin who made such an outcry that one of the old redheads flew over in alarm.
"Kik-a-rik, kik-a-rik," it cried, as it hurried from tree to tree, trying to keep an
eye on me while looking for the youngster. Neither of us could find it for some
time, but after looking in vain over the west side of a big tree I rounded the
trunk and found it calmly sitting on a branch on the east side — which goes to
prove that it is never safe to say a woodpecker isn't on a tree, till you have seen
both sides !
The old redhead found the lost fledgling about the time I did and flew
over to it with what looked like a big grub. At the delectable sight, the youngster
dropped all its airs of independence, and with weak infantile cries turned and
opened wide its bill !
Two days later I found two birds that may have been father and son, on the
side of a flagpole, out in the big wide world together. The old bird's head glowed
crimson in the strong sunlight, and it was fortunate indeed that only friends
were by.
The striking tricolor makes the redheads such good targets that they are
in especial danger from human enemies and need loyal, valiant defenders where
ever they live. And what a privilege it is to have birds of such interesting habits
and beautiful plumage in your neighborhood! How the long country roads are
enlivened, how the green fields are lit up, as one of the brilliant birds rises from
a fence-post and flies over them! In the city, it is rare good luck, indeed, to have
a pair nest in an oak where you can watch them ; and even a passing glimpse or
an occasional visit is something to be thankful for.
"There's the redhead!" you exclaim exultantly, when a loud tattoo beats on
your city roof in spring. And "There's the redhead!" you cry with delight, as
a soft "kikarik" conies from a leafless oak you are passing in winter ; and the city
street, so dull and unintercstin.u before, is suddenly illuininatod by the sight.
69
Spring Birds on the Kankakee
By Edward B. Clark
The cup of the bird-lover is full who is permitted to wander along the Kan-
kakee's wooded banks or to float in a boat on its bosom during the early May
time. It is a varied bird-life that makes glad this river valley. The wood ducks
nest in the timber, the golden plover dot the meadows, the sandpipers bob on
the river bars, the tree swallows dip in the waters, and warblers in thousands
haunt the treetops. In the early morning hours river, woodland, and marsh ring
with the bird chorus.
It was warbler time, the first week in May, when three of us having a com-
mon hobby left the great city and took the way which led to the pleasant river
valley. My companions were of the gentler sex, but with a keen enthusiasm
and an untiring perseverance in the pursuit of field study. Our train drew into
the little village of Kouts, Indiana, where we found waiting a comfortable dem-
ocrat wagon which was to take us the last stage of our journey, five miles across
country to the banks of the Kankakee. It was after sundown, but some sparrow
songs floated to us from across the fields and an oriole whistled good night from
an elm. Our host had met us, and as we drove along through the deepening
dusk, he told us that the whippoorwill had come. It was a bit of superfluous
information, for at that instant, from a little stretch of timber at the side of the
road, the bird he had named called to us softly. Its voice gained in volume as it
rolled out the syllables one after another. I have read in one of the books that
William calls for his thrashing five times in succession, and then pauses for a
while before he begins his plea again. My birds, like those of Dr. Abbott, are
always doing something contrary to the books. That Kankakee whippoorwill
certainly made no pause for breath until we were well out of hearing. At the
time that I had read the statement that the bird rested after calling five times, I
sought a whippoorwill haunt for the sole purpose of testing the matter. When
darkness had settled over the wood, one of the birds began calling. I counted
fifty-eight "whippoorwills" uttered in rapid succession. I gave up the task,
firmly convinced that it is rarely safe to put down anything as a bird rule without
making due allowance for exceptions.
Another Kankakee Valley whippoorwill sang me to sleep that night, and
during the occasional wakeful moments caused by the newness of the surround-
ings I heard him still calling. The night bird's voice was mingling in my dreams
with a note of sweeter substance when I woke to a consciousness that day was
breaking, and that an oriole was giving it a jubilant welcome from a maple at
the window. Enthusiasm took all three of us afield before breakfast for an
hour with the birds. One of the soft maples in the dooryard, our host told us,
had for four successive years been the home of a pair of orioles. He was
firmly convinced that the two birds which Avere then at his door were his
70
friends of other years. In the maple next the oriole home site was the empty
tenement of a warbling vireo. My companions had visited the valley the year
before, and had found the vireo nest when it held its treasure of eggs. They
told me how the father bird relieved his patient wife of her household duties at
intervals during the day, and how all the while that he sat upon the nest he
sang sweetly the warbling song that gives him his name. Somewhere in this
habit of the vireo there is hidden a lesson for humankind. Not much search-
ing is needed to find it.
The Kankakee flows along not more than a hundred yards from our farm-
house headquarters. We started for the river bank, but found bird-life so
abundant that we made little more than half the journey before the breakfast
bell summoned us. The field sparrow, the little fellow with the red bill and the
chestnut crown, sang his sweet note from the fence post and did not appear
at all discouraged because his brother song sparrow was giving a much better
entertainment within a rod. From a little patch of bushes in the damp pasture
came the call, "Witchety-witchety-witchety," and in a moment a Maryland
yellow-throat showed his black-masked face to us through the tender green of
the foliage. The yellow-throat is a beauty, but one cannot say as much for his
voice. There were some chewinks, perhaps better known as towhees, in the
pasture, and one of them kindly sang for us. The towhee's song, it has always
seemed to me, has just about volume enough for a bird of half its size. But
then we mustn't expect too much ; the towhee wears a beautiful suit of black,
terra-cotta, and white, and he knows how to show it to advantage. He charms
our color sense, and we forgive him readily for not being a nightingale.
The cow blackbird is despised above all feathered kind. It is a parasite,
building no nest of its own, but depositing its eggs in the homes of smaller birds.
The warblers are generally the ones imposed upon. They often seem unable to
detect the deception, and hatch the egg and rear the cow-bird to a sacrifice
of their own young. This habit is too well known to be dwelt upon. The
cow-bird, in the spring, has just one sweet note. That is to say, at times this
one note is sweet. If the bird tries to continue the performance it fails miser-
ably, producing something like the sound of a file drawn over a lemon-grater.
As we stood that May morning listening for a repetition of the yellow-throat's
"witchety," there came one liquid note from a treetop. In chorus we said,
"Cow-bird." The next instant there followed note after note of liquid beautv
from the same treetop, and shamefacedly wc looked at one another and said,
"Wood thrush." If greater ignominy can come to bird-students who have
haunted the fields for years than to mistake the note of one of America's
sweetest singers for that of the despised cow-bird, let it be named. The wood
thrush forgave us for the insult and heaped coals of fire on our heads by con-
tinuing his song as long as we staid to listen.
The catbirds and the l)rown thrashers sang their medleys from the thicket.
71
The Kankakee River country is a catbird and thrasher paradise. We saw more
catbirds during that May outing than we did robins. The region affords the
catbirds ideal nesting-places, and judging solely from numbers I should say
that it will be many generations before their race is run. A swamp extending
back from the river encroaches upon the pasture-land. We had not left the
singing thrush far behind before we started a green heron from its swamp
retreat. A lesser blue heron took flight a moment later. It is a much rarer bird
than its green brother. As we were about to retrace our steps a great blue
heron ceased its frog-hunting and flapped away leisurely over the trees. On
the way back to the house and to breakfast, we crossed a foot-bridge. A male
phcebe was sitting on a post near at hand. Out of curiosity I threw myself
prone on the wet sod at the side of the path and peered under the bridge. I
thought I should find something there, and I did find enough to pay me for
damp clothes and a strained neck. A phoebe's nest of perfect architecture was
fastened to one of the beams of the bridge, with the mother bird holding faith-
fully by her charge even in the face of the intruder. Father Phoebe from his
fence-post perch did not seem at all put out at the encroachment on his door-
yard. While the inspection of the nest was going on he unconcernedly flew out,
snapped up a fugitive fly, and then went back to his post. After each of us
had taken a peep at the mossy structure under the bridge we bothered the
brave little mother no more. Within twenty-five yards there was another foot-
bridge, and on a cross-beam beneath another pair of phoebes had a nest half
completed.
When the Kankakee overflows its banks and makes a broad lake of a part
of the country and a marsh-land of the rest, the Indiana region is a favorite
resort for gunners. Some of the water birds linger late into the spring, many
of them staying weeks after the time that the law first gives them protection
from persecution. Some of the pools in the meadows do not dry up until June,
and there the hunter who carries an opera-glass instead of a shotgun has a
fleeting chance to scrape acquaintance with strangers. We started out after
breakfast to seek the marshes. The way to them was along a road which ran
parallel to the river and through a wood that was musical with the voices of
birds. The orioles of the Kankakee were a revelation to me. They were there
in great numbers, and were found not only in the trees near the dwellings of
men, but in the depths of the woods. I never knew until that May morning
that an oriole could scream. We had crossed the long bridge spanning the
river and entered on the road through the woods, when from above our heads
came a scream of terror. It was almost humanlike in its agony of fear. Look-
ing up we saw an oriole pursued by a hawk. It was the oriole that was doing
the screaming. I took the hawk to be the broadwing, though the identification
was not certain. Its flight was lumbering and heavy, but it seemed to be
gaining on its quarry, which was straining every feather to escape. We
72
watched the chase with an interest mingled with fear. Suddenly a tree swallow
appeared. I don't pretend to say that the swallow had in mind the saving of
the oriole, but save it it did, whether the act was one of kindness or of acci-
dent. The eye had trouble to follow the swallow's rapid flight. It passed
between the oriole and the hawk, staying its course momentarily as though
with a set intent. The hawk saw the nearer bird, and reasoning that the nearer
must necessarily be the easier prey, it turned aside from its pursuit of the oriole
and followed the elusive swallow. The oriole made for shelter, while the swal-
low, with doubtless an inward chuckle, increased its pace and left the hawk
so far in the lurch that it gave up the chase and flew disgustedly back over the
woods.
In the trees along the roadway we found the black-throated blue warblers,
the black and white tree-creepers, the yellow warblers, and the fiery redstarts.
These last-named warblers, which look like diminutive orioles, were lisping
their incessant notes from nearly every tree. We heard the call of the cardinal
in the woods. This bird is not common as far north as our Kankakee hunting
ground, and one brilliant specimen which flashed across the road and disap-
peared in the thicket was the only one of its kind that we saw.
The woods ended and the marsh began. There was a pool at the edge
of the timber, and about it were running two spotted sandpipers. When I was
a boy these tiny waterside dwellers were called "tip-ups." The name fits them
to a nicety, for their bodies are in constant motion, and look like diminutive
teeter-boards ; first the head is in the air, then down it goes, and the apology
for a tail bobs up. This operation is repeated incessantly. Some solitary sand-
pipers were flying about the pool and the adjacent marsh. Finally, to our
surprise, one of them lit on a fence post within twenty feet of us, and there
stood fearlessly while we stared at it through our glasses. It is strange how
quickly the game birds learn that the shooting season is over. Two weeks
before the solitary would have given us a wide berth, even though we had
nothing more harmful than field-glasses with which to bring it down. I wanted
to put the bird to flight so that we could see its white markings to better
advantage, and I picked up a stick to toss toward it. The missile got no farther
than my hand, however, because my gentler-minded companions begged me not
to abuse, even to that extent, the bird's confidence.
We flushed one after another three jacksnipe which were feeding in
the marsh at the very edge of the road. They rose witli the squawk that is
translated into "scaipe" by most of the books.
A dark cloud was moving rapidly over the marsh. Suddenly its color
changed to silver, and tlien as quickly it went to black again. It was a flock
of May plover that had lingered late on this ciioicc feeding-ground. The May
plover is also called grass snipe and grass plover ; neither of the three is its
right name. It is the pectoral sandpiper. The birds go in large flocks, and
73
twelve or fifteen of them are often killed at one discharge of the gun. When
the dead and wounded have dropped from the flock, the remnant will often
whirl about and fly back over the fallen comrades, only to be met with another
deadly discharge. The wonder is that there are any pectoral sandpipers left to
add life to the spring marshes.
We walked back through the woods and across the river bridge to a boat-
house. There we hired a comfortable and safe-looking snub-nosed boat for a
trip on the broad stream. The woman who rented us the boat said that not-
withstanding her occupation she had never been on the river in her life, and
in it only once. That once she fell in from the bank. She also told us, for
she saw that we were bird enthusiasts, that she loved the birds, but knew very
little about them. "There is one bird, however," she said, "to whose note I
am never tired of listening, though I don't know the singer's name. The song
is like the sound of the tinkling of the triangle. There, the bird is singing
now" ; and as she spoke the rich notes of the wood thrush came across the
river. I think that those who have once heard the "tinkling" of the little
musical instrument called the triangle will admit that the woman's description
of the wood thrush's song cannot be improved upon.
We shaped our course up the stream. The Kankakee woods where they
edge the river are the haunts of the prothonotary warbler, perhaps the most
beautiful member of a notedly beautiful family. The prothonotary owes its
long name to the fact that it wears a yellow coat such as the prothonotaries, or
court clerks, wore once upon a time. We had looked forward to meeting these
warblers with a good deal of pleasure, but were disappointed to find that only
a few of them had arrived from their southern winter resort. One pair, how-
ever, came so close to us when we landed at a picturesque point on the river
that we had a golden opportunity in a double sense to get an adequate idea of
the bird's ways and beauty. The prothonotaries have a habit of constantly
flying back and forth over the river. Their yellow bodies are reflected in its
smooth surface, and the observer has a double color treat every time the bird
crosses. The prothonotary builds in a hole in a tree or in a decayed stump,
after the manner of the bluebird, and the nests are only less interesting than
the birds themselves.
The tree swallows of the Kankakee Valley believe that the customs of their
ancestors are good enough for the descendants. They build in colonies in hollow
trees, like their forefathers. The tree swallows that wander away into the
haunts of men make their homes in bird-houses or in crevices in buildings.
Nearly every group of dead tree trunks along the Kankakee River has its
swallow colony. There were thousands of the birds flying up and down the
river, dropping down now and then to dip in its waters. We passed many of
them sitting upon the tips of dead branches or upon the scarred tops of stumps.
74
|9I^^^'
■T/-
MAKSil HAWK.
The tree swallow's under parts are pure white, while its back and shoulders,
when the sun strikes them full and fair, are a shimmering green.
We turned the prow of our little boat toward the shore and landed by
some great trees under which the Indians once must have roamed. There two
male redstarts gave us a diversion by having a pitched battle, first on a limb,
then in the air, and then on the limb again. We stayed in the vicinity for cer-
tainly half an hour, and though we did not watch them constantly, I think that
these little warblers, whose tempers are as fiery as their plumage, never once
gave over fighting. We found a red-bellied, woodpecker on one of the big trees.
This locality is, I think, about its northern limit, though one careful observer
has reported the presence of one of these woodpeckers in Lincoln Park, Chicago.
We heard the note of the tufted titmouse. It was the same "Peter-peter-peter"
that I had heard early in March in the southern Hoosier hills.
As the shadows began to lengthen, we floated homeward with the gentle
current of the river. When the sun declihed the wood thrushes found voice
once more. Their songs attended us all the way to the farm-house. Perhaps
the birds knew of their listeners' appreciation, and were moved sympathetically
to sing until it was time for the vesper sparrow to close the day's concert.
The Marsh Hawk {Circus Iludsonius)
By W. Leon Dawson
Length : 19 inches. Range : North America, south to Panama.
Nest : On ground ; eggs, 3 to 6.
Humility is the leading characteristic of this "ignoble" bird of prey, whether
we regard its chosen paths, its spirit, or the nature of its quarry. Pre-eminentlv
a bird of the meadows and marshes, it usually avoids the woods entirely, and
is to be seen coursing over the grass and weed-tops with an easy gliding flight.
Since it flies at such a low elevation as neither to see or be seen over the limits
of an entire field, it often flies in a huge zigzag course "quartering" its territory
like a hunting dog. Now and then the bird pauses and hovers to make a more
careful examination of a suspect, or drops suddenly into the grass, seizes a mole
or a cricket, and retires to a convenient spot — a fence-post or a grassy knoll —
to devour its catch. The food of the Marsh Hawk consist almost entirely of
meadow mice, gophers, garter snakes, frogs, lizards, grasshoppers and the like.
Only in the winter is it driven to prey to any large extent upon birds, and then
only such northern birds as frequent weedy bottoms and swampy tangles, Tree
Sparrows, Juncoes, etc.
This Hawk is the most unwary, as it is the most useful, of its race. It is
no achievement to assassinate one from behind the cover of a convenient haycock,
or even to arrest its easy flight in an oj^cn field. The tillers of the soil have done
75
nothing more foolish or more prejudicial to their own interests than to allow
and encourage the slaughter of this innocent and highly useful member of the
agrarian police. A farmer would have as just cause to be indignant at some
interloper who shoots a Marsh Hawk on his premises as at another who breaks
up his gopher traps.
As the breeding season approaches, the male Harrier, feeling the impulse
of the ennobling passion, mounts aloft and performs some astonishing aerial
evolutions for the delectation of his mate. He soars about at a great height
screaming like a Falcon, or he suddenly lets go and comes tumbling out of space
head over heels, only to pull up at a safe distance from the ground and listen to
the admiring shrieks at his spouse. At other times he flies across the marsh in
a course which would outline a gigantic saw, each of the descending parts done
in a somersault and accompanied by the screeching notes, which form the only
love song within the range of his limited vocal powers. This operation is not
necessary in order to win his mate, for he is supposed to have won her "for
keeps," but after all, it is well enough to remind her now and then that he is
a very good fellow, for she is a size larger than he and a little exacting in matters .
of courtesy.
Not only are the Marsh Hawks wedded for life, but the male is very devoted
to his family. He assists in nest building, shares the duty of incubation, and is
assiduous in providing for his brooding mate. During the last week in April or
the first week of May a nesting site is selected, usually in the tall grass adjoining
a swamp. If the ground is wet, sticks are first laid down, but otherwise only
grass, dead leaves, and weed-stems, with a little hair and moss or feathers, are
used to build up a low platform, broad and slightly hollowed on top. Here four
or five eggs are commonly laid, but six is not unusual, and two sets of eight are
recorded, one from Washington and one from Iowa. In the former state I once
found a nest on the ground in a little opening of a poplar grove, the birds having
probably retired to the woods to avoid the winds prevalent at that season.
Incubation is accomplished in about three weeks, or if it has commenced
with the laying of the first egg, as is often the case, then the last egg may not
hatch for a week longer. While the female is brooding the young, she is frequently
fed by the male from a considerable height. Mr. Lynds Jones relates one such
instance where an element of sportiveness seemed to enter in : "Once during
the breeding season I saw a male catch a large garter snake and Hy up with it
several hundred feet, and then drop it to the female who just then came flying
along near the ground ; she caught and carried it to the nest, followed by the
male."
The young, after leaving the nest, hunt for several months with their parents,
and the last and costliest lesson which they learn is fear of man. If these
most excellent mousers had half the gratitude shown them which we manifest
to cats, they might be abundant where they are now rare.
76
The Bird That Sang in May
By William Bromwell
A little bird came to my window shutter
One lonely morning at the break of day,
And from his little throat did sweetly utter
A most melodious lay.
He had no language for his joyous passion,
No solemn measure nor artistic rhyme ;
Yet no devoted minstrel ere did fashion
Such perfect tune and time.
It seemed of thousand joys, a thousand stories
All gushing forth in one tumultuous tide ;
A hallelujah to the morning-glories
That bloomed on every side.
And with each canticle's voluptuous ending
He sipped a dewdrop from the dripping pane.
Then heavenward his little bill extending
Broke forth in song again.
I thought to emulate his wild emotion.
And learn thanksgiving from his tuneful tongue.
But human heart ne'er uttered such devotion,
Nor human lips such song.
At length he fiew and left me in my sorrow,
Lest I should hear these tender words no more.
And though I early waked for him each morrow
He came not nigh my door.
But once again one silent summer even
I met him hopping in the new-mown hay ;
But he was mute and looked not up to heaven,
The bird that sang in May.
And such mclhinks are childhood's dawning pleasures ;
They charm a moment and then fly away.
Through life wc sigh and seek those missing treasures.
The birds that sing in May.
This little lesson, then, my boy, remember.
To seize each bright-winged l)lessing in its day,
.And never hope to catch in cold December
The bird that sang in May.
77
The House Wren {Troglodytes aUon)
By I. N. Mitchell
The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And lets his illumined being o'errun
With the deluge of summer it receives;
His mate feels the eggs beneath her w^ings,
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings;
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest —
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?
— James Russell Lowell.
The diminutive house wren frequents barns and gardens, and particularly-
old orchards in which the trees are partially decayed. He makes his nest in a
hollow branch where perhaps a woodpecker had a domicile the year before, but
he is a pugnacious character, and if he happens to fancy one of the boxes that
are put up for bluebirds, he does not hesitate to take it. He is usually not slow
to avail himself of boxes, gourds, tin cans, or empty jars placed for his accom-
modation.
As regards food habits, the house wren is entirely beneficial. Practically,
he may be said to live upon animal food alone, for an examination of 52
stomachs showed that 98 per cent of the contents was made up of insects or
their allies, and only 2 per cent was vegetable food, including bits of grass and
similar matter, evidently taken by accident with the insects. Half of this food
consisted of grasshoppers and beetles ; the remainder of caterpillars, bugs, and
spiders. As the house wren is a prolific breeder, frequently rearing in a season
from twelve to sixteen young, a family of these birds must cause considerable
reduction in the number of insects in a garden. Wrens are industrious foragers,
searching every tree, shrub, or vine for caterpillars, examining every post and
rail of the fence, and every cranny in the wall for insects or spiders.
Range : Eastern United States and Ontario, west to Indiana and Louisiana ;
length, five inches ; sexes alike ; nest of twigs lined with grasses or feathers,
in vines, about buildings or in a hole or box ; eggs, five to eight ; broods, two
or three ; song, a strong, cheery warble.
The robin, bluebird and tree- swallow have settled down to their housekeep-
ing by the time this little brown sprite makes his appearance and begins to look
around for a cozy nook or hole or box.
He generally comes in full song and that morning is a happy one that
hears his joyous warble for the first time. To the grown-up this first spring
song of the wren is much the same as the first snow-fall to the child.
What a singer the busy little body is ! From early in the morning till dusk
he repeats his short but whole-souled warble. The rests between songs are about
as long — or short as the song itself, so this musical mite is singing about half
of the time. The robin sings his "cheer-up" well into the summer, but it becomes
78
Aliout Lite !>i/e.
conspicuously a morning and evening song. The bluebird soon settles down into
quiet watchfulness ; his heavenly blue still pleases the eye, but the ear listens in vain
for the accompanying flute-notes. A brief period of courtship occurs between
the flying of the first brood and the completion of the second set of eggs. In
this short interval the welcome song is again heard, but it soon gives way to the
serious duties of life. The wren, on the contrary, is a good lover. He is never
too serious to sing. He is a veritable Mark Tapley; the cares of life only serve
to increase his good nature. As long as there is an egg unhatched or a young-
ster to be fed, he cheers his mate and his neighbors with his song.
Ever on the alert, he gives timely warning of the approach of their arch-
enemy the cat, and vigorously resents the close approach of their human friends
by a rapid clicking or chattering note that amounts almost to a hiss.
He reminds one of Sir William Jones's lines :
• "What constitutes a state ?
Men who their duties know,
But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain."
The wrens are models of industry. Two to three broods a year with from
five to eight youngsters in a brood leave no chance for race suicide. With so
many little ones to care for they need more than an eight-hour day. The wren
begins his song and his search for insects by half-past four in the morning and
keeps up both as long as he can see. He and Mrs. Wren are said to make as
many as three hundred visits to the nest per day. This is probably when the
young are about ready to leave the nest.
The wrens hunt on and near the ground, under and among plants and
bushes. They run along the ground like a streak and in the dusk are easily
mistaken for mice.
The gardener can afford to be friendly to these little brown mites, for 'their
hundreds of visits each day to the bean patch and lettuce bed mean the destruc-
tion of great numbers of caterpillars and full grown insects that would live on
the vegetables if they were given a chance.
Almost anyone may have the pleasure of the company of a pair of wrens
if he will extend the proper invitation. Nor is the invitation a difficult one to
extend. Any box with a small hole in it, if placed in a tree, on a pole, or among
vines where he can easily find it, will prove attractive. The doorway should be
only a little larger than a silver quarter, say one and one-eighth inches, and
should be about three or four inches above the bottom of the box. If the door-
way is much larger than a quarter, the bluebird, tree swallow or English spar-
row is likely to appropriate the box. An old wooden shoe, a boot, a tomato can,
an olive bottle, a coat pocket, a gourd with a hole in it, a knothole in the side
of a house, are among the forms of imitation that have proved acceptable to
the wrens.
There seems to be a t'aniiK tend between the wrens and l)lucl)irds. If.
79
therefore, the bhiebirds are already established on the premises, it would be wise
to place the wren box as far away as possible; even then the bluebird may drive
the wren to a neighboring yard.
This is more likely to happen in the spring before the vines and leaves offer
the wren good hiding places.
The wren is probably the cause of this ill feeling. He can not resist the
temptation to enter into every hole he finds. He has a passion for house clean-
ing or for mischief, maybe for both. He slips into the boxes of the bluebirds
and swallows and throws out their nesting material, not for use in his own nest,
but apparently just for fun. He will bring bit after bit, feather after feather,
to the doorway and flirt it out. With head tilted to one side he watches, with
apparent pleasure, the bit or feather fall or float away.
No wonder that the bluebird does not wish him for a neighbor.
The Chimney Swiit {Chaetura pelagica)
By Thomas Nuttall
Length: 5 jE/2 inches.
Range : Eastern North America, north to Labrador. Food consists entirely
of insects.
Nest : Usually cemented to inside wall of a chimney ; eggs, 4 to 6.
This singular bird, while passing the winter in tropical America, arrives in
the middle and northern States late in April or early in May. Its migrations
extend at least to the sources of the Mississippi, where it has been observed by
travelers.
More social than the foreign species, which frequent rocks and ruins, our
Swift takes advantage of unoccupied and lofty chimneys, the original roosting
and nesting situation having been tall, gigantic hollow trees, such as the elm
and the buttonwood or sycamore. The nest is formed of slender twigs neatly
interlaced, somewhat like a basket, and connected sufficiently together by a copious
quantity of adhesive gum or mucilage secreted by the glands beneath the tongue
of the curious architect. This crude cradle of the young is small and shallow,
and attached at the sides to the wall of some chimney, or inner surface of a
hollow tree. It is wholly destitute of lining.
So assiduous are the parents that they feed the young through the greater
part of the night; their habits, however, are nearly nocturnal, as they fly abroad
most at and before sunrise and in the twilight of evening. The noise which
they make while passing up and down the chimney resembles almost the rumbling
of distant thunder.
When the nest gets loosened by rains so as to fall down, the young, though
blind, find means of escape, by creeping up and clinging to the sides of the
80
m. uuH'oao, cmiogo
chimney walls. In this situation they continue to be fed for a week or more.
Soon tired of their hard cradle, they generally leave it long before they are
capable of flying.
On their first arrival, and for a considerable time afterward, the males par-
ticularly associate to roost in a general resort. This situation, in the remote
and unsettled parts of the country, is usually a large hollow tree open at the
top. These well-known "Swallow trees" are ignorantly supposed to be the winter
quarters of the species, where in heaps they are believed to doze away the cold
season in a state of torpidity, but no proof of the fact has ever been adduced.
The length of time such trees have been resorted to by particular flocks may
be conceived perhaps by the account of a hollow tree of this kind described by
the Rev. Dr. Harris in his journal. The sycamore alluded to grew in Water-
ford, Ohio, two miles from the Muskingum River. Its hollow trunk, now fallen,
of the diameter of five and a half feet, for nearly fifteen feet upward, contained
a solid mass of decayed Swallow feathers, mixed with brownish dust and the
exuviffi of insects.
In inland towns these birds have been known to make their general roost
in the chimney of the court-house.
Before descending they fly in large flocks, making many ample and circuitous
sweeps in the air, and as the point of the vortex falls individuals drop into the
chimneys by degrees, until the whole have descended, which generally takes
place in the dusk of the evening. They all, however, disappear about the first
week in August.
Like the Swallow, the Chimney Swift flies very quick, and with but slight
vibrations of its wings, appearing, as it were, to swim in the air in widening
circles, shooting backward and forward through the ambient space at great ele-
vations, and yet scarcely moving its wings. Now and then it is heard to utter,
in a hurried manner, a sound like tsip-tsip-tsip-tsee-tsee. It is never seen to
alight but in hollow trees or chimneys, and appears always most gay and active
in wet and gloomy weather.
The Swift never lights upon the ground or buildings, never touching earthly
food, and is capable of flying 1,000 miles in 24 hours. The color plate shows
nicely the form and ?ize of the nest and how it is glued to the bricks. Notice
that it has no lining.
81
The Screech Owl {Otus asio)
By Henry W. Henshavv
Length : About 8 inches. Our smallest owl with ear tufts. There are
two distinct phases of plumage, one grayish and the other bright rufous.
Range: Resident throughout the United States, southern Canada, and
northern Mexico.
Habits and economic status : The little screech owl inhabits orchards, groves,
and thickets, and hunts for its prey in such places as well as along hedgerows
and in the open. During warm spells in winter it forages quite extensively
and stores up in some hollow tree considerable quantities of food for use
during inclement weather. Such larders frequently contain enough mice or
other prey to bridge over a period of a week or more. With the exception
of the burrowing owl it is probably the most insectivorous of the nocturnal
birds of prey. It feeds also upon small mammals, birds, reptiles, batrachians,
fish, spiders, crawfish, scorpions, and earthworms. Grasshoppers, crickets,
ground-dwelling beetles, and caterpillars are its favorites among insects, as are
field mice among mammals and sparrows among birds. Out of 324 stomachs
examined, 169 were found to contain insects ; 142, small mammals ; 56, birds ;
and 15, crawfish. The screech owl should be encouraged to stay near barns
and outhouses, as it will keep in check house mice and wood mice, which frequent
such places.
Nest : In a hole in a tree ; eggs, four to eight ; note, a soft tremulous whistle.
This little owl is common even in towns and cities. It is occasionally seen
and frequently heard along the streets.
One of the most interesting things about it is its variation in color. The
color plate gives an excellent idea of the red phase. Now, if you will imagine
a specimen as gray as the bark of a tree, you will have an idea of the other extreme
of color. Then you must remember that there are all degrees of variation or
mixture from the red to the gray.
Another interesting feature is the pair of ear-tufts or so-called horns. If
fhe bird in the picture were facing you, the tufts would appear much more like
horns. The cut apparently represents the screech owl at night after supper. His
ears sag back and his whole attitude is one of content. Indeed, he looks as
though he might be stuffed with mice instead of excelsior. Had his picture
been taken before supper, the ear tufts would have been raised and the whole
body would have shown alertness in every line, like the terrier's when he
asked, "Who said rats?"
It is not very often that this or any of the owls, except the great horned
owl. moves about much in the daytime. For one reason, as everyone knows,
they can not see well in bright light. Then again their food, mainly mice, is
82
41
bCKEECH (i\S L
COPiaiOMT 1»00, tit « w. UUUFOIID, CM1C«00
of the nocturnal kind ; and, as an additional reason, their great unpopularity
amongf the other birds leads them to seek the shelter of the nesting hole.
One would think that when a bird discovers an owl hiding in the thick
branches of a tree, he would go off and let him alone, but not so. The bird at
once gives the alarm, the birds gather from the neighborhood, especially the
jays, like boys at the call of a fight. They scold, and call police! police! They
fly at the unfortunate owl and snap their bills in his face until he is very uncom-
fortable. Finally he tumbles clumsily out of the besieged tree, flies away, and
tumbles into another tree. Here the performance is very likely to be repeated.
No wonder then that our little owl remains cozily hidden in the hollow tree
sleeping away the daylight hours.
But when the day begins to wane, he knows that his time has come. On
noiseless wings, drops upon its prey, clutches it with sharp talons and tears it
with his beak. The prey is swallowed hair, bones, and all. Several hours after
the meal the indigestible parts are thrown up in the form of pellets. It is largely
by a study of these pellets that we learn the character of the owl's food. With
the exception of the great horned owl, which is the worst bird enemy of the
poultry yard and of wild game birds, the owls are good birds and are worthy
of careful protection. Rats, mice, chipmunks, gophers, skunks, rabbits, and
other small rodents, fish, insects, and occasionally other birds form the bill of
fare. Our little red owl is especially fond of mice and will even attack a large
rat. In the summer time he eats large numbers of injurious insects. Reports
from various obsei-vers show that, in our cities and towns, the screech owl has
made the acquaintance of the English sparrow, greatly to the sorrow of the
sparrow.
Like the jays and some of the woodpeckers, the owls, in a time of plenty,
lay up stores for the future. In their nests, especially in winter and during
the nesting season, may be found the bodies of mice and other small animals.
The following slalenient is quoted from Forest and StrcLDii by Major
Bendire.
In a nest of the great horned owl containing two young owls, were found
the following animals : "a mouse, a young muskrat. two eels, four bullheads, a
woodcock, four ruffed grouse, one rabbit, and eleven rats. The food taken out
of the nest weighed almost 18 pounds. A curious fact connected with these cap-
tives was that the heads were eaten off, the bodies being untouched."
83
The Veery (Hylodchla fuscescens)
By John H. Wallace, Jr.
Length: 7^ inches.
Range : Eastern United States to the plains, north to Manitoba, Ont., and
Newfoundland.
Nest : On or near the ground ; eggs, 3 to 5.
Long known as Wilson's Thrush.
The name "Veery," by which this bird is known is evidently an imitation of
one of its rolling notes.
The Veery is the commonest of the genus in the greater part of eastern North
America. It inhabits every piece of wet woodland and wooded swamp. It
is shy, like all of its kind, but may often be seen feeding in the paths of shaded
roads, running and pulling up in the manner of Robins. Its feed consists of
insects, small snails, and berries. The song of the Veery is less fine than that of
either the Wood Thrush or the Hermit, but it has a peculiar charm. It consists
of a series of ringing phrases, each lower in the scale than the preceding, and
resembling somewhat the syllables vee-u-ry, vee-u-ry, vee-u-ry ; the last notes
often ring with a fine metallic quaver. The gloom of the woods, the general
quiet, and the invisibility of the singer, all heighten the charm of the performance.
The ordinary call of the Veery is a harsh pheii, which is modified to various
melancholy or angry tones. The arrival of the Veery in early May is not heralded
by its song. It is often a week after its arrival before it sings. The nest is placed
on or near the ground, in some moist or swampy woodland, and is composed of
grasses, leaves, and bits of bark, lined within with roots and fine grass. The
Veeries, like the Wood Thrushes, cease to sing in July, and are rarely seen after
the middle of August. They winter beyond the limits of the United States.
One day in June my son invited me for a walk. He said I would need
my boots. He took me to a swamp at the farther part of the farm. He parted
the dense thicket of bushes at the border and we looked into what seemed more
like a grotto than like a swamp. Soft maple trees grew up, each out of its own
knoll, from a watery floor. My son assisted me to leap from knoll to knoll till
we were within the beautiful place — so roomy, yet so shady; so cool and so
sweet — and that was the Vera-bird's home.
Then I invited my son to go with me for a twilight visit to another swamp
that also had its pair of Tawney Thrushes. Low on the slope that led to the
swamp was a certain scrubby tree that I knew the bird had chosen as a favorite
place for singing. We waited under the tree and when the twilight deepened and
other birds were still the Vera came and sang a few stanzas of his good-night
song — not grand and soaring like the Wood Thrush's song, but most sweet, and
so tremulous that it seemed to rain down upon us and about us Hke a gentle
shower of melody. ,
84
3;J7
W IlXiN S niKl Ml.
*i l.ifesi/f.
W. HUMrOHD,
The Warblers
By Sarah V. Prueser
Would you know these nervous little creatures that people our tree tops,
then take your field glass and go into the moist woods and thickets. Do not
expect to hear warbling songs, for notwithstanding the name warbler, the warblers
do not warble. The songs of the most of them are weak, wiry, high-pitched
sounds, rapidly repeated.
There are three score and ten warblers in the United States, but less than
half that number visit the central states. Only a few of these are summer resi-
dents, the major part of them going north to breed and returning south in August
and September, when the woods abound with their lisping notes. The last half
of May is probably the best time to observe the warblers. The transient visitors,
often arriving before the trees are in full foliage, tarry long enough to make
their identity possible. The warblers are among our smallest birds, only a few
species measuring more than six inches in length.
With but few exceptions the warblers inhabit the thick wood, living chiefly
in the upper branches of the trees and feeding on the myriads of small insects
infesting tree life. Few people learn to know the warblers as they have neither
the time nor the inclination to remain in the woods long enough to make sure of
their identity. However, there are a few species that every man and child may
know. Of these the yellow warbler is the commonest and the best known in most
localities, for he will come to your gardens and orchards, and to your vines and
shrubbery. Don't call him a wild canary, though he does wear a canary-colored
suit — he is the summer yellow bird or yellow warbler. If you are a careful
observer you'll see the olive green in the black and brown streaks on the breast
of what is otherwise a yellow bird. The male and female are much alike, both
wearing yellow. They flit about like ripened leaves driven about by an unruly
wind.
Last year the yellow warblers were here, latitude 41 degrees north, by May
11th and in a week many of them had their nests built. Near the edge of town,
in trees and shrubbery along a ravine, I found four of their nests, all of which
were hung less than six feet from the ground. A blackberry vine, a willow
tree, an elm shrub, and a small horse chestnut bush, each held a flaxen pouch.
These silvery-gray pouches were artistically woven from fme plant fiber and lined
with down and fine hair. The nests were beautiful, as beautiful as the birds
themselves. No sooner had the nests been made, when that imposter, the cowbird,
began her intrusions. In each nest, among the bluish white eggs mottled with
brown, a cowbird had deposited her egg, which was twice the size of the warbler's
^SS- I was interested to know what would happen. In one of the nests, the cow-
bird's egg was left undisturbed, in another the warbler cleverly built another story
over the bottom of the nest, thus concealing and burying it. The yellow warbler
S3
often builds a nest of several stories in order that she may get rid of the unwel-
come eggs laid in her nest.
The nest in the elm shrub fared the worst, for in this nest the cowbird had
deposited two eggs among the four warbler's eggs, making six eggs to be brooded
over. Two weeks later my patient waiting was rewarded by seeing a nest filled
with four young warblers and two big cowbirds. What a family for the little
parents to feed ! On the morning of the fourth day after hatching, I visited the
nest and found that two of the warblers were missing. Who was responsible
for their tragic fate? While I was thinking of some possible cause of their
disappearance, my eyes were attracted to some flies at work on something near
my feet. There lay the warblers — dead. There was but one solution to this
tragedy ; the little birds, having starved to death, were carried from the nest and
dropped to the earth. The cowbirds, their flaming red mouths wide open, had
taken the food which rightly belonged to the young warblers.
Some day in May, you may see a pair of black and white-streaked birds
creeping around the tree trunks very much like the nuthatches do. They are
not nuthatches but black and white warblers, helping themselves to a meal of
insect food. Listen to the song — a weak, wiry, "zee, zee, zee," he calls as he
plants himself against the trunk of another tree. The black and white warbler
builds her nests on the ground, in which she lays four or five small white eggs,
speckled with cinnamon brown on the larger end. This warbler is easily identified ;
a black and white streaked back, a black throat, a light breast heavily streaked
with black are the marks by which you may know him. Then, too, he is smaller
than the woodpeckers and brown creepers.
You must not miss seeing our summer resident warbler — the American red-
start, brilliant and flaming. If you chance upon a pair of birds flitting from tree
to tree, catching insects on the wing, dressed in black and salmon, you may be
quite sure that they are redstarts. The head, back, the upper wing and middle
tail feathers of the male are black basal, half of wing feathers, sides of breast
and flanks, rich salmon. The female is less gorgeous in her attire, the salmon
of the male being replaced by a dull yellow, and the back is somewhat grayish.
I like the redstart's song, perhaps because it is so genuinely rich and jolly. Moist
woods, May flowers, grass grown brooks, these are the proper stage setting for
the redstarts, which is very much of a tropical bird. The nest usually placed in
a small tree or sapling, six to twenty feet from the ground, is built of strips of
bark, rootlets and lined with fine tendrils and down. Sometimes the redstart is
taken for the Blackburnian warbler. The latter has orange not salmon in his
plumage. The orange in the center of the black crown, and the conspicuous
white feathers in the tail, are characteristic markings that help you to know the
Blackburnian from his cousin the redstart.
If you should happen upon a bird in your orchard, wearing a black mask
and a yellow vest, call him the Maryland yellowthroat. His home is in the thickets,
86
but he often frequents the orchards and vines near by, to feast upon the insects
feeding there. He is such a restless, httle body, skipping nervously from one
retreat to another, making it hard for you to follow him. But listen to that out-
burst of song "witch-ee-tee, witch-ee-tee," he sings to his mate, then retreats to
the thicket. The female does not wear the black mask. Her plumage is more
subdued in color: Back, olive green; breast, grayish, white underneath; sides,
yellowish. The yellowthroat, unlike most warblers, builds on or near the ground.
The nest is made of strips of bark, dry leaves and grasses, the interior being
lined with fine grasses. Her nest, like that of the yellow warbler's, is often
invaded by the cowbird, who intrudes her eggs into the nest of the helpless
victim. Instead of evicting the egg, the yellowthroat hatches the egg and cares
for the young imposter, though her own little ones may be starving.
The myrtle warbler occasionally spends the winter here. You may know
him by his strong, forcible call note, "tchip," the yellow patch on his crown, the
yellow under parts, and the yellow patches on rump and wings. Myrtle warblers
go north to nest. They are often seen in their migrations, tarrying a few days
in the central states, as they journey northward.
In the Field Columbian Museum, Chicago, the state of Illinois has a good
exhibit of birds ; among them are the warblers that are native to that state. Most
of the species are also found in Ohio and Indiana. These mounted specimens
will be of help to you in identifying the live birds of your own locality. The
National Museum, Washington, D. C, has a collection of birds, their eggs and
nests, that are well worth seeing. But learn to name the birds without a gun,
for "A bird in the bush is worth two in the hand."
It is interesting to note the various warblers that may be found along a
certain parallel of latitude. In this latitude — 41 degrees north — I have never
found the Pine warbler as a summer resident, but in Colorado, he sang to me
on a hot August day from the stunted pines and quaking asp on Prospect Hill.
However, he may have been already journeying southward. In the latitude of
Boston, he is a common summer resident, while at Washington he is an uncommon
summer resident.
The Robin
By Celia Thaxter
Tn the elm tree sat the roliin bright,
Through the rainy April day.
And he caroled clear with pure delight,
In the face of the sky so gray.
And the silver rain througii the blossoms droppc<l,
.And fell on the robin's coat
:\u(\ his brave red breast, but he never stojiped
Piping his cheerful note.
g7
The Red-Eyed VireO {Vireosylva oUvacea)
By Herman C. DeGroat
Length : 6 inches.
Range : Eastern N. A., west to Colorado, Utah and British Columbia ; nest,
on branches of trees, 5 to 25 feet up ; eggs, three or four.
Food : Insects, berries, wild fruits.
The red-eyed are the most abundant of the many kinds of Vireoes. Coming
from the tropical isles and South America early in May, they are numerous in
the Northern States and Southern Canada. Shady forests are most attractive
to them, yet they frequent parks and tall trees about farms and gardens, and
enter cities and towns wherever trees are abundant.
They are strictly insectivorous in their habits and, therefore, very helpful.
Throughout the entire day they search for insects and caterpillars on leaf and
twig and limb of every kind of tree found in lawns, orchards and forests.
The song of this Vireo is cheerful and constant through all kinds of weather.
John Burroughs says : "Rain or shine, before noon, or after, in the deep forests
or in the village grove, where it is too hot for the Thrushes, or too cold and
windy for the warblers, it is never out of time or place for this little minstrel to
indulge his cheerful strain." Given in soft whistling tones with rising and falling
inflections, the song suggests the bird's name, for it seems to say vireo, vireo, vireo.
This is given without apparent effort and quite unconsciously, as the birds flit
from tree to tree.
On the rim of a little ravine, where a brook ran through a corner of the
forest, a pair of twin trees stood just far enough apart to give a seat between
them. Sitting there, a bush or two close by, the birds appeared not to know
me but as a part of nature.
Near this seat was a maple which, with a bit of territory about it, was
the home of a pair of Red-eyed Vireos. Every, year, spring after spring, she
made her nest in a certain fork at the tip of a low branch ; every year, in May
and June, the father bird guarded the little space about it. He was glad when-
ever the Wood Pewee came across his boundary; for then he could display his
valor — 'and all the time how he would sing!
The first thing the mother did about her nest was to wind the twigs at the
base of the fork with spider's web till soft and fluffy. Next came the bridge
across the open side of the fork. Back and forth moved the little head as she
passed the silken stuff"; fastening it each time with her saliva to the fluffy web
on the twig. The web for two drooping hammocks must be gathered, and hung
in such a way as to cross each other — a day's work in each hammock. Then,
comparatively, the rest was soon done — the web in the hammocks spread ; the
soft inner bark of grape-vine added; the whole molded into shape by turning
122
KKUKVEU.VIKEO.
,"o Life-size.
her body round and round within it ; gkied into parchment with her saliva ;
and there it hung, a tiny cup that might be mistaken for the nest of a hornet.
But that was not quite the end ; this particular Vireo wrought a row of
embroidery around the middle of every cup she made. The embroidery was
always the same. As she wrought once she wrought again.
The Utility of Birds in Nature
By Edward Howe Forbush
There is no subject in the field of natural science that is of greater interest
than the important position that the living bird occupies in the great plan of
organic nature.
The food relations of birds are so complicated and have such a far-reaching,
effect upon other forms of life that the mind of man may never be able to fully
trace and grasp them. The migrations of birds are so vast and widespread that
the movements of many species are still more or less shrouded in mystery. We
do not yet know, for instance, just where certain common birds pass some of
the winter months. Some species sweep in their annual flights from Arctic
America to the plains of Patagonia, coursing the entire length of the habitable
portion of a hemisphere. Many of the birds that summer in northern or tem-
perate America winter in or near the tropics. Some species remain in the colder
or temperate regions only long enough to mate, nest and rear their young, and
then start on their long journey toward the equator.
The annual earth-wide sweep of the tide of bird life from zone to zone
renders the study of the relations of birds to other living forms throughout their
range a task of the utmost magnitude. This vast migration at once suggests the
question, Of what use in nature is this host of winged creatures that with the
changing seasons sweep over land and sea?
Our first concern in answering this question is to determine what particular
office or function in the economy of nature birds alone are fitted to perform. The
relations they may bear to the unnatural and semi-artificial conditions produced
by the agriculturist may then be better understood. The position occupied by
birds among forces of nature is unique in one respect at least ; their structure
fits them to perform the office of a swiftly moving force of police, large bodies
of which can be assembled at once to correct disturbances caused by abnormal
outbreaks of plant or animal life. This function is well performed. A swarm
of locusts appears, and birds of many species congregate to feed upon locusts.
An eruption of field mice, lemmings or gophers occurs, and birds of prey gather
to feast from far and near.
This habit of birds is also serviceable in clearing the earth of decaying
materials, which otherwise niiglu pollute both air and water. A great slaughter
89
of animals takes place and eagles, vultures, crows and other scavengers hasten
to tear the flesh from the carcasses. A dead sea monster is cast upon the shore,
and sea birds promptly assemble to devour its wasting tissues. The gathering of
birds to feed is commonly observed in the flocking of crows in meadows where
grasshoppers or grubs abound, the assembling of crows and blackbirds in corn-
fields, and in the massing of shore birds on flats or marshes where the receding
tide exposes their food.
A study of the structure and habits of birds shows how well fitted they are
to check excessive multiplication of injurious creatures or to remove offensive
material. Birds are distinguished from all other animals by their complex
feathered wings — the organs of perfect flight.
Birds are provided with wings to enable them (1) to procure food, (2) to
escape their enemies, (3) to migrate.
Birds are pursued by many enemies. Water fowl fly to the water and dive
to escape the hawk or eagle, and fly to land to escape the shark, alligator or pike.
Sparrows fly to the thicket to elude the hawk, and to the trees to avoid the cat.
Evidently this great power of flight was given birds to enable them not only to
concentrate their forces rapidly at a given point, but also to pursue other flying
creatures. Birds can pursue bats, flying squirrels, flying fish and insects through
the air. Bats and insects are their only competitors in flight. Comparatively
few insects can escape birds by flight, and this they do mainly by quick dodging
and turning. The speed at which birds can fly on occasion has seldom been
accurately measured. The maximum flight velocity of certain wild fowl is said
to be ninety miles an hour. Passenger pigeons killed in the neighborhood of
New York have had in their crops rice probably taken from the fields of the Caro-
linas and Georgia, which indicates that within six hours they had flown the
three or four hundred miles intervening at about the rate of a mile a minute.
The rate of flight of a species must be sufficiently rapid to enable it to exist,
and so perform its part in the economy of nature.
Birds find distant food by the senses of sight and hearing mainly. The sense
of smell is not highly developed, but the other perceptive powers are remarkable.
The perfection of sight in birds is almost incomprehensible to those who have not
studied the organs of vision. The keen eye of the hawk has become proverbial.
The perfection of sight in birds is almost incomprehensible to those who have not
the eyes of other vertebrates. It is provided with an organ called the pecten, by
which, so naturalists believe, the focus can be changed in an instant, so that the
bird becomes near-sighted or far-sighted at need. Such provision for changing
the focus of the eye is indispensable to certain birds in their quick rush upon
their prey. Thus the osprey, or fish-hawk, flying over an arm of the sea, marks
its quarry down in the dark water. As the bird plunges swiftly through the air
its eye is kept constantly focused on the fish, and when within striking distance
it can still see clearly its panic-stricken prey. Were a man to descend so suddenly
90
from such a hight he would lose sight of the fish before he reached the water.
The flycatcher sitting erect upon its perch watching passing insects that are often
invisible to the human eye, in like manner utilizes the pecten in the perception,
pursuit and capture of its prey. Most of the smaller birds will see a hawk in
the sky before it becomes visible to the human eye. The vulture, floating on wide
wings in upper air, discerns his chosen food in the valley far below ; as he descends
toward it he is seen by others wheeling in the distant sky. As they turn to
follow him they are also seen by others soaring at greater distances, who, follow-
ing, are pursued afar by others still, until a feathered host concenters from the
sky upon the carrion feast.
They surpass all other vertebrate animals in breathing power or lung
capacity, as well as in muscular strength and activity. The temperature of the
blood is higher in birds than in other animals, and the circulation is more rapid.
To maintain this high temperature, rapid circulation and great activity a large
mount of food is absolutely necessary. Food is the fuel without which the
brightly burning fires of life must grow dim and die away. Birds are, therefore,
fitted for their function of aerial police, not only by their powers of flight and
perception, but also by their enormous capacity for assimilating food. When food
is plentiful birds gorge themselves, accumulating fat in quantities. Shore birds
frequently become so fat during the fall migrations that, when shot, their distended
skins burst open when their bodies strike the ground. This accumulation of fatty
tissue may aid to tide the birds over a season of scarcity, but the moment they need
food they must seek it far and wide, if need be, as they cannot live long without it.
Certain moths deposit hundreds of eggs in a season, and were each egg to
hatch and each insect come to maturity and go on producing young at the same
rate, the entire earth in a few years would be carpeted with crawling caterpillars,
and the moths in flight would cover the earth like a blanket of fog. But under
natural conditions the caterpillars that hatch from the eggs of the moth are
destroyed by birds, mammals, insects or other animals, by disease or the action of
the elements, so that in the end only one pair of moths succeeds another. If every
robin should produce five young each year, and each robin should five fifteen years,
in time every square foot of land on this continent would be packed with robins,
but the surplus robins are killed and eaten by various other birds or by mammals,
each striving to maintain itself; so that, eventually, the number of robins remains
about the same.
Thus we see that while birds, insects, other animals and plants are constantly
striving to increase their numbers, the creatures that feed upon them operate con-
tinually to check this undue multiplication. The hawk preys upon the smaller
birds and mammals. The smaller birds and mammals feed on insects, grass seeds,
leaves and other animal and vegetable food, each virtually endeavoring to gain
strength and increase the numbers of its race at the expense of other living
organisms.
91
Birds are guided by their natural tastes in selecting their food, unless driven
by necessity. Of the food which suits their tastes that which is most easily taken
is usually first selected. In the main, species of similar structure and habits often
choose similar food, but each species usually differs from its allies in the selection
of some certain favorite insects. Were a species exterminated, however, its place
might be taken eventually by the combined action of many species, for nature
always operates to restore her disturbed balances.
The complexity of the food relations existing between birds and other
organisms may be indicated hypothetically by a brief illustration. The eagles,
larger hawks and owls feed to some extent on crows, and probably the nocturnal,
tree-climbing, nest-hunting raccoon also robs them of eggs and young; otherwise,
they seem to have very few natural enemies to check their increase. Crows feed
on so many different forms of animal and vegetable life that they are nearly
always able to find suitable food ; therefore they are common and widely dis-
tributed.
There are compensations in the apparently destructive career of the crow.
An omnivorous bird, it seems inclined to turn its attention to any food which is
plentiful and readily obtained. It is a great feeder on May beetles (miscalled
"June bugs"), the larvae of which, known as white grubs, burrowing in the ground,
sometimes devastate grass lands and also injure the roots of many plants, includ-
ing trees.
The crow is also a destroyer of cutworms. These are the young of larvae
of such noctuid moths or "millers" as are commonly seen fluttering from the
grass by any one who disturbs them by walking in the fields. Robins also feed
largely on cutworms, as well as on the white grub of the May beetle. When these
insects are few in number, a part of the usual food supply of both robin and
crow is cut off. This being the case, the hungry crows are likely to destroy more
young robins and other young birds than usual, in order to make up the supply
of animal food for themselves and their ravenous nestlings. In a few years this
would decrease perceptibly the number . of robins and other small birds, and
would be likely in return to allow an increase of May beetles and cutworms. As
the insects become more plentiful the crows would naturally turn again to them,
paying less attention to the young of robins and other birds for the time, and
allowing them to increase once more, until their multiplication put a check on
the insects, when the crows would of necessity again raid the robins.
The blue jay may be taken as another instance of this means of preserving
the balance of nature. Hawks and owls kill blue jays, crows destroy their eggs
and young; thus the jays are kept in check. Jays are omnivorous feeders. They
eat the eggs and young of other birds, particularly those of warblers, titmice
and vireos — birds which are active caterpillar hunters. But jays are also
extremely efficient caterpillar hunters. Thus the jays compensate in some
measure for their destruction of caterpillar-eating birds. Like the crow, they
92
virtually kill the young of the smaller birds and eat them that they (the jays)
may eventually have more insect food for their own young. When this object
has been attained the jays again, perhaps, allow an increase of the smaller birds,
the survivors of which they have unwittingly furnished with more insect food,
thus making conditions favorable for the increase of the smaller birds.
It is a law of nature that the destroyer is also the protector. Birds of prey
save the species on which they prey from overproduction and consequent star-
vation. They also serve such species in at least two other ways : ( 1 ) The more
powerful bird enemies of a certain bird usually prey upon some of its weaker
enemies ; (2) these powerful birds also check the propagation of weakness, disease
or unfitness by killing off the weaker or most unfit individuals among the species
on which they prey, for these are most easily captured and killed.
We have already seen that jays, which are enemies of the smaller birds, are
preyed upon by the more powerful crows, hawks and owls. These latter also
destroy skunks, weasels, squirrels, mice and snakes, all of which are enemies
of the smaller birds. No doubt these animals would be much more injurious to
the smaller birds were they without these wholesome feathered checks on their
increase.
Birds are quick to assemble wherever in the woods the disappearing foliage
denotes the presence of great numbers of destructive caterpillars, or where patches
of dead and dying grass indicate that grubs are destroying the grass roots on
meadow or prairie. Birds flock to such places to feed on easily procured insects,
and to take a prominent part in repressing such insect outbreaks. This is so well
known as to be worthy of only passing mention here, were it not to inquire
whether the birds that assemble in such localities do not neglect their normal
and special work of holding in check certain species elsewhere. If the robin, for
example, which feeds normally on such ground-frequenting insects as white grubs,
cutworms, grasshoppers, March flies and ground beetles, goes into the woods to
feed on caterpillars, as is sometimes the case, does it neglect to devour any one
of the insects on which it usually feeds, and so give this insect a chance to increase?
If so, it would be merely suppressing one outbreak and permitting another. But
birds do not neglect any one element of their ordinary food in such cases. They
neglect them all, both animal and vegetable, for the time being, and turn to the
now abundant insect food that is more readily accessible. This I have observed
in studying outbreaks of cankerworms, and Professor Forbes records a similar
experience with birds feeding on cankerworms.
Evidently in such cases the birds, changing their usual fare entirely for the
time being, remove their restraining influence from both useful and injurious
insects, leaving one to exert its full force as a check on the other until the urgent
business of the serious outbreak of grasshoppers, caterpillars or some other pest
has been attended to ; then the birds return to their usual haunts and food, and
exert the same rej^rcssivc influence as before.
93
Birds also play a great part in the distribution of plants, the upbuilding and
fertilizing of barren islands, and a minor part in the distribution of insects. Wild
fowl and herons may sometimes carry small seeds for many miles embedded in
particles of mud which adhere to their feet. The part taken by birds in forest
planting and fertilizing barren lands will be taken up farther on, in connection
with their relations to forestry and agriculture.
Taken all in all, the relations of birds to the natural world are beneficent.
Evidently birds are an essential part of nature's great plan. This being the case,
they must be serviceable to man also, for man, the animal, is a mere integral part
of nature.
The Blue- Winged Warbler {Vermivora pinus)
By W. Leon Dawson
Length : 4^ inches.
Range: Eastern United States from Southern New York, Southern New
England, and Southern Minnesota southward, west of Texas, and Nebraska.
Nest : On the ground ; eggs, 4 or 5.
Although appearing in our latitude as early as May 1, the Blue-winged
Yellow Warbler seems to bring summer with it. This is partly because its bright
plumage suggests the fullest measure of sunshine, but more because its drowsy,
droning song better befits the midsummer hush than it does the strife of tongues
which marks the May migrations. Swe-e-e-e-zze-e-e-e the bird says, and it is
as if the Cicada had spoken. The last syllable especially has a vibrant clicking
quality like the beating of insect wings.
Like most warblers this bird makes nice discriminations in the choice of
its summer home. If one knows exactly what sort of cover to look for it is not
difficult to locate a Blue-wing, but one might ransack a township at haphazard
and find never a one. Low, moist clearings which have been allowed to fill up
again with spicebush, witch-hazel, and saplings are favorite places, especially if
here and there a larger tree has been spared, from which the singing warbler may
obtain at will a commanding view. When suited to a "t" the bird will buzz into
the late hours of the morning, when other songsters are silent.
Active and sprightly in habit, in spite of its tranquilizing song, the Blue-wing
is seen to best advantage when nest-hunting or nest-building. Selecting a
promising spot, the bird will approach it by degrees, first droppng down some
sapling ladder, rung by rung, until the lowest branch is reached; thence flitting
to the top of a bush-clump, and descending in like manner to the ground. Here
diligent inspection is made about the roots of the bush, the leaf supply, drainage,
and cover being duly considered. If the outlook is promising the mate is sum-
moned and the situation reconsidered.
94
260
BLl'E WlNC.F.n VKLI.OW WAKMLKK.
I.i(fsi/c.
convncMT laoc, dv a.
rijurono, CHICAGO
The nest is placed upon the ground or upon the trash which covers it, and
is usually so surrounded by descending stems as to be well hidden and quite
secure. It is made out of rather coarse material, principally grapevine bark and
dead leaves — bulky and deep, with ragged or indefinite edges, and often boasting
nothing better than finely shredded bark for lining. The female is a close sitter
and may not infrequently be taken by the hand.
In June, 1902, I found a typical Chat's nest placed four feet high in black-
berry vines, but which contained three tiny eggs of uniform size, quite like those
of the Blue-winged Yellow Warbler. In response to my "screep" of inquiry a
Blue-wing promptly appeared, not once only, but twice, and scolded me roundly ;
while a Chat joined in at twice the distance. I was thoroughly puzzled, baffled;
it was impossible to tell from the appearances which bird owned the eggs. More-
over my time was short. "When in doubt, take the nest." The set is now in
the Oberlin College collection, but we shall never know whether to label it "Chat"
or "Blue-wing."
A Few of the Bird Family
By James Whitcomb Riley
The Old Bob White, and chipbird ;
The flicker and chee-wink,
And little hopty-skip bird
Along the river brink.
The blackbird and snowbird.
The chicken-hawk and crane ;
The glossy old black crow-bird.
And buzzard down the lane.
The yellowbird and redbird,
The Tom-tit and the cat :
The thrush and that redhead bird
The rest's all pickin' at !
The jay-bird and the bluebird.
The sap-suck and the wren —
The cockadoodle-doo bird,
And our old settin' hen !
Black Tern {Hydrochelldon nigra siirinamensis.)
Length, 10 inches. In autumn occurs as a migrant on the east coast of the
United States, and then is in white and gray plumage. During the breeding sea-
son it is confined to the interior, is chiefly black, and is the only dark tern oc-
curring inland.
Range: Breeds from California, Colorado, Missouri, and Ohio, north to
central Canada ; winters from Mexico to South America ; migrant in the eastern
United States.
Habits and economic status : This tern, unlike most of its relatives, passes
much of its life on fresh-water lakes and marshes of the interior. Its nests are
placed among the tules and weeds, on floating vegetation, or on muskrat houses.
It lays from 2 to 4 eggs. Its food is more varied than that of any other tern. So
far as known it preys upon no food fishes, but feeds extensively upon such enemies
of fish as dragonfly nymphs, fish-eating beetles, and crawfishes. Unlike most of
its family, it devours a great variety of insects, many of which it catches as it
flies. Dragonflies, May flies, grasshoppers, predaceous diving beetles, scarabjeid
beetles, leaf beetles, gnats, and other flies are the principal kinds preyed upon.
Fishes of little economic value, chiefly minnows and mummichogs, were found to
compose only a little more than 19 per cent of the contents of 145 stomachs. The
great consumption of insects by the black tern places it among the beneficial species
worthy of protection. .
Bullock's Oriole {icterus bullocki.)
Length, about 8 inches. Our only oriole with top of head and throat black
and cheeks orange.
Range: Breeds from South Dakota, Nebraska, and Kansas to the Pacific
Ocean and from southern Canada to northern Mexico; winters in Mexico.
Habits and economic status: In the West this bird takes the place occupied
in the East by the Baltimore oriole. In food, nesting habits, and song the birds
are similar. Both are migratory and remain on their summer range only some
five or six months. They take kindly to orchards, gardens, and the vicinity of
farm buildings and often live in villages and city parks. Their diet is largely made
up of insects that infest orchards and gardens. When fruit trees are in bloom
they are constantly busy among the blossoms and save many of them from de-
struction. In the food of Bullock's oriole beetles amount to 35 per cent and nearly
all are harmful. Many of these are weevils, some of which live upon acorns and
other nuts. Ants and wasps amount to 15 per cent of the diet. The black olive
scale was found in 45 of the 162 stomachs examined. Caterpillars, with a few
moths and pupae, are the largest item of food and amount to over 41 per cent.
Among these were codling-moth larvre. The vegetable food is practically all fruit
(19 per cent) and in cherry season consists largely of that fruit. Eating small
fruits is the bird's worst trait, but it will do harm in this way only when very
numerous. 96
Economic Value of Birds
By Frank M. Chapman
The bird is the property of the State. From this fundamental conception of
the bird's legal status there can be no logical ground for dissent. If a certain
species of bird is conclusively proven to be injurious to the agricultural or other
interests of the State, no one would deny the State's right to destroy that species.
If, on the contrary, a species is shown to be beneficial, then the State has an
equal right to protect it. Indeed, we may go further and say it is not only the
right, but the duty of the State, to give to its birds the treatment they deserve.
Here is the great Commonwealth of New York with agricultural and forestry
industries which annually yield products valued at $266,000,000. In the closest
relation to the welfare of these industries stands a group of animals represented
by some 350 species and millions of individuals. Obviously, then, it is the first
duty of the State to learn definitely in what way or ways the presence of these
incalculably abundant creatures aftects its crops and forests.
If they are harmful how are they to be destroyed? If they are valuable how
are they to be preserved? In short, the State should take all necessary steps to
appraise its vast possessions in bird-life.
The government at Washington realizes the importance of this subject and
in 1886 it established, in the Department of Agriculture, a Division of Economic
Ornithology and Mammology, with the object of learning accurately the eco-
nomic relations of birds and mammals to man. Illinois, Wisconsin, Nebraska.
Pennsylvania, Massachusetts and New Hampshire, among the States, have made
mvestigations with the same end in view. Now the South is awakening to the
vital importance of this practical side of natural history research. At the Annual
Session of the Texas Farmers' Congress, held at College Station, Texas, July
17, 1902. Professor H. P. Attwater, a prominent ornithologist in the State, was
invited to make an address on "The Relation of Birds to the Farmer." In com-
menting on this address The State, a newspaper of Meridian, Miss., says: "Bird
protection is going to be made an economic issue in every Southern State before
many days, and the army of sentimental advocates will be reinforced by the
utilitarians, who. while caring nothing for the beauty of the feathered songster
or the music he makes, are very much alive to his usefulness in exterminating
insects that kill crops, and are determined to stay the hand of the snarer and
wanton bird-killer before it is too late and the insects have taken possession of
the land. •■' * Wherever common sense prevails this cause will find adv<v
cates, and The State would like to see Bird Protection mailo an issue in Missis-
sippi politics."
No "issue," however, can be successfully promoted unless the facts involved
rest on the firm, incontrovertilile foundation established by exact research. The
Forest, Fish and Game Commission of New York State, in calling the attention
of the citizens of the State to tiie economic importance of birds, desires to pre-
97
sent, therefore, the results of the investigations of economic ornithologists into
the food habits of our birds. But before giving in detail the studies of these
specialists it will be well to outline in a general way how birds may be valuable
or injurious to man.
Birds are of value to the State chiefly through the services they render in
(1) eating harmful insects, their eggs and larvae; (2) in eating the seeds of
noxious weeds; (3) in devouring field mice and other small mammals which
injure crops; (4) in acting as scavengers. The appended outline of the bird's
relation to the forester, fruit-grower, farmer, and citizen will enable us to
appreciate its economic importance.
The agriculturist, in producing an artificial condition in the plant world,
creates also an unnatural state of affairs among the insects that find a new food
in the outcome of his husbandry and among the birds that prey upon tlies6
insects. But between birds and forests there exist what may be termed primeval,
economic relations. Certain forest trees have their natural insect foes to which
they furnish food and shelter ; and these insects, in turn, have their natural
enemies among the birds to which the trees also give a home. Here, then, we
have an undisturbed set of economic relations: (1) the tree; (2) the insect
which lives in the tree, preys upon it, and may assist in the fertilization of its
blossoms; (3) the bird which also finds a home in the tree and, feeding upon
insects, prevents their undue increase. Hence, it follows that the existence of
each one of these forms of life is dependent upon the existence of the other.
Birds are not only essential to the welfare of the tree, but the tree is necessary
to the life of the bird. Consequently, there has been established what is termed
"a balance of life" wherein there is the most delicate adjustment between the
tree, the insect, the bird and the sum total of the conditions which go to make
up their environment. The more trees, the greater the number of insects, and,
hence, an increase not only in food supply for the birds, but an increase in the
number of nesting-sites.
Destroy the trees and the insect finds new food in the crops of the farmer,
but the birds, although food is still abundant, lose their home when the tree
falls, and, lacking the nesting-sites and protection from their enemies once
found in its spreading branches, they soon perish.
What we may call artificial forest conditions are to be found in parks,
squares, village streets, and in our gardens. Here forest trees may find a suit-
able soil, but birds are often less abundant in such localities than in the forest,
and consequently the trees growing in them are notably less healthy than forest
trees. It is in these semi-domesticated trees that a scourge of injurious insects
most often occurs, occasionally to be followed by a marked increase of their
bird enemies, which are attracted by the unusual abundance of food. Caroline
G. Soule writes :
"Last year, at Brandon, Vermont, the tent-caterpillars were so abundant
as to be a serious injury and annoyance. They lay in close rows, making wide
98
bands on the tree trunks. They spun down from the upper branches and fell
upon the unfortunate passers-by. They crawled through the grass in such num-
bers that it seemed to move in a mass as one looked down upon it. Under
these circumstances, birds might be expected to do strange things — and they
did.
"The pair of Downy Woodpeckers which lived near us w-ere frequently
seen on the ground picking up the crawling tent-caterpillars. They seemed
to prefer taking them from the ground to taking them from the trees, though
there were more on the tree-trunks than on the ground even. And the Wood-
peckers seemed to have no difficulty in moving on the ground, though they
moved more slowly than when dodging around a tree.
"Two mountain-ash trees on the place were infested by borers, though only
slightly and only near the ground, and at the foot of one of these trees the Downy
Woodpeckers made many a stand, while they probed the borer-holes with their
bills.
"The Cuckoos came boldly into the village and fed and fed, flying about
quite openly. The Nuthatches flew to a band of caterpillars on a tree-trunk, and
were so busy and absorbed in devouring the crawlers that I could put my hand
on them before they started to fly, and then they merely flew to another tree
close by, and attacked another mass of caterpillars.
"Blackbirds waddled over the grass by the sides of the streets picking up
the crawlers, and even a Woodcock spent several hours in the garden and on
the lawn, apparently feasting on tent-caterpillars, but I could not get near
enough to be sure.
"The Vireos — White-eyed, Red-eyed and Warbling — the Cat-birds, Cedar-
birds, and Rose-breasted Grosbeaks did good service to the trees and human
beings, but the most evident destruction was done by the Chipping Sparrowfe
when the moths emerged late in the summer. The moths were very abundant
after four o'clock in the afternoon, flying about the trees to lay their eggs, and
then tlie Chippies became fly-catchers for the time, and flew straight, turned,
twisted, dodged, and tumbled 'head over heels and heels over head' in the air,
just as the course of the liunted moth made necessary. A quick snap of the
beak, and four brownish wings would float down like snowflakes, and their
numl^ers on the walks, roads and grass showed how many thousands of moths
were slain. In spite of the unwonted exercise the Chippies waxed fat. but not
as aldermanic as the Robins, which, earlier, gorged themselves on the cater-
pillars until, as one observer said, 'their little red fronts actually trailed on the
ground.' "
The extent to which trees are subject to attack and their consequent need
of insect destroyers may he more dearly understood if we consider for a moment
the life of a tree in connection witii the insects that prey upon it. Let us take,
for example, the oaks of the genus Qucrcus. At the very l)eginning, before the
acorn has germinated, it may be entered by a gvuh of the nut weevil (Balatiinits)
wliich destroys it, and the more or less empty shell becomes the abiding- ])lace
of the larva of the acorn moth. Should, however, the acorn be permitted to
i^row, the roots of the young tree may be attacked by the white grubs of root-
boring beetles. Escaping these, the oak carpenter worm (Prionoxystus) lays
its eggs in cracks and crevices in the bark. On hatching, the worm or borer
"perforates a hole the size of a half-inch auger, or large enough to admit the
little finger, and requiring three or four years for the bark to close together
over it. This hole, running inward to the heart of the tree, and admitting w^ater
thereto from every shower that passes, causes a decay in the wood to commence,
and the tree never regains its i)revious soundness." (Fitch.)
Other borers (Buprestidac) feed upon the bark, eating the soft inner layer
and the sap, over twenty species of borers and miners being known to infest the
trunk of the oak. The limbs and twigs are afifected by the larv?e of certain
beetles (Cerambycidae) which act as girdlers or pruners. sometimes severing
limbs ten feet in length and over an inch in diameter. (Fitch.) The weevils
also bore into the twigs, making an excavation in which the eggs are laid, and
the seventeen-year locust stings the branches, making perforations from one to
two feet long for the receipt of the eggs
The limbs and twigs are also afifected by tree hoppers {Mcmhracidac) and
oak blights (Aphididae), which puncture them and feed upon their juices, ex-
hausting the sap. Some ten species of scale insects, or plant-lice, are known
to infest oaks, and over a hundred different species of gallflies are parasitic
upon them.
Oak buds are eaten by the larvse of certain noctuid moths, and oak leaves
are injured by caterpillars, basket worms, skippers, miners, weevils, phylloxeras,
galls and plant-lice of nearly one hundred and fifty species.
Altogether over 500 species of insects are known to prey upon the oak, and
it is consequently obvious that if they were not in turn preyed upon, oak trees
could not exist. But, thanks to the services of birds, as well as to predaceous
and parasitic insects, the insectivorous foes of the oak are so held in check that,
as a rule, Iheir depredations arc not attended by serious results. Remove these
checks, however, and we may expect an immediate and disastrous increase in
the enemies of the oak which they so successfully combat.
Without h'ere attempting to go into detail we may at least mention one
or two instances illustrative of the value of birds to trees, ^^'eevils, borers, cat-
erpillars, scale insects and plant-lice are all devoured by birds, but it is in eating
the eggs of the enemies of the trees that birds perform a service of inestimable
value. Prof. C. M. Weed, of the New Hampshire College of Agriculture, in
. studying the winter food of the Chickadee, has found that it feeds largely on
the eggs of plant-lice. Thus the stomach of a specimen taken December 9, in
a mixed growth of pines, maple, willow, and birches, w^as found to contain 429
eggs of plant-lice, together with insects of several species. The stomach of
100
another Chickadee taken February 26, in a growth of pines and birches, con-
tained 454 eggs of Aphides, an eqtial percentage (44) of what seemed to be
dried castings from the okl nests of tent-caterpilkirs, spiders' eggs, and eggs of
tlie canker-worm.
Additional statistics of the forest haunting birds' food are given under the
proper head, but we shouhl call especial attention here to the great value to trees
of our Cuckoos in devouring caterpillars. Over 48 per cent of the food of
Cuckoos has been found by Professor Beal, of the U. S Department of Agricul-
ture, to consist of caterpillars, the stomach of a single individual containing the
remains of 217 web-worms well known to be one of the most destr.uctive forms
or insect life to trees. These are only two illustrations among the hundreds
which might be cited, of the service rendered by the birds to our forest.
I5irds are of value to the forest, however, not only as the destroyers of their
insect foes, but the birds with the squirrels help plant the forest by distributing
seeds. The seeds which are encased in a pulpy covering, those of the berry or
fruit-bearing trees, are voided unharmed by the birds often at a point far
distant from the parent tree, the bird thus acting as their distributor. Acorns,
beech-nuts, and chestnuts are frequently dropped or hidden by birds, and the
seeds of pines are released and scattered by the birds that seek them in their
cones. In short, we believe it can be clearly demonstrated that if we should
lose our birds we should also lose our forests.
English Sparrow (Passer domesticus)
Length : About ()]{\ inches.
Its incessant chattering, quarrelsome disposition, and abundance and famil-
iarity about human habitations distinguish it from our native sparrows.
Range : Resident throughout the United States and southern Canada.
Habits and economic status : Almost iniiversally condemned since its in-
troduction into the Ignited States, the English sparrow has not only held its own.
l)iu has ever increased in numbers and extended its range in spite of all o])posi-
lion. Its habit of driving out or even killing more beneficial species and the de-
filing of buildings by its droppngs and by its own unsightly structures, are serious
objections to this sparrow. Moreover, in rural districts, it is destructive to grain,
fruit, peas, beans, and other vegetables. On the other hand, the Iiird feeds to
some extent on a large mnuber of insect pests, and this fact points to the need
of a new investigation of the ])rcsent economic status of the species, especially
;is it promises to be of service in holding in check the newly introduced alfalfa
wi-evil, whicli ihre.itens the alfalfa industry in Ctah and neiiihboring states, in
cities most of ilu- food of the l"".ngli>^h ^jiarrow i- waste material secured from
the streets.
101
The Meadow Lark {Stumella magna magna)
Alexander Wilson
Length: 10^ inches.
Range: U. S., Southern Canada, Mexico and Costa Rica.
Food : Caterpillars, grubworms, beetles, grasshoppers, weevils, seeds and
cut worms.
This species has a very extensive range. I have myself found Meadow Larks
in upper Canada and in each of the states from New Hampshire to Louisiana.
Mr. Bartram informs me that they are equally abundant in east Florida. They
live in pastures, fields, and meadows — their fondness for the latter having given
them their specific name. The meadows no doubt supply them abundantly with
the seeds and insects on which they feed. They are rarely or never seen in the
depths of the woods ; unless, instead of underwood, the ground is covered with
rich grass, as in the Choctaw and Chickasaw countries, where I met with them
frequently in the months of May and June. The extensive and luxuriant prairies
between Vincennes, Ind., and St. Louis, Mo., also abound with them.
It is probable that in the more rigorous regions of the North they may be
birds of passage ; though I have seen them among the meadows of New Jersey
and those that border the Delaware and Schuylkill rivers in all seasons, even
when the ground was deeply covered with snow.
I once met with a few of these birds in the month of February — during a
deep snow — among the heights of the Allegheny Mountains, gleaning on the road,
in company with the small Snowbirds. In South Carolina and Georgia, at the
same season of the year, they swarm among the rice plantations, running about
the yards and buildings, accompanied by the Killdeers, with little appearance of
fear.
These birds, after the nesting season is over, collect in flocks, but seldom fly
in a close, compact body ; their flight is something in the manner of the Grouse
and Partridge, laborious and steady, sailing, and renewing the rapid action of the
wings, alternately. When they alight on trees or bushes it is generally on the
tops of the highest branches, whence they send forth a long clear, and somewhat
melancholy note that in sweetness and tenderness of expression is not surpassed
by any of our numerous Warblers. This is sometimes followed by a kind of low,
rapid chattering, — the particular call of the female ; and again the clear and
plaintive strain is repeated as before.
The nest of this species is built generally in, or below, a thick tuft or tussock
of grass. It is composed of dry grass laid at the bottom, and wound all around,
leaving an arched entrance level with the ground. The inside is lined with fine
stalks of the same materials, disposed with great regularity. The eggs are four,
sometimes five, white, marked with specks and several large blotches of reddish
brown, chiefly at the thick end.
102
s r
The Meadow Lark
By Ralph Bacon
Little pufii' of feathers,
Gray and brown and gold,
When your slim throat gathers
More than it can hold
Of the merry, mellow madness
That your heart distills,
You pour it forth in gladness
Drenching fields and hills.
Your notes come spilling golden
Like the bubbles of old wine;
I expand my heart to hold in
Your ecstasies divine!
Little feathered creature
On that zig-zag fence.
You're God's most fervent preacher ;
From your eminence
You scatter bits of heaven —
If only man's heart had
Half your bird's joy even,
The whole world would be ijlad !
White-Crowned Sparrow {ZonotHchia leucophrys)
Length : 7 inches.
The only similar sparrow, the white-throat, has a yellow spot in front of eye.
Range: Breeds in Canada, the mountains of New Mexico, Colorado,
Wyoming, and Montana, and thence to the Pacific coast ; winters in the southern
half of the United States and in northern Mexico.
Habits and economic status: This beautiful sparrow is much more numerous
in the western than in the eastern states, where, indeed, it is rather rare. In the
East it is shy and retiring, but it is much bolder and more conspicuous in the far
West and there often frequents gardens and parks. Like most of its family, it is
a seed eater by preference, and insects comprise very little more than 7 per cent
of its diet. Caterpillars are the largest item, with some beetles, a few ants and
wasps, and some bugs, among wliich are black olive scales. The great bulk of the
food, however, consists of weed seeds, which amount to 74 per cent of the whole.
In California this bird is accused of eating the buds and blossoms of fruit trees,
but buds or blossoms were fouufl in only 30 out of 516 stomachs, and probably
it is only under exceptional circunistancos that it does any damage in this way.
Evidently neither the farmer nor the fruit grower has much to fear from the
white-crowned sparrow. The little fruit it eats is mostly wild, and the grain
eaten is waste or volunteer.
103
The Yellow Warbler {Dendrolca aestiva aestiva)
By Thomas Nuttall
Length : 5 inches.
Range : North America, except southwestern part.
Food : Insects and wild berries.
This is a lively, unsuspicious, and almost familiar little bird, and its bright
golden color renders it very conspicuous as in pursuit of flitting insects it pries
and darts among the blossoming shrubs and orchards. It is particularly attached
to willow trees and other kinds in moist and shady situations, that afford this
and other species a variety of small larvae and caterpillars, on which they delight
to feed. While incessantly and busily employed, it occasional!}- mounts the
twig, and with a loud, shrill, and almost piercing voice it earnestly utters, at
short and irregular intervals, tsli tsh tsJi tsh tshaia, or tshe tshe tsh tshayia tshe
tshc, this last phrase rather plaintive and interrogatory, as if expecting the recog-
nition of its mate. Sometimes, but jxirticularly after the commencement of in-
cubation, a more extended and pleasing modulated song is heard, as sc te te
tsliislioo^ or tsh tsJi tsheetshoo, tshc tshe tshc ishoo pcctshee, and tshe tshe tshe
tshe tshaia tship o zvay, the termination tender, plaintive, and solicitous. Some-
times I have heard this note varied to soit soit soit soit tship a zccc. Although
the song of these birds may be heard, less vigorously, to the month of August,
yet they do not appear to raise more than a single brood ; about the close of the
month in the northern states they disappear, and wing their way by easy stages
to their tropical destination.
The nest is commonly fixed in the forks of a barberry bush, close shrub, or
sapling, a few feet from the ground. Sometimes I have known the nest placed
upon the horizontal branch of a hornbeam, more than fifteen feet from the
ground, or even fifty feet high in the forks of a thick sugar maple or orchard tree.
These lofty situations are, however, extraordinary, and the little architects, in
instances of this kind, occasionally fail in giving the usual security to their habita-
tions. The nest is extremely neat and durable; the exterior is formed of layers
of Asclepias, or silkweed lint, glutinously though slightly attached to the sup-
porting twigs, mixed with some slender strips of fine bark and pine needles. It
is thickly bedded with the down of willows, the nankeen wool of the Virginian
cotton grass, the down of fern stalks, the hair from the downy seeds of the syca-
more (Platanus), or the pappus of compound flowers; and then lined with either
fine bent grass (Agrostis), or down, and horsehair, and rarely with a few acci-
dental feathers. Circumstances sometimes require a variation from the usual
habits of this species.
In Roxbury, near Boston, I saw a nest built in a currant bush in a small
garden very near to the house ; and as the branch did not present the proper site
of security, a large floor of dry grass and weeds was first made betwixt it and
a contiguous board fence; in the midst of this mass of extraneous materials the
104
.SI
VKl.l.OW W \K r. !
i Lile-size.
small nest was excavated, then lined with a quantity of fine horsehair and fin-
ished with an interior bed of soft cowhair. The season proving wet and stormy,
the nest in this novel situation fell over, but was carried, with the young, to a
safe situation near the piazza of the house, where the parents now fed and reared
their brood. In an apple tree in another garden a nest of this bird w^as made
chiefly of loose white cotton strings which had been used for training up some
raspberry bushes, and looked as white and conspicuous as a snowball. Sometimes
they condescend to the familiarity of picking up the sweepings of the seamstress,
such as thread, yarn, sewing silk, fine shreds of cotton stockings, and bits of lace
and calico — and it is not uncommon to observe hasty disputes between our little
architects and the Baltimore Orioles, as the latter sometimes seize and tug upon
the lose or flowing ends and strings of the unfinished nest, to the great annoyance
of the legitimate operators.
The labor of forming the nest seems often to devolve on the female. On
the tenth of May 1 observed one of these industrious matrons busily engaged with
her fabric in a low barberry bush, and by the evening of the second dav the
whole was completed, to the lining which was made, at length, of hair and willow
down, of which she collected and carried mouthfuls so large that she often ap-
peared almost like a mass of flying cotton. She far exceeded in industry her
active neighbor, the Baltimore Oriole, who was also engaged in collecting the same
materials. Notwithstanding this industry the completion of the nest, with this
and other small birds, is sometimes strangely protracted or not immediately re-
fiuired. Yet occasionally I have found the eggs of this species improvidently
laid on the ground. They are usually about four or five, of a dull white, thickly
sprinkled near the great end with various sized specks of pale brown.
It is amusing to observe the sagacity of this little bird in disposing of tlie
eggs of the vagrant and parasitic cow troupial. The egg, deposited before the
laying of the rightful tenant, too large for ejectment, is ingeniously incarcerated
in the bottom of the nest, and a new lining placed above it, so that it is never
hatched to prove the dragon of the brood. Two instances of this kind were ob-
served by my friend Air. Charles Pickering ; and once I obtained a nest with
the adventitious egg about two-thirds Iniried, the upper edge only being visible,
so that in many instances it is probable that this species escapes from the un-
pleasant imposition of becoming a nurse to the sable orphan of the Cowbird. She.
however, acts faithfully the part of a foster ]iarent when the egg is laid a;fter
her own.
Two instances have been reported to me in which three of the ^'elKl\\• W'arb-
ler's own eggs were covered along with that of the Cowbird. In a third, after a
(oubird's egg had been thus concealed, a second was laid, which was similarly
treated, thus finally giving rise to a three-storied nest.
The Yellow Warbler, to attract attention from its nest, when sitting, or
when the nest contains young, sometimes feigns lameness, hanging its tail ami
liea<I and fluttering feebly along in the ])ath of the spectator: at other times, when
10.^
certain that the intrusion had proved harmless, the bird would only go off a few
feet, utter a feeble complaint, or remain wholly silent, and almost instantly re-
sume her seat. In spring, the male, as in many other species of the genus, pre-
cedes a little the arrival of his mate. Toward the latter end of summer the young
and old feed much on such juicy fruits as mulberries, cornel berries and other
kinds.
The Mocking Bird
By Frank L. Stanton
He didn't know much music
When first he come along;
An' all the birds went wonderin'
Why he didn't sing a song.
They primped their feathers in the sun,
An' sung their sweetest notes ;
An' music jest come on the run
From all their purty throats!
But still that bird was silent
In summer time an' fall ;
He jest set still an' listened
An' he wouldn't sing at all !
But one night when them songsters
Was tired out an' still,
An' the wind sighed down the valley
An' went creepin" up the hill ;
When the stars was all a-trembJe
In the dreamin' fields o' blue.
An' the daisy in the darkness
Felt the fallin' o' the dew, —
There come a sound o' melody
No mortal ever heard,
An' all the birds seemed singin'
From the throat o' one sweet bird !
Then the other l)irds went playin'
In a land too fur to call ;
Fer there warn't no use in slayin'
When one bird could sing fer all !
106
52
MOCKINGBIKP,
(Minius polyttlollos).
jLife-si^e.
MUWrORD c»»»c*oo
The Mocking Bird {Mlmus polyglottos polyglottos)
John James Audubon
Length: 9 to 11 inches.
Range: U. S., south to Mexico.
Food : Fruits, grasshoppers, cotton worms, chinch bugs, weevils and boll
worms.
It is where the great magnolia shoots up its majestic trunk, crowned with
evergreen leaves and decorated with a thousand beautiful llowers, that perfume
the air; where the forests and fields are adorned with blossoms of every hue;
where the golden orange ornaments the gardens and groves; where bignonias
interlace their climbing stems around the white-flowered stuartia, and mounting
still higher, cover the summits of lofty trees ; where a genial warmth seldom
forsakes the atmosphere; where berries and fruits of all descriptions are met
with at every step. In a word, where Nature seems to have strewedwith un-
sparing hand all the beautiful and splendid forms which I should in vain attempt
to describe, that the IMocking Bird should have fixed its abode, there only that
its wondrous song should be heard.
But where is that favored land? It is in Louisiana that these bounties of
nature are in the greatest perfection. It is there that you should listen to tlie
love-song of the Mocking Bird, as I at this moment do. See how he flies round
his mate, with motions as light as those of the butterfly. His tail is widely ex-
panded, he mounts in the air to a short distance, describes a circle, and, again
alighting, approaches his beloved one, his eyes gleaming with delight. His beau-
tiful wings are gently raised, he bows to his love, and, again bouncing" upward,
opens his bill and pours forth his melody.
They are not the soft sounds of the flute or of the hautboy that I hear,
but the sweet notes of Nature's own music. The mellowness of the song, the
varied modulations and gradations, the extent of its compass, the great brilliancy
of execution, are unrivaled. There is probably no bird in the world that pos-
sesses all the musical qualifications of this king of song.
For a while, each long day and pleasant night are thus spent in singing;
but at a pccuHar note of tiie female he ceases his song, and attends to her wishes.
A nest is to be prepared, and the choice of a place in which to lay it is to become
a matter of mutual consideration. The orange, the fig, the pear tree of the gar-
dens arc inspected; the thick Ijrier ]iatches are also visitc(l. They ajipcar all so
well suited to the purpose in view, and so well does the bird know that man is
not his most dangerous enemy, that instead of retiring from him. thev at length
fix their abode in his vicinity, pcrh;ip-; in the tree nearest to his window. Dried
twigs, leaves, grasses, cotton, llax. antl ether substances are picked up. carried to
a forked branch, and there arranged. I'ive eggs arc deposited in due time, when
the ni.ik'. ha\ing little more to ifo than to sing, attunes his pi|<e anew. Everv
now and then he spies an insect on the ground. lie drops upon it. takes it in his
107
bill, beats it against the earth, and flies to the nest to feed and receive the w arm
thanks of his devoted mate.
When a fortnight has elapsed, the young brood demand all the care and
attention of the parents. No cat, no snake, no dreaded Hawk, is likely to visit
their habitation. Indeed the inmates of the next house have, by this time, become
quite attached to the lovsdy pair of Mocking pjirds and take i)leasure in con-
tributing to their safety. Dewberries from the fields, and man\- kinds of fruit
from the gardens, along with many insects, supply the young as well as the
parents with food. The brood is soon seen emerging from the nest, and in an-
other fortnight, being now able to fly with vigor, and to ])rovide for themselves,
they leave the pareht birds.
The Mocking Bird remains in Louisiana the whole year. I have oI)served
with astonishment, that tow^ard the end of October, when those which had gone
to the Eastern states have returned, they are instantly known by the birds who
have stayed in the South, who attack them on all occasions. I have ascertained
this by observing the greater shyness exhibited by the strangers for w'eeks after
their arrival. This shyness, however, is shortly over, as well as the animosity
displayed by the resident birds, and during the winter there exists a great ap-
pearance of sociability among the united tribes.
In the beginning of April, sometimes a fortnight earlier, the ^Mocking Birds
pair, and construct their nests. In some instances they are so careless as to place
the nest between the rails of a fence directly by the road. I have frequently
found it in such places, or in fields, as well as in briers, but always so easily dis-
coverable that any person desirous of procuring one might do so in a very short
time. It is coarsely constructed on the outside, being there composed of dried
sticks or briers, withered leaves of trees, and grasses mixed with wool. Inter-
nally it is finished with fibrous roots disposed in a circular form, but carelessly
arranged. The female lays from four to six eggs the first time, four or five
the next, and when there is a third Ijrood, which is sometimes the case, seldom
more than three, of wdiich I have rarely found more than two hatched. The eggs
are of a short oval form, light green, blotched and spotted with umber. The
voung of the last brood not l)eing able to support themselves until late in the sea-
son, when many of the berries and insects have become scarce, are stunted in
growth— a circumstance which has induced some persons to imagine the existence
in the Ignited States of two species of common Mocking Piird, a larger and a
smaller. This, however, as far as my observation goes, is not correct. The first
brood is frequently found in New Orleans as early as the middle of April. A-
little farther up the country they are out by the middle of ]May. The second
brood is hatched in July, and the third in the latter part of September.
The nearer you approach to the seashore, the more plentiful do you find these
birds. They are naturally fond of loose sands, and of districts scantily furnished
with small trees, or patches of briers, and low bushes.
During incubation, the female pays such precise attention to the position
108
ill which she leaves her eggs, when she goes a short distance for exercise and
refreshment, to pick up gravel, or roll herself in the dust, that, on her return,
should she find that any of them has been displaced, or touched by the hand of
man, she utters a low mournful note, at the sound of which the male immediately
joins her, and they are both seen to condole together. Some people imagine
that on such occasions, the female abandons the nest ; but this idea is incorrect.
On the contrary she redoubles her assiduity and care, and scarcely leaves the
nest for a moment; nor is it till she has been repeatedly forced from the dear
spot, and has been much alarmed by frequent intrusions, that she finally and
reluctantly leaves it. Nay, if the eggs arc on the eve of being hatched, she will
almost sufifer a person to lay hold of her.
Different species of snakes ascend to these nests, and generally suck the
eggs or swallow the young ; l)ut on all such occasions, not only the pair to which
the nest belongs, but many other Mocking Birds from the vicinity, fiy to the
spot, attack the reptiles, and, in some cases, are so fortunate as to force them
to retreat, or even to kill them. Cats that have abandoned the houses to prowl
about the fields, in a half wild state, are also dangerous enemies, as they fre-
quently approach the nest unnoticed, and at a pounce secure the mother, or at
least destroy the eggs or }'oung. and overturn the nest. Children seldom destroy
the nests of these birds, and the planters generally protect them. So much does
this feeling prevail throughout Louisiana, that they will not willingly permit a
Mocking Bird to be shot at any time.
In winter nearly all the blocking Birds approach the farm houses and plan-
tations, living about the gardens or outbuildings. They are then frequently seen
on the roofs, and ])erched on, the chimney to]is ; }-ct they always appear full oi
animation, ^^'hile searching for food on the ground, their motions are light and
elegant, and they fre(|uently open their wings as butterilies do when basking in
the sun. moving a stej:* or two, and again throwing out their wings. W'lien the
weather is mild the old males are heard singing with as much spirit as during the
spring or summer, while the younger birds are busily engaged in practicing their
songs. They seldom resort to ibc interior of the forest either during the day
or l)y night, but usually roost among the foliage of evergreens, in the imme(hate
vicinity of houses in Louisiana, although in tlie eastern states they ])refer low fir
trees.
The flight of llie Mocking Bird is performed by short jerks of the body and
wings, at everv one of which a strong twitching motion of the tail is perceived.
This motion is still more ap])arent while tiie bird is walking, when it opens its
tail like a fan, and instantly closes it again. The common cry or call of this bird
is a verv mournfnl note, resembling that uttered on similar occasions by its first
cousin the lirown Thrasher, or. as it is commonly called, the I'rench Mocking
I'.ird. When tr;i\rling, this tlight is only a little i)rolonged. as the bird g<H^s
from [vvv to [wv. or at most across a ticld. scarcely, if ever, rising higher than
tlie toji ol' the i'orcNt. During this migration, it gencr.allx resorts to the highest
109
parts of the woods near water courses, utters its usual mournful note, and roosts
in these places. It travels mostly by day.
Few Hawks attack the Mocking Birds, as on their approach, however sudden
it may be, they are always ready not only to defend themselves vigorously and
with undaunted courage, but to meet the aggressor halfway, and force him to
abandon his intention. The only Hawk that occasionally surprises it is the Coop-
ers' Hawk, which flies low with great swiftness, and carries the bird off without
any apparent stoppage. Should it happen that the ruffian misses his prey, the
Mocking Bird in turn becomes the assailant, and pursues the Hawk with great
courage, calling in the meantime all the birds of its species to its assistance ; and
although it cannot overtake the marauder, the alarm created by their cries, which
are repeated in succession by all the birds in the vicinity, like the watchwords
of sentinels on duty, prevents him from succeeding in his attwnpts.
The musical powers of this bird have often been mentioned by European
naturalists, and persons who find pleasure in listening to the song of different
birds while in confinement or at large. Some of these persons have described
the notes of the Nightingale as occasionally fully equal to those of our bird, but
to compare her essays to the finished talent of the Mocking Bird is, in my opinion,
absurd.
The Brown dreeper {CertMa famUiaris americana)
By I. N. Mitchell
Length: 5^ inches.
Range: Eastern North America.
Food : Small insects, wasps, ants, bugs, cocoons of tineid moths.
Nest behind the loosened bark of trees and stumps, built of strips of bark,
feathers, moss ; eggs, five to eight.
Although the brown creeper winters sparingly in the north, to the great
majority of our people it is known only as a spring and fall migrant. On the
upward journey it passes through many states and beyond to glean its summer's
living from the tree-trunks of the great forests of Canada.
During the last week of March and the first week of April even the casual
observer is apt to notice a little gray, or brownish bird creeping up the trunks
of the trees. Stopping to watch the little fellow it appears that he is very
methodical, very busy, and very persistent. It seems to be not only business
that occupies him, but a very serious business. There is no stopping to exult
for a moment in song, no idling away of time in preening of feathers, none of
these little by-plays of the early mating season, nothing but that serious, per-
sistent gliding from one tree to another, up it and on to the foot of the next,
that suggests one of the old-time copy-book exercises, "downglide-up, down-
glide-up."
But the pen exercise lasted only for a page, while the creeper's exercise
begins early in the morning, lasts till dusk and begins again early the next morn-
iio
-^^
Llfl-»I71'.
ing and the morning- after. It must be that his long, thin, curved bill or those
apparently sharp eyes are less efficient in finding food hidden in the cracks of
the bark than those of the chickadee or nuthatch, who stop now and again to
look about on the world or to play ; or, that the creeper is more particular about
his diet. Certain it is that the nuthatch and chickadee are fond of suet, and
when they find a tree on which it is fastened they return to it daily. Not so
the brown creeper ; in our experience, it proves no attraction to him. We remem-
ber to have watched one once as he neared a piece of suet while creeping up
one of our trees. He sampled it and passed on without lingering or offering
any other expression of approval.
In climbing a tree, the creeper sometimes follows a straight course up the
bole. Much more frequently, he seems to know that the tree will furnish more
food if he climbs the spiral staircase of its trunk until he reaches the smooth bark
where there arc no cracks or where the harvest is too small to waste valuable
time upon.
In this spiral journey he is so intent that you may approach to within a few
feet of his tree. He may notice you, and keep the tree between himself and you,
or he may ignore you altogether.
The picture is a good one, and shows very well the bark-like mixture of
brown and white on back and wings, the red-brown of the rump, the brownish
gray of the long, harsh, pointed tail, the white of the under parts, and the dis-
tinctly curved bill. Unless you imagine that the little birch tree is within three
or four feet of you, the bird will appear too large, for the figure is life size. If
you will watch the little fellow while he is at work you will notice that he sits
closer to the tree, in fact he often appears to have flattened himself out against
it. Perhaps that is in cold weather, for the woodpeckers and nuthatch, when it
is cold, sit close enough to cover their feet with their feathers, as if to keep
them warm.
The creeper is not always as silent as when he is on the I'ournev northward.
When he has reached his journey's end and has become occupied with mating
and the cares of the nest, he finds time to indulge in a short bit of a song, a
sweet little song, but like the bird, soft and subdued.
The writer's acf|uaintance with the brown creeper began one wintry dav in
early spring. A thud against the window pane called our attention, and on the
window sill lay a little bird ajjparently dead. We brought it into the house, and
as we held it in our palms and examined its markings it graduallv recovered
from its stinining shock, and by tiic time we had completed our examination
was apparcntlv as wt-ll as ever. .As soon as our hand was opened on the porch,
it promptly flew to the nearest tree and resumed its life work of hnntiuL; insect
eggs in the crevices of the l)ark.
Ill
The Downy Woodpecker {Dryobatespubescensmedianus)
By Herman C. DeGroat
Length : Six inches.
Range : Middle and eastern portions of United States, Canada and Alaska.
Food : Beetles that bore into timber, caterpillars, grasshopper eggs, wild
fruits and seeds.
Like all the other woodpeckers, the Downy generally nests in the dead
trees, rarely in live ones. lie pecks out a hole twelve to twenty inches deep
in the trunk or in a large limb of a tree, enlarging the passage as he goes down.
On the chips that fall inside, the eggs are laid and the little ones hatched. The
bed may be a hard one, but it is safe from the prying eyes and sharp talons of
the Owls, Hawks, Crows and Jays, those natural enemies of the small birds.
Tn this hole or in a similar one our Woodpecker makes his home during both
summer and winter. Many birds roost at night in the branches of the trees, but
this is not true of Woodpeckers. They are always safe at night from storms
and enemies in their snug bedrooms. This manner of nesting helps to protect
the species from destruction.
The Downy is the smallest of all the Woodpeckers. However, he makes
up in strength and activity what he lacks in size. There are few birds in the
North more helpful to man than this one. While many others work hard for
us from dawn to darkness during the summer time, this little keeper of the
trees works throughout the entire year, and takes no holidays. He is always
searching for the tree-destroying borers, ants and caterpillars. Clinging to the
trunk with his peculiar feet and braced with his stiff tail, he hammers away with
a vigor that must startle the grubs within. Quickly overtaking them with his
hammer and chisel and spearing them with his barbed tongue, he makes but a
single bite of the largest of them.
The Downy Woodpecker is the tamest member of his family, coming daily
into the trees of the lawns and the orchards for food. He is little disturbed by
your approach, and seldom flies farther away than the next tree when he is
compelled to move. In the midst of his searching, he often utters a cheerful
chick, chick, that seems to indicate his certainty of success. In the winter he is
on good terms with Nuthatches and Chickadees, roaming the woods with them
during the day in search of food, and often taking them home with him at night
to sleep.
He is easily distinguished from his cousin, the Hairy Woodjiecker. whose
coloring is almost exactly the same, but whose size is about one and a half times
as great. Two other points of difference are also noticeable. — the plumage on
the back of the Hairy Woodpecker is so blended as to give the appearance of
hairs rather than of feathers, and the outer tail-feathers of the Hairy are clear
white, while those of the Downy are white barred with black. He also keeps
to the woods more than the Downy, but in food and all other habits he closely
resembles him.
112
1' t
DOWNY WOdDrKCHEK
Liff-.siie.
Because the Downy Woodpeckers are so often seen in the orchards, some
farmers are suspicious of them and kill them or drive them away, thinking they
are after the fruit. All Woodpeckers are innocent of any offense in that respect.
They would rather have one grub than a bushel of fruit.
Birds in Cemeteries
By Edward B. Clark
People who are striving for effect sometimes call burial-grounds "cities of
silence." That's all well enough, perhaps, poetically, but in May and June ceme-
teries are anything but silent. The songsters foiuid out long ago that a meed
of protection was given them inside cemetery walls that was given nowhere else.
Sentiment is of course largely responsible for this, for no matter how active
may be the nest-robbing proclivities of the small boy, he withholds his hand in
the graveyard. The birds throng in the city parks during the migrations, but
it is in the city cemeteries that they make their homes. Oakwoods, Rose Hill,
and Graceland, in Chicago, resound with song all through the birds' courtship
season. Nearly every tree and shrul) in these burial-places holds the home of
a songster. In late June young robins and bronzed grackles in hundreds are
scattered all over the lawns. The catbirds cind brown thrashers are in every
thicket, and the wood thrush tinkles his twilight bell on every side. Birds that
in other places are shy and timid in the cemeteries become familiar and fearless.
fjraceland cemetery is wholly wnthin the city of Chicago. Within its limits
birds can be found that seldom are found elsewhere. The cardinal grosbeaks
are rare enough in northern Illinois. T have seen only one pair in a wild state
in the vicinity of Chicago, and this pair I found in Graceland cemetery. The
male made a i)erch of the tip of a towering tree, and there with the sun shining
full on his scarlet coat, he sang and whistled in the perfect ecstasy of living.
He soon had an audience, for from all parts of the burial-ground the people
gathered, attracted by the magic of the voice. Had that southern songster dared
to give that solo in Lincoln Park I should have trembled for his life, but within
the cemetery walls I felt that he was safe. There are people who, when look-
ing at the Ijright ])lumage of a bird or listening to its sweet song, can think of
only one of two tilings, killing it or caging it. I heard expressed that afternoon,
whik' the grosbeak was singing, a dozen wishes: "Pd like to have that fellow
in a tage." It is my sincere belief that the first bird that .Vdam saw was pecking
at a cherry, and that tiie first bird that V.w saw was some .scarlet tanager flash-
ing across a sunlit meadow, .\tlam said, "llie bird is a thief"; Eve said, "The
bird is a beauty." l">om that da\' to thi^ the liand of man and the head of
woman have been against the bird.
The tcmak- (.■ar(b'nal is as nuisical as her mate, though she has but a small
share of hi^ l)eant\. Wlieii the male carihnal had tired his throat with liis siiig-
113
ing that afternoon the female took up the strain and sang alone for fully five
minutes. Then she joined the male and together they flew beyond the cemetery
walls where I was afraid their beauty of plumage and voice would invite de-
struction. I heard from a friend, however, that the cardinals were again in
Graceland a few days later.
In late April. 1900, the evening grosbeaks put in an appearance in Graceland
cemetery. They were found by two members of the Audubon Society, who
were out on a search for spring birds. The evening grosbeak is in its coloring
one of Nature's handsome children. The body of the male is brilliant yellow,
while the tail is jet black. The wings are sharply contrasted black and white.
It is not at all a graceful bird. Its body is chunky and its movements are awk-
ward, the legs and feet seemingly being unequal to the task of supporting the
bulk of body and feathers. The discoverers of the grosbeaks were kind enough
to tell me of the birds' presence in Graceland, and I went with them the next
day and found the creatures in the place they had first been seen. There is
something very childlike perhaps in the joy one feels in making a new bird
acquaintance. I never before had seen a living evening grosbeak. There are
men who have made ornithology a vocation rather than an avocation, and yet
never have met this bird. The Graceland grosbeaks spent about half the time
in a clump of evergreens, flying from there to some box-elders, where they
would feast for a while on the buds. There were between twenty and thirty
individuals in the flock. Within a stone's throw of the birds' feeding-place
workmen were hammering spikes on an elevated railroad then under con-
struction. The din was nearly deafening Added to this, a locomotive with a
tool train was pufiing backward and forward on the surface road beneath tha
elevated structure. The grosbeaks paid no attention to the racket. They also
appeared absolutely fearless of the three human beings who stood just beneath
them almost within arm's reach and ogled them through opera-glasses. Although
the grosbeaks were strangers in tliis part of the country, they seemed to know
the Illinois bluejay well enough and to share with other birds the antipathy felt
for this feathered thief. One of the male grosbeaks attacked a jay that had
approached the feeding-place, and the two fought in mid-air. I have told else-
where of a fight between a bluejay and a scarlet tanager and of the bewildering
confusion of color beauty that the combat presented. In the grosbeak-blue jay
fight there was a change of color scheme, but the confusion and the beauty were
there not a bit abated. The grosbeak thrashed the jay, whereat three human
spectators rejoiced in concert with a dozen ruby-crowned kinglets who had
watched the row from a thicket. The grosbeaks disappeared from Graceland
on the afternoon of Friday, April 20th, thereby disappointing some bird-lovers
who made belated attempts to see them.
I have just called the jay a thief. I have called him so a number of times,
and I will call him so again when opportunity ofifers. He is a thief, but he is
an interesting thief, and I don't know that we could do without him. What
114
would the doctors do if they didn't have criminals to study in order to form
new degeneracy theories? Why, the doctors would lose half the fun of their
profession. When you see a jay sneaking off through the trees with his bill
spiked through a stolen robin's egg, you know at once why everything that wears
feathers hates him. A Kentucky friend once told me of seeing a jay deliberately
lift four newly hatched mockingbirds out of the nest and drop them to the
ground, where they perished. I had tliought there must have been some mis-
take about this story, for while I knew the jay was fond of eggs, I hardly
thought he was hardened enough to commit murder. I am no longer in doubt.
I found in Rose Hill cemetery the nest of a wood pewee. It was a beautiful
little lichen-made saucer resting on the upper side of a broad horizontal limb of
an oak. I visited the nest a number of times and watched the father bird launch
out from the tree to snap up occasional insect trifles. He was a pugnacious little
fellow, and he kept all the birds of the neighborhood at a distance. A pair of
jays had a nest in an evergreen tree not far away, and knowing the jays' thiev-
ing proclivities, the wood pewees waged constant war against them. The appear-
ance of either one of the pair within twenty yards of the pewees' home was
the signal for an attack. The jay always fled. One day three little creatures
poked their way into the world through the eggshells in the oak tree nest.
There were enough insects near the oak tree, apparently, to supply the wants
of parents and children. It was seldom that either one of the pewees wandered
away from ]iome. I have never been able to explain why it was that on one
afternoon as I stood watching the birds, they both left the oak and flew to a
catalpa fully fifty yards away. No sooner had the little guardians left their
charge than one of the jays came like a flash from the evergreen, and before I
could realize what was being done, much less interfere, the three infant pewees
were lifted from the nest and dropped one by one to the gravel walk below.
The parent pewees soon came back, and their mourning is with me yet.
In Graceland there is a little lake whose waters and the perfect peace of
the surroundings attract many of the wilder birds. One April morning I flushed
a woodcock from under the trees on the shore In the early spring mallards
not infrequently rest in the sedges near the little island with its drooping willows.
The grebes, that are hunted mercilessly throughout the entire year because
women covet their silver breasts for bonnet decoration, make this Graceland
pond a resting place for days together while on the weary journey nortlnvard.
No gun flashes through the bushes on the shore, and the harassed birds find
peace and food. Three of tlic grebes stayed on the waters of the pond for ten
days, and became so tame that they paid no atteiUion to the curious people who
watched their swimming and diving feats. .\ female blue-bill duck came into
the Graceland pond one morning and was so pleased with the situation that she
stayed for two weeks, r.efore the bhie-bill left it was possible to approach
within a few yards of her without causing her either to dive or to dart away.
115
Seven small herons dropped down to the edge of the comclerv pond one
day and when startled by approaching' footste])s. they llew to the island and
l)erched on one of the willows. There they drew their lieads down into thier
slionlders and stood motionless. It has always been a matter of regret that those
herons were not positively identified. The green heron is a nnich more abun-
dant bird than is liis little blue cousin. Tt was a dark day when the birds were
seen, and as there was no way of reaching tlie island, distance forbade certain
identification. .\ fellow bird-lover, whose opinion carries treble the weight of
mine, was almost willing to say positively, "Little blue herrms." Probably they
were, but neither of us has dared to add the name of the bird to our Chicago
lists.
I give herewith a list of the birds that probably nest every year in the
Chicago cemeteries. In many instances the nests have been found, and in the
other cases the birds have either been seen with young or have been found to
])e resident during the breeding season : Robin, flicker, red-headed woodpecker,
chickadee, kingbird, phoebe, wood pewee, least fly catcher, bronzed grackle. rose-
breasted grosbeak, song sparrow, chipping sparrow, vesper sparrow, catbird,
brown thrasher, yellow warbler, redstart, red-eyed vireo. wood thrush, bluebird,
house wren, blue jay, indigo bird, Baltimore oriole, orchard oriole, scarlet tanager,
cedar-bird, cow-bird (parasite), yellow-billed cuckoo, black-l)illed cuckoo, mourn-
ing dove, crow, loggerhead shrike, towdiee, goldfinch, rul\v-throated luimming-
liird. oven bird.
It is probable that some of the hawks and owls nest within the cemeteries'
limits, though I know of no recorded instances. The nests of the meadowlark
and bobolink both have been found on a patch of ground belonging to the Rose
Hill cemetery authorities and lying just outside the fence of the cemetery proper.
When it is taken into consideration that these burial-grounds lie within the
limits of a city of nearly two million inhabitants, there will come a realization
that there is much wild life in the very heart of civilization.
Although the journey is generally made the other way. it may not be amiss
to go from the cemetery to the church. I have never found owls in the grave-
yard, but I have found them in the sanctuary. During the winter of 1895 sev-
eral owls, which I believe were of the long-eared species, took u]) a temporary
residence in the steeple of Unity Church, Walton Place and Dearborn Avenue,
Chicago. The church steeple for years had been the home of a flock of pigeons.
When the owls appeared the pigeons had to seek other quarters, though the
chances are that several members of the flock were sacrificed to ow lish appetites
before the moving was accomplished. One evening during a heavy snow storm
I saw two of the owls sitting in a tree on Delaware Place and blinking at a
strong electric light which stood not ten feet away. During the same winter
the screech owls visited the city in numbers. They were particularly common
116
along Dearborn Avenue. One of the little fellows took up his abode under the
porch of a residence and stayed there for ten days. It is a sorrow to be com-
pelled to record that many of these visitors lost their lives at the hands of the
street boys. It is particularly sorrowful to record this because the chances are
that the owls were doing their full duty in the matter of killing English spar-
rows.
Standing in Graceland cemetery at the height of the bird concert season,
and hearing ten songsters at once breaking the silence of the place, J have won-
dered whether the birds loved to hear themselves sing. I suppose that they
would make music for the world if they were as deaf as posts. I have a reason
tor this supposition. Jt is some distance from Graceland cemetery, Chicago,
to Goat Island, Niagara River, but I must go that far for my reason. Since
New York State has made a park of the island and has enforced rules for the
regulation of lawless visitors, the birds have gone back to the place and have
made of it their summer home. Goat Island lies in the river on the brink of
the precipice between the American and the Canadian Ivills. It is eternally
deluged, as one might say. with the roar of the waters. \n places upon Goat
Island it is hard to make the human voice heard. I'he season was a little late
for the singing of the birds when I visited the island in July. The song spar-
row, however, sings every month of the year, and one of these little fellows
was perched on the limb of a tree close to the great fall and was trying to let
the sight-seeing visitors know that he was singing a solo. The noise of the
waters was thunderous. l>irds may have acute ears, but I doubt very much if
that song sparrow heard his own sweet strains. lie was prompted to sing, and
sing he must, though the song was lost in the roar of the falls.
There is plenty of excuse for the visitor to Niagara, even though he l)e a
bird-lover, for seeing nothing but the ever-changing color beauty of the plunging-
water. I did get my eyes away from that magnificenl sight long enough to
note that myriads of swallows were passing and repassing through the great
cloud of sprav and mist that rises from the rocks where the falling waters strike.
People approaching the falls from below on the \enluresome Maid of the .Mist
are compelled to wear rubber clothing to escape a drenching from the dashing
.spray. It is heavier in places than the heaviest rain, and yet through it the
swallows were constantly darting, taking a shower bath without apparently
wetting so much as a feather. Most of the birds that 1 saw on that late July
morning w^ere tree swallows. They constantly cut through the bars of the
Hoating rainbow which in sunshine is ever ]iresent at Niagara. There was no
hue in those broad cofor bands more beautiful than the shining green tiial the
sunlight brought out as it struck the upper fe.uhers of those darting swallows.
117
The Vesper Sparrow {Pooecetes gramineus gramineus)
By W. Leon Dawson
Length : Six inches.
Range: Eastern N. A. to the Plains, eastern Canada.
Food : Wild seeds.
A sober garb cannot conceal the quality of the wearer, even the Quaker
gray be made to cover alike saint and sinner. Plainness of dress, therefore, is
a fault to be readily forgiven, even in a bird, if it be accompanied by a voice of
sweet sincerity and a manner of self-forgetfulness. In a family where a modest
appearance is no reproach, but a warrant to health and long life, the Vesper
Sparrow is pre-eminent for modesty. You are not aware of his presence until
he disengages himself from the engulfing grays of the stalkstrewn ground or
dusty roadside and mounts a fence-rail to rhyme the coming or the parting day.
The arrival of Vesper Sparrow in middle early spring may mark the supreme
effort of that particular warm wave, but you are quite content to await the
further travail of the season while you get acquainted with this amiable new-
comer. Under the compulsion of sun and rain the sodden fields have been trying
to muster a decent green to hide the ugliness of winter's devastation. But
wherefore! Tiie air is lonely and the fence rows untenanted. The Meadow
Larks, to be sure, have been romping about for several weeks and getting bolder
every day, but they are boisterous fellows, drunk with air and mad with sun-
shine ; the winter-sharpened ears wait hungrily for the poet of common day.
The morning he comes a low, sweet murmur of praise is heard on every side.
You know it will ascend unceasingly thenceforth, and spring is different.
Vesper Sparrow is the typical ground bird. He eats, sleeps, and rears his
family upon the ground ; but to sing — ah ! that is different ! — nothing less than
the top rail of the fence will do for that ; a telegraph pole or wire is better, and
a lone tree in the pasture is not to be despised. The males gather in spring such
places to engage in decorous concerts of rivalry. The song consists of a variety
of simple pleasing notes, each uttered two or three times, and all strung together
to the number of four or five. The characteristic introduction is a mellow
whistled he-ho a little softer in tone than the succeeding notes. The scolding
note, a thrasher-like kissing sound, tsook, will sometimes interrupt his song if
a strange listener gets too close. Early morning and late evening are the
regular song periods, but the conscientious and indefatigable singer is more apt
to interrupt the noon stillness than not.
Since the Vesper Sparrow is a bird of open country and uplands, it cares
little for the vicinity of water, but it loves the dust of country roads as dearly
as an old hen, and the daily dust bath is a familiar sight to every traveler. While
seeking the food of weed-seeds and insects, it runs industriously about upon
the ground, skulking rather than flitting for safety. Altho not especially timor-
ous, it appears to take a sort of professional pride in being able to slip about
among the weed-stems unseen.
118
J*?f
4S>
iTJT;
m
^> If Mr,
/I
\
/
;34;t
Vi;si'KK M'AKKdW.
( I'lKitai'lcs i;raiiiiiieti>).
H I.itf-.'-i/e.
It is, of course, at nesting time that the sneak-ability of the bird is most
severely tested. The nest, a simple afifair of coiled grasses, is usually sunk so
that the brim comes flush with the ground. For the bird seeks no other pro-
tection than that of "luck" and its own ability to elude observation when obliged
to quit the nest. The ruse of lameness is frequently employed where danger
is immment. At other times the sitting bird is shrewd enough to rise at a con-
siderable distance.
Two and sometimes three broods are raised in a season, the first in late
April, the second in late June or early July. Upland pastures and weedy fields
are the favorite spots for the rearing of young, but plowed ground is some-
times usurped if left too long, and roadsides are second choice.
There is reason to believe that this species has invaded the state within the
historic period, since Audubon expressly states that he did not meet it in Ohio.
At any rate it is gradually increasing in numbers and its range extending as the
forests dwindle.
The Little Brown Creeper
By Garrett Newkirk
"Although I'm a bird, I give you my word
That seldom you'll know me to fly ;
I*'or I have a notion about locomotion, .v
The little Brown Creeper am I, r^
Dear little Brown Creeper am I.
"Beginning below, I search as I go
The trunk and the limbs of a tree,
For a fly by a slug, a beetle or bug;
They're better than candy for me,
l''ar better than candy for me.
"When people are nigli I'm a])t to be shv.
And say to myself, '1 will hide,'
Continue my creeping, but carefully keeping
Away on the opposite side.
Well around on the opposite side.
"Yet sometimes I peck wliile 1 pla\- hide-and-seek,
If you're nice 1 shall wish to see yon :
1 "II maki' a taint sound and come <|uite around
.And creep like a mouse in full view.
\'ery nnich like a mouse to your view."
119
The Red-Tailed Hawk {Butco boreaiis)
B}' Lyds Jones
Length : 20 inches.
Range : Eastern North America west to the Great Plains, north to latitude
60°, south to Mexico.
Food : Mice, mammals, game birds, insects.
Among the Birds of Prey, this is one of the largest of the Hawks, and
>tands next to the familiar Sparrow Hawk; is easy of identification. Only
one of the birds which are commonly called Hawks is larger, and that one, the
American Rough-leg, is found in the winter months in small numbers in the North.
Furthermore, the Rough-leg is a bird of the twilight, w-hile the Red-tail is most
active during bright days. But if you would know the Red-tail certainly you
must learn to notice the uniformly colored tail. There may be one dark band
near the tip, but the rest of the tail will be some shade of rufous or brown,
without bands of any color. One also soon learns to see a certain majestic move-
ment in the soaring flight, a more dignified wing stroke, and withal, a certain
appearance of strength and power not manifest among the smaller hawks, par-
ticularly the smaller Red-shouldered.
In spite of the fact that this bird sometimes visits the poultry-yard, and
may feast daintily upon sparrow or pigeon, I cannot help admiring him. His
sagacity is shown in the selection of a nesting site, which is the taller and less
easily accessible trees, and in his habit of showing himself as little as possible
in the vicinity of his nest, except high above it. To the initiated the whereabouts
of that carefully arranged bundle of sticks may be guessed from the manner in
which the high-soaring bird behaves. Unless the nest is actually threatened there
is no demonstration of hostility, but a dignified, watchful inditiference to an
unwarranted meddling with private afl:"airs. But once threaten the nest and the
speck in the upper air descends like a bolt out of a clear sky, swerving aside
just at the point of contact and sweeping upward again for a renewed attack.
Even the fiercest birds will not actually strike the human intruder, much as he
may deserve punishment, but the angry scream and the booming air beneath
the half -closed wings try the nerves of the bravest, while he is perched in the
lofty tree-tops.
Much abuse has been heaped upon this bird's head, the most of it unwar-
ranted. Careful study has proved that chickens are molested only when other
food is unobtainable. And when birds have been killed in the act of raiding
the poultry-yard they have been young birds for the most part. On the other
hand, the harmful animals and msects which this hawk destroys far overbalance
the depredations upon poultry. It is no more fair that all hawks .should be
killed because one occasionally destroys chickens than it is to kill all cats because
one sometimes becomes a chicken killer.
120
«. W. MJXrOIIO- 'UILISHIII, CHic*ao
291
KKl)-l.\li.Ki' HAWK..
h Life-size.
OOPVKIOHT IM9. 8V
««rufie sTuor i>ub. oo,, CHiotoo
The cry of Red-tail is unlike that of any other of the hawks, and may
become a certain mark of identification during the late winter and early spring-
weeks. It is a long-drawn scream of warning and defiance, given on a descend-
ing scale, it is harsh and piercing, and commanding, uttered when danger
threatens, when a rival for his lady's affections appears, and often when the
mating season begins. Its character is unmistakable. The Blue Jav cannot
successfully imitate it. l)ecause his lungs lack the capacity.
A Tragedy in Birdland
By Amy B. Ingraham
■"! ha\-e found one of the most beautiful bird's nests. It kujks much like a
Baltimore Oriole's nest only not so deep. T wish I could see the bird that built it.
Something must have frightened it away or catight it because the nest does not
seem to have been used."
The speaker was a little old lady who loved l)ir(ls: the lime, the summer of
1910. Her tiny acre was a bird's paradise. Orioles, robins, wrens, wax wings
and song sparrows flitted among the trees and shrubs and sung the suiumer
through. The porch vines sheltered a brown cap's nest: a wren p.ested in a tiny
birdhouse on the barn side and a blue bird luxuriated in a summer squash shell
shaded with hop vines. Cherries, raspberries and currant^ supplied them with
fruit and high fences kept out many cats.
The feathered songsters paid their way by destroying injurious insects and
by ushering in the morning light with a i)erfect deluge of song and making the
last hour of departing daylight equall\- melodious and, often, during the night
some irrepressible bursts of melody might be heard.
All birds were welcome and Pinky, the large cat, was kept shut up in com-
fortable quarters during the hours the birds were about because no amount of
explanation could make him understand that a cat ougiit to prefer a mouse diet
and abhor the taste of birds.
The spring of 1911 brought again the feathered friends and. among them —
delightful thought — the unknown owners of the beautifid ne^t or some just like
them, because they were re-lining and fur])ishing it u]).
They were almost too shy to be caught at work, but in ihc eari\- morning
tliey could be approached by a careful ob'^erver.
One morning the little woman came up (juile excited. "Xow they are at
work," she said. "Tf you will coine, you can see them. I want to know if you can
tell what kind of birds they are. They are the most graceful birds I ever saw.
They are brown with stripes running from the bill back."
1 carefully approached behind the bushes.
"Why," said 1, "it resembles an I'".nglis]i >parro\\ , only it's too large and
longer bodied. When it Hies, it looks du^^ky and like a cat-bird."
We thought both birds were brown. We did not notice a while or.inge.
121
red and black bird which was always swinging from the willow twigs and singing,
■ "Chir-r-r. bob-o-link, chir-r-r."
In time, the nest was finished and four light colored eggs appeared. If her
nest were approached, the bird slipped ofi' behind the leaves and appeared else-
where, hopping and climbing from twig to twig and bush to bush, plainly unaware
of the existence of any nest.
At almost any time of day, the shiny coated black, white, red and yellow
biid could be seen climbing ceaselessly up and down the willow tree and swinging
gracefully from tip to tip of the drooping branches and always singing his cheerful
song, "Chir-r-r, bob-o-link, chir-r-r."
On the first of June, two ugly, naked little birds appeared. They had big,
bulging closed eyes and straggly legs and looked altogether unlovely. When we
peeped into the nest, the gaily colored bird swung wider on the willow tendrils,
climbed around faster and uttered a shrill warning "Chir-r-r, chir-r-r." I looked
at his shining, black plumage, splashed on the shoulders with gayer colors and
questioned what those ugly nestlings could be to him. The less excited brown
bird uttered the same, "Chir-r-r, chir-r-r." They must be mates.
The nest was in a tiny elm tree growing close to the back fence on a slight
muddy ridge which arose above the surrounding swamp — a swamp made by the
drainage from Cal. Perry's cess-pool, Geo. Dodge's sewer, water from Honeoye
street, and from other homes along the bank; but none from us. The mud of
this swamp must have supported large numbers of the bug and grub families,
which the birds probably found because they often flitted to the ground and
searched in the mud.
The black bird stripped the w'illow catkins as he swung head downward
and chewed them with great gusto.
On the second of June, two more ugly, naked birdlings appeared. Both old
birds were now fairly frantic if any one approached the nest and we did not
tease them by staying near.
The brilliant plumage of the male bird, flashing amid the foliage of the willow
was so common a sight and his cheery notes so common a sound that we spoke
of it the next day and said we would not have them wath us much longer, but we
little thought how short the time and how tragic the end.
About 6 p. m., June third, we heard faint shots in Salomon's pasture and
supposed it was boys. When we rushed out, we were surprised to find it was Cal.
Perry and our beautiful birds, fatally wounded, were fluttering in the stinking
water of the swamp on Salomon's land.
He said he was killing blackbirds which were pulling his corn — four short
rows 24 rods away on the other side of his house. They were never in our corn
which was near them. I had never seen them leave our premises except as they
were frightened about their young.
Mr. Perry went home and I put on my rubber boots and waded into the
122
filthy, weed-grown water and picked up the birds — the handsome male, with a
broken wing, broken just where the beautiful shoulder feathers grew; and the
female with one wing broken and shot through the body.
How sorrowful we felt. Their graceful manners and shy, witching ways
had made them very dear to us. A few minutes before, they had been joyful
and full of life and now we were carrying them to the house dangerously
wounded, their song forever hushed, the victims of the very one whose crops
they would have protected. During nesting time they must destroy from 400
to 600 worms and insects per day.
What could we do with them? There were four little ones waiting for their
suppers and we knew not how to care for them. Tf only one old bird had been
left!
We cut off the double top of the little elm which held the nest and placed
it in a jar of water in the bay window and covered the little birds in the nest with
a handful of hen's feathers and a cloth. Then we prepared some strong carbolic
acid and water, wet the male bird's broken wing with it and wrapped him up in
the bottom of a basket. The otiier bird was soaked with the filthy swamp water,
so we rinsed her off in the carbolized water, dried her feathers carefully and
wrapped her up in a box.
They were only birds, but the Bible says that not even a sparrow shall fall
to the ground without the Father's knowledge.
We went sadly to bed. The old birds must have passed a terrible night —
alone, frightened, in a strange place, sorrowing for their little ones and suffer-
ing tortures from their wounds which we did not know how to dress.
All the next day, Sunday, June 4th, I spent with the birds, trying to relieve
the suffering of the old ones and find food for the little ones. Either old bird
would remain quiet on one hand, covered with the other hand, as long as I would
hold it. It seemed to comfort them.
Angleworms were all we could find and the little ones did not like them but
we knew not what the old birds fed tiicm nor where to get it.
The old birds tried climbing the elm Intsh but made sad failures, usually
falling down before reaching the nest.
I put one of the little ones in a robin's nest, thinking the robin would know
more about bird food than I. On the morning of the 5th, this bird and one of
the others died. I made the mistake of leaving these dead birds where the old
ones could see them. The remaining two I placed in a box lined with warm clotli
and covered them with a feather blanket.
During Monday forenoon, the mother bird seemed more cheerful autl this
brightened up the other bird. She picked two pupae from a can of dirt, ate two
grubs and induced her mate to cat a coujilc. Tlu-y both kept climbing to tlic nest
and seemed to miss the little ones.
In the afternoon, she began to crcci) into <!ark corners and sit still. Her mate
123
followed and tried to eoax her out. lie crei)t close, placed his hill a.^ainst hers
and tried to shove her out. But his loving eitorts were of no avail. If 1 re-
moved her. she immediately crej^it hack into that corner or some other. The hird
that 4S hours hefore was juhilan.tly happy and destroying hundreds of injurious
insects daily was now hroken hearted and sufTering the tortures of a painful
death. Mer mate, in addition to his own sutTerings, seemed to realize that she
nuist (lie. He snuggled up beside her and stroked her feathers affectionately with
his bill. Two human beings could not have expressed their despair, stif¥ering and
atiection more ])lainly than these feathered friends of man. T wanted to comfort
them but they could not understand. I could neither heal their bodies nor return
tlieir ha]i])iness.
That night, the brown bird sat on a newspaper and the black one sat on the
edge of the nest. How long and sorrowful those hours must have been I
The next morning, June 6th, they died ; the female at 8 o'clock and the
male at 9.
Then the question arose, should we bury them or send them to a zoologist?
We nuist decide immediately because they w^ould not keep. We sent them away.
The two remaining little birds possessed voracious but very fastidious appe-
tites. They required to be fed every fifteen minutes on perfectly fresh food.
Their little, pink mouths would pop out from under the feather cover, poised on
their long, slim throats. As they wavered about, they resembled pink flowers,
wind blown. A little mistake in diet w^ould make the birds droop. We could
find little else but angleworms and not much of them. We had to go to the
woods for them. We dug the garden over and re-dug it : then, dug it again and,
after that, several more times. Sundav, it was a regular forenoon job because
A\-orms saved over night made them sick.
They usually had their first meal at 4:30 a. m. and their last one about 8
]). m. Here is a specimen bill of fare for one day. Jtuie 7th. when they were
5 and 6 days old, 56 2-3 angleworms, 30 currant w'orms, 6 pupae, 13 large white
grubs, 2 wireworms, 1 large cutworm, > rosebugs, 4 sowbugs ; total, 117 2-3. And
the old 1)irds would have fed them more than that.
Their appetites increased somewhat with their growth. The smaller one was
delicate and always received the choicest bits. Its feathers were black and were
hardlv out wdien it drooped and died at two weeks of age.
The other bird, we named Chirk-chirk from her peculiar call. She finally,
refused angleworms entirely and developed a taste for bread and milk w'ith such
insects as we could obtain. She never knew what a cage was. She w^as out of
doors whenever we were. At other times and at night, she had a room of her
own. She was never too sleepy, no matter how dark the night, to call to me in
the sweetest little notes as I passed her room on my way to bed. If I stood near
her perch in the dark, she would answer as long as I talked to her. If I took
her on my finger, she would snuggle against my face and seem perfectly happy.
124
.\t about three weeks of age. she would pick up her food but she was never
old enough to not insist upon having part of her food every day poked down her
throat, baby bird fashion.
As soijn as she could fly, she would follow everywhere. If we called. "Chirk-
chirk !" she would come no matter where we were. Spiders, wire-worms, crickets,
black bugs and curculio larvae were favorite foods.
She searched for food in a peculiar way. She inserted her closed bill in the
soil and then opened it, exposing her victim. When I was talking to her and
stopped speaking, she would insert her bill between my lips and open them. If
she were at the far side of the garden and heard my voice speaking to another
person, she would instantly fly to me.
The third Sunday of her life, she was sufficiently feathered to take a bath.
I prepared a shallow basin of water and placed it in a sun-.shiny place on the
lawn. Dut her beside it and seated myself near. It was the first time she had ever
seen water. She did not notice it ; but I was sufficiently familiar with her family
traits to be sure she saw it and her bright brain was thinking about it. Sud-
denly she hopped directly into the center of the basin and began bathing vigor-
ously. Then the draggled thing climbed my arm and shoulder and, when close
to mv face, shook herself. I had difficulty in keeping her in a more sheltered,
sun-shiny position until dry.
As she grew older, she often took two or three baths a day. If we were
washing vegetables, she bathed there ; when we rinsed the carpet, she bathed on it ;
if we drank from the dipper, she hurried into it for a bath ; and a slanting stick
in a jar of water aflforded footing for a bath. We had difficulty in keeping her
out of the washtub.
By the first of July, we expected every night she would go to the trees to
roost and spoke of the time when we should lose her entirely. Still, she showed
no signs of going.
On Sunday. July 9th, she was more frolicsome than usual. She fluttered
and danced her delight as she i)icked the curculio larvae from the plums I opened
for her. She ate her bread and milk with unusual zest.
At dinner time, I left her outside on her favorite smilax vine. A few minutes
later, I was out on the verandah and callerl to her, "Chirk-chirk ! Where are you.
little Chirk-chirk?" but there was no reply and no Chirk-chirk came. I remem-
bered a water barrel and her love of water. 1 hastened to it, fear at my heart.
There was a dark bunch floating on the water. Oh, that it might be something
else! I reached for it. It was the l)ird ! I rinsed her oflf ami put her where she
would dry. She had a black bug in her mouth. W'c both cried but we could not
talk about her nor look at her not that day.
The next afternoon I stufl'ed the body and we have it yet but it reminds us
but little of the animated creature we called Chirk-chirk, whose loving compan-
ionshi]) had brightened many days.
125
The CjOlden iLye {Clangula clangula americana)
By Gerald Alan Abbott
Length: About 19 inches.
Range: North America; breeds Maine and British Provinces north. Win-
ters in Cuba and Mexico.
Food : Mostly small shell and other fish, which it procures by diving.
The Golden-eye, or "Whistler,"' and decidedly a deep water fowl, is a com-
mon winter resident on the Great Lakes and in the larger rivers. It occurs
from coast to coast, but the Barrow's golden-eye chiefly replaces this form from
the Rocky Mountains westward. A flock of golden-eye traveling with the wind
at eighty miles an hour produces a sound with their wings from which the bird
derives the name whistler. Feeding almost entirely on fish, they are not so good
eating as are most ducks. These birds are expert divers, and are sometimes
caught in nets which have been lowered into five fathoms of water.
During the spring, the golden-eyes retreat to the timbered lakes, near which
each female selects a hollow tree, where eight to fourteen beautiful bluish green
eggs are deposited. The writer found ten eggs, fourteen feet from the ground,
in the hollow of an oak on a timbered peninsula, jutting out into Devil's Lake,
North Dakota. In passing I noticed little particles of down attached to the bark
above the cavity. Inspection disclosed the incubating bird which refused to
leave her treasures until touched.
Of all wing-music, from the drowsy hum of the Ruby-throat to the startling
whirr of the Rufifed Grouse, I know of none so thrilling sweet as the whistling
wing-note of the Golden-eye. A pair of the birds have been frightened from the
water, and as they rise in rapid circles to gain a view of some distant goal, they
saw the air with vibrant whistling sounds. Owing to a difference in the wing-
beats between male and female, the brief moment when the wings strike in
unison with the effect of a single bird, is followed by an everchanging syncopa-
tion which challenges the waiting ear to tell if it does not hear a dozen birds
instead of only two. Again, in the dim twilight of early morning, while the
birds are moving from a remote and secure lodging place, to feed in some favor-
ite stretch of wild water, one guesses at their early industry from the sound
of multitudinous wings above contending with cold ether.
The Golden-eye is a rather rare winter resident, but is better known as an
early spring and late fall migrant. It moves north with the Mallard and the
Green-winged Teal, and frequently does not retire in the fall until driven down
by closed waters. It is found chiefly about the most retired stretches of open
water or upon Lake Erie, and is exceedingly wary. The bird loves chilly waters
and dashing spray, and very much prefers the rock-bound shores of mountain
lochs, or the crunch and roar of icebergs to the milder companionship of sighing
sycamores and waving sedge.
126
My Birds
By Jane L. Hine
No bird that the Lord has created
Shall come to misfortune through me;
Not one of my jolly old Robins,
Though they take the fruit from my tree.
Not one of my silken-clad Blackbirds
Who nest in the pine that stands near ;
Not one of my little brown House Wrens,
So saucy, so tame and so dear;
Not one of my sweet gentle Bluebirds
Who come with the first days of spring;
Not one of my gay Golden Robins —
Would I wear my Oriole's wing?
Not one of my Quaker-clad Cuckoos,
Nor Pewees that home in my shed ;
Not one of my jewel-crowned Kinglets
Shall adorn a hat for my head.
Not one of my dear little Downies
Who work in my old apple tree,
Nor Harries, nor Red-heads, nor Gold-shafts —
Should their wings make trimmings for me?
Not one of my great stately Herons
Not one of luy reed-loving Rails ;
Not one of my shy Water Witches ;
Not one of my cheerful voiced Quails ;
Not one of my beautiful Wax-wings.
Though they take my cherries I know ;
Not one of the birds God has given me ;
Not even my jaunty old Crow,
Shall have from me aught but kind treatment.
\\ hen I le who created them all.
Would feel lx)lh coiupassion and sorrow
If even a Sparrow should fall.
127
Birds' Nests
The skylark's nest anjong the grass
And waving corn is found;
The robin's on a shady bank,
With oak leaves strewed around.
The wren builds in an ivied thorn
Or old and ruined wall,
The mossy nest so covered in
You scarce can see at all.
The martins build their nests of clay
In rows beneath the eaves ;
The silvery lichens, moss and hair.
The chaffinch interweaves.
The cuckoo makes no nest at all.
But through the wood she strays
Until she finds one snug and warm.
And there her eggs she lavs.
'&!=)-
The sparrow has a nest of hay
With feathers w^armly lined ;
The ring-dove's careless nest of sticks
On lofty trees we find.
Rooks build together in a wood.
And often disagree ;
The owl will build inside a bc.rn
Or in a hollow tree.
The blackbird's nest of grass and mud
In bush and bank is found ;
The lapwing's darkly spotted eggs
Are laid upon the ground.
The magpie's nest is made wnth thorns
In leafless tree or hedge;
The wild-duck and the water-hen
Build by the water's edge.
Birds build tb.eir nests from year to year
According to their kind ;
Some very neat and beautiful.
Some simpler ones we find.
The habits of each little bird
And all its patient skill
Are surely taught by God himself
And ordered by his will.
128
John Burroughs
By Edward B. Clark
\\'hen it became known that John Bvtrroughs, poet, was to be the guest of
Theodore Rooseveh, President, on the Yellowstone Park trip, someone remarked :
"Mr. Roosevelt will be in good company." In truth he was in good company,
and there is perhaps no nature lover in this land of ours who did not envy the
President of the United States his good luck in the prospect of a few weeks'
companionship wnth rare old John Burroughs. A great news agency sent broad-
cast the announcement that the President had chosen Mr. Burroughs as a field
comrade in the Yellowstone region in order that the w^riter-scientist might teach
him the \vays of the wild animal folk of the Rockies. There is no humor like
unconscious humor, and those who knew a thing or two laughed at this bit of
misinformation sent out by a bureau supposed to supply intelligence in a double
sense, ^^llen John Burroughs reached Chicago he called the attention of the
present writer to this newspaper statement that he was to be the teacher of
Theodore Roosevelt in the ways of nature. 'That was rich," said John
Burroughs. "^Mr. Roosevelt knows more of the natural history of the West
than four John Burroughs rolled into one. lie will teach me, I trust."
T have spoken of John Burroughs as a poet. He is indeed the truest of
poets, though the greater part of his writings is in prose. Ilis prose has in it
the very essence of poetry at all times save when the poet forsakes poetic thought
and takes up the ever-severe science. ]\Ir. Burroughs is an exact scientist. It is
the general belief that the very coldness of science prevents its devotee from
ever feeling his system pervaded with the warmth of poetry. John Burroughs is
one of the living refutations of this thought. Who are the others? It will take
some searching to find the answer. Mr. Burroughs can turn from a scientific
analysis which involves the splitting of a hair, or a feather, or a leaf, and the
making of the layman's head to swim with Latin terms, to pen somethif.g like
this on the beauty of the mar.sh marigold: "Like fixed and heaped up sunshine
there beneath the alders, or l)eyond in the freshening fiekls." lie can tell the
musician in terms to his liking the ])itch and compass of a bird's song. And then
for him to whom the terms of music are as nothing, but in whose soul there is
song, he will give some such description as ihi'^ of the chant of the hermit thrush,
following it with an exquisite bit of rhvthmic prose: "O spheral, spheral, O holy,
holv ! O clear away, clear away, O clear away. The song of the hermit thrush
is the finest sound in nature. It suggests a serene religious beatitude. It realizes
a peace and a deep, solemn joy that only the finest souls may know. Listening
to this strain on the lone mountain top with the full moon just rounded from
the horizon, the ])()mp of our cities and the pr'u\c of our ci\ ilization seem cht\ip
and trivial."
This description of the matchless '-img of the hermit thrush was written
years ago, and the last line or two of it have been plagiarized again and again.
120
|i)hn Ikirroughs has written \oluniinous1y, but it is not too much to sav that he
has written in all things well. It is for one either in sympathy with or directly
antagonistic to Mr. Burroughs' views on certain things, to treat of his philosophi-
cal writing. They are commended or condemned according as one agrees or
dissents. Mr. Burroughs may perhaps be best described as a fatalist, when it
comes to a question of man here and hereafter. He will be known long after he
has been given back to Mother Earth, by his books on the brooks, the flowers, and
the birds which all readers alike love, rather than by the books which have put
the printed page between two hostile camps of thought.
"Wake Robin" was one of the earliest, perhaps the earliest, of John
Burroughs' books. It struck a new chord in the hearts of the people. White of
Selborne, England, and Thoreau of Concord, Massachusetts, with a few others,
were the only forerunners of Burroughs who knew how to write of Mother
Nature in a way to win for her not only the interest but the loving sympathy
of the reader. White was an Englishman writing in the eighteenth century.
He had few American readers. Thoreau with all his beauty of expression
was so much given to wandering into paths where the ordinary reader was lost
that he could not attract as did John Burroughs the great following of those who
wished to familiarize themselves with the trees of the forest, the beasts of the
field, and the fowls of the air. 'T.ocusts and Wild Honey," "Riverby," "Winter
Sunshine," "Birds and Poets," "Fresh Fields," "Pepacton." and many other books
have come since "Wake Robin," and many of them have more than repeated its
success. John Burroughs loves that of which he writes. There is not a bird
which in spring or fall, northward or southward flying and m.aking a highway of
the Hudson, he does not know as a father knows his favorite child.
"He saw the partridge drum in the woods ;
He heard the woodcock's evening hymn ;
He found the tawny thrush's broods ;
And the sky hawk did wait for him."
John Burroughs' knowledge of the mammals is as intimate as his knowledge
of the birds, but the reader always feels after closing one of his books, in which
the ways of the beast and the bird and the beauty of the flower are told rarely
and truthfully, that the most loving touch was that for the bards whose matin
and vesper songs waked the writer's heart to gladness or lulled his mind to rest
at the close of the troubling day.
John Burroughs lives at West Park, N. Y. His country place is called
Riverby. It is a large estate with a fine residence building. Over in one secluded
corner is a little rough cottage which the owner calls "Slab Sides." Burroughs
built it ; and, forsaking early in the spring the great house beyond, he goes to live
at Slab Sides, for there during ihe season of the birds John Burroughs can get
nearest to the warm heart of Nature.
Mr. Burroughs has the loves and the svmpathies of the poet ; but if the
occasion demands, he can throw poetry to the winds and. to use a somewhat mixed
130
metaphor, he can go after an abuse with a rough-shod pen There has been a
marked tendency during the last few years, since nature writers have become as
numerous as the proverbial August blackberries, toward romancing in stories told
about animal life. Many of the pleasantly written books which have come from
the press within the last four or five years have been used by teachers for the
instruction of the young in the ways of nature. Many of these stories are false
upon the face of them, and have led young readers into error. There is no more
reason why fiction should enter into zoology than into physiology.
John Burroughs recently attacked this romancing tendency in an article in
The Atlantic Monthly. He singled out Ernest Thompson-Seton and William J.
Long, both, as perhaps may go without saying, extremely popular writers of
nature books. Burroughs did not mince matters. He said that if Mr. Seton and
Mr. Long had been content to give out their stories as fiction pure and simple, all
would have been well, but when they specifically claimed truth for them it was
time that someone should pluck up the courage of his convictions and let the
people who thought they were gaining knowledge of natural history know that
they were being fed on fairy tales. As it was recently put by someone who spoke
of this matter, "John Burroughs, while known rather as a naturalist than a taxi-
dermist, shows proficiency in the latter art in the way that he skins Mr. Seton
and Mr. Long." William J. Long recently made an answer to Mr. Burroughs'
article in the public press. The friends of this clergyman-naturalist were disap-
pointed when they read what he had to write, for it was an answer that did not
answer. Mr. Seton did things differently. He met Mr. Burroughs after the
attack on his books, at a dinner in New^ York, and holding out his hand asked
the sage of Slab Sides if he would not sit next him at the table.
Jphc TowhcC {Pipilo erythrophthalmns erythrophthalmiis)
By Alexander Wilson
Length, about 814 inches. Male mostly black, belly white. Female brown.
Outer tail feathers white tipped.
Range : Breeds in the United States from Saskatchew^an and southeastern
Canada south to Central Kansas and northern Georgia ; winters from southeastern
Nebraska and the Ohio and Potomac southward.
The towhee is a frequenter of second-growth and of scrub, and when the
visitor enters such precincts he is pretty sure to hear the challenging cry,
"chewink," and to catch sight of the bird as it hurriedly dashes into some brushy
thicket as if in mortal terror. The flight is hurried, jerky and heavy, as though
the bird was accustomed to use its wings only in emergencies. This is not far
from being the case, as the towhee sticks close to moilier earth and uses its great
strength and long claws to adxanlage in making the leaves and rubbish fly in
its vigorous efforts to unco\er the seeds and insects u])on which it relies for
food. The towhee thus literally scratches for a living as no other* of our birds
131
does, except possibh' ihc brown ihrusli. and the lazy man may well ])ass by the
industrious ant and go t(.) the towhee for inspiration. Xo one waxes mlhusiastic
over its musical ability, but the soilc: is given with such right good will that it
is sure to satisfy the hearer as, no doubt, it does the bird himself. Seton interprets
it to a nicety with the phrase '"chuck-burr, pill-a-will-a-will-a." The towhee in-
cludes in its bill of fare beetles and their larvae, ants, moths, caterpillars, grass-
hoppers and flies, and also in Texas the boll weevil. Wild fruit and berries
complete the list..
This is a very common but humble and inoffensive species, frequenting close
sheltered thickets, where it spends most of its time in scratching up the leaves
for worms and for the larvte and eggs of insects. It is far from being shy,
frequently suffering a person to walk round the bush or thicket where it is at
work without betraying any marks of alarm, and when disturbed uttering the
notes towhe repeatedly. At times the male mounts to the top of a small
tree and chants his few simple notes for an hour at a time. These are loud, not
unmuscial, somewhat resembling those of the Yellowhammer of Great Britain,
but more mellow and more varied.
The Chewink is fond of thickets with a southern exposure, near streams of
water, and where there are plenty of dry leaves, and is found generally over
the whole of the eastern United States. He is not gregarious, and you seldom
see more than two together. These birds arrive in Pennsylvania abotit the middle
or 20th of April, and begin building about the first week in May. The nest is
fixed on the ground among the dry leaves near and sometimes under a thicket of
briars, and is large and substantial. The outside is formed of leaves and pieces
of grape-vine bark, and the inside of fine stalks of dry grass, the cavity completely
sunk beneath the surface of the ground and sometimes half covered above with
dry grass or hay. The eggs are usually five, of a pale flesh color, thickly marked
with specks of rufous, most numerous near the great end. The young are pro-
duced about the beginning of June, and a second brood commonly succeeds in
the same season.
This bird rarely winters north of the State of Maryland, retiring from Penn-
sylvania to the south about the 12th of October. Yet in the middle districts of
X'irginia and thence south to Florida, I found it abundant during the months of
January, February and March. Its usual food is obtained by scratching up the
leaves; it also feeds, like the rest of its tribe, on various hard seeds and gravel,
but rarely commits any depredation on the harvest of the husbandman, generally
preferring the Avoods and traversing the bottom of fences sheltered with briars.
In Mrginia it is called the Bulfinch, in manv places the Towhe-bird, in Pennsyl-
vania the Chewink, and by others the Swamp Robin. He contributes a little to
the harmony of our woods in spring and summer, and is remarkable for the
cunning with which he conceals his nest. He shows great affection for his
young, and the deepest distress on the appearance of their mortal enemy, the
l)lack snake.
132
.'s;:
lOWHKK
'ipiiii iTxtliropliiliiiliniiAi.
'.. l.i(fsi/f.
NT 1«0«, IT A. W. WuurOflO CHICAGO
The Sandpiper
By Celia Thaxter
Across the narrow beach we flit,
One Httle sandpiper and I ;
And fast I gather, bit by bit.
The scattered driftwood l^leached and dr}-.
The wild wa\es reach their hands for it.
The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,
As up and down the beach we flit
One little sandpiper and T.
Above our heads the sullen clouds
Scud black and swift across the sky ;
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds
Stand out the white light-houses high.
Almost as far as eye can reach
I see the close-reefed vessels fly.
As fast we flit along the beach. —
One little sandpiper and I.
I watch him as he skims along,
Uttering his sweet and mournful cry ;
He starts not at my fitful song.
Or flash of fluttering drapery ;
He has no thought of any wrong ;
He scans me with a fearless eye.
Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong.
The little sandpiper and T.
Comrade, where wilt thou be tonight
When the loosed storm breaks furiously?
IMv driftwood fire will burn so bright I
To what warm shelter canst thou fly ?
1 do not fear for thee, though wroth
The tempest ru.slies through the sky:
Vnr are we n(.t Oiod's children both.
Thou, Httle sandpiper and I?
1 .v^
How the Library May Stimulate Local Bird
Study
By Ida M. Mendenhall.
The real work that counts in stimulating local nature study must be done
in the library. The librarian cannot do it alone, but with the help of club women,
nature lovers, college students, and local natural history enthusiasts, she may
bring to the library these various interests and thus make the library the vital
educational center of the community.
The following are some suggestions of ways by which the library may
interest children in a study of the birds of the locality :
1. A special corner, table, bulletin-board, and book shelf devoted to the
subject of birds, where children may look for and expect something interesting
each day.
2. A bird calendar, on which the dates of the arrival of birds is kept by
the children themselves.
A black-board, bulletin-board, or large sheet of paper may be used for these
records. A list of the birds likely to appear during the month may be printed
on the board or sheet of paper and the children may check each day the birds
seen by them for the first time. The record of these dates of arrival should be
preserved and at the end of two or three years they may, be printed in folder
form, that the child may continue each year to keep for himself this same record.
The calendar of bird migration giving the record of the spring observations,
ptiblished by the Springfield, Mass., Library, will be interesting to librarians.
Lincoln Park, Chicago, publishes a bulletin of bird migration for the use of the
Chicago schools. Lists of birds, with space for a note of the date, weather,
and locality, are used by the University of Illinois in field work in local bird study.
3. Exhibit of bird pictures in the library.
Rather than a large exhibit of miscellaneous bird pictures, it is better to
show pictures of the birds as they arrive. Just before the time for the appear-
ance of a bird, its picture together v/ith typewritten copies of poems about the
bird and a short interesting description may be posted on the bird bulletin-board.
This description should always tell of the food and habits of the bird. A type-
written list may also be posted referring to the exact pages in the books best
describing the bird, or containing poems about it, and these books may be kept
on the special shelf near the bird bulletin or on the table. Books may be placed
on the table open at a picture or good description of the bird or a poem about it.
Children will not always take tlie trouble to search for a book, but if it can be
found easily near the picture, the book will be taken home and read.
4. Talks by a bird lover given at the library.
There is always some one in every community interested in birds. The
134
liljrarian herself, if a bird lover, even though she is not an authority, may find
material in the best books for interesting talks on identification of birds, bird
hal)its, food and homes, effect of storms on migration, birds that fly by day and
those that fly by night, adaptation of birds to flight, protective coloration, and
economic value of birds. At the time of the talks the bulletin-board may be
used for poems, pictures, diagrams or charts illustrating the subject, and the
special table and shelf used for best books. A diagram showing the different
parts of the bird will be useful in a talk on adaptation of birds to flight, and a
table giving the birds that fly by day and those that fly by night will be interesting
in connection with that subject. The bulletin of the Children's Museum in
Brooklyn will be very suggestive in planning a course of talks on birds.
5. A bird club which comes to the library for talks on birds, and makes at
the library the beginnings of a museum from the collections of its excursions.
It must be understood that bird nests and eggs should be collected only for
scientific purposes. A collection of bird specimens could be made only by an
ornithologist. The life histories of insects and specimens of birds may be had
from special dealers in the large cities. Even a very small collection, if giving
accurately the life history of insects, and showing specimens in their natural
environment, will be valuable. wSuch a museum as a part of the library is coming
to be indispensable in the work with children in the schools. The protection and
encouragement of birds and the preservation of forests, trees, and shrubbery for
their homes, should result from ihe study of the bird club and the talks given
by a bird authority.
6. Field work in a winter study of birds" nests.
Since winter birds are not easy for the beginner and since there are not
many to study unless one knows just where to look for them, a study of birds'
nests can be made. At this season of the year, althoiigh there will be difficulty
in identifying them after they have been so long abandoned, the nests can be
taken without stealing and can be found easily, when they might not have been
observed in summer. Careful questions regarding a few typical nests will arouse
the child's interest in the birds when they return. In studying the robin's nest,
its shape and color, the relation between the color of the nest and the color of
the brooding bird's back and environment may be worked out by the pupils.
The song-sparrow's, meadow lark's, woodpecker's, and other nests may be
studied in the same way . This will teach the children observation and train
thi'm in the inductive method of stud\. The adaptability of the nest and the
color of the bird to its environment is a subject which the children ma>
investigate for themselves, after their attention has been called to it in field study,
Nothing can take the ])lace of ticld work in bird study.
7. Prizes offered by the library to pupils in the schools f(<r the best paper
rei(»rding actual observations of a local bird or birds.
The prize composition shouM 1)c k-cpl l)v tlie library, posted on the bird
bulletin-board, and printed in the town or city paper.
8. Publishing in the local paper what the library is doing for the children
in the schools in studying the birds of Indiana.
Special announcement should be made of the talks on birds given at the
library, the prizes for the best bird compositions, exhibits of bird pictures, and
new bird books received. The library must make the subject interesting and the
new and best books on birds conspicuous. It is not sufficient for the library to
be a store house of books. It must call the attention of people to its new and
best books by advertising them and placing them v>here they may be seen.
The Canadian Warbler Ovnsonia canadensis)
By W. Leon Dawson
Length : 5^ inches.
Range : Eastern North America, west to the Plains and north to Newfound-
land. Labrador and Winnipeg.
Food : Mostly insects.
The male is active about the nest and feeds the female while she is incubating.
Among the later migrants may usually be seen each season a few of these
exquisite fly-catching warblers. In their breeding haunts, which He far to the
north of us, they range low in the bushes and often descend to the ground, but
when traveling they seem to find better company in the treetops, and appear very
much at home there. There is something so chaste in the clear yellow of the
throat and chest, spanned though it is by a dainty necklace of jet, and something
so modest and winsome withal in the bird itself, that some of us go into reverent
ecstasies whenever we see one of them
The song is only occasionally rendered during the migrations, but seems to
increase in frequency, as we should expect, as the bird proceeds northward.
Some have likened it to that of the Yellow Warbler, but to my ears it bears a
strong generic resemblance to that of the Hooded Warbler. At any rate, it is
clear, sprightly and vigorous. Chut, tutooit, tutooeet is one rendering, probably
less characteristic and complete than Mr. Thompson's classical interpretation,
"Rup-it-chee, rup-it-chee, rup-it-chit-it-lit."
The Canadian is among the earliest of the returning warblers, having been
seen as early as August 24th. At this season the species is somewhat puzzling,
by reason of the frequent absence, or half suppression, of the characteristic
necklace. On the return journey, also, the birds are much more apt to be found
in thickets, or low in well watered glens.
136
^^:'
w
/
r
t
V
fis;^
CANADIAN WARBLER.
(Syivania canadensis).
About Lifi'-si/f.
COPTBIGHT
Yellow-Throated VireO {Lanivireo flavifrons)
Length, about 6 inches. Its green upper parts and bright yellow throat and
upper breast are its identification marks.
Range: Breeds from southern Canada south to central Texas, central
Louisiana and central Florida; winters from southern Mexico through Central
America.
By no means so common as the red-eye, the yellow-throat inhabits the same
kind of woodland tracts and like it may often be seen, and still oftener heard, in
the trees that shade the village or even the city streets. It is, however, much less
common in such places since the advent of the English sparrow, having been
driven away by that little pest. Its song is much like that of the red-eye, yet
it has a rich throaty quality quite foreign to the notes of that tireless songster and
far superior to them. Neither this, nor indeed any of the vireos, ever seem to
be in a hurry. They move quietly through the leafy covert, scanning the most
likely lurking places for insects, pausing now and then to sing in a meditative
manner, then renewing their qtiest. All of which is as different as possible from
the busy, nervous movements of the wood warblers, that seem ever in haste as
though lime were much too precious to waste.
The food of the yellow-throat consists of a large variety of insects, including
caterpillars, moths and beetles, and also those well-known pests, flies and
mosquitoes. It also eats the plum curculio.
Maryland Yellow-Throat {Geothypis trichas and variety)
Length about 5 1/3 inches. Mostly green above, yellow below. ' Distin-
guished from other warblers by broad black band across forehead, bordered nar-
rowly with white.
Range: Breeds from southern Canada to southern California. Texas and
llorida; winters from the southern United States to Costa Rica.
This little warbler is common throughout the eastern and southern states,
fretjuenting thickets and low bushes on swampy ground. He is not a tree lover,
but spends most of his time on or very near the ground, where he hunts assidu-
ously for caterpillars, beetles and various other small insects. Among the pests
that he devours are the western cucumber beetle and the black olive scale. He
has a cheery song of which he is not a bit ashamed, and, when one happens to
be near the particular thicket a pair of yellow-throats have chosen for their own,
one has not long to wait for vocal proof that the male, at least, is at home. The
yellow-throat has the bum]) f)f cu^iosit^ well developed and if you desire a close
acquaintance with a pair you have only to "squeak" a few times, when you will
h.'vc the pleasure of .seeing at least one of the coui)le venture out from the retreat
f.ir enough to make sure of the character of the visitor.
137
The Rose-Breasted Grosbeak {Zameiodia ludomdana)
By I. N. Mitchell
Length, 8 inches.
Range: Breeds from Kansas, Ohio, Georgia (mountains'), and New Jersey,
north to southern Canada ; winters from Mexico to South America.
Habits and economic status : This beautiful grosbeak is noted for its clear,
melodious notes, which are poured forth in generous measure. The rosebreast
sings even at midday during summer, when the intense heat has silenced almost
every other songster. Its beautiful plumage and sweet song are not its sole claiqi
on our favor, for few birds are more beneficial to agriculture. The rosebreast
eats some green peas and does some damage to fruit. But this mischief is much
more than balanced by the destruction of insect pests. The bird is so fond of the
Colorado potato beetle that it has earned the name of ''potato-l3ug bird," and no
less than a tenth of the total food of the-rosebreasts examined consists of potato
beetles — evidence that the bird is one of the most important enemies of the pest.
It vigorously attacks cucumber beetles and many of the scale insects. It proved
an active enemy of the Rocky Mountain locitst during that insect's ruinous
invasions, and among the other pests it consumes are the spring and fall canker-
worms, orchard and forest tent caterpillars, tussock, gipsy and brown-tail moths,
plum curculio, army worm, and chinch bug. In fact, not one of our birds has
a better record.
It is indeed a red-letter day that brings the acquaintance of this beautiful
bird. Here, again, the beginner feels the pleasure of certainty. There is no
painstaking comparison and study of details as among the sparrows or thrusihes.
It is like shooting at a barn from the inside of the barn. A rose-colored breast
and a gross bill, how could anything be more delightfully direct and simple ? To
see him is to know him.
Not so. however, with his mate. She shows her relationship to the sparrows,
and were it not for her very stout bill would be much more frequently mistaken
for one of them.
The illustration is excellent both of birds and nest. The latter is noticeable
for the looseness of its structure and the absence of the lining of feathers,
hair, plant down or other soft, warm material that so many birds use. This
nest seems unusually well made for a grosbeak's ne.st. It appears to be actually
anchored or tied to the limbs upon which it rests. In speaking of the nest of
this bird Mr. Dugmore says : "The nest when, found will probably cause some
surprise by the apparently insecure manner in which it is placed. IMost birds
weave their nests around branches or vines, but the grosbeaks seldom take such
precaution ; they usually build their nests in or on the fork of a branch from
which it may be removed without disturbing it in any way."
Fortunately for those who now enjoy the acquaintance of this beautiful bird,.
13S
iiiM \- 1 i-.i) grosbeak:.
I Habia lu loviciana).
'5 Life-size.
and equally so to those who are seekiiig it, he is not at all shy, but will sit placidly
and allow his admirers to approach within a few feet to exhaust themselves oi
their ohs and ahs, and "isn't he a beauty!"
A few springs ago, we were leading a score of bird hunters through a city
park. We had been charmed with warblers ; the oriole and tanager had given
us the opportunity of deciding which is the most brilliantly colored bird in
Wisconsin ; the catbird and thrasher had given us samples of their wonderful
songs, and yet the company was not quite contented and pushed into a thicket.
Soon a hush was whispered along the line ; the company tip-toed into the thicket
scarcely venturing to breathe. Every one got a good, satisfying, soul-filling view
at close range. We passed on deeper into the copse, to come upon even greater
fortune — two males and a female were discovered not more than ten feet over
our heads. The whole score gathered under the tree and filled the eyes to satis-
faction or nearly so, rather, for one of the party asked if the wings weren't lined
with the rose-red. For 'answer we proposed making the birds take wing and
asked the friends to watch. The cover of a lunch box was tossed gently into
the tree, but not a wing was spread. Then we hurled the box after the lid with
somewhat greater force, and to this day not one of the party is any wiser for
the experiment. The birds departed in so much less than the twinkling of an eye
that seeing color was out of the question.
'Sir. Bradford Torrey once found a nest in a clump of witch-hazel bushes
al)Out eight or nine feet from the ground with the female upon it and the male
singing near by. He says: 'T took hold of the main stem just below her, and
drew her toward me, but she would not rise. I had no heart to annoy her. so I
called her a good, brave bird and left her in peace. Her mate, all this while.
ke])t on singing; and to judge by his behavior, I might have been some honored
guest to be welcomed with music. The simple-hearted — not to say simple-minded
— fearlessness of this bird is really astonishing.
liut fearlessness and beauty are only two of the grosbeak's attractions.
Ilinl writers agree in placing him among a very select few of our songsters.
.Mr. Dulcher calls it "a glory of song." Mr. Bowdish says. "His song has a charm
that is rivalled only by the melody of a very few of our feathered vocalists."
Mr. C. C. Abbott says, "My fancy is that this Rose-breasted Grosbeak is our
finest singer;" while Mr. Torrey pays this graceful tribute. "It was singing to
bo remembered, like Sembrich's 'Casta Diva' or Xilsson's T know that my Re-
deemer liveth.' " The male adds to our good oi)inion of him l)v sharing in the
ciire of the eggs and even singing whilr doing so, and. tinalK-. appeals to the
fainitr by making a specialty of tlie potato bug on his 1)ill of fare.
139
A Plea for the Bluejay
By Victor Kutchin
Only the people who ha\e spent a lifetime in the study of nature realize
how little they know about it. On the other hand the definite, complete and all
embracing information seems to belongs to certain happy individuals Avho have
gi\en scarcely a passing thought to the wonder world alwut us. The real charac-
ter, life history, and economic value of even our common birds still demands
further observation and closer study, and so-called final conclusions must in the
nature of the case contain a large element of conjecture. The pitiful thing
about all this is that it results in many of our bird neighbors being the objects
of prejudice, perhaps the bluejay most of all. \\'aiving all other specifications
the general charge that he drives away other birds, and robs their nests, is suffi-
ciently grave to demand careful examination. The Biological Survey — the birds'
supreme court — has fortunately made such investigation^ and the report is to be
found in the year book" of the United States Department of Agriculture for 18%.
The stomachs of 292 jays all taken within one year in 22 states, Canada, and the
District of Columbia, were examined with the following results. Three were
foiuid to contain the fragments of the shells of birds' eggs, and two fragments
of the bodies of other birds. One of those containing fragments of another bird,
bones of a foot, claws and a little skin. ])robably the remains of a cat's supper,
could scarcely have been the result of nest robbing, as the stomach was taken
from a jay killed February 10th, a period remote from the breeding season. One
of the three containing shells was taken in October ; they seemed to be the shells
of a large bird, probably a grouse, and from the time of year was undoubtedly
a fragment of shell from a long deserted nest. Another stomach that contained
shells was from a jay taken late in August, and the season of the year would
indicctte that the fragments were also found in a deserted nest. So in the 292
examinations, we practically find but two individuals that might have been guilty
of the heinous crime of robbing other birds' nests of eggs and young. In view
of the fact that birds which die in the nest are at once thrown out by the wise
ni'jther bird, it is impossible to say that the fragment of the young bird was not
found dead on the ground. Again it is true to the observation of us all, that
birds' eggs are often broken and are more or less plentiful on the ground during
the breeding season. From all this it should appear that the evidence against the
jay is scarcely stronger than the shell of a hummingbird's egg.
That there are individual criminals among every type of life, not exempting
the highest, man, it would be foll}^ to deny, l)ut in face of .nil the evidence t)n the
other side, to maintain, because individual jays may have robbed nests, that all
jays are nest robbers, is like claiming because Captain Kidd was a pirate that
all men are pirates. Disregarding all that Tennyson wrote in the idealization of
140
human character, shall we draw the inference that he really believed all men to
be devils, because he wrote "In a Vision of Sin :"
Mrtue — to the good and just
Every heart when sifted well
Is a clot of warmer dust
Mixed wdth cunning sparks of Hell.
Generalizations from a single inflividual or instance cannot fail to be unjust.
The wTiter, after forty years of persistent observation and study of the jay,
having had an acquaintance that was cordial if not intimate with many individuals,
has utterly failed to find a particle of evidence going to prove that the jay family
is either destructive or in any way detrimental to bird life in general. On the
other hand, he has in at least half a dozen instances known them to nest in the
same tree with other birds, and to disturb neither eggs nor young; and, as a
matter of fact, jays seem to get along better with their neighbors than human
creatures do who live in small towns.
Not content with the Scotch verdict of "not proven," I wish to give my per-
sonal opinion of the jay based on my own observation. I regard him as the most
wide-awake, up-to-date, and philanthropic citizen of the bird kingdom. To me
he possesses both knowledge and wisdom and my pet name for him is "Yorick,"
"a fellow of infinite jest and most excellent fancy." He is no mean mimic under
certain circumstances, especially in captivity; and were any other bird to attempt
to tell him something new, I can fancy him yawning and going to sleep in church.
All the secrets of the woods are open secrets to him. The hawk, the red squirrel,
and the weasel resent his disposition to bring their deeds to light, and are about
his only enemies among wood folk. He seems to be aware of the fact that
humanity distrusts him, and he rewards our distrust, by still greater distrust of
us. Take a gun and dog and start for the woods, and a certain blue-coated police-
man is there before you to warn all living things against you. Let an owl secrete
himself in a cedar tree on the lawn, and it is the jay that spies him out before
the day is many minutes old, and summons all creation to help put him to rout.
Perhaps the best thing that can be said for the jay is that his bird neighbors
who have a right to know him better than human creatures, believe in his warnings
and rely on his protecting watch-care. Does it really not seem too bad that in
spite of his splendid self-reliance and ability to care for himself, if prejudice could
have its wav it would rob the world of its onlv bit of blue on sunless winter davs'
The Bob- White (CnHnK.s I'lriiinlamis)
By jolin j allies Aiuluhon
I.cngth : 10 inches.
Kange : l-",aslcrn United .States. ( ):Uari(). Maine to south Atlantic and (iulf
states, west to .South Dakota. Kansas and Texas.
Xest, on the ground. I'.ggs, 10 to 26. usually about IS.
141
As a weed destroyer Boli-White has few if any superiors. During the insect
season his food consists of almost entirely of beetles, weevils, bug, grasshoppers,
cut worms and other pests of agriculture.
The common name given to this bird in the eastern and middle districts of
our Union is that of the Quail, but in the western and southern states it is called
the Partridge. It is abundantly met with in all parts of the United States, but
more especially toward the interior. In the states of Ohio and Kentucky, where
these birds are very abundant, they are to be seen in the markets both dead and
alive in large quantities.
This species performs occasional migrations from the northwest to the south-
cast, usually in the beginning of October, and somewhat in the manner of the
Wild Turkey. For a few weeks at this season the northwestern shores of the
Ohio River are covered with flocks of Quails. They ramble through the woods
along the margin of the stream and generally fly across toward evening. I>ike
the Turkeys, many of the Partridges fall into the water while thus attempting to
cross, and generally perish, for although they swim surprisingly, they have not
muscular power sufficient to keep up a protracted struggle, although when they
have fallen within a few yards of the shore they easily escape being drowned.
1 have been told by a friend that a person residing in Philadelphia had a hearty
laugh on hearing that I had described the Wild Turkey as swimming for some
distance when it had accidentally fallen into the water. But almost every species
of land bird is capable of swimming on such occasions, and you may easily
satisfy yourself as to the accuracy of my statement by throwing a Turkey, a
common fowl, or any other bird, into the water. As soon as the Quails have
crossed the principal streams in their way, they disperse in flocks over the
country and return to their ordinary mode of life.
The flight of these birds is generally performed at a short distance from
the ground. It is rapid and is continued by numerous quick flaps of the wings
for a certain distance, after which the bird sails until about to alight, when again
it flaps its wings to break its descent. When chased by dogs or startled by any
other enemy, they fly to the middle branches of trees of ordinary size, w^here
they remain until danger is over. They w^alk with ease on the branches. If they
perceive that they are observed, they raise the feathers of their head, emit a
low note and fly oft" either to some higher branch of the same tree or to another
tree at a distance. When these birds rise on wnng of their own accord the
whole flock takes the same course, but when "put up" (in the sportsman's
phrase) they disperse; after alighting, call to each other, and soon after unite,
each running or flying toward the well-known cry of the patriarch of the covey.
During deep and continued snows they often remain on the branches of trees
for hours at a time.
The usual cry of this species is a clear whistle, composed of three notes; the
first and last nearly equal in length, the latter less loud than the first, but more
142
'*^^!^^'»€«^t»?^^ V •'-■ J"'^^-'-
K:i::3*!l^jf..^
4 .■r5»jtr.._^.^.i
I'M
(LuilllUS VKKIilMIIUb.)
% Lite-size.
so than the intermediate one. When an enemy is perceived they immediately
utter a Hsping note, frequently repeated, and run off with their tail spread, their
crests erected and their wings drooping, toward the shelter of some thicket or
the top of a fallen tree. At other times, when one of the Hock has accidentally
strayed to a distance from its companions it utters two notes louder than any
of those mentioned above, the first shorter and lower than the second, when an
answer is immediately returned by one of the pack. This species has, moreover,
a love call, which is louder and clearer than its other notes and can be heard at
a distance of several hundred yards. It consists of three distinct notes, the last
two being loudest, and is peculiar to the male bird. A fancied similarity to the
words '"bob white" render this call familiar to the sportsman and farmer, but
these notes are always preceded by another, easily heard at a distance of thirty
or forty yards. The three together resemble the words ah-boh-zvhite. The first
note is a kind of aspiration, and the last is very loud and clear. This whistle
is seldom heard after the breeding season, during which an imitation of the
pecidiar note of the female will make the male fly toward the sportsman.
In the middle districts the love call of the male is heard about the middle
of April, and in Louisiana much earlier. The male is seen perching on a fence-
stake or on the low branch of a tree, standing nearly in the same position for
hours together and calling ah-boh-ivhite at every interval of a few minutes.
Should he hear the note of a female, he sails directly toward the spot whence
it ])roceeded. Several males may be heard from different parts of a field chal-
lenging each other, and should they meet on the ground, they fight with great
courage and obstinacy until the conqueror drives off his antagonist to another field.
The female prepares a nest composed of grasses, arranged in a circular
form, leaving an entrance not unlike that of a common oven. It is placed at
the foot of a tuft of rank grass or some close stalks of corn, and is partly sunk
m the ground. The eggs are from ten to eighteen, rather sharp at the smaller
end. and of a pure white. The male at times assists in hatching them. This
species raises only one brood m the year, unless the eggs or the yoimg when yet
small have been destroyed. When this happens the female immediately prepares
another nest, and should it also be ravaged, sometimes even a third. The young
run a])Out the moment they make their appearance, and follow their parents
unlil spring, when, having acquired their full beauty, they make nests for
themselves.
'ihe Quail rests at night im \\\v ground, either amongst the grass or under
a bent log. The individuals whicli compose the flock form a ring, and moving
backward, approach e.ich other until their l)odics are nearly in contact. This
arrangement eiiabks tlie wliolr covey to take wing when suddenlv alarmed, each
flying off in a direct course, so as not to interfere with the rest.
r.ob White's best known call notes arc: Boh-~K'h'\tr. h(>J^-fu>l^-:^'liitr and inorc
<ir/ or )io more wet.
The Yellow- Breasted Chat (ictenazmiers)
By Henry W. Henshaw
Length, about 7^2 inches. Its size, olive-green upper piirts and bright yellow
throat, breast, and upper belly distinguish this bird at a glance.
Range: Breeds from British Columbia, Montana, Wisconsin, Ontario and
southern X'ew England south to the Gulf States and Mexico ; winters from Mexico
to Costa Rica.
The chat is one of our largest and most notable warblers. It is a frequenter
of brushy thickets and swampy new growth and, while not averse to showing
itself, relies more upon its voice to announce its presence than upon its green and
yeilow plumage. Not infrequently the chat sings during the night. The song,
for song we must call it, is an odd jumble of chucks and whistles which is likely
to bring to mind the quip current in the West, "Don't shoot the musician ; he is
doing his best;" in this same charitable spirit we must accept the song of the
chat at the bird's own valuation, which, we may be sure, is not low. Its nest is
a rather bulky structure of grasses, leaves and strips of bark and is often so
conspicuously placed in a low bush as to cause one to wonder how it ever escapes
the notice of marauders fond of birds' eggs and nestlings.
The chat does no harm to agricultural interests but, on the contrary, like most
of the warbler family, lives largely on insects, and among them are many w^eevils.
including the alfalfa weevil, and the bool weevil, so destructive to cotton.
This is a most singular bird. In its voice and manners it differs from most
other birds with which I am acquainted, and has considerable claims to originality
of character. It arrives about the first w^eek in May and returns to the south
again as soon as its young are ready for the journey, which is usually about the
middle of August, its term of residence here being scarcely four months. The
males generally arrive several days before the females, a circumstance common
with many other of our birds of passage.
^^'hen he has once taken up his residence in a favorite situation, which is
almost always in close thickets of hazel, brambles, vines, and thick underwood,
he becomes very jealous of his possessions. He seems offended at the least
intrusion, scolding every passer-by in a great variety of odd and uncouth mono-
syllables which it is difficult to describe, but which may be readily imitated so as
to deceive the bird himself and draw him after you for a quarter of a mile at a
time. I have sometimes amused myself in doing this, and frequently without
once seeing the bird. On these occasions his responses are constant and rapid,
strongly expressive of anger and anxiety ; and while the Chat itself remains
unseen, the voice shifts from place to place among the bushes as if it proceeded
from a spirit. First are heard a repetition of short notes, resembling the whistling
of the wings of a duck or teal, beginning loud and rapid and falling lower and
lower till they end in detached notes. Then a succession of other notes, some-
144
w. . ..
120
\ KLLUU l;Uh.\.-~I hi) I IIA r.
I'i Life tttice.
thing like the barking of young puppies, is followed by a variety of hollow gut-
tural sounds each eight or ten times repeated, more like those proceeding from
the throat of a quadruped than that of a bird ; these in turn are succeeded by
others not unlike the mewing of a cat, but considerably hoarser. All these are
uttered with great vehemence, in such different keys, and with such peculiar modu-
lations of voice, as sometimes to seem far away and again as if just beside you,
now on this hand, now on that; so that from these maneuvers of ventriloquism
you are utterly at a loss to ascertain from what particular quarter they proceed.
About the middle of May the Cha.ts begin to build. The nest is usually fixed
in the upper part of a bramble bush, in an almost impenetrable thicket ; some-
times in a thick vine or small cedar; sometimes not more than four or five feet
from the ground. It is composed outwardly of dry leaves ; within these are laid
thin strips of bark of grapevines, and the inside is lined with fibrous roots of
plants and fine dry grass. The females lay four eggs, slightly flesh colored and
speckled all over with spots of brown or dull red. The young are hatched in
twelve days, and make their first excursion from the nest about the second week
in June.
While the female of the Chat is sitting, the cries of the male are still louder
and more incessant.
Barn Owl (AIuco pratincola)
Length, about 17 inches. Facial disk not circular as in other owls; plumage
above, pale yellow ; beneath, varying from silky white to pale bright tawny.
Range : Resident in Mexico, in the southern United States, and north to
New York, Ohio, Nebraska, and California.
Habits and economic status: The barn owl, often called monkey-faced owl,
is one of the most beneficial of the birds of prey, since it feeds almost exclusively
on small mammals that injure farm produce, nursery, and orchard stock. It hunts
principally in the open and consequently secures such mammals as pocket gophers,
field mice, common rats, house n:icc, harvest mice, kangaroo rats, and cotton rats.
It occasionally captures a few "hirds and insects. At least a half bushel of the
remains of pocket gophers have been found in the nesting cavity of a pair of
these l>irds. Remembering that a go]iher has been known in a short time to
girdle seven apricot trees' worth SKX) it is hard to overestimate the value of the
service of a pair of barn owls. 1.247 p'-llels of the barn owl collected from the
Smithsonian towers contained 3.100 skulls, of which 3.004, or 97 per cent, were
of mammals ; 92, or 3 per cent, of birds ; and 4 were of frogs. The bulk consi.sted
of 1,^)87 field mice, 65^) house mice, and 210 common rats. The birds eaten were
mainly sparrows and blackbirds. This \aluable owl sboidd bo rigidlv protected
thrf)ngli(»ut its ciilire range.
143
The Red-Shouldered Hawk [Butco nucatns Uneatus)
By W. Leon Dawson
r.ength : 181/. inches.
Range: Eastern North America to Alanitoba and Xova Scotia, west to
Texas and sonth to the gulf states.
Food : ]\[ice, insects, moles and other small miimma.ls. reptiles, spiders. A
hawk of value to the farmer.
The common names of the birds of prey are sadly confused in America.
We seldom use the noble word Falcon, although it strictly applies to many of
our species ; we call our Vultures, Buzzards ; and our proper Buzzards are merely
"Hawks" or "Hen Hawks." The Red-Shouldered Buzzard is, after the Sparrow
Hawk, the commonest bird of prey in the state. It is well distributed, since it
is content to occupy, if need be, a very small piece of woodland, but it does insist
upon having undivided possession of that little, at least so far as other birds
of the same species are concerned.
From this little stretch of woodland, however humble, the Buzzard sallies
forth at intervals to view the landscape o'er, moving forward vigorously to a
well-accustomed haunt, or else circling aloft above the home woods to an immense
height, and then drifting away across the country in great, lazy, sun-burned cir-
cles, until the sight of game calls it down. Although its station is so lofty,
the prey it seeks is usually of the humblest — moles, mice, gophers, lizards and
insects. Poultry is rarely taken and then only under extenuating circumstances,
as when a chick has disobeyed its mother's injunctions and gone too far afield.
Red-shouldered Hawks winter regularly from about the middle of the state
southward and casually to lake shore, but everywhere in diminished numbers.
The winter birds are probably from the extreme northern limits of the range
in Ontario, and I have fancied that it was on this account that they showed a
tendency to temporary albinism, or seasonal whitening of plumage. The return
journey is accomplished late in I'ebruary or early in Alarch, and by the middle
of the latter month most of the Hawks are mated. This has not been accom-
])lished without considerable aerial evolutions and much affectionate screaming,
such as does credit to these "ignoble" birds of prey.
Lor the nest an old domicile of the Crow is often ])ressed into service,
Init where the birds have little to fear in propria persona, they rear an unpreten-
tious structure of their own where spreading branches of beech or oak or elm
offer secure lodgment, close to the trunk or a little way removed. In case a
Crow's nest is used its undesirable concavitv is filled up with additional bark-
strips, cornhusks, or dead leaves, so that the eggs of the Hawk occupy only a
slight depression. h>esh eggs may be looked for about the middle of April.
Only one brood is regularly raised in a season, but in case the first eggs are de-
stroyed the birds will make one or two more attempts. Incubation lasts about four
146
188
KKDSHori.ni-.KKl) HAWK.
', I.ifrsi/r.
COr»»lOMT no;, •»
weeks and is attended to by l)Oth birds. As the operation progresses feathers
drop out increasingly from the birds' breasts, so that a well-feathered nest means
eggs nearly ready to hatch. When disturbed the parent birds keep up a pitiful
complaining, but usually from a safe distance.
The eggs, varying in number from two to six, are among the best known of
Hawks" eggs and present interesting variations, both in size, in shape and in the
amount of pigmentation. It is time, however, to call a halt upon the indiscrimi-
nate gathering of Hawks' eggs. The museums are loaded down with them and
nine-tenths of those annually levied upon in the name of boyish curiosity are
destined to find their way into mouse nests or discarded boxes of sawdust.
The Nightingale and Glowworm
By William Cowper
A nightingale, that all day long
Had cheered the village with his song.
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite ;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,
.\ something shining in the dark.
And knew the glowworm by his spark ;
So, stooping down from hawthorn top.
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent.
Harangued him iluis, right eloquent:
"Did yoti admire my lamp," quoth he,
".\s much as I your minstrelsy.
You wiiuld .ibhor to do me wrong.
As much as I to spoil your song ;
For 'twas the selfsame power divine
Tatight you to sing and me lo shine :
That you with music ; T with light,
Jilight beautify and cheer the night."
The songster heard his short oration.
And warbling out his approbation.
Released him, as my story tells.
And found a supper somewhere else.
147
The Black Tern {Hydrochelidon nigra surinamensis)
By Gerard Alan Abbott
Length: 9^^ inches.
Range : Temperate and tropical America, from Alaska to Brazil.
Food : ]\Iostly insects, dragonfly nymphs, grasshoppers, beetles, small fishes.
In some of the prairie states the Black Tern seems to be a sort of connecting
link between the birds of land and water.
The Black Tern, the only dark plumaged member of the gull or tern family
inhabiting the interior portions of North America, breeds from the Gulf of
Mexico to upper Canada, and from the Atlantic to the Pacific coasts, nesting
even within corporate limits of Chicago.
While gregarious, they are found in smaller groups than most of our long-
winged swimmers. Largely insectivorous, they capture their prey in the air.
They also plunge into the water after small minnows and other marine life.
Although the feet are webbed, these birds seldom swim except perhaps when
mig-ratinsf across largfe bodies of water. Their call note is a harsh shriek uttered
incessantly if one intrudes upon their nesting sites, usually in marshy places,
preferably open country, free from timber. l"he nests are constructed of decayed
vegetation, dead Hags and rushes, often a mere depression on a partially sub-
merged muskrat house containing the two or three dark yellowish eggs, heavily
and thickly blotched with shades of lilac and very dark brown. These birds
have a habit of rolling their eggs in the wet earth and vegetation, thereby render-
ing them less conspicuous. I have known the birds to arrange a little nest on
the top of an old grebe's nest. Often the water is several feet deep where the
nests are made, but the growing reeds and rushes allow the v/ater to remain more
or less stagnant so the eggs are seldom disturbed by waves.
Sparrows and Sparrows
By Joseph Grinnell
Xo bird, unless it be the crow, is so nicknamed as the sparrow. None is
so evil spoken of, none so loved. Accepted enemy of the farmer, it is the
farmer's dearest friend.
It is a good, large family, that of the sparrows, ninety or more varieties
occurring in the Ignited States, .\lways, of whatever tint or markings, it is
recognized by its stout, stalky shape, short legs, and strong feet; but more
surely by its bulging, cone-like bill, pointed toward the end. This beak is the
bird's best characteristic, just as a certain nose is the leading feature of some
human families. And there is character in a sparrow's nose. It is used for
original research and investigation, on account of which the sparrow, of all the
148
birds, deserves the degree of doctor of philosophy conferred upon him; omitting,
of course, one single member of the family, the English sparrow. And why the
English sparrow should come in for any notice among the song-birds we cannot
tell, unless it be the fact that it really does haunt them, and they have to put up
with it almost everywhere they go. Surely it needs no picture to introduce this
little vagrant, save in a few regions sacred as yet from its presence. Even this
little foreign rogue has lovable traits, were it not for the prejudice against him.
\\'hat persistence he has in the face of persecution and death ! What philosophy
in the production of large families to compensate for loss ! What domestic
habits ! What accommodation to circumstances ! What cheerful acceptance of
his lot ! Surely the English sparrow presents an example worthy of imitation.
To those whose preferences are for cooked little birds, what suggestions are
stirred by the hosts of these sparrows invitingly arrayed on roof and porch and
fences. They make as good pot-pie as the bobolink or robin, and it would seem
less sacrilege to so appropriate them. The rich and jxior alike might indulge in
the delicacy. Especially might the weak little starvelings in the cities, whose
dipper of fresh, new milk is long in coming, or never to come at all, find a sparrow
broth a nourishing substitute. Who knows but for this very purpose the birds
are sent to the large cities. We read of a story of "quails" in a certain Old Book,
and more than half believe the wonderful tale. Why not make a modern story
of sparrows sent "on purpose" and ctiltivate a taste for the little sinner? And
its eggs! Why, a sparrow hen will lay on, indefinitely, like a real biddy. Only
be sure to respect the "nest-egg," so the old bird ma\- have one always by her
"to mea.sure by."
Think of the "little mothers" of the big cities, raising baby weaklings on
sparrow broth and poached sparrow's eggs. It is a pity to waste such fat. little
scraps of meat as are thrown about. Besides, making good use of the birds, if
they must be killed, is good for the soul of boys. It would teach them thrift and
a good purpose. Our best ornithologists declare the English sparrow "a nuisance
without a redeeming cjuality." Pity they hadn't thought :fbout the pie.
r.ut there are sparrows and sparrows. Some of the family are our sweetsel
singers. Take the song-sparrow, the bird of the silver tongue. Tt is known
throughout the Eastern United States and Canada ; and on the Pacific coast and
elsewhere it is still the song-sparrow, though it varies slightly in color in different
regions. In many states it remains all winter, singing when the snow is falling,
and keeping comradeship with the chickadee.
Everybody knows the little fellow by his xoice if not by his coat. Nothing
fine about the coat or gown save its modest tints. But. as with many another
bird of gray or brown plumage, its song is the sweetest. Hearty, limpid, cheerful
in the saddest weather, always ending in the melody of an upward inllection. as
if he invited answer.
The song-sparrow is the only one we ha\e n(»ticed to gargle the song in ils
throat, swallowing a few tlrops with each mouthful: or ii mav be that he stops
149
to take a breath between notes. We have seen him sing, sprawled Hat on a log
in a hot day, with wings outspread, and taking a stin bath. The song is always
very brief, as if he would not tire his listeners, though he gives them an encore
with hearty grace. Individual birds dilter in song, no two singing their dozen
notes exactly alike.
While his mate is patiently waiting to get the best results from her four
or five party-colored eggs, the song-sparrow sings constantly, never far from the
nest in the bush or the low tree, or even on the ground, where cats are debarred
from the vicinity. One never can depend on the exact color of the eggs, for
they vary in tint from greenish white to browns and lavender, speckled or clouded,
"just as it happens."
y\nd tiie feathers of the l^rds ha\e all these colors mingled and dotted and
striped, and dashed off, as you may see for yourself, by looking out of the window
or taking a still stroll down along the creek.
The song-sparrow has a pert little way of sticking its tail straight up like a
wren when it runs — and it is always running about. In our grounds they follow
us like kittens, keeping up their happy chirp as if glad they ever lived and were
blessed with feet and a beak.
The nest of the song-sparrow is compact and snug, with little loose material
about the base of it. We have had a long hunt many a time to find it. If we
are in the vicinity of it the two birds follow us, chirping, never going straight
to the nest, but wandering as we wander, picking up food in the way, and appear-
ing to hold a chatty conversation. It is not evident that they are trying to conceal
the fact that they have a nest and that we are near it ; for if we sit down and
wait, the mother goes straight to it without a sign of fear. But we must wait a
long while sometimes, until dinner is over, for these birds seem to remain away
from the nest longer at a time than most birds do. They feed their young on
larvae, pecked out of the loose earth, and tiny seeds from under the bu.shes, or
soft buds that have fallen. They pick up a whole beakful, never being satisfied
with the amount collected. So it drips from the corners of their mouths in an
odd fashion, and some of it escapes, especially if it have feet of its own.
We have not seen a nest of any other than a dark color. Horsehairs make
almost half of it, and the outside is of grass closely woven around. The young
birds are not "scared out of their wits," as are some birdlings. if a stranger
appears, but will snuggle down and look one in the face. Once off and out they
are always hungry, following the parent birds with a merry chirp, with the usual
upward inflection. They come early to our garden table, where crumbs of cake
and other things tcm])t them to eat too much, .\fter thev are filled they hop a
few feet away, and sit ruffled all up, and blinking with satisfaction.
Once we played a j^retty trick on the sparrows. Knowing their preference
for sweets, we placed a saucer of black New Orleans molasses on the table, with
a few crumbs sprinkled on the top. Of course the birds took the crumbs, and
of course, again, they took a taste of the molasses. It wasn't a day before they
150
clipped their beaks into the molasses that had now no sprinkHng of crumbs, and
seemed surprised at its lack of shape. It tasted good, and yet they couldn't pick
it up like crumbs. Then they took to leaving the tip of the bill in the edge of it
and swallowing like any person of sense. When they were done they flew away
with the molasses dripping from their faces and beaks in a laughable style, return-
ing almost immediately with more birds.
The fact is, a sparrow is a boy when it comes to eating. Were it not for
its good appetite, it couldn't put up with "just anything." Sparrows love the
tow^ns and cities because they find crumbs there. Our friend the baker knows
them, and many a . meal do they find ready si)read at his back door. So does
IVidget the cook, and even Lung W^o, if their hearts happen to have a soft place
for the birds. As for the boy around the corner, who walks about on crutches,
he knows all about the sparrows' preferences. In fact, sparrows seem to have
a special liking for boys on crutches. One little fellow^ we knew used to lay his
crutch down fiat on the ground and place food up and down on it when the
sparrows were hungry in the morning, /vnd the crutch came to be the "family
board," around which the birds gathered, be the crutch laid flat or tilted aslant
on the doorstej). In this way Johnny of the crippled foot came to have a good
understanding with the birds, and many a f[uiet hour was spent in their company,
johnny may turn out to be a great ornithologist .some day, all on account of his
crutch. What will it matter that he may never shoulder a gun and wander off
to the woods to shoot "specimens"? His knowledge of bird ways will serve a
better purpose than a possible gun. Tt w^as Johnny who first told us to notice,
how a sparrow straddles his little stick legs far apart when he walks, spreading
his toes in a comical w^ay.
Eastern and Western song-sparrows ditfer, and so do individual birds every-
where — not only in their songs, but in the distribution of specks and stripes on
their clothes. What we have said about our song-sparrows may not wholly apply
to the family elsewhere. These differences lead bird-lovers to study each of the
birds about his own door ;ind forests without placing too much credit upon what
others say.
Tliere is much of the year when sparrows live almost solely on seeds, iind
this is the time when they join hands with the farmer, so to speak, and help him
with the thi.stles and other weeds, by work at the seed tufts and pods. Sparrows
love to run in and out of holes and cr.-icks and between cornstalks and dry wood-
piles.
It was a ])rettv idea and a charilablc one. that of the poet's. In a country
where roofs are shingled with thatch, or dry sticks and leaves overlaj^ping. the
si)arrows are familiar residents; and where somebody remembers to "pull out the
thatch" or make a loose little corner on purpose, they <leei) all night. \\\- have
ourselves made many a i)ile of bru^h on pnr|x)>^e tor the s])arrows.
The white-crowned sparrow^ w inter with us, going far up the Alaskan coast
to ncsi in the spring, as do also the tree-snarrow. the golden-crowned, savanna.
131
and SOUK' (iihcrs. iiu-liuliiii^' Uic beautiful fox-sparrow. These birds arrive in the
Far North as soon as the rivers are open, and to the gold-seekers, who get to
their drearv work with pick and spado, are like friends from home. Many a
homesick miner stops a moment to listen to their clear, ringing songs, almost
alwavs in the rising inflection, as if a question were asked. And for answer, the
man who sometimes would "give all the gold he ever saw'' for one glimpse of
home, draws his sleeve across his eyes.
Some of the sparrows which nest in Alaska use pitre w^iite ]:)tarmigan feathers
for nest-lining; while their cousins in- the east, on the opposite side, breeding
in Labrador, use eiderdown. In these far northern latitudes these birds scratch
in the moss and dead leaves of summer-time, often coming to ice at the depth
of three or four inches. The summers are so short that insect life is very scarce,
excepting the mosquitoes. But there are berries! And an occasional hunter's or
goldseeker's cabin always furnishes meals at short notice. Men may pass the
birds at home in civilization with scarcely a thought ; but when aw^ay and alone,
the presence of a bird they have knov.n in other climes brings them to their senses.
It is then they recognize the fact that birds are their comrades and friends, to be
cherished and fed, not always hunted and eaten.
On account of the distribution of sparrows the world over, many legends
have been written of them. The very earliest we have read is the one that
assures us the sparrow w^as seen by Mother Eve in the Garden of Eden, on the
day she ate of the forbidden fruit. In fact, the "tree" was full of sparrow^s
warning the woman not to eat, though the birds themselves were making for the
fruit Avith might and main.
In the story of Joseph it is recorded that the "chief baker" had a dream.
In his dream he bore three baskets on his head. . In the uppermost basket w-ere
all kinds of "bakemeats for the king." While the baker was walking to the palace
with the baskets on his head the sparrows came and ate all the meat there was in
the upper basket.
In the narrative the name of the birds is not given, but the fact that they
"ate up the meat," going in at the little wuckerw^ork spaces, leads us to believe
they were sparrow^s. It was only a dream; but people dream their waking
thoughts and habits. It is supposed that this chief baker was fond of birds, and
it was customary for him to feed them on the king's victuals.
Weil, the king is no ])oorer off now that the birds had their fill. .\nd we
wish peace to the soul of the baker for his kindness.
In the ballad of the "Babes in the Wood" it was the sparrow who made
the fatal mistake which took off Cock Robin before the wedding feast was over.
Poor sparrow ! He has never beeen known to carry a bow and arrow under his
coat from that day to this. Thinking of that old ballad, we have often watched
the robins and the sparrows together, and are never able to make out that the
robin holds any grudge against his ancient friend and guest who made the blunder.
In nearly all the markets of the Old World sparrows have been sold as
152
food, bringing the very smallest price imaginal)le. in Palestine two of them were
sold for the least piece of money in use, though what anybody wants of two
sparrows, unless to make a baby's meal, we do not know.
The tree-sparrow of England is common in the Holy Laud, and it was prob-
ably this bird to which the New Testament alhides.
Of our American sparrows, the fox-sparrow is probably the most beautiful
in markings. By its name one might imagine it had something to do with foxes,
and so it has, but in color only, being a rich foxy brown in its darker tints. This
bird is seen all winter in Washington on the Capitol grounds, scratching in the
leaves for food and singing its loyal melody. The fox-sparrow has been some-
times detained in captivity, but as a rule grows too fat for a good singer. It
seems to be the same with them as with our domestic fowls — if too fat they give
poor returns. The hen and the sparrow and most people must scratch for a living,
would they make a success in life. But who would want to cage a sparrow unless
it be an invalid who can never ^o out of the room. Even here, if the invalid have
a window-sill it were better; for the window-sill is sparrow's own delight, if it
be furnished with crumbs. Or, if one would sec some fim, let the crumbs be in
a good round loaf tightly fastened. This, let the sparrow understand, is for
him alone, and he will burrow to the heart of it. Caged birds make sorry com-
panions.
Lark Sparrow {Chondestes grammacus and sub-species)
Length, about 6)4 inches. The variegated head markings and white outer
tail feathers distinguish this species.
Range : From western Pennsylvania and western ALiryland and the
Mississippi valley westward ; and from southern British Columbia and southern
Saskatchewan to central .Alabama, northern Louisiana. Texas and south into
Mexico; winters from norlliern California, soutlurn Texas and southern
Mississippi to Guatemala.
With some of the habits of the grass finch and. like that species. ha\ ing the
tail feathers lipped with white, the lark sparrow yet possesses distincti\e traits
of its own and after a little scrutiny can be mistaken for no other S]>ecies. Its
peculiar head markings have suggested the local western name of "snake ])ird."
althnugh the reason is not quite obvious. The lark finch is usually \ery abundant
where found at all, and inhabits the open country, jirairie, plain and desert. It
is often to be seen running along the dusty roads or perching on the roadside
bushes and fences. It is a really tine songster and the possession of a musical
voice has led to its ca])ture and sale as a cage l")ird.
It has peculiar claims on the interest of the western farmer since it is to be
classed in the front r.-uik of sparrows .-is a de^^trover of grasshoppers. Tiiese
harmful insects and r)thers constitute .about :i third of its food for the vear. while
weed seeds of great variety form the other two-thirds.
153
The Wood Pewee (Myiochanes virens)
By Herman C. De Groat
Lciii^-ih : (>' J inches.
Range: Eastern North .\nierica to the Plains, and from Canada to southern
states.
l-"ood : Mostly insects.
The Pewee is a true Hycatcher. Perched on the dead branch of a tree, it
waits for a winged insect to come near. Suddenly the bird rises on the wing and
dashes off a few feet after a gnat, fly or btig, which it captures with a snap of
the bill. Turning quickly with a flourish, it is back again on the same perch
in a moment. Here it will again settle into a condition of seeming indifference
to everything about it, but it is, nevertheless, thoroughly awake, for in the next
instant it is off again for another hapless insect. This feat is repeated many
times from the same spot hour after hour. Indeed, when one of these birds
has found a branch to its liking, it may perch upon it day after day to watch
for insects.
While waiting, it utters a low ])laintive cry of pee-a-wee, pee-a-wee. which is
long drawn out. This is among the first bird-notes at daybreak and the last at
nightfall. Even in the heat of noonday when most other birds are silent, the
sweet, sad song of the Pewee is heard. The bird is sometimes found in a shady
orchard but its favorite home is the deep woods where it usually nests.
After wintering in Central America, it is a late migrant, for it does not reach
north until the end of May. It raises but one brood which is not hatched before
the last of June. It remains north until the last of September.
And No Birds Sing
By Mildred Howells
There comes a season when the bird is still
Save for a broken note, so sad and strange,
Its plaintive cadence makes the woodlands thrill
With sense of coming change.
Stirred into ecstasy by spring's new l)irth,
In throbbing rhapsodies of hope and love.
He shared his transports with the listening earth
And stormed the heavens above
But now how should he sing — forlorn, alone —
Of hopes that withered with the waning year,
An em]>ty nest with mate and fledgelings flown,
.\nd winter drawing near?
154
i Li(e-sizc.
cofvmaHT
UMCOnO, CHICAGO
How to Study Birds
By Gerard Alan Abbott
All temperate North America is inhabited twelve months of the year by
bird-life. Our feathered friends exist in greater numbers than most people
suppose. It is desirable to commence observations about the first of the year,
for in January, though our bird ranks are greatly depleted, the hardy winter
residents may be observed with ease as there is little foliage to obstruct the view.
Inexhaustible patience together with "bulldog persistence" is productive of the
best results. We may become botanists or geologists with the realization that
the object of our search exists in a given locality, but the bird student finds a
constant change taking place in his field. The bird he desires most to examine
becomes elusive and keeps him constantly on the alert.
A good pair of field or opera glasses are valuable in determining the colors
or markings on various birds but our chief aim is to learn how and when to look
for a given variety.
One need not absent himself from inhabited sections in order to become
acquianted with the common and many of the rarer birds. The average 200-acre
farm with its natural timber and lake or water-course is an ideal spot for bird
study. Birds, in their efforts to avoid their natural enemies, such as prowling
mammals, birds of prey and reptiles, are inclined to seek rather than avoid the
domains of man. You may be surprised to learn how many birds visit dooryards
and orchards in the rural districts annually. Alany are only migrants on their
way to and from a more northerly latitude, but from ten to twenty-five varieties
are common about our dwellings, orchards and pastures.
Let the bird student who is to acquire a knowledge of bird life by observa-
tion, avoid the society of other persons when going "birding." It may be
interesting to have human companionship and some one to share with you in
the finds you hope to make. Usually the naturalist never lacks companionship
simi)ly because he is without the company of other people. To the lover of the
prairies, water-courses ami tinil»er lands — for such he must be to successfully
ac(|uaint himself with our feathered creatures — there can be no longing for com-
panionship. The nodding flowers, swaying branches, rippling brooks and breezy
meadows all convey messages of their own.
I -et us take for exam])lc a given area not to exceed fifty miles from Lake
Michigan anywhere within an imaginary line drawn from a point in south-
western Michigan through n(»rlhorn Infliana and Illinois, thence northward into
southeastern Wisconsin. During January we ba\r with us such birds as the
downy woodpecker, white-breasted nuthatch and chickadee, which are fond of
each other's company and (|uite likely to be observeil together, moving about
the trees in nur dooryanls. orcli.irds or w ooillauiis. riie noisv bluejays are
155
more or less in evidence and the ever cautious crow visits the pastui'es and corn
fields.
The evening grosbeak, pine grosbeak. Bohemian waxwing, redpoll, white-
winged and red crossbills are at this season of the year wintering about the
Great Lakes region, feeding in coniferous trees or on orchard buds, and often
searching for wild berries and unpicked fruit. A few of our hardy goldfinches
may be in the vicinity, and slate-colored juncos in company with three sparrows
are feeding on seeds in the weedy patches. In the open areas the Lapland and
Smith's longspurs are busily feeding and calling to each other in their mellow
notes. Horned larks, shore larks and snowflakes are to be seen on the prairies
or often about the barnyards when snow is deep.
Old hollow trees afford ample protection for the screech, barred and horned
owls. Occasionally a stray snowy owl from the far north is encountered. The
hardy raven often reaches a latitude as far south as Illinois and Indiana, and
at this time of the year, is apt to be feeding along the shores of the Lake looking
for aquatic and land animals.
The northern shrike haunts the hedges and parks occupied by our quarrel-
some English sparrow or busy tree sparrow. Bands of Canada geese are living
on the open water. They collect there during the daytime and just before sunset
we see or hear them moving in regular V-shaped flocks to the fields where they
feed by night.
The grouse are very companionable at this season of the year, the prairie
chickens and bob-whites congregate in immense flocks. The little bob-whites seek
shelter along the rail fences or about the underbrush, while the prairie chickens
frequent the fields. The ruffed grouse spends the day feeding on the ground,
roosting by night in the trees w^here no prowling animal may disturb.
Herring and ring-billed gulls hover over the rivers and along the shores of
the lake looking for fish or decayed animal matter.
February brings no particular change except that other winter visitors may
have arrived or some friends departed. Our true winter ducks are fishing on
the open water. They are the old squaw, golden-eye, white-winged scoter, Ameri-
can and red-breasted mergansers.
During the last ten days of February the great horned ow4 may be observed
sitting upon her two white eggs deposited in an old hawk's nest, or in a hollow
tree. A few short-eared owls may be seen flying over the frozen marsh in search
of rodents.
With our first week of March, several summer residents arrive and during
the month we may expect to see the song sparrow, bluebird, meadowlark, robin,
red-tailed hawk, mallard, woodcock, flicker, red-winged and rusty blackbird, fox
sparrow, bronzed grackle, phoebe and others. The prairie horned lark is incubat-
ing her first setting of eggs.
April brings the purple martin, mourning dove, red-headed w^oodpecker,
brown thrasher, Wilson's snipe, blue-winged teal, vesper, field, grasshopper,
156
swamp and Henslow's sparrows, towhee, and red-shouldered and sparrow hawks.
The myrtle warbler, white-throated sparrows and ruby and golden-crowned king-
lets are in evidence among the underbrush and low trees.
The April rains and sun have taken the frost out of the ground and the
warmth of ^lay restores the foliage to our trees and shrubbery. \Mth the
unfolding of the leaves appear myriads of insects and worms. Our later birds
now arrive, including the brightly plumaged orioles, scarlet tanagers, rose-breasted
grosbeaks, indigo buntings and bobolinks. Our daintily attired warblers and
retiring flycatchers are haunting tlie trees and vireos are carefully inspecting the
branches and leaf stems. More ducks, shore birds, and other water fowl have
arrived. The plover, and yellow legs are whistling and the gallinules and rails
call to each other from clumps of old rushes which afford better protection than
the young vegetation.
The phoebe, bob-white, woodcock, song sparrow, red-shouldered hawk, screech
owl, mourning dove, bluebird, robin, bluejay, crow, brown thrasher and towhee
are all busily engaged in the duties of hatching their eggs and rearing their
young. This is the season when birds in their ecstasy become less cautious and
afford splendid opportunities for observation.
You should arise before dawn, because with the first glimmer of dayhght
certain birds burst forth into song. Before the sun has risen many voices may
be heard on the meadows, in the woodlands or about the marshes. Some birds
found singing at- this time of the year are silent during the day, but with the
approach of twilight we are greeted with the carol of the wood thrush, the
hymn of the vesper sparrow and the cooing of the mourning dove. Night hawks
are conspicuous and, as the curtain of night falls, we hear the mournful cry
of the owl and the weird note of the whip-poor-will.
In June nesting is at its height. The male birds are also in full song, but
the opportunity for bird observation is not so good. Our feathered friends have
more serious obligations and are now too preoccupied to devote much time to
courtship so we see less of the female. The males may be seen or heard regularly
for the next two to four weeks.
Birds such as the prairie horned lark, killdeer, song sparrow, phoebe, blue-
bird and robin are preparing to rear a second brood. Two weeks ago their first
nests were occupied with eggs that hatched before many of our summer residents
had returned from the South. If we venture into the meadows, through the
orchards or to the woodlands, many fledgelings are encountered. The parents
are uneasy at our presence and manifest their displeasure by showing little fear
in their efforts to protect their offspring. The flycatchers, vireos, and thrushes
are now sitting upon their eggs. Th'-se birds usually rear but one brood during
a season.
The marshes are graduallv drying up and the few hollows which still contain
water arc attractive places for rails, herons and bitterns.
In July the goldfinches act as vivacious as most birds do in May. Thistle
157
down, now floating in the air, is used as a lining for their nests, while they
largely subsist on the thistle seeds. By the middle of July our graceful swallows
have completed household duties and are congregating along the marshes and
lakesides. Flocks of tree and bank swallows often mingle and move over the
marshy sloughs, alighting at sundown on the telephone and telegraph wires. Few
birds sing during the heat of the day except indigo buntings, towhees, dickcissels,
'field sparrows, song sparrows and robins. These birds are more domestic and
prolific than swallows and the duties of rearing a second family will consume
the entire month.
The bobolink is losing his gay coat of black and white and hufit and is pre-
paring for a raid upon the southern rice fields where he will travel under the
disguise of "ricebird." Less capable of flight while shedding his feathers, he
retires to cornfields to molt, where he is afforded an imobstructed view on all
sides as a protection against natural enemies.
August is the general month for molting. About the only birds demonstrative
about nest-building at this late date are some of the goldfinches and cedar wax-
wings. Many of the latter have remained in flocks through the entire winter,
spring, and early summer, but are now busy nest-building in some isolated
orchard, shade tree, or evergreen. A walk through the timber, along the water-
courses and over fields will disclose little bird-life as birds are naturally shy and
evasive while molting. Their flight even is defective so they remain within the
shelter of heavy grass or brush. We may see a dozen wood ducks about some
little lagoon or wooded lake, probably two adults and their offspring. Wood-
peckers may be seen moving about in families, two redheaded woodpeckers guid-
ing four or five immature birds which have not attained the scarlet headgear.
Only during the early hours of morning do the birds show any animation. At
that time we occasionally hear the song of a catbird, the call of a cuckoo, the
note of a pewee and the mellow twitter of a goldfinch as he darts back and forth
singing at every dip of his undulating flight.
This is a good month to examine and collect birds' nests. They have not
long been exposed to the weather because the foliage is still on the trees. Many
nests are kept in their proper shape only by removing the twig, stem or limb to
which they are attached. The weather is still more or less sultry, but we may
venture into the damp or dark places without the annoyance of mosquitoes, gnats,
and other insects which are so numerous during Jiuie and July.
With the arrival of September w'c see many new forms about our shade
trees, gardens and groves. They are not usually our summer residents in ditterent
plumage, but birds from a more northerly latitude. The warblers have begun
their annual southward journey. Along the pebbly beaches and sandy shores
hundreds of little waders are moving along in a systematic search for aquatic
life. Many of them are marked differently than they were five months ago.
During the interval they have visited the tundras and barrens about the Arctic
ocean, deposited their four eggs, reared their young and are now feasting as they
158
mo\c Ijy degrees to the south. Three months from now some of them will be
hundreds of miles south of the equator.
Owls seek more open situations at this time of the year. They realize that
the territory is populated by transients and the time is to be improved by hunting
in the open where smaller forms of bird-life are so much in evidence. It is still
possible to find an unoccupied nest of the goldfinch or cedar waxwing though un-
doubtedly the birds have been accidentally delayed. The male goldfinch is losing
his brilliant coat of black and yellow and is assuming a covering of dull greenish
black not unlike his mate. Great flocks of blackbirds comprising red-wings, rusty
blackbirds and cowbirds forage in the marshes and descend upon the grain fields.
The graceful little terns called seagulls are moving leisurely southward along
water-courses.
On the upland prairies large flocks of golden plover are feeding on wild
berries, grasshoppers and crickets. The birds have lost the handsome black
breasts and there is nothing about their appearance to identify them, save their
clear mellow whistle, or call-note, which they tise when moving swiftly in
compact flocks over our uncultivated land. As Helen Hunt Jackson says :
"October the month of carnival of all the year.
When Nature lets the wild earth go its way,
And spend whole seasons on a single day."
With the fall or turning of the leaves in October, we lose our insectivorous
birds. Belated warblers are hurrying southward and occasionally a phcebe may
be seen lingering about the nesting place, loath to leave the little bridge or old
well with its past associations. As we walk through the dead leaves of the
woodlands, willow, olive-backed and hermit thrushes are startled from the ground
and fly to the nearest branch of some leafless tree. Small flocks of white-throated,
fox or white-crowned sparrows are busily feeding in the fence corners. The
junco has returned from the Canadian provinces and will remain with us until a
mantle of snow forces him to seek food elsewhere.
Golden and ruby-crowned kinglets moving in company with brown creepers
comprise a fearless trio while inspecting the trees on our lawns and in our parks.
The little kinglets look twice as large as they did last April, the fluffed feathers
offering more resistance to the October chill. The frosted vegetation in sloughs
and bayous now exposes many a gallinule. coot and rail, where many are shot
by pot-hunters lacking in sportsmanshij:).
The large cities are revisited by various forms of sea birds pro\ iding there
is a water frontage. During the late fall, winter and spring months Bonaparte's,
herring, and ring-billed gulls visit the shores of lakes and rivers, especially when
these waters are navigable, to procure the refuse. Wilson's snipe is again on
the marsh where his flight taxes the skill of the best gunners.
Xoveniber leaves us with a limited variety of birds, most of which are
found in flocks. Robins still loiter in sheltered places and the hardy meadow-lark
lingers about his favorite i)aslure. (^n a bleak morning we hear his merry chipper
159
which seems a protest against snow and ice. I'locks of mallards gorge them-
selves in the cornfields. The birds are then prepared for a continuous flight of
two thousand miles, though they defer such journey as long as they can find open
water nearer. We have the mallard with us from October to late in December.
With January comes a general freeze up of his feeding grounds, so he moves just
far enough south to return at the first thaw in Fol^ruary. Many mallards reach
Canada in March. Fifty years ago we had this noble game bird with us at least
eleven months in the year. Great flocks of prairie chickens are now roaming the
cornfields. Families have combined with others and these flocks join larger
ones until hundreds of birds have banded together so to remain until April.
Field and tree sparrows are sheltered along the roadsides in the thickets and
about truck gardens. A few large hawks, such as the red-tailed, goshawk and
rough-leg are in evidence. The two latter are migratory but often spend the
winter with us. The rough-leg is sluggish, his habits reminding one of an owl.
The little screetch owl calls weirdly through the long nights of November when
other bird voices are hushed. December causes the crows to "hustle for a living."
Rather than migrate during severe weather they sometimes starve. One good
word may be said here in behalf of the crow ; he has never been known to eat the
remains of his own kind nor does he attempt to fight with his fellow birds over
some morsel which he may have chanced to acquire.
This is a good time to set up a little "free lunch counter" for the birds by
nailing a board to your windowsill or nearby tree. You will undoubtedly make
friends with several sociable birds. Place a generous amount of corn, bread
crumbs and suet on this shelf, or the latter if preferred may be tied to a limb.
Downy woodpeckers and white-breasted nuthatches are very fond of suet and
the nuthatch will usually prevail upon some chickadee to visit the same eating
place. Occasionally a bluejay or English sparrow will steal the larder intended
for the other birds, thus justifying one in shooting them on sight.
\'isit the woods on a cold December morning when snow is on the ground.
You will be surprised at the friendliness of the chickadee. He even alights upon
your head or shoulder and will readily eat bread crumbs from your hand.
The Bluebird
O bluebird, up in the maple-tree
Shaking your throat with such bursts of glee ;
Did you dip your wings in the azure dye
When April began to paint the sky?'
Or were you hatched from a blue-bell bright
'Neath "the warm gold breast of a sunbeam light ?
— Emilv Dickinson.
160
The Thrush
By Stanley Hubbard
Sweetly, thou silver-throated thru>^h.
Fashion a song for me.
Out of the western air nf balm.
Sing from the birchen tree.
The gray hawk roams the under sky :
Fear no shadowing wing.
The winds shall tell us of his flight:
Leap to the light and sing.
The twig scarce bends jjcneath thy weight-
Now is thy strain divine.
Joys embalmed of a thousand' s])rings
Flow from that heart of thine.
Thy bosom swells with budding notes :
Let them blossom and throng
Till earth and sky and sea are naught,
X'anishcd into thy song.
And now the e\e, for day hath closed
Westward her golden door.
And thou shalt dream of thy still mate
Guarding the lledglings four.
For winds breathe low, and from the ca>^t
Shadows of night are seni
To give thee and thy dear ones sleep
While faithful stars draw night anrl peep
Lender the purple tent.
161
The Wild Turkey {MeleogHs gallopavo sUvestHs)
By John James Audubon
Length: 48 to 50 inches.
Range: United States from Massachusetts to the Gulf Coast and west to
the plains.
The great size and beauty of the wild turkey, its value as a delicate and highly
prized article of food, and the circumstance of its being the origin of the domestic
race now generally dispersed over both continents, render it one of the most
interesting of the birds indigenous to the United States.
The turkey is irregularly migratory as well as irregularly gregarious. With
reference to the first of these circumstances I have to state that whenever the
mast or food supply of one portion of the country happens greatly to exceed
that of another, the turkeys are insensibly led toward that spot, by gradually
meeting in their haunts with more fruit the nearer they advance toward the place
where it is most plentiful. In this manner flock follows after flock until one
district is entirely deserted while another is overrun by them.
About the beginning of October, when scarcely any of the seeds and fruits
have yet fallen from the trees, these birds assemble in flocks and gradually move
toward the rich bottom lands of the Ohio and Mississippi. The males, or, as
ihey are more commonly called, the gobblers, associate in parties of from ten to a
hundred and search for food apart from the females ; while the latter are seen
either advancing singly, each with its brood of young then about two-thirds
grown, or in connection with other families, forming parties often amounting to
seventy or eighty in<lividuals.
When the turkeys arrive in parts where the mast is abundant they separate
into smaller flocks composed of birds of all ages and both sexes and devour all
before them. This happens about the middle of November. So gentle do they
sometimes become after these long journeys that they have been seen to approach
the farmhouses, associate with the domestic fowls, and enter the stables and com-
cribs in quest of food. In this way, roaming about the forests and feeding
chiefly on mast, they pass the auiunni and })art of the winter.
About the middle of April, when the season is dry, tlie female wild turkeys
begin to look out for a place in which to deposit their eggs. This place requires
to be as much as possible concealed from the eye of the crow, as that bird often
watches the turkey when going to her nest and. waiting in the neighborhood until
she has left it, removes and eats the •-gg'i-
The nest, v.hich consists of a few withered leaves, is placed on the ground
in a hollow scooped out by the side of a log. or below the fallen top of a dry
leafy tree, under a thicket of sumac briers, or a few feet within the edge of a
canebrake, but always in a dry place. The eggs, which are of a dull green color,
sprinkled with red dots, sometimes numl)er to twenty, although the more usual
number is from ten to fifteen.
162
lllo
WILD IL KkhV,
i Life sue
When depositing her eggs the turkey always approaches the nest with ex-
treme caution, scarcely ever taking the same course twice; and when about to
leave them, covers them carefully with dry leaves, so that it is very difficult for a
person who may have seen the bird to discover the nest. Indeed, few turkeys"
nests are found, unless the bird has been suddenly started from them, or a cun-
ning lynx, fox, or crow has sucked the eggs and left their shells scattered about.
When a man passes within sight of a female, while laying or sitting, she
never moves unless she knows she has been discovered, but crouches lower until
he has passed. 1 have frequently approached within five or six paces of a nest of
which 1 was previously aware, on assuming an air of carelessness, or whistling
or talking to myself, the female remaining undisturbed ; whereas if I went cau-
tiously toward it she would never suffer me to approach within twenty paces,
but would run oft', with her tail spread on one side, to a distance of twenty or
thirty yards, when, assuming a stately gait, she would walk about deliberately,
uttering every now and then a cluck. They seldom abandon their nest when ii
has been discovered by men ; but I believe never go near it again when a snake
or other animal has sucked any of the eggs.
Several hen turkeys sometimes associate together, [ beliexe for their mutual
safety, deposit their eggs in the same nest, and rear their broods together. I
once found three sitting on forty-two eggs. In such cases, the common nest
is always watched by one of the females, so that no crow, raven, or perhaps even
polecat, dares approach it.
The mother will not leave her eggs when near hatching, under any circum-
stances while life remains. She will e\en allow an inclosure to be made around
her, and thus suffer imprisonment rather than abandon them.
I once witnessed the hatching of a brood of turkeys. I concealed myself on
the ground within a few feet, and saw the mother raise herself half the length of
her legs, look an.xiously upon the eggs, cluck with a sound peculiar to the mother
on such occasions, carefully remove each half-empty shell, and with her bill
caress and dry the young birds that already stood tottering and attempting their
way out of the nest. I have seen them all emerge from the shell, and in a few
moments tumble, roll, and push each other forward, with astonishing and in-
scrutable instinct.
Before leaving the nest wiili her young brood, the mother shakes herself
in a violent manner, picks and adjusts the feathers about the lower side of her
body, and assumes quite a different aspect. She alternately inclines her eyes
upwards and sideways, stretching out her neck, to discover hawks or other
enemies, spreads her wings a little as she walks, and softly clucks to keep her
innocent offsprings close to her. They move slowly along, and as the hatching
generally takes place in the afternoon, they frequently return to the nest to spend
the first night there.
After this they remove to some distance, keeping on the highest undulating
ground, the mother dreading rainy weather, which is extremely dangerous to the
163
youiij;" in this Iciulor stale, wlicn thcx' arc coxcrcd only with a sofi iiairy down of
surprising delicacy. In very rainy seasons, turkeys are scarce, for if once com-
pletely wetted, the young seldom reco\er. To prevent the disastrous effects of
rainy weather, the mother, like a skillful physician, ])lncks the buds of the spice-
wood hush and gives them to her young.
Jn about a fortnight the young ])irds which had i)reviously rested on the
ground, leave it and fly at night to some very large low branch, where they place
themselves under the deeply curved wings of the mother, dividing themselves for
that purpose into nearly equal parties. After this they they leave the woods
during the day and approach the natural glades or prairies, in search of straw-
berries and late dewberries, blackberries and grasshoppers, thus obtaining abun-
dant food, and enjoying the sunshine. They roll themselves in deserted ants'
nests, to clear their growing feathers of loose scales, and to prevent ticks and
other vermin from attacking them, these insects ])eing unable to bear the odor of
earth in which ants have been. The young turkeys now grow rapidly, and in the
month of August are able to secure themselves from imexpected attacks of
wolves, foxes, lynxes, and even cougars. ])v rising quickly from the ground, being
helped by their ])f)\\erfu] legs, and reaching with ease the highest Ijranchc- of
the tallest trees.
Rufous Hummingbird (Selasphoms mfus)
Length, from 314. to 3% inches. The reddish i)rown body color, red and
green gorget, and the notch in tail feathers serve to distinguish this species
from our other hummers.
Range: Breeds from the Alaskan coast, east central British Columliia, and
southern Alberta south to the mountains of central California, and southern
Idaho.
( )ne can ])Ut wonder at the hardihood of this little wanderer from the tropics
in including in its summer itinerary a journe)- to distant Alaska. It reaches a
latitude of 61°, much farther north than any other of its kind. In favored
glades of the forests in the Rock Mountains and the .Sierras during the migra-
tion this and other species of hummers are to be seen literally by hundreds. The
rufous hummer has teniper and courage to match its fiery httes. and spends no
small i)art of its time doing battle with its fellows. The contestants after several
fierce rounds fly away not only fit but eager for another fray on the first occasion.
In addition to the nectar of flowers, its standard fare, this hummer includes in
its diet "honey dew," the sugary secretion of ])lant lice which is deposited on
vegetation. Like all other hummers it eats large numlters of minute insects which
it finds inside the flowers. It is interesting to note that hummingbirds discover
the flowers they frequent by sight alone and any bit of bright color in the
distance is sure to attract their notice, as a l,'«right red handkerchief on a bush
or about the neck. More than once I have observe<l them poising within a few
inches of my head e\i(lently cndeaxoring to ascertain the iiature of the red
handkerchief I wore.
164
The Romance of Ornithology
By Joseph Grinnell
The birds must know. Who wisely sings
Will sing as they.
The common air has generons wings :
Songs make their way.
\\'hat l)ir(l is that? The ^ong is good.
And eager eye^
Go peering through the dusky wood
In glad surprise;
The hirds must know.
- — Helen Hunt Jackson.
As everybody knows, ornithology means a discourse about birds — and
people have discoursed about birds ever since spoken or written language gave
us the means of exchanging thoughts.
In the l')il)lical history of the creation, birds occurred in the fifth epoch of
time, when the evolution of grass and herbs and trees and seeds and fruits had
made for them a paradise. With the grass and trees and seeds and fruits had
evolved a variable diet for the feathered folk, and by instinct they have continued
to follow after their food, migrating on merry tours the wide world over. Lovers
of them from earliest dates have discoursed of their ways and means, of their
habits, their favorite resorts, their uses relative to ctiltivation of lands, their
faults in connection with civilization. Studer.ts of nature have divided the birds
into "classes" and "species," as the human race itself is divided. .\s "order is
heaven's first law." ornithologists have taught us to distinguish it in the study
of l)irds ; and so we have the '"groups," always with reference to individual
hai)its and anatomical ])eculiarities.
Tn the Old World, ornithology as a science dates, perhaps, from Aristotle,
.^84 years l)efore Christ. True, he was a teacher of A. P.. C's on the subject, but
he sets students to "thinking." I'.ul there were students before Aristotle; if not
students of .science, they were students of religion. It is to religion in many
forms that we owe the romance of ornithology. We may call this phase of the
subject "sui)erstition." The word itself is almost gruesome to the unlettered
iiuagination. It suggests uncanny things, gho-ts and goblins, and other creatures
that are sup])osed to wander around in the dark, because they were ne\er seen
at mid-day or any other time. Tn ihr educated person, actual faith in ghosts
and goblins has gi\en ])Iace to a mildly fanciful imagination which indulges in
the flavor of superstition, as one take>^ light desserts after :i full me.d. And
si> we have the roiuance of superstition for the intelligent.
Sti)])ping ti) consider that the word \[«A\ uic.ins ;i "st:mding still" to "stare"
1(..^
at something, an attitude of reverence, so to speak, we see how leHgion in orni-
thology preceded the romance of it. Certain of tlie birds waited on the deities,
or had access to their presence, in consequence of which they were set apart
and protected. Sometimes they were prophets of the gods, foretelling future
events with accuracy. Their flights were noted by religious devotees, who,
unconsciously to themselves ]irobably, and certainly unsuspected by their fol-
lowers, were sure to he "out" at migration times. At such times, should the birds
choose a natural course past a city and be seen only after they had left it behind
them, the prophet knew, in the depths of his religious being, that the gods had
doomed the city. It was only when the study of birds as an actual science
developed the fact that these denizens of the air depended more upon climate and
necessary diet than upon the will of gruesome gods that the religion of orni-
thology gave place to romance. \nd romance is the after-dinner course of real
ornithology^ — romance lends a fanciful touch to figures and data, and apologizes
to the average student for intermissions that seem dedicated to frolic.
In the universe of romance, North America has its full share. Preceding the
romance was, and still is (among the native tribes), the religion of superstition.
The deities foretell certain death of persons among the Eskimos by the passing
of a bluejay or the croak of a raven.
Our own poet, Edgar Allen Poe, was not an Eskimo, but he indulged in the
well-known superstitions about the bird when he permitted the raven to perch
above his door. Many of the Arctic tribes are known to protect the ominous
bird to this day. The Indians of Alaska revere and even fear it, like a black
spirit from the land of demons.
Song and story among American aborigines are replete with bird supersti-
tion. So prominent was it that early historians made mention of it to preserve
it, and students of languages are putting it into books, so that romance and
legend may not pass away with our native Indians.
The government itself is preserving the history of American superstition
among its precious archives. Reports of the Ethnological Bureau are entertain-
ing reading for vacation times. True, they are "heavy volumes" in some cases,
but there are supplements. Were these reports placed in more schools and other
libraries, the inclination to read more objectionable and not half so entertaining
literature would go quickly out, like a fire-proof match, without burning the
fingers.
To those who find a fascination in prehistoric legends the study of bird
representation on the ancient pottery of some of our western Indians, and in
the mounds of the Mississippi Valley, is offered in some of these government
reports. They are a very mine of suggestion and information. Imagination,
subtle guide to many a self-entertaining mind, runs fast and faster on before
while one reads, and one wonders how it came to pass one never knew about
government reports before.
166
The Ethnological Bureau is the poet's corner of our government — the
romance of our dull facts and figures. Without its unsleeping eye forever
scanning the sky of unwritten literature for gems, how would some of us know
about the history of the human race as preserved by the Iroquois Indians? And
that birds had a wing, if not a hand, in the peopling of America at least?
Of course America was 'all the world" to these Indians, and naturally
enough their priests and poets combined to give some adequate genesis for the
people.
It is said that a story, once started on its rounds in civilized society, gathers
facts and things as it goes, until at last — and not before very long — its own
original parent "wouldn't recognize it." Not so the legends that have come to
us through savage tongues. Simple to start with, they maintain their original
type without a trace of addition. What students gather for us of folk-lore is
as correct as though the first text had been copyrighted by its author. Note
this simplicity in all l)ar])aric legends, the discourse coming straight to the facts
and leaving off when it is done.
This one legend referred to of the origin of the human race makes so
good a preface to the closing rhyme of our text, that we arc tempted to give it
for that special purpose. According to this story of the Iroquois Indians, it is
to birds that woman owes her history. I'nconsciously to these natives of America,
they identified woman with birds and bird^' wings for all time. Unconsciously,
perhaps, to herself, woman has also identified her sex with birds and bird wings,
though in a different relation to that of the Iroquois. The legend will need
no further introduction to the girl or woman of America who may become
interested in "Birds of Song and Story.'" «
There was once a time when all the earth was hidden under great waters.
No island or continent gave foothold. No tree, torn from its moorings, afforded
rest to tired foot or wing; for finny and winged people were all the inhabitants
in being. Birds soared unceasingly in the air, and fish disported their beautiful
armor-plate in the water. In the consciousness of bird and fish there was need
of higher intelligences than themselves. They watched and waited for some hint,
some glimpse, of other and superior beings. One day the birds, congregating
in the sky, discf)ursing on this very matter, beheld a lovely woman dropping out
of the far blue. Hurriedly they talked of possible means of saving her from
drowning, for they had a subtle sense that this falling object, with arms out-
stretched like wings, was the being they hoped for. One of their number, a
prophet, suggested tlu' means. As the loxely being dropped toward the great
sea the birds came together and lapi)cd wings over wings in a thick feathered
island. Upon the soft deck of this throbbing life-boat the beautiful being
descended and lav ])anting. Slowl\ and lo\ inglv her soft hand caressed the
wings of her benefactors. She lifted the \ariously tinted jiliimage of the breasts
on which she reclined, an<l kissed the down of them
That was long, long ago!
b.7
The Flicker [Colaptes anrdtns auratus)
By I. N. Mitchell
Length : 12^2 inches.
Range: Northern and H'astcrn Xorlh America, west to Uocky Mouiilains
and Alaska.
Food : \\ ornis, grubs, ants, etc.
Sexes similar, the female lacks the l)kick streaks on the sides of the throat;
nest a deep hole excavated in a dead tree or slul). with no lining save a cushion
of fine chips in the bottom : eggs five to nine, usually six ; note a loud anrl clear
wick, wick, wick, or wicker, wicker, wicker, or yucker, yucker, etc.
A bird with so many notes and other accomplishments as the flicker is
certain to have many human admirers and also many names.
W'hen wakened in the early morning by his loud drumming on the ridge-
board, chininev cap or cornice and then hearing his wicker, wicker, how easy
it is to imagine that he is calling to you to wake-up, wake-up, or that he is
saying fiicker, or wicker, or again yucker or rucker. All of these words have
come to be his names in some part of the countrx. Ilien, too. there are his
bright colors, the golden yellow lining of wings and tail and the yellow quills
of wing and tail feathers. No wonder that he is called the golden-winged wood-
l)ecker, golden-shafted woodi^ecker, \ellow-shafted woodpecker, yellow-hammer.
This last name refers also to his habit of drumming on some dry, resonant limb.
Usually the flicker digs his nest hole fifteen feet or less from the ground, Imt
occasionally he *goes as high as fifty or sixty feet. How natural therefore to
call him the high-hole or high-holer or high-holder.
Being a woodpecker, we naturally ex})ect to find him working at his trade
on the trees, but, how common it is to see this one on the ground instead, more
like a pigeon. His size, too, is nearly that of the pigeon and for these reasons
he is known to many as the pigeon woodpecker. Rut we can not '^tudy all of
his names, for he has nearly forty of them.
Just above, we noted the flicker's habit of feeding upon the ground like a
pigeon.
If you watch him, you may notice that his l)ill is covered with bits of soil.
Evidently he has been digging for something to eat. Examinations of the food
found in the stomachs of flickers show what he is after. Earthworms and grubs
are much to his liking and he has learned how to find them, but, as already
explained in the story of the sapsucker, the flicker is the greatest ant eater
among our birds. That is the chief reason why he is on the ground so much.
He stirs up the ant hill with his h\\\ .and picks up the ants with the sticky, brushy
tip' of his tongue.
Professor Real found over v^.OOO ants in the stomach of each of two flickers.
Ants form forty-three per cent of the flicker's food. That is almost half of it.
168
T
fm
^*^^*T
,-»i**^"»'
,*^
^'***^
The wlieat farmers will be glad to learn that the flicker is also fond of chinch
bugs, for ]\Ir. llruner found nearly a thousand of thcni in the stomach of a
flicker that was killed near Lincoln, Nebraska.
Hut not only do the dickers make their own meals off of ants and chinch,
bugs, they also feed them to the nestlings. How can they do it? Simply by
swallowing a great niunber of them, then going to the nest and "unswallowing'"
the softened food into the throats of the little ones.
Did you ever have the peculiar experience of ap])roaching close to a flicker's
nest while the young were in it? ^lany a boy has done so and beaten a hasty
retreat. Why? IJecause he thought he had made a ,-erious mistake and was
about to investigate the home of a swarm of bees instead of the nest of a bird.
The young flickers make a loud hissing noise that sotinds so much like the buzzing
of angry bees that even one who knows al)ont it is \ery likel}' to be startled in
spite of himself.
The flicker is one of the early spring arrivals. .\l)()Ul the twenty-third of
March, not many days after ihe arri\al of ihe roliin and i)luebir(l. it is well to
be on the watch for this gaily marked woodpecker. In fact it would be well
to be on the watch as early as the middle of the month.
The flicker is an easy mark. .Vote his large size, his wav\' flight, like that
of the goldflnch. only the waves are longer. If he chances to fly from you, note
the white patch on the rump and watch for the glint of the golden lining of the
wings. .\h. he alights on the trrnik of a tree — woodpecker like; now you can
see the large scarlet patch on the Itack of the head. As he slides around the
tree you can see the large, black ])olk-a dots on his sides and the big black
crescent on his breast.
You may see two of the dickers on the tree. Are they playing tag or
]ieck-a-l)oo ? It seems like a cond)inati(Mi of those and "pus^y-wants-a-corner."
I low they bow and bob up and down, now scramljling around the tree, now
l>eeking out to see if the other is coming, then off they go to another tree and
biick again, and the whole interesting show is given over again and again.
When the mating is over, they set to work to make ready the nest and get
the housekeeping started. Ihe illustration may gi\e some i(ka of die amount
of digging they do before the nest is <-ompleted. This one is in the stub of an
old cherry tree. The entrance is near '.lie ])ird. the bottom of the ne<t i-^ in the
second ])iece of the trunk.
]/)<)
The Wood Thrush {Hylodchla musteUna)
By Alexander Wilson
Length : 71/2 to 8^ inches.
Range: Eastern United States to the Plains north to Michigan, Canada
and Massachusetts.
The wood thrush finds its way to our hearts and sympathies more through
its voice than its presence, and whoever has failed to hear its clear flute-like
tones rising from the woodland depths as the mists of evening gather has missed
a rich treat. It is no doubt true that the Hermit Thrush is a more finished
performer, but that chorister reserves his music chiefly for the northern wilds
while our wood thrush favors more southern lands. Moreover, the hermit
is a true recluse and must be sought in the deeper forest, its chosen home, while
its more southern cousin lives in comparatively open woodland and does not
disdain to take up its summer residence in parks and gardens. The music of
the one is for the favored few, while the song of the other is almost as well
known as that of the brown thrasher.
Like most of the tribe, the wood thrush obtains its food chiefly from the
ground, where it spends much of its time searching among the leaves. Insects
with a small percentage of fruit, chiefly wild varieties, compose its fare. Among
the insects are cutworms and other caterpillars, ants, grasshoppers and beetles,
including the Colorado potato beetle. Thus the l)ird deserves a high place in our
esteem for both esthetic and economic reasons.
This sweet and solitary songster arrives about the twentieth of April, or soon
after, and returns to the South about the beginning of October. At whatever
time he may appear, he soon announces his presence in the woods. With the
dawn of the succeeding morning, mounting to the top of some tall tree, he pipes
his few but clear and musical notes in a kind of ecstasy, the prelude to which
strongly resembles the double tonguing of a German flute, or sometimes the tink-
ling of a small bell. The whole song consists of five or six parts, the last note of
each of which is such a tone as to leave the conclusion evidently suspended ; the
finale is finely managed, and with such charming effect as to soothe and tran-
quilize the mind and to seem swe(;ter and more mellow at each successive repe-
tition.
Rival songsters of the same species challenge each other from different parts
of the woods, seeming to vie for softer tones and more exquisite responses. Dur-
ing the burning heat of the day they are comparatively mute ; but in the evening
the same melody is renewed and continued long after sunset. Those who visit
our woods or ride out into the country at these hours, during May and June, will
be at no loss to recognize, from the above description, this pleasing musician.
Even in dark, wet, and gloomy weather, when scarce a single chirp is heard from
any other bird the clear notes of the Wood Thrush thrill through the forest from
170
morning to niglu ; and it ma\' trul\' be said that, the sadder the day the sweeter is
his song.
The favorite haunts of the Wood Thrush are low, thick-shaded hollows,
through which a small brook or rill meanders, overhung with alder bushes
that are mantled witli wild vines. Near such a scene the nest is generally built —
in a laurel or alder l)rush. ( )ut\\ar(lly it is composed of withered beech leaves
of the preceding Acar, laid at the Ixjttom in considerable numbers, no doubt to
prevent dampness and moisture from ascending through, as the nest is frequently
placed in low, wet situations, .\bo\e these leaves are layers of knotty stalks of
withered grass, mixed with mud, and smoothly plastered, above which is laid a
slight lining of hne black fibrous roots of plants. The eggs are four, sometimes
five, of a uniform light blue color without any s])Ots.
The Wood Thrush ap])ears always singlv or in pairs. With the modesty
of true merit he charms you with his song, but is content and sometimes even
solicitous to be concealed. He delights to follow the irregular windings of the
brook, where by the luxuriance of foliage the sun is completely shut out or only
plays in a few interrupted beams on the glittering surface of the water. These
birds are also fond of a particular species of lichen which grows in such situa-
tions, and which, toward the fall, 1 have uniformly found in their stomachs.
Berries, however, of various kinds are the principal food, although beetles and
caterpillars are freely eaten.
Those who have paid minute attention to the singing of birds know well
that the voice, energy, and expression in the same tribe dififer as widely as the
voices of different indi\ iduals of the human species, or as one singer does from
another. The powers of song in some individuals of the Wood Thrush have
often surprised and delighted me. Of these I remember one. many years ago,
whose notes I could instantly recognize on entering the woods, and with whom 1
had been acquainted, as it were, from his first arrival. The top of a large white
<^ak that overhung part of the glen was usually the favorite pinnacle from whence
he poured the sweetest melody. I had frequently listened to this song until night
began to gather in the woods and the fireflies to sparkle in the branches. P.ut, alas '
"One morn T miss'd him on the 'custom'd hill.
Along the heath, and near his fax'rite tree :
Another came; nor yet beside the rill.
Xor U]) the lawn nor at the w(j(jd was he."
.\ few days afterward, jxissing along the edge of the rocks. 1 found frag-
nitnts of the wing- and broken feather^ of a wood tbru-^b killed bv a hawk,
and I gazed at them with unfeigned regret
To be distinguished among its ffllows \>\ it> n\uw i»ulky form, by tlu- golden
brown head, bright cinnamon npprr parts, and the largi' round black spots be-
neath, sharply contrasting with llu' purr while
171
Back Up the Game Laws
As the !nil)lic ij^rows to understaiul ihc !)usiness need of ])rotectin^ our wild
l)ir(ls and animals and preserving^ our forests, endorsement of the hunting-license
system spreads. Here and there remains some opposition, but it is v,,, inconse-
quential as to be scarcely worth recording;. The people know by now that unless
birds are protected they will be shot out, and the logic of having the men who
do the shooting pay a tax for the privilege is unanswerable.
Though violently opposed at first, the common fairness of tlie license system
has won support everywhere, if for no other reason tli.an because it is one of
the most satisfactory methods yet ilevised of securing funds for game protection.
This is not a question for sportsmen only — this saving of birds — but one of
pertinence to all the people over all .\merica. The value of l)irds to the agricul-
tural interest has been so often exploited it seems needless to go over it again.
So much is being printed on the subject in the magazines and the daily paj)ers
that it must be indeed an unintelligent person who today does not realize that
bird protection is a question for all people, whatever their l)usiness interests;
not for sentimental, but for purely commercial reasons. The most practical
manner of securing help in this effort is the stimulation among the people of a
sentiment supporting the game laws and supporting the wardens in the exercise
of their duty. The game warden is doing a notable public service, and should be
encouraged in the perforniance of that duty and upheld and honored in its
discharge.
This season, in order to direct its work with added intelligence, the I5iological
Survey is making an effort to secure statistics as to the number of game birds
and animals killed. It is impossible to do this except l)y the co-operation of
sportsmen. Hierefore, I urge all who go afield to observe the game laws,
support the wardens, keep their killing within sportsmanly limits, and to send the
figures as to the game killed to the game wardens of their respective states.
This is for the purpose of gathering statistics as to numbers, so as to have
definite figures for game preservation activity. Such a basis can be had only
through a careful record of the hunters" kill each season. At present the figures
are wholly guesswork. Every man who takes out a license should be required
to return at the end of the season figures of his shooting on penalty of forfeiting
his right to a license the following year. Such a system is being very success-
fully operated in Manitoba. — Collier's JVccklv.
172
The Barn Owl {aiuco pmtincoia)
Length, about 17 inches. Facial disk not circular as in our other owls;
plumage above, pale yellow : beneath, varying from silky white to pale bright
tawny.
Range: Resident in Mexico, in the southern L'nited States, and north to
Xew York, Ohio, Nebraska and California.
Habits and economic status : The barn owl, often called monkey-faced owl,
is one of the most beneficial of the birds of prey, since it feeds almost exclusively
on small mammals that injure farm produce, nursery, and orchard stock. It
himts principally in the open and consequently secures such mammals as pocket
gophers, field mice, common rats, house mice, harvest mice, kangaroo rats, and
cotton rats. It occasionally captures a few birds and insects. At least a half
bushel of the remains of pocket gophers have been found in the nesting cavity of
a pair of these birds. Remembering that a gopher has been known in a short
time to girdle seven apricot trees worth $100, it is hard to overestimate the value
of the service of a pair of barn owis. One thousand two hundred and forty-
seven pellets of the barn owl collected from the Smithsonian towers contained
3,100 skulls, of which 3,004, or 97 per cent, were of mammals; 92, or 3 per cent,
of birds; and 4 were of frogs. The bulk consisted of 1,987 field mice, 656 house
mice and 210 common rats. The birds eaten were mainly sparrows and black-
birds. This valual:)le owl should be rigidly protected throughout its entire
range.
English Sparrow {Passer donicsticHs)
Length, about 6 '4 niches. Its incessant chattering, quarrelsome disposition,
and abundance and familiarity aljout Iiuman habitations distinguish it from our
native sparrow.
Range: Resident througlioul ihv l'nited Stales and southern lanada.
Habits and economic status: Almost universally condemned since its intro-
duction into the l'nited States, tlie I'Lnghsh si)arrow has not only held its own,
l)Ul has c\er increased in numbers and extended its range in sjiite of all opposi-
tion. Its habit of <lri\ing out or even kilhng more beneticial species and the
defiling of buikhngs by its droi)])ings and by its own unsightly structures, are
serious objections to this sparrow. Moreover in rural di>tricts. it is destructive
to grain, fruit peas, beans, and other vegetables. ( )n the other hand, the bird
feeds to some extent on a large number of insect pests and this fact i)oints to tiie
need of a new investigation of the present economic status of the species, espe-
cially as it promises to be of service in holding in check the newly introduced
alfalfa weevil, which threatens the alfalfa industry in I'tah and neighboring
states. In cities most of tiie food of the English sparrow is waste material
sei-urcd from the streets.
173
The Nlghthawk {Chordelles virginiafius)
By Herman C. De Groat
Length: •' to lU inches.
Range: Northern and eastern North iXmerica. west to the great plains and
I British Columhia, and from Labrador south to the tropics.
Not to be confused with the wliippoorwill. The latter lives in woodland and
is chiefly nocturnal. The nighthawk often flies by day. when the white bar across
the wing and its nasal cry are distinguishing.
Habits and economic status : The skillful evolutions of a company of night-
hawks as the birds gracefully cleave the air in intersecting circles is a sight to be
remembered. So expert are they on the wing that no insect is safe from them,
even the swift dragonfly being captiu-ed with ease. Unfortunately their erratic
flight tempts men to use them for targets, and this inexcusable practice is seri-
ously diminishing their numbers, which is deplorable, since no birds are more
useful. This species makes no nest, but lays its two spotted eggs on the bare
ground, sometimes on the gravel roof of the city house. The nighthawk is a
\oracious feeder and is almost exclusively insectivorous. Some stomachs con-
tained from 30 to 50 dififerent kinds of insects, and more than 600 kinds have
been identified from the stomachs thus far examined. From 500 to LOOO ants
are often found in a stomach. Several species of mosquitoes, including Anopheles.
the transmitter of malaria, are eaten. Other well-known pests destroyed by the
nighthawk are the Colorado potato beetle, cucumber beetles, chestnut, rice, clover-
leaf and cotton-boll weevils, billbugs. bark beetles, squash bugs, and moths of the
cotton worm.
This bird is not properly named, ;i> it does not belon.g to the family of hawks
at all, only resembling them in its flight. It is a bird of the evening rather than
of the daytime, seldom showing itself abroad except on cloudy days until two or
three hotirs before sunset. Then, circling high in the air it may be both seen and
heard, for its size makes it cons))icuous and it frequently utters a loud peent as it
tips this way and that on the wing. Xow and then it plunges headlong towards
the earth with a strange, booming sound and a swiftness that threatens sure death,
but. just before reaching the earth it turns suddenly with a few quick movements
of its wings and soars again to the region of the clouds only to repeat its aerial
gymnastics a few moments later. The white spot on the wing is an easy mark of
identification.
During these lofty flights the bird is feasting on the moths and beetles that
fly high in the air. Long after the darkness of night has settled down, the cry of
the nighthawk may still be heard in the sk> It is not confined to the country.
The dwellers in cities and towns may >-ee it sailing abo\e the loftiest buildings
and tallest church spires on the top of which it sometimes alights.
The day is ])assed by the nightha^^k in the woods, perched lengthwise on a
174
limb, or in the open fields sitting upon the bare ground or on the lofty tower of
some building. Owing to the peculiar construction of its feet and the weakness
of its legs, this bird sits lengthwise on a limb or squats upon the ground when
resting.
The eggs, two in number, are usually laid upon the ground or a flat rock
without a sign of a nest or protection of any kind. Sometimes they are deposited
on the fiat roof of a building in the city. The mother bird if disturbed while on
the eggs, flutters away before you as though her wings were broken, keeping
just beyond your reach until she has led you for some distance ; then she will
mount high above the earth leaving you amazed at her skillful trick. Arriving
early in May. the nighthawks remain until October, when they gather in large
flocks and migrate leisurely southward, not sto])ping for a winter home until they
reach the West Indies or Brazil.
The Bird
By John Ruskin
The l)ir(l is link- more ihan a drift of the air brought into form by plumes;
the air is in all its ([uills, it breathes through its whole frame and desh, and
glows with air in its flying, like a blown flame; it rests upon the air, subdues it,
surpasses it. outraces it — is the air, cori'^cious of itself, conquering itself, ruling
itself.
-Also, into the throat of the bird is given the voice of the air. .Ml that in
the wind itself is weak, useless in sweetness, is knit together in its song. As
we may imagine the wild form of the cloud closed into the i)erfect form of the
bird's wings, so the wild voice of the cloud into its ordered and commanded
\oice; unwearied, rippling through the clear heaven in its gladness, interpreting
all intense passion through the soft spring nights, bursting into acclaim and
rapture of choir at daybreak, or lisping and twittering among the boughs and
hedges through heat of day, like little winds that only w:\kc the cowslip bells
shake, and ruffle the petals of the wild rose.
Also, upon the jilumes of the bird are put the colors of the air; on these
tin gold of the cloud, that cannot be gathered by any covetousness ; the rubies
of the clou(U. the \ermiIion of the cloudbar, and the flame of the cloud-crest, and
the snow of the cloud, and its shadow, and the melted blue of the deep wells
of the sky^ — ^all these, seized by the creating spirit, and wo\en into films and
threads of plume: with wa\e on wave following and fading along breast, and
throat, and opened wings, infinite as the dividing of the foam and the sifting
of the sea sand;- — even the white down of the cloud seeming \<y flutter up between
the stronger plumes, seen, bin too miI'i for touch.
175
The Cardinal {Cardiualis cardimdis)
By W. Leon Dawson
Lcn^ih : 7' _> to 9 inches.
Kaiii^e : luisteni I'nilcd Slates, imrlli to llu' lower MikUoii \'al1e\' and llie
Great Lakes, west to the plains.
Food: The cardinal is a ves^^etarian. Se\ent\- per cent of its food consists
of berries, seeds, etc.. but it also eats many insects, heedes and vorms.
IVobably four persons out of five, at least in many states, if asked to name
their favorite songster, would reply ])romptly the red-bird. I'or who is there to
the manor born whose heart does not fliood with ])leasant memories as he listens
to our poet Xaylor's worfls?
"Along the dnst-uhite ri\er road
The saucy Red-bird chir]>s and trills :
His liquid notes resound and rise
I'ntil they meet the cloudless skies
And echo o'er the di'Jtant hills."
Xot merely for the sj^lendor of his plumage, but for the gentle boldness of his
comradeshi]) and the daily b.eartening of his stirring song, the cardinal is loved
of all who know him.
.Some years ago the cardin.al ha<i good reason to comi)lain of our fondness,
l)Ut now that wise legislation has forbidden his imprisonment he sings unfettered
at many a door where he was formerly tmknown. Always al)un<Iant in the South
the species has of late increased ra])idl\- in the North as well ; and the time is not
far distant when our Canadian neighbors can no longer say of it, "Casual only in
southwestern C )ntario."
W herever known the birds are resident or ne;irly so. Fn winter they may
gather in loose companies to enjoy the shelter of some favorite copse or lowland
thorn-brake. At such a time it is a rare treat for two or three observers to "drive"
the birds from cover. They will sli]) along uimoticed in unsttspected numbers
until the last bush is reached ; whence they will break for distant cover in twos
and threes not without much remonstrance of sharp chips, and manifest rekictance
to draw the gaze of a world in w^iite. Thus ! ha\e seen them, a whole college
of cardinals, rudely disturbed in secret session, but lia\e always sought and
found prompt shrift.
lioth males and females sing, tb.e latter ])erhai)s with less force and fre(|uency.
A warm day in winter is welcomed as an excuse for song, but the male is most
indefatigable during the nesting season, b'earless now he seeks some outlying
branch or mounts the tip of the tallest tree and challenges attention. The whistled
notes of the Red-bird, assertive, interrogatory, staccato and accelerando, are too
well known to require characterization. The following syllabizations may serve
to recall a few of the leading form> :
176
(Ciirdinalis cardinalis
fi I.ifesizf.
w. wuwrono. CHICAGO
; ,;.i^ , Che-pew, che-pew, we-oo, we-oo, we-oo.
. .?;;:, Whe-lew, whe-tew. whe-oo, whee-oo.
, , 3. We-oo, we-oo, we-oo, we-oo, we-oo.
4. Lhitikew, chitikew, lie-weet. he-wei"'t.
5. Tshew, tshew, tshew, tshew, Ishew.
6. Who-y ? who-y ? who-y ? who-y ?
7. i5ird-ie, bird-ie, bird-ie, tshew, ts]i(;w. tshew, tshew.
S. l')ird-ie, bird-ie, bird-ie. bird-ie.
Ily the merest j^^ood luck 1 found one day ho\v the carthnal i^ot his red beak.
Secreting myself in a log pile I imitated the notes of the screech owl — a favorite
method of securing a muster of the local bird population. True to life a cardinal
came charging uj) in great haste. !'.etween his mandibles was a half-eaten wahoo-
bcrry from which the rich red juice was flowing, staining the bird's bill com-
pletely and running down upon his breast. The suggestion might lead further.
but 1 do not i)ress it.
The cardinal is first of all gramni\-or()Us ; l)ut this term must be understood
to cover the consumption of weed-seeds of many sorts, including some hard-
coated specimens which few other birds are aljle to crack open. Insects are also
eaten freely, and berries "in season." If encouraged the bird will glean about
our premises in winter, haunting the grape trellis and garden, and roosting, it-
ma\- be, in the arbor vitac. ridie young are fed from the first week b)' regurgita-
tion, but after that the ])arents supply them grain and insects directly or assist
them in cracking seeds.
.\fter the robin the cardinal's nest is the easiest to find, and perhaps the
most common. Xests are usuall\' ])laced low in bushes, or at moderate heights in
thickets and sa])lings. (Jrape-\ine tangles and porch trellises are faxorite places,
and occasionally nests are saddled u])on horizontal limbs of trees.
In construction the nest varies froiu tidy to disreputable, according to skill
and season. .\ typical one is com])ose(l e.\.ternall\" of long stiff v.eeds and leaf
stems, and measures roughly seven inches across, with an extreme of thirteen
inches. Xext comes a mat of dead lea\es. mostly l)eech. Inside this in turn is a
tough basket wf)rk of grape-vine bark and a lining of fine fresh grass cured in the
nest. It measures, inside, three and ;i (|uarter inelu's in width and two and a
half in depth.
The c^^^s are (juite xariabK-; e\in tho-^e in the ^ame nest are hard to reconcile,
both as to sha])e and markings. Ilecause of the similarity in appearance, cowbirds'
eggs are easilv imjjosed upon the cardinal. Professor Jones and 1 once found a
nest with the bird on whose three eggs wiTe to the best of oiu" judgment die
ooml)ined products of as many cowbirds.
The young hatch out in about fourteen days, ;ind are ready to leave the ne^t
in ten days more. The father is es])ecially devoted to his otTspring. and often
cares for them whik- tlie fem.de is busv with another nest.
177
Rev. W. F. Henninger informs nie that a German farmer of his acquaint-
ance kept a cardinal in captivity for ahnost exactly thirty years. The bird was
not taken from the nest by its long-time owner and its age at the time it came into
possession was not known. The captive songster became a great favorite and
was for years regarded almost as a member of the family.
The Song Sparrow {Melosplza melodia)
By Henry W. Henshaw
Length : About 6yi inches. The heavily spotted breast with heavy central
blotch is characteristic.
Range: Breeds in the United States (except the South .Atlantic and Gulf
States), southern Canada, southern Alaska, and Mexico: winters in Alaska and
most of the United States southward
Habits and economic status: Like the familiar little ''chippy," the song
sparrow is one of our most domestic species, and builds its nest in hedges or in
garden shrubbery close to houses, whenever it is reasonably safe from the house
cat, which, however, takes heavy toll of the nestlings. It is a true harbinger of
spring, and its delightful little song is trilled forth from the top of some green
shrub in early March and April, before most of our other songsters have thought
of leaving the sunny south. Song sparrows vary much in habits, as well as in size
and coloration. Some forms live along streams bordered by deserts, others in
swamps among bulrushes and tules, others in timbered regions, others on rocky
barren hillsides, and still others in rich, fertile valleys. With such a variety of
habitat, the food of the species naturally varies considerably. About three-fourths
of its diet consists of the seeds of noxious weeds and one-fourth of insects. Of
these, beetles, especially weevils, constitute the major portion. Ants, wasps, bugs
(including the black olive scale) and caterpillars are also eaten. Grasshoppers
are taken by the eastern birds, but not by the western ones.
Sexes alike ; nest usually on the ground, of coarse grasses, rootlets, leaves,
lined with similar but finer material : eggs four or fi\e ; song a short, sweet mel-
ody : call note a loud, sharp chip.
Although this hardy little songster is by no means confined in his selection
of a domicile to the vicinity of water, if you wouUl find him with the least diffi-
culty or in the greatest numbers, you will do well to seek him in the neighbor-
hood of pond or stream or of marsh land with its encircling clumps of convenient
willows and its straggling rim of fencing. Here, ere half the blustering days of
March have blown by and before the ice has cleared from the ditches, you may
hear again the cheery song of some of his tribe who have arrived a few days in
advance of the main body to spy out the land, perhaps, or to take possession of
the old familiar places. Here they seem to prefer to stay at first: later, they seek
the uplands and venture about the abodes of men.
178
Unlike the chickadee, wren, or even the chipping sparrow, the song sparrow
does not acknowledge his human neighbor. He may live near him but not with
him. He makes no advances beyond accepting occasionally the bounty provided
for his kind on the birds' lunch counter through the meager days of March and
April. We wish it were otherwise, but the sympathy and appreciation are only
on the side of man.
The sparrow is a member of tlie largest and one of the mo.st .successful fam-
ilies of birds, the finch family. Among his relatives are the grosbeaks and finches.
Here, nature was lavish with color as the cardinal, rose-breasted grosbeak, purple
finch and goldfinch show ; but when it conies to the .sparrows, the bright colors
seem to have given out. Mr. Chapman explains that the former live more gen-
erally in the trees while "the brown, streaked sparrows are, to a large extent,
field-or plain-inhabiting, and their neutral colors are therefore a means of pro-
tection in the exposed situations they inhabit." The inference seems to be that
the tree-inhal)iting birds are exposed to fewer dangers than the ground builders —
and may, therefore, take more chances in the wearing of gaudy clothing, though
even here, the female, the nest tender, is very unpretentious and s]xirrow-like in
her mode of dress.
Our song sparrow, being a ground builder, though he sometimes builds in
low bushes, follows the style and has a dress that matches finely the grass, old
leaves, earth, dead twigs and the life that form the surroundings of the nest.
He is just sparrow-colored, the under parts are light, but heavily streaked with
black and dark brown. Fortunately for the bird student these dashes run to-
gether, on the middle of the breast, into a conspicuous blotch ; and at the corners
of the mouth into conspicuous streaks that extend down the sides of the throat.
These three marks are the quickest and surest means of identification. There are.
to be sure, grayish lines running through the middle and sides of the red-brown
rrown, but these are more likely to be noticed after you have learned your bird
than as a means of knowing it.
With such a modest dress, with no bright markings lo suggest a name, his
admirers have, nevertheless, been at no loss for a very fitting one. Handsome
is that handsome does, and he does one thing extremely well. He sings.
In the bleak days of February, and March, he greets the Ijlizzard with a song.
In early April he is full of song, but as April melts into Ma\ and May into June,
with mating and nesting going nn. he is in an ecstas\ of delight. He is original,
for though he retains the family tune, he sings it with many variations. "Fifteen
varieties of its song have been noted in one week. :uid tin- same individual often
has a number of tunes in his re])retoire "'
Mr. Abbott, in his notes on this plainly clad sparrow, says that he proclaims
himself as "a gf)od rres-pres-pres-pres-by-tc-rian.' Thoreau heard iti the more
customary song, "Olit. olit. olit — chip, chip. chip, che-char, — chc-wis, wis, wis!"
and in otu- of the variations "Maids, maids, maids, hang on your tcakcttle-ettle-
ettle."
17'»
'He comes in March, when wind^ are slioiii^.
And snow returns to hide the earth:
But still he warms his heart with mirth,
And waits for May. lie lin<^ers lonjj;^
While flowers fade : and e\ery day
Repeats his small, contented lay :
As if to say, we need not fear
The season's change, if love is here
\\'ith 'sweet — sweet — sweet — Aery merr\ cheer.'
He does not wear a Joseph's coat
Of many colors, smart and gay ;
His suit is Quaker brown and gray,
With darker patches at his throat.
And yet of all the well-dressed throng
Not one can sing so brave a song.
It makes the ]:)ride of looks appear
A vain and foolish thing, to hear
His 'sweet — sweet-— sweet — very merry cheer." "
— From the Sour; Si^an-07{\ by Henry V'au Dyke.
The Baltimore Oriole {ictenLs gaibuia)
By Charles Bendire
Length: /jA to
Range : Eastern United States, north to Ontario, west to Rocky Mountains.
About as much a bird of Illinois as of Maryland. — A. W. M.
Lord Baltimore was signally honored when one of our finest birds was christ-
ened with his name because it chanced to carry the family colors, black and
yellow. Orioles are a tropical grouj) and the luxuriant tro])ical forests are bright
with the gleaming colors of many species of these beautiful birds. Only a few
ha\e found their way into the temperate zone, but not one of the tropical species
is garbed in more tasteful dress than this exotic which has adopted the elms and
sycamores of the temperate zone for its summer home. When chill Xo\ember
winds have stripped our shade trees of their foliage then are revealed the long,
pendant nests, wrought with so much skill and patience by Madame Oriole, and
we begin to realize how many of these birds summer with us. Suitable material
for the oriole nest is none too easily found, and the wea\er is not so fastidious
that she will not accept strings and yarn of any color which are hung out for her
convenience ; so that at the end of the oriole season the bird lover who is willing
to co-operate with a ])air of nature's weavers ma\' fall heir to a nest made to order,
so to speak.
180
!;..*
m.
56
HALTIMOKK uKlol.K
!, Life-8i?e.
« HWfOHD. CMICAOO
The oriole is as useful as it is tuneful and ornamental. Caterpillars consti-
tute the largest item of its fare, including many not touched by other birds. It
eats also beetles, bugs, ants, grasshoppers and spiders. Particular mention must
be made of the boll weevil, of which the oriole is a determined foe. The small
amount of fruit taken by the oriole, including cherries, is insignificant when
compared with the long list of harmful insects it destroys.
Aside from its showy plumage, its sprightly and pleasing ways, its familiar-
ity with man, and the immense amomit of good it does by the destruction of many
noxious insects and their larvcC. including hairless caterpillars, spiders' cocoons,
etc., it naturally and deservedly endears itself to every true lover of the beautiful
in nature. Only a short-sighted churl or an ignorant fool would begrudge one of
these birds the few green ])eas and berries it may help itself to while in season.
Jt fully earns all it takes, and more, too.
The r)altimore oriole usually arrives with a most invaria1)le regularity about
May 10th, rarely varying a week from this date. y\bout this time the trees have
commenced to leaf, and many of the orchards are in bloom, so that their arri\al
coincides with the loveliest time of the year. The males usually i)recede the
females by two or three days to their breeding grounds, and the same site is fre-
quently occupied for several seasons. It is very much attached to a locality when
once chosen for a home and is loath to leave it.
Few birds are more devoted to each other than these orioles, and 1 am of the
opinion that tliey remain mated through life. Their favorite haunts in our eastern
states are found in rather open country, along the roads bordered with shade
trees, creek bottoms, orchards and the borders of small timbered tracts. It is
equally at home in villages or cities of considerable size as long as they furnish
suitable trees for nesting sites. It shuns swam]\v and marshy tracts and extensixe
forests.
.\ very pecular note, a long-drawn-out chattering, chae. chae, chae. is a])t
to draw one's attention to it on its ti-rst arrival, and this i^ more or less frequentl\-
uttered throughout the season.
This note is difficult to reproduce exactly, and 1 hnd its songs still more so.
One sounds somewhat like hioh, hioh, tweet, tweet; another, something like whec-
he-he, whee-he-he, oh whee-he-he-woy-woy This last is much more softly ut-
tered than*the first. .Mr. T. Xuttall describes one of their songs as tshippe-
tshayia-too-too-tshippe-tshippa-too-too. and there are others imjjossible to render.
The young after leavi,ng the nest lUler a note like he-he-hae, and another like heek-
heek-he, varied occasionally by a low twittering. Shortly after their arrival they
sing almost incessantly when not eating, but later in the season when thev h.ive
their always hungry family to provide ffir they are more sileiU. Their flight is
stnjiig. swift and graceful and they ;ire far more at home on the wing than on
the ground, wbere they are ^tldoni -^een except when picking vq> some insect or in
search of nesting material.
In the vicinity of Washington. Histrict of (."olunibii. nidification commences
181
about the middle of May, and full sets of eggs may be looked for the last week
in this month, while in central New York, Connecticut. Wisconsin, southern
Minnesota, etc., they usually nest from eight to fourteen days later.
Few of our native birds build a more ingeniously constructed nest than the
Baltimore oriole, and it must always be considered a most interesting example
of bird architecture, taking time, intelligence and good judgment to construct.
From five to eight days are usually required for its completion.
Some nests show a great superiority over others in general make-up and
workmanship ; these are perhaps the product of old and experienced birds, while
the younger ones, from lack of judgment, often select poor sites, or else secure
their nests carelessly to the supporting twigs, so that many are destroyed before
the young reach maturity.
Ordinarily the nest of the Baltimore oriole is pensile, and is usually sus-
pended by the rini from the extremities of several slender branches to which it is
attached.
Others, besides being fastened by the rim, which is always neat and smoothl)
finished, are attached to some perpendicular fork or limb by one of the sides,
thus steadying the nest and preventing it from swinging too much during the
heavy winds. In a truly pensile nest some of the eggs are occasionally cracked
by the violent swaying of the slender tw'igs to which it is attached, while if
fastened at the side this occurs very rarely, unless the entire limb is torn ofT. Both
sexes assist in nest building.
The materials used for the framework consist principally of decayed fibers,
such as those of the Indian hemp, the silk of the milkweed {Asclepias), nettles
(Urtica), and when located near human habitations, of horsehair, bits of twine,
yarn, strips of grapevine bark, etc. With such materials a strong purse or pouch-
shaped nest is woven and firmly attached to one or more forked twigs by the
slightly-contracted rim, and it is usually placed in such a position that the entrance
is well shaded by leafy twigs above
All sorts of materials are used in lining the bottom and sides of the nest —
cotton, wool. tow. rags, cattle hair. fur. fine strips of bark, green moss, fine grass
and plant down. They readily avail themselves of any suitable materials, such as
yarn, which may be thrown out to them, but prefer jilain to gaudy colored stufTs.
The color of some of the nests varies considerably according to the materials
used ; some look almost white, others a pale straw color, and the majority smoke-
gray. In the south the Baltimore oriole builds occasionally in bunches of the
gray moss.
The nests are usually suspended from long, slender drooping branches of
elm, maple, birch, weeping-willow, buttonwood. sycamore, oak, aspen, poplar.
Norway spruce, apple, pear and wild cherry trees ; but in some localities they are
frequently built in the very top and center of a tree where it is almost impossible
to see them. They are placed at various heights from the ground, from eighty to
182
fifty feet and more, and frequently in utterly inaccessible positions. The Balti-
more oriole is tolerant and amiably disposed toward its smaller n.eighbors, and
such are often allowed to nest in the same tree and occasionally within a few
feet of its own nest.
Incubation lasts about fourteen days, and I think the female attends to this
duty almost exclusively. Both sexes are extremely devoted to each other, as
well as to their eggs and young, defending these bravely against all intruders.
From four to six eggs are laid to a set, most frequently four, though sets of five
are not uncommon, while sets of six are rather rare. One is deposited daily,
and only one brood is raised in a season. The young are able to leave the nest
when about two weeks old, and may be seen sitting on some of the branches
close by and clamoring for food. They are fed entirely on insects, etc., and are
faithfully cared for by the parents until able to provide for themselves. The
migration from the northern sections of their breeding range to their winter
homes in Central America begins usually in August, but occasionally some birds
linger until September.
Birds of the Prairie
By Edward B. Clark
In the journey southwest from Chicago the traveler hour after hour passes
over a prairie country. Nowhere, as far as eye can reach, is there a hill to hedge
in these seemingly limitless fields. It ".eeds no native of these parts to explain
to the traveling stranger why it is that this great reaching plain is called the
Grand Prairie. There is a grandeur apart from mountains, canons, and rushing
rivers. It is the grandeur that attaches to the thought of \'ast extent, unbroken
and unrestricted.
The Grand Prairie is the home of the birds that lo\c the level grass-grown,
stretclies, the great corn fields, and the low swales that hold their moisture even
in the burning heat of summer. The meadowlarks nest in countless numbers
all over the face of the prairies. The Western lark is a somewhat smaller bird
than its Eastern cousin, and it is far more friendly. Go where you will on the
prairies in the spring-time you will hear tlu- lark's clear, sweet whistling note.
.Sometimes the bird's music has a bell-like cpiality, but 1 have always been pleased
to think that this bit of sweetness is for the s]iecial benefit of Madame Meadow-
lark, hidden away on her nest in the prairie grass. An attempt was matle
recently in the Illinois legislature to put the meadowlark on the game list. The
farmer members said that the bird was too good a friend to be shot for pot-
pics, and the bill never went beyond the first reading. I sp, nt part of one wiiUer
in a wooded section of southeastern Texas. Nothing surjirised me more than
to find the meadowlarks there in abundance, and making their habitation in the
183
woods. The woods were (^peii. to be sure, but the surroundings were loUdly
unHke those which the lark seeks in its Northern summer home.
The horned or shore lark is another common bird oi the open prairies.
There are two varieties, the horned lark proper, and the prairie horned lark.
Both of the birds occur in the Middle Western states. They sing on the wing,
but their notes, while not absolutely unmusical, have but little to commend them
to the ear. With one exception, my experience with these larks has been that,
aj)art from the breeding season, they go in small detached flocks. The one
exception was the sight of a flock of the birds flying above a great field about
sixty miles south of Chicago. I don't dare venture to give an estimate of the
number of individuals in the gathering. The old comparison of the swarm of
gnats is too weak to hold. No flock of blackbirds that I have ever seen equaled
in size this gathering of the larks. The birds were constantly going to the ground
in mass, and then rising again in a sc^rt of hovering flight Every lark in the
vast concourse was singing its twittering song. It was the last week in March,
and l)efore three weeks had passed the birds had separated and many of them
were nesting. On April 15th I found a nest containing five eggs on the ground
within a few feet of a pool of water, the surface of which was frozen. I flushed
the lark from the nest, and after taking one fleeting glimpse at her egg treasures,
I went hastily away. The bird was back covering the eggs before I had gone
a distance of ten feet in my retreat. I low the horned larks, building as early as
they do, manage to bring up such a numerous progeny in the face of perils of
frost and flood is beyond my wit to explain.
The prairie-chickens and the quail are still abundant thrDughont the Middle
West. In some of the states good laws have resiilted in an increase in quail
numbers, and the prairie-chickens in many sections fairly may be said to be
holding their own. These birds live veritably in the shadow of death. They
are shot ruthlessly, and yet they have learned to match their own cunning against
that of man. They are in very truth game birds, and one cannot scrape acquaint-
ance with them on the same terms wnth which he meets the robin and the blue-
bird. Nevertheless, that walk afield in the cool of the evening will lack much
when the whistle of r>ob-\\"hite fails to come down the wind from the fence
post near the corn field.
There are places in plenty on the (Irand JVairie where birds that are not
essentially field lovers make their homes. Along the tree-bordered streams, in
the trees of the village streets, and about the farm-houses may be found nearly
the whole range of songsters, with the woodpeckers, the flycatchers and the rest.
It was while on an outing for the ])ur|)ose of getting nearer the hearts of the
prairie birds that T had an interesting experience with the members of a birrl
family, that I was going to say wouldn't know a prairie if they saw it. I stayed
for a month in the early summer in a little \illage on the (Irand Prairie. I lived
during my stay in what was half hotel, half farm house. At one time in the life
of the proprietor it was his determination to ha\e his place as hotel-like as cir-
184
cuinstances would admit, and to this end he had put up a real lamp-ix)st which
held in position a steady light for the direction of ])Ossible travelers. Not many
guests were attracted and the light fell into disrepute ; the wick was no longer
trimmed and the match no longer applied. The post, however, was suffered to
stand. It happened that it stood within ten feet of my ground Hoor bedroom
window. The morning after my arrival at the little prairie inn I was awakened
by a sweet song from without. I drew the curtain aside and discovered the
singer. It was a house wren that had taken perch on the top of the lamp-post
and was saluting the rising sun. The little fellow sang all the time I was
dressing, and for the next two weeks I don't think that I knew five minutes of
the daylight hours to pass, while I was in the vicinity of the house, that the
wren's song was absent from my ears. He certainly took the palm for musical
industry, and I am glad to record that he afterward proved as industrious in
what some people may claim to be more useful lines, though he is a savage who
doubts that music has its uses.
The lamp-post was surmounted by a conical-shaped tin arrangement. There
were apertures at the edges, made so as to i)rovide for proper combustion of the
light. It did not take me long to find out that a pair of house wrens had pre-
empted the tin top of the lamp-post for a home, i have said that the house
wren in his morning solo was saluting the rising sun. He was doing nothing
of the kind. He was singing to his mate, who. just below him, was busy keeping
her eggs warm. Birds always sing for the benefit of their mates. I lay for
ten minutes one day on the ground under a tall osage orange from the toj) of
which a brown thrasher was singing his ravishing song. My only thought was
that the thrasher was singing to me. I flattered myself. I finally saw a move-
ment in the thick part of the tree just below the singer's perch, and in another
instant I discovered the presence of the female. She had been there the whole
time, and it was upon her that the brown lover above had been showering his
vocal sweets. That experience taught me a lesson in humility.
It did not take me long to make a friend of the house wren. Perhaps it
was toleration rather than friendship he extended. Here is humility again, for
I cannot get over the brown thrasher experience. The wren would let me stand
at the foot of the lamp-post with my head within three feet of him. After his
first fear was over he would not stop his song at my approach. I cannot under-
stand to this day how such a little throat could hold such a volume of song.
Mrs. Wren seldom, left the nest. Her husband would take food to her. He had
the secret of the lurking jilace of many spiders, and his food-collecting was but
the work of a minute. I do not think that the male bird once relieved his wife
of the duties of incubation. She made no complaint as far as I could discover.
The wren had charged me no admission to his musical entertainments but I found
a chance to repay him. I saved his home from being carried off bodily by some
village small boys. I witnessed the leading forth of the young wrens from the
Iami)-p()st home. They came out one at a time. 1 1 <eenied as if they would never
185
stop coming. Seven of them, one after another, took a diagonal course to the
grass. The mother soon coaxed them to a woodpile about which they stayed
for a week. There was perhaps something in the cabalistic number, seven. None
of the little ones met with harm, though there were two full-grown cats on the
premises. While the young were in the nest both the parents were kept busy
feeding them. Not far from the house was a brick wall. Ivy clambered over
a part of its surface. The wall was half sunlight, half shadow, and it was the
home of thousands of spiders. The wrens had discovered the insects long before,
for it was from the direction of the wall that the male bore spiders to his sitting
mate. I have seen it stated in the books that the wrens feed their young about
thirty times an hour. My lamp-post wrens made a much better average than
that. I learned from my host of the inn that the wrens had built on the lamp-
post top for three years. I trust that the same pair will make music and kill
spiders at the same old stand for years to come.
This question of the feeding of the young brings t(j mind the fact that in
many bird households some of the young grow much faster than the others.
This has been accounted for on the ground that the bigger youngsters receive
the greater share of the food, either through the possible favoritism of the
parents or because the adult birds are unable to remember which of the offspring
they fed last. It is my belief, based, however, upon only two observations, that
the old birds feed the young ones impartially and in turn. In many human
families some of the boys and girls are sturdier than their brothers and sisters.
In these human families it will be found generally that the weaker ones get
the more attention and the better care. There are reasons, doubtless, for indi-
vidual cases of slow growth and feeble constitittions in bird families as well as in
the families of the humankind. 1 once saw the fledgeling members of a wood
pewee household ranged side by side on the dead limb of a tree growing out
of the depths of a ravine. A bridge spanned the ravine from bank to bank and
ran close to the treetop upon which the young flycatchers were perched. One
of the parent birds sat on the limb at the head of the family line. Every minute
or two the parent would launch out into the air, catch a flying insect, return to
the limb, and poke the morsel into the open bill of one of the young. As soon
as another fugitive fly happened along the operation was repeated, but the old
bird, as capture succeeded capture, invariably would feed the youngster whose
turn it was to be fed. Not once did two insect morsels go down the same throat
twice in succession. If one of the young received more food than another, it
simply arose from the fact that some of the bug specimens captured were larger
than others. In an hour's time the parent bird made forty apparently successful
hunting trips. Several times either the aim was missed or the bird ate the quarry
itself. It may be argued that it is an easy matter for a mother with her three
children ranged in line on a limb to keep in mind the order of feeding, whereas
when the youngsters are all jumbled up in a nest, and perhaps constantly changing
places, the keeping the feeding order in the parent's head may be impossible.
186
It hardly seems that we an: giving eredit for too much lutelligeiice to a robin or
a bluebird or a jay when we say that doubtless the parents know one youngster
from another as well as any human mother knows the difYerence between Tom
and Bill, or Maud and Jenny.
The mourning dove is one of the must aljundant birds of the Grand Prairie.
The farmers say that it dearly loves corn. The result of this claim of the farmer
has been that the dove has been placed upon the list of game birds, and is now
shot on sight in every Illinois field from Cook County to Grand Tower. The
law granting the right to shoot the doves was passed only recently. That is
why it is the birds are still abundant. It was always a source of v.-onder to the
bird-student that the tribe of mourning doves was so great even under the condi-
tions of the law's protection. The bird lays but two eggs, and the nest is so
poorly constructed that a heavy rain-storm frequently utterly demolishes it.
The mourning dove's nesting habits are erratic. In some sections of the countn'
it builds only upon the ground, while in other sections the nest is invariably
l>laced either in a tree or on a stump top. One thing in favor of the perpetuation
of the mourning dove's species is the fact that the birds generally nest twice in
a season. I saw a curious thing once in a Grand Prairie orchard. A male
mourning dove was feeding two lledgeling young that were perched on a limb not
four feet removed from the spot where the mother bird was sitting on two
newly laid eggs. 1 met the father dove frequently during the next week. He
had led his charges away from the nest, but he was attending faithfully to the
duties of feeding tlic youngsters and of teaching them to l1y. The nest with
its eggs was on a limb that had been broken away partly from the body of the
tree. How the eggs were contained by the few wisps of straw and the twig or
two that did service as a nest was a iiuzzle. As it was the mother had to be
content that season with one brood, for a heavy wind broke the limb on which
her second home was placed completely away from the trunk ,ind -^ent eggs and
nest tumbling to the ground.
In the same Grand Prairie orchard I found the ncsl of a Nellow-billed
cuckoo, which showed but little more evidence of .i builder's ability than did
that of a mourning dove. From beneath the limb upon which it was placed
one could see the sky through the nest. 'l'hen> were four eggs in the ramshackle
structure, and it is a pleasure to say that they escaped destruction in the storm
that biought disaster to the home of the do\e. 'I'he cuckoo loves caterpillars.
VVlien a father and a mother cuckoo have four lusty young ones in the nest, as
was finally the case with this Grand Prairie pair, they will do more good in the
way of caterpillar-slaying than will four pairs of any other I)ir(l species umler
the sun. There is something uncanny about the cuckoo. Its movements a^
It glides along the branches through the thick foliage suggest the wamlerings of
a restless spirit. The bird can make plenty of noise when it chooses, but when
it is being watched it usually preserves a silence that strengthen^ the uncanny
feeling that its mr)vements impart.
187
There are ihirty-live kinds of American cuckoos, so it is said, but only two
of them, the black-l)illed and the yellow-billed, are familiar to those of us who
search the northern fields of the Middle West. In jj^eneral ai)pearance the tw(j
birds are much alike, the main difference beinjj expressed bv tlicir respective
names. The yellow-billed cuckoo is much the more common in nearly all i)laces..
The chances are that you will hear the l)ird before you see it, for its note
attracts instant attention. Do not expect the American cuckoo to say "CAickoo."
Jt won't; the utterance of that well-known note is left to the Enj^lish bird, and
to the little wood and metal creatures that poke their heads out of the tojjs of
Swiss clocks every hour and proclaim the time. The cuckoo's note sounds
almost exactly like the first four or five utterances of a stuttering person who is
trxing hard to twist his tonij^ue into -^hape to say some simple word. When you
hear from the heart of some thick-leaved tree a sound like "uk-uk-uk-uk-uk-uk-
uk-uk,"' you may make up your mind tliat the cuckoo has stopj)ed long- enough
from his laudable work of caterpillar eating to attempt to say a few words. In
many farming districts the cuckoo is known as the rain crow, because it is
supposed to wax noisy just before a shower. I have known the bird to be a poor
])rophet, and one that soon became without honor even with those who hitherto
had piimed to it their faith. I never knew the cuckoos to be so noisy as they
were one July month in northern Illinois when the drought killed almost every
green thing in the land.
California WoodpCclLtViMelanerpesformicivorus and races)
Length, about Oy'j inches. Easily distinguished from its fellows by its gen-
eral black color, white forehead, throat patch, belly and wing patch.
Range: Breeds from northwestern Oregon, California, Arizona, and New
^lexico south through lower California to Costa Rica.
The California woodpecker is a noisy, frolicsome bird and by all odds the
most interesting of our woodpeckers. Its range seems to be determined by that
of the oaks upon which it lives and from which it draws a large part of its
subsistence. In California the bird is known to many by the Spanish name.
carpintero, or carpenter, and its shop is the oak, in the dead limbs of which as
in the bark of pines, it bores innumerable holes, each just large enough to receive
an acorn. That the birds do not regard the filling of these storehouses as work,
but on the contrary take great pleasure in it, is evident from their joyotis out-
cries and from the manner they chase each other in their trips from tree to tree
like boys at tag. In California many of the country school houses are unoccupied
during the summer and the woodpeckers do serious damage by drilling holes in
the window casings and elsewhere with a view to using them as storage places.
As long as the acorn crop lasts, so long does the storing work go on. Meanwhile
the jays and squirrels slip in and rob the woodpecker's larder. Though this
woodpecker eats insects, including some harmful ones, they form less than a third
of its entire fare.
188
The Red Bird
1 watch his wings in thickets (Hm,
For sunset seems to follow him —
Sunset from some mysterious West
Whose crimson glory girds his breast.
A winged ruby wrought of fame,
W'hence comes his beauty? whence his name?
Clear as a bright awakening beam
Through the vague vista of a dream.
An answer comes. I seem to feel
The flash of armor, glint of steel,
The whir of arrows quick and keen,
The battle-axe's baleful sheen.
The long, relentless spear whose thrust
Makes the mad foeman writhe in du<t :
The din of conflict and the stress
( )f war's incarnate angriness ; '•' " ''■
A \va\ ering mass ; * ''■'• '■' a jmnic wrought
Swift as some .stormy l)urst of thought:
Then distance hides a \anquished host.
And sounrl becomes a wandering ghost.
I hit soon 1 see. half poised in air.
And stricken by a nameless fear,
A small, brown-breasted bird, whose eyes
Are clouded with a deep surprise —
The earliest bird with terror rife
At wild waste of human life.
1 low soon his dread lo wonder lurns.
.\s downward where a life-stream burns
He darts and dips his (|ui\ ering wings.
While ')'er hi'- lu-irt ihe crini'^on clings!
W itli rnthful eyes and re\i'rent face
lie li(>\ers slowly o'er the place:
.Xnd when at last his wings are spread.
.\ lurid lu^ux crowns his head.
.\nd his bright body soars afar.
Ked as autumnal sunsets are. — Ifavnc.
180
The Black and White Warbler {Mniotuta varia)
By Gerard Alan Abbott
Length: 4^2 to 5^^ inches.
Range: Eastern North America. Breeds from central Mackenzie, southern
Keewatin, northern Ontario, Newfoundland, Nova Scotia and New Brunswick to
eastern Texas, Louisiana, central Alabama and northern Georgia, west to South
Dakota; winters in Florida and from Colima and Nuevo Leon to Colombia.
Ecuador and Venezuela.
A warbler in form and general make-up, a creeper by profession and practice,
this readily identified species, in its striped suit of black and white, may be ob-
served in any bit of eastern woodland. Here it flits from tree to tree or climbs
over the trunks and branches, scanning every crack and cranny for the insects
that constitute its chief food. Though not a lover of open country, it frequently
visits the orchard, where it performs its part in the task of keeping insect life
within due bounds. It nests on the ground and hides its domicile so skillfully
that it is not often found. None of the warblers are noted as songsters, but the
black and white creeper, as I like best to call it, emits a series of thin wiry notes
which we may call a song by courtesy only. In scrambling over the trunks of
trees it finds and devours many long-horned beetles, the parents of the destruc-
tive root-borers ; it also finds weevils, ants and spiders.
Although placed at the head of the family of wood warblers, this modest
bird comes more naturally into comparison with creepers and nuthatches. He
clings and creeps, or rather hops, along the bark of the trunk and the larger
branches. He lacks much, it is true, of being the methodical plodder that the
brown creeper is ; he covers a great deal more surface in a given time and is
content with a rather superficial examination of any given territory. Then again
he secures variety, not merely by tracing out the smaller limbs, but by moving
in any direction — up or down or sidewise — or even by darting into the air now
and then to capture an insect. Not infrequently he may be seen gleaning from
the bark of bushes and saplings near the ground, or again in the tops of the very
tallest elms. Apple trees are cherished hunting grounds, and it is here that one
may cultivate a really intimate acquaintance.
The black-and-white is among the earlier migrant warblers, coming as it does
during the last week in April and before the leaves are w'ell out. At this time
it is quite a conspicuous bird, in spite of the fact that its striped coat roughly ap-
proximates to the lights and shadows in the bark of a tree ; but it is usually silent.
When it does speak, a few days later, its voice is a wiry, squeaking song, likely
to be lost to ear altogether amid the full chorus of warbler week ; but when the
rush is over the singer will be heard. .\t best the song is a tiny sibilation of no
great carrj'ing power: "Squeech. weech, weech, weech, weech," lisped out in two
keys is one rendering.
190
«^0
BLACK ANn WHITE CKKKflNi; U AKIU.KK
AI<ollt I.i(r-M/i-.
List of Forty-Eight Colored Plates
- 21 Bluebird 48 41
^ 25 Bobolink 22 97
-124 Bob-white 142 16
_ 30 Cardinal 176 123
— 120 Chat, Yellow-breasted 144 83
- 45 Chickadee 20 :!49
_- 163 Creeper, Brown 110 22
-^ 35 Crossbill 44 93
"- 27 Flicker 168 j8
— 315 Golden-eye 126 28
^ 92 Goldfinch 6 23
■^ 118 Crackle, Bronzed 54 49
— 31 Grosbeak, Rose-breasted 138 283
- 59 Grouse, Ruffed 58 105
— 43 Hawk, Marsh 75 337
^188 Hawk, Red-shouldered 146 122
- 291 Hawk, Red-tailed 120 60
~- 1 1 Jay, Blue 38 260
*- 99 Junco, Slate-colored 14 633
- 94 Lark, Horned 31 259
— 29 Meadowlark 102 81
^ 52 Mockingbird 106 164
--48 Nighthawk 174 13
- 56 Oriole, Baltimore 180 86
Owl, Screech 82
Pewee, Wood 154
Robin 42
Sparrow, Fox 56
Sparrow, Song 178
Sparrow, Vesper 118
Swallow, Barn 17 -
Swift, Chimney 80
Tanager, Scarlet 16
Tern, Black 148
Thrasher. Brown 8
Thrush, Wood 170
Towhee 132
Turkey, Wild 162
Veery 84
Vireo, Red-eyed 88
Warbler, Black and White 190
Warbler, Blue-winged Yellow... 94
Warbler, Canadian 130
Warbler, Myrtle 46
Warbler. Yellow 104
Woodpecker, Downy 112
Woodpecker, Red-headed 66
Wren. House 78
Index
Back Up tin- Game Laws 172
Bird, The 175
Birds in Cemeteries -. 113
Birds in Orchards 65
Birds in Winter Fields 9
Bird Law, New 59
Birds' Nests 128
Birds and Their Songs 62
Bird Family, A Few of 95
Birds of the Prairie . . 183
Bird That Sang in May 77
Bluebird 4s. I6(i
Birds Sing 154
Bobolink 22
Bob-white 141
I'urroughs, Jnlm 120
Cardin.il 176
Chat, Yellow-Iirested 144
Chickadee 20-47
Creeper, Brown 1 10-119
Crossbill 44
Do Birds Have Sense? 24
Economic Value of Birds 97
Flicker 168
Golden-Eye 126
( loldfinch 6
Gracklc, Bronzed
Grosbeak, Black-headed
Rose-breasted 138
Grouse. Ruffed ". 58
Hawk, Cooper's 57
Marsh 75
Red-shouldcrcd 146
l\<(I-tailc(l ... 120
191
I n dex- Continued
How Library Maj- Stimulate Local
Bird Study 134
How to Study Birds 155
Hummingbird, Rufous 164
Jay, Blue 38-41-140
Junco, Slate-colored 14
Lark, Horned 31
Meadowlark 102-103
Mockingbird 106-107
My Birds 127
Nighthawk 174
Nightingale and ( ilowvvorni 147
Oriole, Baltimore 180
Bullock's 9()
Ornithology, Romance of 165
Our Bird Neighbors 33
Owl, Barn 145-173
Screech 82
Pewee, Wood 154
Red Bird 189
Robin 42-87
Sandpiper 133
Some Odd Bits of Ilird Life 49
Sparrow, English 101-173
Fox 56
Lark 153
Song 178
Vesper 118
Sparrow, White-crowned 103
Sparrows and Sparrows 148
Spring Birds on the Kankakee....... 70
Swallow, Barn 17
Swift, Chimney . 80
Tanager, Scarlet 16
Tern, Black . 96-148
Thraslier. lirowii 8
Thrush, The 161
Thrush. Wood , . 170
Towhee .' . . 131
Tragedy in Birdland 121
Turkey. Wild ; . 162
Utility of Birds in \ature ...'.. 89
Veery 84
Vireo, Red-eyed 88
Yellow-throated 137
Warblers, The 85
Warbler, Black and White ..-. 190
Blue-winged 94
Canadian 136
Myrtle ....!... 46
Yellow '....'.'. . 104
We Thank Thee 40
Woodpecker, California 188
Downy 112
Red-headed 66
^\'ren, House 78
Yellow-Throat. Maryland 137
192
<; H • .£>
• vo w t-^
1— 1 1— ' vn OA
r-
oo -J oo
O
Q
3
O
Q
H
<D
ffi
ql681
.B5T
1913
v.l
Birds and nature
AMNM LIBRARY
100109508
