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,),BIRDS IN THE BUSH,

BY

BRADFORD TORREY

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BRARIES

BOSTON
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
New York: 11 East Seventeenth Street
The Bibversive ress, Cambridge
1885

Copyright, 1885,
By BRADFORD TORREY

All rights reserved.

The Riverside Press, Cambridge :
Electrotyped and Printed by 1. O. Houghton & Co.

WHEREFORE, let me intreat you to read it with favour and
attention, and to pardon us, wherein we may seem to come
short of some words, which we have laboured to interpret.

The Prologue of the Wisdom of Jesus the Son of Sirach.

Bde Reha shot WE aes ot ag hand eon, Ge srw ie
CY ey Lae sey Loader 3 berets | Dé Che Re
Pay Viet vk Dusty sp] wed As tohhig: wry athe Ne

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CONTENTS.

—+—-

PAGE
On Boston Common . : F : ; 5 : 1
Brrp-Sones : : : : . : : : 31
CHARACTER IN FEATHERS . 2 ‘ ; : 2 53
In THE Wuite Mountains . : ; d ‘ 75
PHILLIDA AND CORIDON : ‘ : P = 108
ScRAPING ACQUAINTANCE . d : ‘ : ; 129
Minor SOnGSTERS ‘ 3 ; : 2 ‘ Pa 135
WInTER Brirps aBpout Boston ange : ' 185
A Brirp-Lover’s APRIL : ; : : : = ES
An Owt’s Heap Ho.ipay , ‘ : : F 243

A Montn’s Music : pees . F : er Spe

ee

ON BOSTON COMMON.

—_-¢——

Nouns fret not at their convent’s narrow room;

And hermits are contented with their cells;

And students with their pensive citadels :

Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,

Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom,

Hich as the highest Peak of Furness-fells,

Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells:

In truth, the prison unto which we doom

Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me,

In sundry moods ’t was pastime to be bound

Within the Sonnet’s scanty plot of ground;

Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be)

Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,

Should find brief solace there, as I have found.
WoRDSWORTH.

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ON BOSTON COMMON.

er

OvuR Common and Garden are not an ideal
field of operations for the student of birds. No
doubt they are rather straitened and public.
Other things being equal, a modest ornitholo-
gist would prefer a place where he could stand
still and look up without becoming himself a
gazing-stock. But “it is not in man that walk-
eth to direct his steps;” and if we are ap-
pointed totake our daily exercise in a city park,
we shall very likely find its narrow limits not
destitute of some partial compensations. This,
at least, may be depended upon, — our disap-
pointments will be on the right side of the ac-
count; we shall see more than we have antici-
pated rather than less, and so our pleasures will,
as it were, come tous double. I recall, for ex-
ample, the heightened interest with which I be-
held my first Boston cat-bird; standing on the
back of one of the seats in the Garden, steady-
ing himself with oscillations of his tail, —a con-
veniently long balance-pole, — while he peeped

4 ON RP adi vie

curiously down into a geranium bed, within the
leafy seclusion of which he presently disap-
peared. He was nothing but a cat-bird; if I
had seen him in the country I should have
passed him by without a second glance; but
here, at the base of the Everett statue, he
looked, somehow, like a bird of another feather.
Since then, it is true, I have learned that his oc-
casional presence with us in the season of the
semi-annual migration is not a matter for aston-
ishment. At that time, however, I was happily
more ignorant; and therefore, as I say, my
pleasure was twofold, — the pleasure, that is, of
the bird’s society and of the surprise.

There are plenty of people, I am aware, who
assert that there are no longer any native birds
in our city grounds, —or, at the most, only a
few robins. Formerly things were different,
they have heard, but now the abominable Eng-
lish sparrows monopolize every nook and corner.
These wise persons speak with an air of posi-
tiveness, and doubtless ought to know whereof
they affirm. Hath not a Bostonian eyes? And
doth he not cross the Common every day? But
it is proverbially hard to prove a negative; and
some of us, with no thought of being cynical,
have ceased to put unqualified trust in other
people’s eyesight, — especially since we have
found our own to fall a little short of absolute

Sha ud

ON BOSTON COMMON. 5

infallibility. My own vision, by the way, is
reasonably good, if I may say so; at any rate I
am not stone-blind. Yet here have I been per-
ambulating the Public Garden for an indefinite
period, without seeing the first trace of a field-
mouse or ashrew. I should have been in ex-
cellent company had I begun long ago to main-
tain that no such animals exist within our pre-
cincts. But the other day a butcher-bird made
us a flying call, and almost the first thing he did
was to catch one of these same furry dainties
and spit it upon a thorn, where anon I found
him devouring it. I would not appear to
boast ; but really, when I saw what Collurio
had done, it did not so much as occur to me to
quarrel with him because he had discovered in
half an hour what I had overlooked for ten
years. On the contrary I hastened to pay him
a heart-felt compliment upon his indisputable
sagacity and keenness as a natural historian ; —
a measure of magnanimity easily enough af-
forded, since however the shrike might excel me
at one point, there could be no question on the
whole of my immeasurable superiority. And I
cherish the hope that my fellow townsmen, who,
as they insist, never themselves see any birds
whatever in the Garden and Common (their at-
tention being taken up with matters more im-
portant), may be disposed to exercise a similar

6 ON BOSTON COMMON.

forbearance toward me, when I modestly profess
that within the last seven or eight years I have
watched there some thousands of specimens,
representing not far from seventy species.

Of course the principal part of all the birds to
be found in such a place are transient visitors
merely. In the long spring and autumn jour-
neys it will all the time be happening that
more or less of the travelers alight here for rest
and refreshment. Now it is only a straggler
or two; now a considerable flock of some one
species; and now a miscellaneous collection of
perhaps a dozen sorts.

One of the first things to strike the observer
is the uniformity with which such pilgrims arrive
during the night. He goes his rounds late in
the afternoon, and there is no sign of anything
unusual; but the next morning the grounds are
populous, —thrushes, finches, warblers, and
what not. And as they come in the dark, so
also do they go away again. With rare excep-
tions you may follow them up never so closely,
and they will do nothing more than fly from
tree to tree, or out of one clump of shrubbery
into another. Once in a great while, under
some special provocation, they threaten a longer
flight ; but on getting high enough to see the
unbroken array of roofs on every side they
speedily grow confused, and after a few shift-

es

ON BOSTON COMMON. ‘

ings of their course dive hurriedly into the near-
est tree. It was a mistake their stopping here
in the first place; but once here, there is noth-
ing for it save to put up with the discomforts of
the situation till after sunset, Then, please
heaven, they will be off, praying never to find
themselves again in such a Babel.

That most of our smaller birds migrate by
night is by this time too well established to
need corroboration ; but if the student wishes
to assure himself of the fact at first hand, he
may easily do it by one or two seasons’ observa-
tions in our Common, — or, I suppose, in any
like inclosure. And if he be blest with an or-
nithologically educated ear, he may still further
confirm his faith by standing on Beacon Hill in
the evening —as I myself have often done —
and listening to the chips of warblers, or the
tseeps of sparrows, as these little wanderers,
hour after hour, pass through the darkness over
the city. Why the birds follow this plan, what
advantages they gain or what perils they avoid
by making their flight nocturnal, is a question
with which our inquisitive friend will perhaps
find greater difficulty. I should be glad, for
one, to hear his explanation.

As a rule, our visitors tarry with us for two or
three days; at least I have noticed that to be
true in many cases where their numbers, or size,

8 ON BOS Sg COMMON.

or rarity made it posssible to be reasonably cer-
tain when the arrival and departure took place ;
and in so very limited a field it is of course
comparatively easy to keep track of the same in-
dividual during his stay, and, so to speak, be-
come acquainted with him. I remember with
interest several such acquaintanceships.

One of these was with a yellow-bellied wood-
pecker, the first I had ever seen. He made his
appearance one morning in October, along with
a company of chickadees and other birds, and
at once took up his quarters on a maple-tree
near the Ether monument. I watched his
movements for some time, and at noon, hap-
pening to be in the same place again, found
him still there. And there he remained four
days. I went to look at him several times
daily, and almost always found him either on
the maple or on a tulip tree a few yards dis-
tant. Without question the sweetness of maple
sap was known to Sphyropicus varius long be-
fore our human ancestors discovered it, and this
particular bird, to judge from his actions, must
have been a genuine connoisseur; at all events
he seemed to recognize our Boston tree as of a
sort not to be met with every day, although
to my less critical sense it was nothing but an
ordinary specimen of the common Acer dasy-
carpum. He was extremely industrious, as is

ON BOSTON COMMON. 8)

the custom,of his family, and paid no attention
to the children playing about, or to the men
who sat under his tree, with the back of their
seat resting against the trunk. As for the
children’s noise, he likely enough enjoyed it;
for he is a noisy fellow himself and famous as
adrummer. An aged clergyman in Washing-
ton told me — in accents half pathetic, half re-
vengeful —that at a certain time of the year
he could scarcely read his Bible on Sunday
mornings, because of the racket which this
woodpecker made hammering on the tin roof
overhead.

Another of my acquaintances was of a very
different type, a female Maryland yellow-throat.
This lovely creature, a most exquisite, dainty
bit of bird flesh, was in the Garden all by her-
self on the 6th of October, when the great ma-
jority of her relatives must have been already
well on their way toward the sunny South.
She appeared to be perfectly contented, and
allowed me to watch her closely, only scolding
mildly now and then when I became too in-
quisitive. How I did admire her bravery and
peace of mind; feeding so quietly, with that
long, lonesome journey before her, and the cold
weather coming on! No wonder the Great
Teacher pointed his lesson of trust with the
injunction, ** Behold the fowls of the air.”

10 ON EE af

A passenger even worse belated than this
warbler was a chipping sparrow that I found
hopping about the edge of the Beacon Street
Mall on the 6th of December, seven or eight
weeks after all chippers were supposed to be
south of Mason and Dixon’s line. Some ac-
cident had detained him doubtless; but he
showed no signs of worry or haste, as I walked
round him, scrutinizing every feather, lest he
should be some tree sparrow traveling in dis-
guise. :

There is not much to attract birds to the
Common in the winter, since we offer them
neither evergreens for shelter nor weed patches
for a granary. I said to one of the gardeners
that I thought it a pity, on this account, that
some of the plants, especially the zinnias and
marigolds, were not left to go to seed. A lit-
tle untidiness, in so good a cause, could hardly
be taken amiss by even the most fastidious tax-
payer. He replied that it would be of no use;
we hadn’t any birds now, and we should n't
have any so long as the English sparrows were
here to drive them away. But it would be of
use, notwithstanding; and certainly it would
afford a pleasure to many people to see flocks
of goldfinches, red-poll linnets, tree sparrows,
and possibly of the beautiful snow buntings,
feeding in the Garden in midwinter.

SP FP Ee Ae
~t aa ay
es

ON BOSTON COMMON. 11

Even as things are, however, the cold season
is sure to bring us a few butcher-birds. These
come on business, and are now welcomed as

public benefactors, though formerly our spar-

row-loving municipal authorities thought it
their duty to shoot them. They travel singly,
as a rule, and sometimes the same bird will be
here for several weeks together. Then you will
have no trouble about finding here and there
in the hawthorn trees pleasing evidences of his
activity and address. Collurio is brought up
to be in love with his work. In his Mother
Goose it is written, —

Fe, fi, fo, farrow!

I smell the blood of an English sparrow;
and however long he may live, he never for-
gets his early training. His days, as the poet
says, are “bound each to each by natural
piety.” Happy lot! wherein duty and con-
science go ever hand in hand; for whose pos-
sessor

‘¢ Love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.’’

In appearance the shrike resembles the mock-
ing-bird. Indeed, a policeman whom I found
staring at one would have it that he was a
mocking-bird. ‘Don’t you see he is? And
he’s been singing, too.” I had nothing to say
against the singing, since the shrike will often

12 ON BoaTaW’ COMMON.

twitter by the half hour in the very coldest
weather. But further discussion concerning
the bird’s identity was soon rendered needless ;
for, while we were talking, along came a spar-
row, and dropped carelessly into a hawthorn
bush, right under the shrike’s perch. The lat-
ter was all attention instantly, and, after wait-
ing till the sparrow had moved a little out of
the thick of the branches, down he pounced.
He missed his aim, or the sparrow was too
quick for him, and although he made a second
swoop, and followed that by a hot chase, he
speedily came back without his prey. This lit-
tle exertion, however, seemed to have provoked
his appetite ; for, instead of resuming his cof-
fee-tree perch, he went into the hawthorn, and
began to feed upon the carcass of a bird which,
it seemed, he had previously laid up in store.
He was soon frightened off for a few moments
by the approach of a third man, and the police-
man improved the opportunity to visit the bush
and bring away his breakfast. When the fel-
low returned and found his table empty, he did
not manifest the slightest disappointment (the
shrike never does; he is a fatalist, I think) ;
but in order to see what he would do, the po-
liceman tossed the body to him. It lodged on
one of the outer twigs, and immediately the
shrike came for it; at the same time spread-

eer Se Ob a eae aia

ON BOSTON COMMON. 13

ing his beautifully bordered tail and screaming
loudly. Whether these demonstrations were in-
tended to express delight, or anger, or contempt,
J] could not judge; but he seized the body, car-
ried it back to its old place, drove it again upon
the thorn, and proceeded to devour it more
voraciously than ever, scattering the feathers
about in a lively way as he tore it to pieces.
The third man, who had never before seen such
a thing, stepped up within reach of the bush,
and eyed the performance at his leisure, the
shrike not deigning to mind him in the least.
A few mornings later the same bird gave me
another and more amusing exhibition of his
nonchalance. He was singing from the top of
our one small larch-tree, and I had stopped
near the bridge to look and listen, when a milk-
man entered at the Commonwealth Avenue
gate, both hands full of cans, and, without no-
ticing the shrike, walked straight under the
tree. Just then, however, he heard the notes
overhead, and, looking up, saw the bird. As
if not knowing what to make of the creature’s
assurance, he stared at him for a moment, and
then, putting down his load, he seized the trunk
with both hands, and gave it a good shake.
But the bird only took a fresh hold; and when
the man let go, and stepped back to look up,
there he sat, to all appearance as unconcerned

14 ON eae COMMON.

as if nothing had happened. Not to be so
easily beaten, the man grasped the trunk again,
and shook it harder than before; and this time.
Collurio seemed to think the joke had been
carried far enough, for he took wing, and flew
to another part .of the Garden. ‘The bravado
of the butcher-bird is great, but it is not un-
limited. I saw him, one day, shuffling along a
branch in a very nervous, unshrikely fashion,
and was at a loss to account for his unusual de-
meanor till I caught sight of a low-flying hawk
sweeping over the tree. Every creature, no
matter how brave, has some other creature to
be afraid of; otherwise, how would the world
get on?

The advent of spring is usually announced
during the first week of March, sometimes by
the robins, sometimes by the bluebirds. The
latter, it should be remarked, are an exception
to the rule that our spring and autumn callers
arrive and depart in the night. My impression
is that their migrations are ordinarily accom-
plished by daylight. At all events I have often
seen them enter the Common, alight for a few
minutes, and then start off again; while I have
never known them to settle down for a visit of
two or three days, in the manner of most other
species. ‘This last peculiarity may be owing to
the fact that the European sparrows treat them

Kae ee ee

ON BOSTON COMMON. 15

with even more than their customary measure
of incivility, till the poor wayfarers have liter-
ally no rest for the soles of their feet. They
breed by choice in just such miniature meet-
ing-houses as our city fathers have provided so
plentifully for their foreign protégés ; and prob-
ably the latter, being aware of this, feel it nec-
essary to discourage at the outset any idea
which these blue-coated American interlopers
may have begun to entertain of settling in Bos-
ton for the summer.

The robins may be said to be abundant with
us for more than half the year; but they are
especially numerous for a month or two early
in the season. I have counted more than thirty
feeding at once in the lower half of the parade
ground, and at nightfall have seen forty at
roost in one tree, with half as many more in
the tree adjoining. They grow extremely noisy
about sunset, filling the air with songs, cackles,
and screams, till even the most stolid citizen
pauses a moment to look up at the authors of so
much clamor.

By the middle of March the song sparrows
begin to appear, and for a month after this they
furnish delightful music daily. I have heard
them caroling with all cheerfulness ii-the midst
of a driving snow-storm. ‘The dear little opti-
mists! ‘They never doubt that the sun is on

ee
16 ON BOSTON COMMON.

their side. Of necessity they go elsewhere to
find nests for themselves, where they may lay
their young; for they build on the ground, and
a lawn which is mowed every two or three days
would be quite out of the question.

At the best, a public park is not a favorable
spot in which to study bird music. Species
that spend the summer here, like the robin,
the warbling vireo, the red-eyed vireo, the
chipper, the goldfinch, and the Baltimore ori-
ole, of course sing freely ; but the much larger
number which merely drop in upon us by the
way are busy feeding during their brief sojourn,
and besides are kept in a state of greater or
less excitement by the frequent approach of
passers-by. Nevertheless, I once heard a bob-
olink sing in our Garden (the only one I ever
saw there), and once a brown thrush, although
neither was sufficiently at home to do himself
justice. The “ Peabody” song of the white-
throated sparrows is to be heard occasionally
during both migrations. It is the more wel-
come in such a place, because, to my ears at
least, it is one of the wildest of all bird notes ;
it is among the last to be heard at night in the
White Mountain woods, as well as one of the
last to die away beneath you as you climb the
higher peaks. On the Crawford bridle path,
for instance, I remember that the song of this

ON BOSTON COMMON. 17

bird and that of the gray-cheeked thrush} were
heard all along the ridge from Mount Clinton
to Mount Washington. The finest bird con-
cert I ever attended in Boston was given on
Monument Hill by a great chorus of fox-col-
ored sparrows, one morning in April. A high
wind had been blowing during the night, and
the moment I entered the Common I discovered
that there had been an extraordinary arrival of
birds, of various species. The parade ground
was full of snow-birds, while the hill was cov-
ered with fox-sparrows, — hundreds of them, I
thought, and many of them in full song. It
was a royal concert, but the audience, I am
sorry to say, was small. It is unfortunate, in
some aspects of the case, that birds have never
learned that a matinée ought to begin at two
o’clock in the afternoon.

These sparrows please me by their lordly
treatment of their European cousins. One in
particular, who was holding his ground against
three of the Britishers, moved me almost to the
point of giving him three cheers.

Of late a few crow blackbirds have taken to

1 My identification of Turdus Alicie was based entirely upon
the song, and so, of course, had no final scientific value. It was
confirmed a few weeks later, however, by Mr. William Brewster,
who took specimens. (See Bulletin of the Nuttall Ornithological
Club, January, 1883, p. 12.) Prior to this the species was not
known to breed in New England.

2

18 ON BOSTON COMMON.

building their nests in one corner of our do-
main ; and they attract at least their full share
of attention, as they strut about the lawns in
their glossy clerical suits. One of the garden-
ers tells me that they sometimes kill the spar-
rows. I hope they do. The crow blackbird’s
attempts at song are ludicrous in the extreme,
as every note is cracked, and is accompanied by
a ridiculous caudal gesture. But he is ranked
among the oscines, and seems to know it; and,
after all, it is only the common fault of singers
not to be able to detect their own want of tune-
fulness.

I was once crossing the Common, in the mid-
dle of the day, when I was suddenly arrested
by the call of a cuckoo. At the same instant
two men passed me, and I heard one say to the
other, ‘‘ Hear that cuckoo! Do you know what
it means? No? Well, J know what it means:
it means that it’s going to rain.” It did rain,
although not for a number of days, I believe.
But probably the cuckoo has adopted the mod-
ern method of predicting the weather some time
in advance. Not very long afterwards I again
heard this same note on the Common; but it
was several years before I was able to put the
cuckoo into my Boston list, as a bird actually
seen. Indeed it is not so very easy to see him
anywhere ; for he makes a practice of robbing

ee nae

ON BOSTON COMMON. 19

the nests of. smaller birds, and is always skulk-
ing about from one tree to another, as though
he were afraid of being discovered, as no doubt
he is. What Wordsworth wrote of the Euro-
pean species (allowance being made for a
proper degree of poetic license) is equally ap-
plicable to ours : —

‘* No bird, but an invisible thing,
A voice, a mystery.’’

When I did finally get a sight of the fellow it
was on this wise. As I entered the Garden,
one morning in September, a goldfinch was
calling so persistently and with such anxious
emphasis from the large sophora tree that I
turned my steps that way to ascertain what |
could be the trouble. I took the voice for a
young bird’s, but found instead a male adult,
who was twitching his tail nervously and scold-
ing phee-phee, phee-phee, at a black-billed
cuckoo perched near at hand, in his usual
sneaking attitude. The goldfinch called and
called, till my patience was nearly spent.

- (Small birds know better than to attack a big

one so long as the latter is at rest.) Then, at
last, the cuckoo started off, the finch after him,
and a few minutes later I saw the same flight
and chase repeated. Several other goldfinches
were flying about in the neighborhood, but
only this one was in the least excited. Doubt-

ee
20 ON BOSTON COMMON.

less he had special reasons of his own for dread-
ing the presence of this cowardly foe.

One of our regular visitors twice a year is the
brown creeper. He is so small and silent, and
withal his color is so like that of the bark to
which he clings, that I suspect he is seldom no-
ticed even by persons who pass within a few
feet of him. But he is not too small to be hec-
tored by the sparrows, and I have before now
been amused at the encounter. The sparrow
catches sight of the creeper, and at once bears
down upon him, when the creeper darts to the
other side of the tree, and alights again a little
further up. ‘The sparrow is after him; but, as
he comes dashing round the trunk, he always
seems to expect to find the creeper perched upon
some twig, as any other bird would be, and it
is only after a little reconnoitring that he again
discovers him clinging to the vertical bole.
Then he makes another onset with a similar re-
sult; and these manceuvres are repeated, till the
creeper becomes disgusted, and takes to another
tree. |
The olive-backed thrushes and the hermits
may be looked for every spring and autumn,
and I have known forty or fifty of the former to
be present at once. The hermits most often
travel singly or in pairs, though a small flock is
not so very uncommon. Both species preserve

ON BOSTON COMMON. y AL

absolute silence while here; I have watched
hundreds of them, without hearing so much as
an alarm note. They are far from being pug-
nacious, but their sense of personal dignity is
large, and once in a while, when the sparrows
pester them beyond endurance, they assume the
offensive with much spirit. There are none of
our feathered guests whom I am gladder to see ;
the sight of them inevitably fills me with re-
membrances of happy vacation seasons among
the hills of New Hampshire. If only they
would sing on the Common as they do in those
northern woods! The whole city would come
out to hear them.

During every migration large numbers of
warblers visit us. I have noted the golden-
crowned thrush, the small-billed water-thrush,
the black-and-white creeper, the Maryland yel-
low-throat, the blue yellow-back, the black-
throated green, the black-throated blue, the yel-
low-rump, the summer yellow-bird, the black-
poll, the Canada flycatcher, and the redstart.
No doubt the list is far from complete, as, of
course, I have not used either glass or gun; and
without one or other of these aids the observer
must be content to let many of these small, tree-
top-haunting birds pass unidentified. The two
kinglets give us a call occasionally, and in the
late summer and early autumn the humming-

a
oa ON BOSTON COMMON.

birds spend several weeks about our flower-
beds.

It would be hard for the latter to find a more
agreeable stopping-place in the whole course of
their southward journey. What could they ask
better than beds of tuberoses, Japanese lilies,
Nicotiana (against the use of which they mani-
fest not the slightest scruple), petunias, and the
like? Having in mind the Duke of Argyll’s
assertion that “ no bird can ever fly backwards,” 4
I have more than once watched these humming-
birds at their work on purpose to see whether
they would respect the noble Scotchman’s dic-
tum. Iam compelled to report that they ap-
peared never to have heard of his theory. At
any rate they very plainly did fly tail foremost ;
and that not only in dropping from a blossom,
— in which case the seeming flight might have
been, as the duke maintains, an optical illusion
merely, — but even while backing out of the
flower-tube in an upward direction. They are
commendably catholic in their tastes. I saw
one exploring the disk of a sun-flower, in com-
pany with a splendid monarch butterfly. Pos-
sibly he knew that the sunflower was just then
in fashion. Only a few minutes earlier the same
bird — or another like him —had chased an
English sparrow out of the Garden, across Ar-

1 The Reign of Law, p. 140.

ON BOSTON COMMON. 23

lington Street, and up to the very roof of a
house, to the great delight of at least one patri-
otic Yankee. At another time I saw one of
these tiny beauties making his morning toilet
in a very pretty fashion, leaning forward, and
brushing first one cheek and then the other
against the wet rose leaf on which he was
perched.

The only swallows on my list are the barn
swallows and the white-breasted. The former,
as they go hawking about the crowded streets,
must often send the thoughts of rich city mer-
chants back to the big barns of their grandfa-
thers, far off in out-of-the-way country places.
Of course we have the chimney swifts, also
(near relatives of the humming-birds!), but
they are not swallows.

Speaking of the swallows, I am reminded of a
hawk that came to Boston, one morning, fully
determined not to go away without a taste of
the famous imported sparrows. It is nothing
unusual for hawks to be seen flying over the
city, but I had never before known one actually
to make the Public Garden his hunting-ground.
This bird perched for a while on the Arlington
Street fence, within a few feet of a passing car-
riage ; next he was on the ground, peering into
a bed of rhododendrons ; then for a long time
he sat still in a tree, while numbers of men

24 on BORron common.

walked back and forth underneath; between
whiles he sailed about, on the watch for his
prey. On one of these last occasions a little
company of swallows came along, and one of
them immediately went out of his way to swoop
down upon the hawk, and deal him a dab.
Then, as he rejoined his companions, I heard
him give a little chuckle, as though he said,
“There! did you see me peck at him? You
don’t think I am afraid of such a fellow as that,
do you?” ‘To speak in Thoreau’s manner, I
rejoiced in the incident as a fresh illustration of
the ascendency of spirit over matter.

One is always glad to find a familiar bird
playing a new réle, and especially in such a
spot as the Common, where, at the best, one
can hope to see so very little. It may be as-
sumed, therefore, that I felt peculiarly grateful
to a white-bellied nuthatch, when I discovered
him hopping about on the ground — on Monu-
ment Hill; a piece of humility such as I had
never before detected any nuthatch in the prac-
tice of. Indeed, this fellow looked so unlike
himself, moving briskly through the grass with
long, awkward leaps, that at first sight I failed
to recognize him. He was occupied with turn-
ing over the dry leaves, one after another, —
hunting for cocoons, or things of that sort, I
suppose. Twice he found what he was in search

ON BOSTON COMMON. 25

of; but instead of handling the leaf on the
ground, he flew with it to the trunk of an elm,
wedged it into a crevice of the bark, and pro-
ceeded to hammer it sharply with his beak.
Great is the power of habit! Strange —is it
not?—that any bird should find it easiest to
do such work while clinging to a perpendicular
surface! Yes; but how does it look to a dog,
I wonder, that men can walk better on their hind
legs than on all fours? Everything is a mira-
cle from somebody’s point of view. The spar-
rows were inclined to make game of my oblig-
ing little performer; but he would have none
of their insolence, and repelled every approach
in dashing style. In exactly three weeks from
this time, and on the same hillside, I came upon
another nuthatch similarly employed ; but be-
fore this one had turned up a leaf to his mind,
the sparrows became literally too many for him,
and he took flight, — to my no small disappoint-
ment.

It would be unfair not to name others of my
city guests, even though I have nothing in par-
ticular to record concerning them. The Wilson
thrush and the red-bellied nuthatch I have seen
once or twice each. The chewink is more con-
stant in his visits, as is also the golden-winged
woodpecker. Our familiar little downy wood-
pecker, on the other hand, has thus far kept

26 on BoST&® COMMON.

out of my catalogue. No other bird’s absence
has surprised me so much; and it is the more
remarkable because the comparatively rare yel-
low-bellied species is to be met with nearly
every season. Cedar-birds show themselves ir-
regularly. One March morning, when the
eround was covered with snow, a flock of per-
haps a hundred collected in one of the taller
maples in the Garden, till the tree looked from
a distance like an autumn hickory, its leafless
branches still thickly dotted with nuts. Four
days afterward, what seemed to be the same
company made their appearance in the Com-
mon. Of the flycatchers, I have noted the
kingbird, the least flycatcher, and the pheebe.
The two former stay to breed. Twice in the
fall I have found a kingfisher about the Frog
Pond. Once the fellow sprung his watchman’s
rattle. He was perhaps my most unexpected
caller, and for a minute or so I was not en-
tirely sure whether indeed I was in Boston or.
not. The blue jay and the crow know too
much to be caught in such a place, although
one may often enough see the latter passing
overhead. Every now and then, in the travel-
ing season, a stray sandpiper or two will be ob-
served teetering round the edge of the Common
and Garden ponds; and one day, when the lat-
ter was drained, I saw quite a flock of some

ON BOSTON COMMON. 26

one of the smaller species feeding over its bot-
tom. Very picturesque they were, feeding and
flying in close order. Besides these must be
mentioned the yellow-throated vireo, the bay-
winged bunting, the swamp sparrow, the field
sparrow, the purple finch, the red-poll linnet,
the savanna sparrow, the tree sparrow, the
night-hawk (whose celebrated tumbling trick
may often be witnessed by evening strollers in
the Garden), the woodcock (I found the body
of one which had evidently met its death against
the electric wire), and among the best of all,
the chickadees, who sometimes make the whole
autumn cheerful with their presence, but about
whom I say nothing here because I have said so
much elsewhere.

Of fugitive cage-birds, I recall only five — all
in the Garden. One of these, feeding tamely
in the path, I suspected for an English robin ;
-but he was not in full plumage, and my conjec-
ture may have been incorrect. Another was a
diminutive finch, dressed in a suit of red, blue,
and green. He sat in a bush, saying Vo, no!
to a feline admirer who was making love to him
earnestly. The others were a mocking-bird, a
cardinal grosbeak, and a paroquet. ‘The mock-
ing-bird and the grosbeak might possibly have
been wild, had the question been one of lati-
tude simply, but their demeanor satisfied me to

28 ON Bos TOW COMM ON.

the contrary. The former’s awkward attempt
at alighting on the tip of a fence-picket seemed
evidence enough that he had not been long at
large. The paroquet was a splendid creature,
with a brilliant orange throat darkly spotted.
He flew from tree to tree, chattering gayly, and ©
had a really pretty song. Evidently he was in
the best of spirits, notwithstanding the rather
obtrusive attentions of a crowd of house spar-
rows, who appeared to look upon such a wearer
of the green as badly out of place in this new
England of theirs. But for all his vivacity, I
feared he would not be long in coming to grief.
If he escaped other perils, the cold weather
must soon overtake him, for it was now the
middle of September, and his last state would
be worse than his first. He had better have
kept his cage; unless, indeed, he was one of
the nobler spirits that prefer death to slavery.
Of all the birds thus far named, very few
seemed to attract the attention of anybody
except myself. But there remains one other,
whom I have reserved for the last, not because
he was in himself the noblest or the most in-
teresting (though he was perhaps the biggest),
but because, unlike the rest, he did succeed in
winning the notice of the multitude. In fact,
my one owl, to speak theatrically, made a de-
cided hit; for a single afternoon he may be

ON BOSTON COMMON. 29

said to haye been famous, —or at all events
notorious, if any old-fashioned reader be dis-
posed to insist upon this all but obsolete dis-
tinction. His triumph, such as it was, had al-
ready begun when I first discovered him, for he
was then perched well up in an elm, while a
mob of perhaps forty men and boys were pelt-
ing him with sticks and stones. Even in the
dim light of a cloudy November afternoon he
seemed quite bewildered and helpless, making
no attempt to escape, although the missiles were
flying past him on all sides. The most he did
was to shift his perch when he was hit, which,
to be sure, happened pretty often. Once he
was struck so hard that he came tumbling to-
ward the ground, and I began to think it was
all over with him; but when about half-way
down he recovered himself, and by dint of pain-
ful flappings succeeded in alighting just out of
the reach of the crowd. At once there were
loud cries: “ Don’t kill him! Don’t kill him!”
and while the scamps were debating what to do
next, he regained his breath, and flew up into
the tree again, as high as before. Then the
stoning began anew. For my part I pitied the
fellow sincerely, and wished him well out of
the hands of his tormentors; but I found my-
self laughing with the rest to see him turn his
head and stare, with his big, vacant eyes, after

30 ON BOS To COMMON.

a stone which had just whizzed by his ear.
Everybody that came along stopped for a few
minutes to witness the sport, and Beacon Street
filled up with carriages till it looked as if some
holiday procession were halted in front of the
State House. I left the crowd still at their
work, and must do them the justice to say that
some of them were excellent marksmen. An
old negro, who stood near me, was bewailing
the law against shooting; else, he said, he
would go home and get his gun. He described,
with appropriate gestures, how very easily he
could fetch the bird down. Perhaps he after-
wards plucked up courage to violate the stat-
ute. At any rate the next morning’s newspa-
pers reported that an owl had been shot, the
day before, on the Common. Poor bird of wis-
dom! His sudden popularity proved to be the
death of him. Like many of loftier name he
found it true, —

‘*The path of glory leads but to the grave.”

BIRD-SONGS.

—_—-——

Canst thou imagine where those spirits live
Which make such delicate music in the woods ?
; SHELLEY.

are ‘.

w
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Wayeat, Ree

1 4
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“wee :

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. SS eer

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oes

BIRD-SONGS.

—_—$——

Way do birdssing? Has their music a mean-
ing, oris it alla matter of blindimpulse? Some
bright morning in March, as you go out-of-doors,
you are greeted by the notes of the first robin.
Perched in a leafless tree, there he sits, facing
the sun like a genuine fire-worshiper, and sing-
ing as though he would pour out his very soul.
What is he thinking about? What spirit pos-
sesses him ?

It is easy to ask questions until the simplest
matter comes to seem, what at bottom it really
is, a thing altogether mysterious; but if our robin
could understand us, he would, likely enough,
reply : —

“ Why do you talk in this way, as if it were
something requiring explanation that a bird
should sing? You seem to have forgotten that
everybody sings, or almost everybody. Think
of the insects, — the bees and the crickets and
the locusts, to say nothing of your intimate

friends, the mosquitoes! Think, too, of the frogs
3

on
34 BIRD-SONGS.

and the hylas! If these cold-blooded, low-lived
creatures, after sleeping all winter in the mud,!
are free to make so much use of their voices,
surely a bird of the air may sing his unobtrusive
song without being cross-examined concerning
the purpose of it. Why do the mice sing, and
the monkeys, and the woodchucks? Indeed,
sir, — if one may be so bold, — why do you sing,
yourself ?”

This matter - of - fact Darwinism need not
frighten us. It will do us no harm to remember,
now and then, “the hole of the pit whence we
were digged ;” and besides, as far as any rela-
tionship between us and the birds is concerned,
it is doubtful whether we are the party to com-
plain.

But avoiding “ genealogies and contentions,”
and taking up the question with which we be-
gan, we may safely say that birds sing, some-
times to gratify an innate love for sweet sounds ;
sometimes to win a mate, or to tell their love
to a mate already won; sometimes as practice,
with a view to self-improvement ; and some-
times for no better reason than the poet’s, — “I
do but sing because I must.” In general, they

1 There is no Historic-Genealogical Society among the birds,
and the robin is not aware that his own remote ancestors were rep-
tiles. If he were, he would hardly speak so disrespectfully of
these batrachians.

BIRD-SONGS. 85

sing for joy; and their joy, of course, has vari-
ous causes.

For one thing, they are very sensitive to the
weather. With them, as with us, sunlight and
a genial warmth go to produce serenity. A
bright summer-like day, late in October, or even
in November, will set the smaller birds to sing-
ing, and the grouse to drumming. I heard a
robin venturing a little song on the 25th of last
December ; but that, for aught I know, was a
Christmas carol. No matter what the season,
you will not hear agreat deal of bird music dur-
ing a high wind; and if you are caught in the
woods by a sudden shower in May or June, and
are not too much taken up with thoughts of
your own condition, you will hardly fail to no-
tice the instant silence which falls upon the
woods with the rain. Birds, however, are more
or less inconsistent (that is a part of their lke-
ness to us), and sometimes sing most freely
when the sky is overcast.

But their highest joys are by no means de-
pendent upon the moods of the weather. A
comfortable state of mind is not to be contemned,
but beings who are capable of deep and passion-
ate affection recognize a difference between com-
fort and ecstasy. And the peculiar glory of
birds is just here, in the all-consuming fervor
of their love. It would be commonplace to call

36 BIRDSONGS.

them models of conjugal and parental faithful-
ness. With a few exceptions (and these, it is a
pleasure to add, not singers), the very least of
them is literally faithful unto death. Here and
there, in the notes of some collector, we are told
of a difficulty he has had in securing a coveted
specimen: the tiny creature, whose mate had
been already “collected,” would persist in hov-
ering so closely about the invader’s head that it
was impossible to shoot him without spoiling
him for the cabinet by blowing him to pieces!

Need there be any mystery about the singing
of such a lover? Is it surprising if at times
he is so enraptured that he can no longer sit
tamely on the branch, but must dart into the
air, and go circling round and round, caroling
as he flies ?

So far as song is the voice of emotion, it will
of necessity vary with the emotion ; and every
one who has ears must have heard once in a
while bird music of quite unusual fervor. For
example, I have often seen the least flycatcher
(a very unromantic-looking body, surely) when
he was almost beside himself ; flying in a circle,
and repeating breathlessly his emphatic chedec.
And once I found a wood pewee in a somewhat
similar mood. He was more quiet than the
least flycatcher; but he too sang on the wing,
aud I have never heard notes which seemed

BIRD-SONGS. 37

more expressive of happiness. Many of them
were entirely new and strange, although the
familiar pewee was introduced among the rest.
As I listened, I felt it to be an occasion for
thankfulness that the delighted creature had
never studied anatomy, and did not know that
the structure of his throat made it improper for
him to sing. In this connection, also, I recall
a cardinal grosbeak, whom I heard several
years ago, on the bank of the Potomac River.
An old soldier had taken me to visit the Great
Falls, and as we were clambering over the rocks
this grosbeak began to sing; and soon, without
any hint from me, and without knowing who
the invisible musician was, my companion re-
marked upon the uncommon beauty of the song.
The cardinal is always a great singer, having a
voice which, as European writers say, is almost
equal to the nightingale’s; but in this case the
more stirring, martial quality of the strain had
given place to an exquisite mellowness, as if it
were, what I have no doubt it was, a song of
love. |

Every kind of bird has notes of its own, so that
a thoroughly practiced ear would be able to dis-
criminate the different species with nearly as
much certainty as Professor Baird would feel
after an examination of the anatomy and plum-
age. Still this strong specific resemblance is

38 BIRDRONGS.

far from being a dead uniformity. Aside from
the fact, already mentioned, that the character-
istic strain is sometimes given with extraordi-
nary sweetness and emphasis, there are often to
be detected variations of a more formal charac-
ter. This is noticeably true of robins. It may
almost be said that no two of them sing alike ;
while now and then their vagaries are conspic-
uous enough to attract general attention. One
who was my neighbor last year interjected into
his song a series of four or five most exact imi-
tations of the peep of a chicken. When I first
heard this performance, I was in company with
two friends, both of whom noticed and laughed
at it; and some days afterwards I visited the
spot again, and found the bird still rehearsing
the same ridiculous medley. I conjectured that
he had been brought up near a hen-coop, and,
moreover, had been so unfortunate as to lose
his father before his notes had become thor-
oughly fixed; and then, being compelled to
finish his musical education by himself, had
taken a fancy to practice these chicken calls.
This guess may not have been correct. All I
can affirm is that he sang exactly as he might
have been expected to do, on that supposition ;
but certainly the resemblance seemed too close
to be accidental.

The variations of the wood thrush are fully

BIRD-SONGS. 39

as striking as those of the robin, and sometimes
it is impossible not to feel that the artist is
making a deliberate effort to do something out
of the ordinary course, something better than
he has ever done before. Now and then he
prefaces his proper song with many discon-
nected, extremely staccato notes, following each
other at very distant and unexpected intervals
of pitch. It is this, I conclude, which is meant
by some writer (who it is I cannot now remem-
ber) when he criticises the wood thrush for
spending too much time in tuning his instru-
ment. But the fault is the critic’s, I think; to
my ear these preliminaries sound rather like
the recitative which goes before the grand aria.

Still another musician who delights to take
liberties with his score is the towhee bunting,
or chewink. Indeed, he carries the matter so
far that sometimes it seems almost as if he
suspected the proximity of some self-conceited
ornithologist, and were determined, if possible,
to make a fool of him. And for my part, being
neither self-conceited nor an ornithologist, I am
willing to confess that I have once or twice
been so badly deceived that now the mere sight
of this Pipilo is, so to speak, a means of grace
to me.

One more of these innovators (these heretics,
as they are most likely called by their more

40 BIRDRONGS.

conservative brethren) is the field sparrow, bet-
ter known as Spizella pusilla. His usual song
consists of a simple line of notes, beginning lei-
surely, but growing shorter and more rapid to
the close. The voice is so smooth and sweet,
and the acceleration so well managed, that, al-
though the whole is commonly a strict mono-
tone, the effect is not in the least monotonous.
This song I once heard rendered in reverse or-
der, with a result so strange that I did not sus-
pect the identity of the author till I had crept
up within sight of him. Another of these spar-
rows, who has passed the last two seasons in
my neighborhood, habitually doubles the meas-
ure; going through it in the usual way, and
then, just as you expect him to conclude, catch-
ing it up again, Da capo.

But birds like these are quite outdone by
such species as the song sparrow, the white-
eyed vireo, and the Western meadow-lark,—
species of which we may say that each individ-
ual bird has a whole repertory of songs at his
command. ‘The song sparrow, who is the best
known of the three, will repeat one melody
perhaps a dozen times, then change it for a
second, and in turn leave that for a third; as if
he were singing hymns of twelve or fifteen
stanzas each, and set each hymn to its appro-
priate tune. It is sometning well worth listen-

BIRD-SONGS. 41

ing to, common though it is, and may easily
suggest a number of questions about the origin
and meaning of bird music.

The white-eyed vireo is a singer of astonish-
ing spirit, and his sudden changes from one
theme to another are sometimes almost start-
ling. He is a skillful ventriloquist, also, and I
remember one in particular who outwitted me
completely. He was rehearsing a well-known
strain, but at the end there came up from the
bushes underneath a querulous call. At first I
took it for granted that some other bird was in
the underbrush; but the note was repeated too
many times, and came in too exactly on the beat.

I have no personal acquaintance with the
Western meadow-lark, but no less than twenty-
six of his songs have been printed in musical
notation, and these are said to be by no means
all.t

Others of our birds have similar gifts, though
no others, so far as I know, are quite so versa-
tile as these three. Several of the warblers,
for example, have attained to more than one
set song, notwithstanding the deservedly small
reputation of this misnamed family. I have
myself heard the golden-crowned thrush, the
black-throated green warbler, the black-throated

1 Mr. C. N. Allen, in Bulletin of the Nuttall Ornithological
Club, July, 1881.

Fe
42 BIRD-SONGS.

blue, the yellow-rumped, and the chestnut-sided,
sing two melodies each, while the blue golden-
winged has at least three; and this, of course,
without making anything of slight variations
such as all birds are more or less accustomed to
indulge in. The best of the three songs of the
blue golden-wing I have never heard except on
one occasion, but then it was repeated for half
an hour under my very eyes. It bore no re-
semblance to the common dsee, dsee, dsee, of
the species, and would appear to be seldom
used ; for not only have I never heard it since,
but none of the writers seem ever to have
heard it at all. However, I still keep a careful
description of it, which I took down on the
spot, and which I expect some future golden-
wing to verify.

But the most celebrated of the warblers in
this regard is the golden-crowned thrush, other-
wise called the oven-bird and the wood wagtail.
His ordinary effort is one of the noisiest, least
melodious, and most incessant sounds to be
heard in our woods. His song is another mat-
ter. For that he takes to the air (usually start-
ing from a tree-top, although I have seen him
rise from the ground), whence, after a prelim-
inary chip, chip, he lets falls a hurried flood of
notes, in the midst of which can usually be dis-
tinguished his familiar weechee, weechee, wee-

BIRD-SONGS. 43

chee. It is nothing wonderful that he should
sing on the wing, — many other birds do the
same, and very much better than he; but he is
singular in that he strictly reserves his aerial
music for late in the afternoon. I have heard
it as early as three o’clock, but never before
that, and it is most common about sunset.
Writers speak of it as limited to the season of
courtship ; but I have heard it almost daily till
near the end of July, and once, for my special
benefit, perhaps, it was given in full —and re-
peated — on the first day of September. But
who taught the little creature to do this, — to
sing one song in the forenoon, perched upon a
twig, and to keep another for afternoon, sing-
ing that invariably on the wing? and what dif-
ference is there between the two in the mind
of the singer ?!

It is an indiscretion ever to say of a bird
that he has only such and such notes. You
may have been his friend for years, but the
next time you go into the woods he will likely
enough put you to shame by singing something
not so much as hinted at in your description.
I thought I knew the song of the yellow-rumped
warbler, having listened to it many times, —a

1 Since this paper was written I have three times heard the wood
wagtail’s true song in the morning, — but in neither case was the
bird in the air. See p. 284.

44 BIRDSSONGS.
slight and rather characterless thing, nowise
remarkable. But coming down Mount Willard
one day in June, I heard a warbler’s song which
brought me to a sudden halt. It was new and
beautiful, — more beautiful, it seemed at the
moment, than any warbler’s song I had ever
heard. What could it be? A little patient
waiting (while the black-flies and mosquitoes
‘‘came upon me to eat up my flesh’’), and the
wonderful stranger appeared in full view, — my
old acquaintance, the yellow-rumped warbler.
With all this strong tendency on the part of
birds to vary their music, how is it that there
is still such a degree of uniformity, so that, as
we have said, every species may be recognized
by its notes? Why does every red-eyed vireo
sing in one way, and every white-eyed vireo in
another? Who teaches the young chipper to
trill, and the young linnet to warble? In short,
how do birds come by their music? Is it alla
matter of instinct, inherited habit, or do they
learn it? The answer appears to be that birds
sing as children talk, by simple imitation. No-
body imagines that the infant is born with a
language printed upon his brain. The father
and mother may never have known a word of
any tongue except the English, but if the child
is brought up to hear only Chinese, he will
infallibly speak that, and nothing else. And

BIRD-SONGS. 45

careful experiments have shown the same to be
true of birds.| Taken from the nest just after
they leave the shell, they invariably sing, not
their own so-called natural song, but the song
of their foster- parents; provided, of course,
that this is not anything beyond their physi-
eal capacity. The notorious house sparrow (our
“ English ”’ sparrow), in his wild or semi-domes-
ticated state, never makes a musical sound; but
if he is taken in hand early enough, he may be
taught to sing, so it is said, nearly as well as
the canary. Bechstein relates that a Paris
clergyman had two of these sparrows whom he
had trained to speak, and, among other things,
to recite several of the shorter commandments ;
and the narrative goes on to say that it was
sometimes very comical, when the pair were
disputing over their food, to hear one gravely
admonish the other, “ Thou shalt not steal!”
It would be interesting to know why creatures
thus gifted do not sing of their own motion.
With their amiability and sweet peaceable-
ness they ought to be caroling the whole year
round. :

This question of the transmission of songs
from one generation to another is, of course, a

1 See the paper of Daines Barrington in Philosophical Transac-
tions for 1773; also, Darwin’s Descent of Man, and Wallace’s
Natural Selection. —

46 BIRDGBONGS.

part of the general subject of animal intelli-
gence, a subject much discussed in these days
on account of its bearing upon the modern doc-
trine concerning the relation of man to the in-
ferior orders.

We have nothing to do with such a theme,
but it may not be out of place to suggest to
preachers and moralists that here is a striking
and unhackneyed illustration of the force of
early training. Birds sing by imitation, it is
true, but as a rule they imitate only the notes
which they hear during the first few weeks
after they are hatched. One of Mr. Barring-
ton’s linnets, for example, after being educated
under a titlark, was put into a room with two
birds of his own species, where he heard them
sing freely every day for three months. He
made no attempt to learn anything from them,
however, but kept on practicing what the tit-
lark had taught him, quite unconscious of any-
thing singular or unpatriotic in such a course.
This law, that impressions received during the
immaturity of the powers become the unalter-
able habit of the after life, is perhaps the most
momentous of all the laws in whose power we
find ourselves. Sometimes we are tempted to
call it cruel. But if it were annulled, this
would be a strange world. What a_ hurly-
hurly we should have among the birds! There

a

BIRD-SONGS. 47

would be no more telling them by their notes.
Thrushes and jays, wrens and _ chickadees,
finches and warblers, all would be singing one
grand medley.

Between these two opposing tendencies, one
urging to variation, the other to permanence
(for Nature herself is half radical, half con-
servative), the language of birds has grown
from rude beginnings to its present beautiful
diversity ; and whoever lives a century of mil-
lenniums hence will listen to music such as we
in this day can only dream of. Inappreciably
but ceaselessly the work goes on. Here and
there is born a master-singer, a feathered gen-
ius, and every generation makes its own addi-
tion to the glorious inheritance.

It may be doubted whether there is any real
connection between moral character and the
possession of wings. Nevertheless there has
long been a popular feeling that some such con-
gruity does exist ; and certainly it seems unrea-
sonable to suppose that creatures who are able
to soar at will into the heavens should be with-
out other equally angelic attributes. But, be
that as it may, our friends, the birds, do un-
deniably set us a good example in several re-
spects. To mention only one, how becoming is
their observance of morning and evening song!
In spite of their industrious spirit (and few of

48 BIRDHMMONGS.

us labor more hours daily), neither their first
nor their last thoughts are given to the ques-
tion, What shall we eat, and what shall we
drink? Possibly their habit of saluting the
rising and setting sun may be thought to favor
the theory that the worship of the god of day
was the original religion. I know nothing
about that. But it would be a sad change if
the birds, declining from their present beauti-
ful custom, were to sleep and work, work and
sleep, with no holy hour between, as is too
much the case with the being who, according
to his own pharisaic notion, is the only religious
animal.

In the season, however, the woods are by no
means silent, even at noonday. Many species
(such as the vireos and warblers, who get their
living amid the foliage of trees) sing as they
work ; while the thrushes and others, who keep
business and pleasure more distinct, are often
too happy to go many hours together without a
hymn. I have even seen robins singing without
quitting the turf ; but that is rather unusual, for
somehow birds have come to feel that they must
get away from the ground when the lyrical mood
is upon them. This may be a thing of sentiment
(for is not language full of uncomplimentary
allusions to earth and earthliness ?), but more
likely it is prudential. The gift of song is no

me aS

BIRD-SONGS. 49

doubt a dangerous blessing to creatures who
have so many enemies, and we can readily be-
lieve that they have found it safer to be up
where they can look about them while thus
publishing their whereabouts.

A very interesting exception to this rule is
the savanna sparrow, who sings habitually from
the ground. But even he shares the common
feeling, and stretches himself to his full height
with an earnestness which is almost laugh-
able, in view of the result; for his notes are
hardly louder than a cricket’s chirp. Probably
he has fallen into this lowly habit from living
in meadows and salt marshes, where bushes
and trees are not readily to be come at; and
it is worth noticing that, in the case of the
skylark and the white-winged blackbird, the
same conditions have led to a result precisely
opposite. The sparrow, we may presume, was
originally of a humble disposition, and when
nothing better offered itself for a singing-perch
easily grew accustomed to standing upon a
stone or a little lump of earth; and this prac-
tice, long persisted in, naturally had the effect
to lessen the loudness of his voice. The sky-
lark, on the other hand, when he did not read-
ily find a tree-top, said to himself, “ Never
mind! I have a pair of wings.” And so the

lark is famous, while the sparrow remains un-
4

50 BIRD-SONGS.

heard-of, and is even mistaken for a grasshop-
per.

How true it is that the very things which
dishearten one nature and break it down, only
help another to find out what it was made for!
If you would foretell the development, either
of a bird or of a man, it is not enough to know
his environment, you must know also what
there is in him.

We have possibly made too much of the sa-
vanna sparrow’s innocent eccentricity. He fills
his place, and fills it well ; and who knows but
that he may yet outshine the skylark? ‘There
is a promise, I believe, for those who humble
themselves. But what shall be said of species
which do not even try to sing, and that, not-
withstanding they have all the structural pecul-
larities of singing birds, and must, almost cer-
tainly, have come from ancestors who were
singers? We have already mentioned the
house sparrow, whose defect is the more mys-
terious on account of his belonging to so highly
musical a family. But he was never accused of
not being noisy enough, while we have one
bird who, though he is classed with the oscines,
passes his life in almost unbroken silence. Of
course I refer to the waxwing, or cedar-bird,
whose faint, sibilant whisper can scarcely be
thought to contradict the foregoing description.

BIRD-SONGS. 51

By what strange freak he has lapsed into this
ghostly habit, nobody knows. I make no ac-
count of the insinuation that he gave up music
because it hindered his success in cherry-steal-
ing. He likes cherries, it is true; and who can
blame him? But he would need to work hard
to steal more than does that indefatigable song-
ster, the robin. I feel sure he has some better
reason than this for his Quakerish conduct.
But, however he came by his stillness, it is
likely that by this time he plumes himself upon
it. Silence is golden, he thinks, the supreme
result of the highest zsthetic culture. Those
loud creatures, the thrushes and finches! What
a vulgar set they are, to be sure, the more’s
the pity! Certainly if he does not reason in
some such way, bird nature is not so human as
we have given it credit for being. Besides,
the waxwing has an uncommon appreciation
of the decorous; at least, we must think so
if we are able to credit a story of Nuttall’s.
He declares that a Boston gentleman, whose
name he gives, saw one of a company of these
birds capture an insect, and offer it to his neigh-
bor ; he, however, delicately declined the dainty
bit, and it was offered to the next, who, in
turn, was equally polite; and the morsel actu-
ally passed back and forth along the line, till,
finally, one of the flock was persuaded to eat it.

52 BIRD-SONGS.

I have never seen anything equal to this; but
one day, happening to stop under a low cedar,
I discovered right over my head a waxwing’s
nest with the mother-bird sitting upon it, while
her mate was perched beside her on the branch.
He was barely out of my reach, but he did not
move a muscle; and although he uttered no
sound, his behavior said as plainly as possible,
“What do you expect to do here? Don’t you
see Jam standing guard over this nest?” I
should be ashamed not to be able to add that I
respected his dignity and courage, and left him
and his castle unmolested.

Observations so discursive as these can hardly
be finished ; they must break off abruptly, or
else go on forever. Let us make an end, there-
fore, with expressing our hope that the cedar-
bird, already so handsome and chivalrous, will
yet take to himself a song ; one sweet and orig-
inal, worthy to go with his soft satin coat, his
ornaments of sealing-wax, and his magnificent
top-knot. Let him do that, and he shall al-
ways be made welcome; yes, even though he
come in force and in cherry-time.

CHARACTER IN FEATHERS.

—-— p=

THE finger of God hath left an inscription upon all his works,
not graphical or composed of letters, but of their several forms,
constitutions, parts, and operations, which, aptly joined together,
do make one word that doth express their natures. By these let-
ters God calls the stars by their names; and by this alphabet
Adam assigned to every creature a name peculiar to its nature.

Sir THomas BRowNE.

CHARACTER IN FEATHERS.

—_—e—

In this economically governed world the same
thing serves many uses. Who will take upon
himself to enumerate the offices of sunlight, or
water, or indeed of any object whatever? Be-
cause we know it to be good for this or that, it
by no means follows that we have discovered
what it was made for. What we have found
out is perhaps only something by the way; as
if a man should think the sun were created for
his own private convenience. In some moods
it seems doubtful whether we are yet acquainted
with the real value of anything. But, be that
as it may, we need not scruple to admire so
much as our ignorance permits us to see of the
workings of this divine frugality. The piece of
woodland, for instance, which skirts the village,
— how various are its ministries to the inhab-
itants, each of whom, without forethought or
question, takes the benefit proper to himself!
The poet saunters there asin a true Holy Land,
to have his heart cooled and stilled. Mr. A.

56 CHARACTER @W FEATHERS.

and Mr. B., who hold the deeds of the “ prop-
erty,” walk through it to look at the timber,
with an eye todollars and cents. The botanist
has his errand there, the zodlogist his, and the
child his. Oftenest of all, perhaps (for barba-
rism dies hard, and even yet the ministers of
Christ find it a capital sport to murder small
fishes), —oftenest of all comes the man, poor
soul, who thinks of the forest as of a place to
which he may go when he wishes to amuse him-
self by killing something. Meanwhile, the rab-
bits and the squirrels, the hawks and the owls,
look upon all such persons as no better than in-
truders (do not the woods belong to those who
live in them?) ; while nobody remembers the
meteorologist, who nevertheless smiles in his
sleeve at all these one-sided notions, and says to
himself that he knows the truth of the matter.
So is it with everything; and with all the
rest, so is it with the birds. ‘The interest they
excite is of all grades, from that which looks
upon them as items of millinery, up to that of
the makers of ornithological systems, who ran-
sack the world for specimens, and who have no
doubt that the chief end of a bird is to be named
and catalogued, — the more synonyms the bet-
ter. Somewhere between these two extremes
comes the person whose interest in birds is
friendly rather than scientific; who has little

CHARACTER IN FEATHERS. 57

taste for shooting, and an aversion from dissect-
ing; who delights in the living creatures them-
selves, and counts a bird in the bush worth two
in the hand. Such a person, if he is intelligent,
makes good use of the best works on ornithol-
ogy ; he would not know how to get along with-
out them; but he studies most the birds them-
selves, and after a while he begins to associate
them on aplan of his own. Not that he dis-
trusts the approximate correctness of the re-
ceived classification, or ceases to find it of daily
service; but though it were as accurate as the
multiplication table, it is based (and rightly, no
doubt) on anatomical structure alone; it rates
birds as bodies, and nothing else: while to the
person of whom we are speaking birds are, first
of all, souls; his interest in them is, as we say,
personal; and we are none of us in the habit of
grouping our friends according to height, or
complexion, or any other physical peculiarity.
But it is not proposed in this paper to attempt
a new classification of any sort, even the most
unscientific and fanciful. All I am to do is to
set down at random a few studies in such a
method as I have indicated; in short, a few
studies in the temperaments of birds. Nor, in
making this attempt, am I unmindful how elu-
sive of analysis traits of character are, and how
diverse is the impression which the same per-

58 CHARACTER MW FEATHERS.

sonality produces upon different observers. In
matters of this kind every judgment is largely
“a question of emphasis and proportion; and,
moreover, what we find in our friends depends
in great part on what we have in ourselves.
This I do not forget; and therefore I foresee
that others will discover in the birds of whom I
write many things that I miss, and perhaps will
miss some things which I have treated as patent
or even conspicuous. It remains only for each
to testify what he has seen, and at the end to
confess that a soul, even the soul of a bird, is
after all a mystery.

Let our first example, then, be the common
black-capped titmouse, or chickadee. He is, par
excellence, the bird of the merry heart. There
is a notion current, to be sure, that all birds are
merry ; but that is one of those second-hand
opinions which a man who begins to observe for
himself soon finds it necessary to give up.
With many birds life is a hard struggle. Ene-
mies are numerous, and the food supply is too
often scanty. Of some species it is probable
that very few die in their beds. But the chick-
adee seems to be exempt from all forebodings.
His coat is thick, his heart is brave, and, what-
ever may happen, something will be found to
eat. ‘Take no thought for the morrow” is his
creed, which he accepts, not “ for substance of

CHARACTER IN FEATHERS. 59

doctrine,” but literally. No matter how bitter
the wind or how deep the snow, you will never
find the chickadee, as the saying is, under the
weather. Itis this perennial good humor, I sup-
pose, which makes other birds so fond of his
companionship ; and their example might well
be heeded by persons who suffer from fits of de-
pression. Such unfortunates could hardly do
better than to court the society of the joyous tit.
His whistles and chirps, his graceful feats of
climbing and hanging, and withal his engaging
familiarity (for, of course, such good-nature as
his could not consist with suspiciousness) would
most likely send them home in a more Christian
mood. The time will come, we may hope,
when doctors will prescribe bird-gazing instead
of blue-pill.

To illustrate the chickadee’s trustfulness, I
may mention that a friend of mine captured one
in a butterfly-net, and, carrying him into the
house, let him loose in the sitting-room. The
little stranger was at home immediately, and
seeing the window full of plants, proceeded to
go over them carefully, picking off the lice with
which such window-gardens are always more or
less infested. A little later he was taken into
my friend’s lap, and soon he climbed up to his
shoulder; where, after hopping about for a few
minutes on his coat-collar, he selected a com-

60 CHARACTER MM FEATHERS.

fortable roosting place, tucked his head under
his wing, and went to sleep, and slept on un-
disturbed while carried from one room to an-
other. Probably the chickadee’s nature is not
of the deepest. I have never seen him when
his joy rose to eestasy. Still his feelings are not
shallow, and the faithfulness of the pair to each
other and to their offspring is of the highest
order. ‘The female has sometimes to be taken
off the nest, and even to be held in the hand,
before the eggs can be examined.

Our American goldfinch is one of the loveliest
of birds. With his elegant plumage, his rhyth-
mical, undulatory flight, his beautiful song, and
his more beautiful soul, he ought to be one of
the best beloved, if not one of the most famous ;
but he has never yet had half his deserts. He
is like the chickadee, and yet different. He is
not so extremely confiding, nor should I call him
merry. But he is always cheerful, in spite of
his so-called plaintive note, from which he gets
one of his names, and always amiable. So far
as I know, he never utters a harsh sound; even
the young ones, asking for food, use only smooth,
musical tones. During the pairing season his
delight often becomes rapturous. To see him
then, hovering and singing, —or, better still, to
see the devoted pair hovering together, billing
and singing, —is enough to do even a cynic good.

CHARACTER IN FEATHERS. 61

The happy lovers! They have never read it in
a book, but it is written on their hearts, —

‘The gentle law, that each should be
The other’s heaven and harmony.”’

The goldfinch has the advantage of the titmouse
in several respects, but he lacks that spright-
liness, that exceeding light-heartedness, which
is the chickadee’s most endearing characteristic.

For the sake of a strong contrast, we may
look next at the brown thrush, known to farm-
ers as the planting-bird and to ornithologists
as Harporhynchus rufus ; a staid and solemn
Puritan, whose creed is the Preacher’s, — “* Van-
ity of vanities, allis vanity.” No frivolity and
merry-making for him! After his brief annual
period of intensely passionate song, he does pen-
ance for the remainder of the year, — skulking
about, on the ground or near it, silent and
gloomy. He seems ever on the watch against
an enemy, and, unfortunately for his comfort, he
has nothing of the reckless, bandit spirit, such
as the jay possesses, which goes to make a mod-
erate degree of danger almost a pastime. Not
that he is without courage; when his nest is in
question he will take great risks ; but in general
his manner is dispirited, ‘“ sicklied o’er with the
pale cast of thought.” Evidently he feels

‘‘ The heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world; ”?

62 CHARACTER@N FEATHERS.

and it would not be surprising if he sometimes
raised the question, “Is life worth living?” It
is the worst feature of his case that his melan-
choly is not of the sort which softens and re-
fines the nature. There is no suggestion of
saintliness about it. In fact, I am convinced
that this long-tailed thrush has a constitutional
taint of vulgarity. His stealthy, underhand
manner is one mark of this, and the same thing
comes out again in his music. Full of passion
as his singing is (and we have hardly anything
to compare with it in this regard), yét the lis-
tener cannot help smiling now and then; the
very finest passage is followed sosuddenly by
some uncouth guttural note, or by some whim-
sical drop from the top to the bottom of the
scale.

In neighborly association with the brown
thrush is the towhee bunting, or chewink. The
two choose the same places for their summer
homes, and, unless I am deceived, they often
migrate in company. But though they are so
much together, and in certain of their ways
very much alike, their habits of mind are widely
dissimilar. The towhee is of a peculiarly even
disposition. I have seldom heard him scold, or
use any note less good-natured and musical than
his pleasant cherawink. I have never detected
him in a quarrel such as nearly all birds are

CHARACTER IN FEATHERS. 63

once ina while guilty of, ungracious as it may
seem to mention the fact; nor have I ever seen
him hopping nervously about and twitching his
tail, as is the manner of most species, when, for
instance, their nests are approached. Nothing
seems toannoy him. At the same time, he is
not full of continual merriment like the chicka-
dee, nor occasionally in a rapture like the gold-
finch. Life with him is pitched in a low key ;
comfortable rather than cheerful, and never
jubilant. And yet, for all the towhee’s careless
demeanor, you soon begin to suspect him of
being deep. He appears not to mind you; he
keeps on scratching among the dry leaves as if
he had no thought of being driven away by
your presence ; but in a minute or two you look
that way again, and he is not there. If you
pass near his nest, he makes not a tenth part of
the ado which a brown thrush would make in
the same circumstances, but (partly for this
reason) you will find half a dozen nests of the
thrush sooner than one of his. With all his
simplicity and frankness, which puts him in
happy contrast with the thrush, he knows as
well as anybody how to keep his own counsel.
I have seen him with his mate for two or three
days together about the flower-beds in the Bos-
ton Public Garden, and so far as appeared they
were feeding as unconcernedly as though they

64 CHARACTER@IN FEATHERS.

had been on their own native heath, amid the
scrub-oaks and huckleberry bushes; but after
their departure it was remembered that they
had not once been heard to utter a sound. If
self-possession be four fifths of good manners,
our red-eyed Pipilo may certainly pass for a
gentleman.

We have now named four birds, the chickadee,
the goldfinch, the brown thrush, and the to-
whee, — birds so diverse in plumage that no
eye could fail to discriminate them at a glance,
But the four differ no more truly in bodily shape
and dress than they do in that inscrutable some-
thing which we call temperament, disposition.
If the soul of each were separated from the body
and made to stand out in sight, those of us who
have really known the birds in the flesh would
have no difficulty in saying, This is the titmouse,
and this the towhee. It would be with them as
we hope it will be with our friends in the next
world, whom we shall recognize there because
we knew them here; that is, we knew them,
and not merely the bodies they lived in. This
kind of familiarity with birds has no necessary
connection with ornithology. Personal inti-
macy and a knowledge of anatomy are still two
different things. As we have all heard, ours
is an age of science; but, thank fortune, mat-
ters have not yet gone so far that a man must

CHARACTER IN FEATHERS. 65

take a course in anthropology before he can
love his neighbor.

It is a truth only too patent that taste and
conscience are sometimes at odds. One man
wears his faults so gracefully that we can hardly
help falling in love with them, while another,
alas, makes even virtue itself repulsive. I am
moved to this commonplace reflection by think-
ing of the blue jay, a bird of doubtful character,
but one for whom, nevertheless, it is impossible

not to feel a sort of affection and even of re-
spect. He is quite as suspicious as the brown
thrush, and his instinct for an invisible perch is
perhaps as unerring as the cuckoo’s ; and yet,
even when he takes to hiding, his manner is
not without a dash of boldness. He has a most
irascible temper, also, but, unlike the thrasher,
he does not allow his ill-humor to degenerate
into chronic sulkiness. Instead, he flies into a
furious passion, and is done with it. Some say
that on such occasions he swears, and I have
myself seen him when it was plain that nothing
except a natural impossibility kept him from
tearing his hair. His larynx would make him
a singer, and his mental capacity is far above
the average; but he has perverted his gifts, till
his music is nothing but noise and his talent
nothing but smartness. A like process of dep-

ravation the world has before now witnessed in
5

66 CHARACTERM@N FEATHERS.

political life, when a man of brilliant natural
endowments has yielded to low ambitions and
stooped to unworthy means, till what was
meant to be a statesman turns out to be a dem-
agogue. But perhaps we wrong our handsome
friend, fallen angel though he be, to speak thus
of him. Most likely he would resent the com-
parison, and I do not press it. We must admit
that juvenile sportsmen have persecuted him
unduly ; and when a creature cannot show him-
self without being shot at, he may be pardoned ,
for a little misanthropy. Christians as we are,
how many of us could stand such a test? In
these circumstances, it is a point in the jay’s
favor that he still has, what is rare with birds,
a sense of humor, albeit it is humor of a rather
grim sort,— the sort which expends itself in
practical jokes and uncivil epithets. He has
discovered the school-boy’s secret: that for the
expression of unadulterated derision there is
nothing like the short sound of a, prolonged
into a drawl. Yah, yah, he cries; and some-
times, as you enter the woods, you may hear
him shouting so as to be heard for half a mile,
‘‘Here comes a fool with a gun; look out for
him!”

It is natural to think of the shrike in connec-
tion with the jay, but the two have points of
unlikeness no less than of resemblance. The

CHARACTER IN FEATHERS. 67

shrike is a taciturn bird. If he were a politi-
cian, he would rely chiefly on what is known
as the “ still hunt,” although he too can scream
loudly enough on occasion. His most salient
trait is his impudence, but even that is of a
negative type. ‘“ Who are you,” he says,
“that I should be at the trouble to insult
you?” He has made a study of the value of
silence as an indication of contempt, and is al-
most human in his ability to stare straight by
a person whose presence it suits him to ignore.
His imperturbability is wonderful. Watch
him as closely as you please, you will never
discover what he is thinking about. Under-
take, for instance, now that the fellow is sing-
ing from the top of a small tree only a few rods
from where you are standing, — undertake to
settle the long dispute whether his notes are
designed to decoy small birds within his reach.
Those whistles and twitters, — hear them! So
miscellaneous! so different from anything which
would be expected from a bird of his size and
general disposition! so very like the notes of
sparrows! They must be imitative. You be-
gin to feel quite sure of it. But just at this
point the sounds cease, and you look up to dis-
cover that Collurio has fallen to preening his
feathers in the most listless manner imaginable.
** Look at me,” he says; “do I act like one on

68 CHARACTERAMIN FEATHERS.

the watch for his prey? Indeed, sir, I wish
the innocent sparrows no harm ; and besides,
if you must know it, I ate an excellent game-
breakfast two hours ago, while laggards like
you were still abed.” In the winter, which is
the only season when I have been able to ob-
serve him, the shrike is to the last degree un-
social, and I have known him to stay for a
month in one spot all by himself, spending a
good part of every day perched upon a tele-
graph wire. He ought not to be very happy,
with such a disposition, one would think; but
he seems to be well contented, and sometimes
his spirits are fairly exuberant. Perhaps, as
the phrase is, he enjoys A?mself; in which case
he certainly has the advantage of most of us,
—unless, indeed, we are easily pleased. At
any rate, he is philosopher enough to appreci-
ate the value of having few wants; and I am
not sure but that he anticipated the vaunted
discovery of Teufelsdréckh, that the fraction of
life may be increased by lessening the denomi-
nator. But even the stoical shrike is not with-
out his epicurean weakness. When he has
killed a sparrow, he eats the brains first ; after
that, if he is still hungry, he devours the coarser
and less savory parts. In this, however, he
only shares the well-nigh universal inconsis-
tency. There are never many thorough-going

CHARACTER IN FEATHERS. 69

stoics in the world. Epictetus declared with an
oath that he should be glad to see one.! To
take everything as equally good, to know no
difference between bitter and sweet, penury and
plenty, slander and praise,—this is a great
attainment, a Nirvana to which few can hope
to arrive. Some wise man has said (and the
remark has more meaning than may at once
appear) that dying is usually one of the last
things which men do in this world.

Against the foil of the butcher-bird’s stolid-
ity we may set the inquisitive, garrulous tem-
perament of the white-eyed vireo and the yel-
low-breasted chat. The vireo is hardly larger
than the goldfinch, but let him be in one of his
conversational moods, and he will fill a smilax
thicket with noise enough for two or three cat-
_birds. Meanwhile he keeps his eye upon you,
and seems to be inviting your attention to his
loquacious abilities. The chat is perhaps even
more voluble. Staccato whistles and snarls
follow each other at most extraordinary inter-
vals of pitch, and the attempt at showing off is
sometimes unmistakable. Occasionally he takes
to the air, and flies from one tree to another;
teetering his body and jerking his tail, in an

1 This does not harmonize exactly with a statement which Em-
erson makes somewhere, to the effect that all the stoics were stoics
indeed. But Epictetus had never lived in Concord.

70 CHARACTER #4 FEATHERS.

indescribable fashion, and chattering all the
while. His “inner consciousness” at such a
moment would be worth perusing. Possibly
he has some feeling for the grotesque. But I
suspect not ; probably what we laugh at as the
antics of a clown is all sober earnest to him.

At best, it is very little we can know about
what is passing in a bird’s mind. We label
him with two or three sesquipedalia verba, give
his territorial range, describe his notes and his
habits of nidification, and fancy we have ren-
dered an account of the bird. But how should
we like to be inventoried in such a style?
‘¢ His name was John Smith; he lived in Bos-
ton, in a three-story brick house ; he had a bar-
itone voice, but was not a good singer.” All
true enough; but do you call that a man’s bi-
ography ?

The four birds last spoken of are all wanting
in refinement. The jay and the shrike are
wild and rough, not to say barbarous, while the
white-eyed vireo and the chat have the charac-
ter which commonly goes by the name of od-
dity. All four are interesting for their strong
individuality and their picturesqueness, but it
is a pleasure to turn from them to creatures
like our four common New England Hylocich-
le, or small thrushes. These are the real pa-
tricians. With their modest but rich dress,

CHARACTER IN FEATHERS. 71

and their dignified, quiet demeanor, they stand
for the true aristocratic spirit. Like all genu-
ine aristocrats, they carry an air of distinction,
of which no one who approaches them can long
remain unconscious. When you go into their
haunts they do not appear so much frightened
as offended. “ Why do you intrude?” they
seem to say; “these are our woods;” and they
bow you out with all ceremony. Their songs
are in keeping with this character ; leisurely,
unambitious, and brief, but in beauty of voice
and in high musical quality excelling all other
music of the woods. However, I would not
exaggerate, and I have not found even these
thrushes perfect. The hermit, who is my fa-
vorite of the four, has a habit of slowly raising
and depressing his tail when his mind is dis-
turbed — a trick of which it is likely he is un-
conscious, but which, to say the least, is not a
mark of good breeding ; and the Wilson, while
every note of his song breathes of spirituality,
has nevertheless a most vulgar alarm call, a
petulant, nasal, one-syllabled yeork. I do not
know anything so grave against the wood
thrush or the Swainson ; although when I have
fooled the former with decoy whistles, I have
found him more inquisitive than seemed alto-
gether becoming to a bird of his quality. But
character without flaw is hardly to be insisted

72 CHARACTER # FEATHERS.

on by sons of Adam, and, after all deductions
are made, the claim of the Hylocichle to noble
blood can never be seriously disputed. I have
spoken of the four together, but each is clearly
distinguished from all the others; and this I
believe to be as true of mental traits as it is of
details of plumage and song. No doubt, in
general, they are much alike ; we may say that
they have the same qualities ; but a close ac-
quaintance will reveal that the qualities have
been mixed in different proportions, so that the
total result in each case is a personality strictly
unique.

And what is true of the Hylocichle is true
of every bird that flies. Anatomy and dress
and even voice aside, who does not feel the dis-
similarity between the cat-bird and the robin,
and still more the difference, amounting to con-
trast, between the cat-bird and the bluebird ?
Distinctions of color and form are what first
strike the eye, but on better acquaintance these
are felt to be superficial and comparatively un-
important; the difference is not one of outside
appearance. It is his gentle, high-bred manner
and not his azure coat, which makes the blue-
bird ; and the cat-bird would be a cat-bird in
no matter what garb, so long as he retained his
obtrusive self-consciousness and his prying,

busy-body spirit ; all of which, being inter-

CHARACTER IN FEATHERS. 73

preted, comes, it may be, to no more than this,
“ Fine feathers don’t make fine birds.”

Even in families containing many closely
allied species, I believe that every species has
its own proper character, which sufficient inter-
course would enable us to make a due report
of. Nobody ever saw a song-sparrow manifest-
ing the spirit of a chipper, and I trust it will not
be in my day that any of our American spar-
rows are found emulating the virtues of their
obstreperous immigrant cousin. Of course it is
true of birds, as of men, that some have much
more individuality than others. But know any
bird or any man well enough, and he will prove
to be himself, and nobody else. To know the
ten thousand birds of the world well enough to
see how, in bodily structure, habit of life, and
mental characteristics, every one is different
from every other is the long and delightful task
which is set before the ornithologist.

But this is not all. The ornithology of the
future must be ready to give an answer to the
further question how these divergences of anat-
omy and temperament originated. How came
the chickadee by his endless fund of happy
spirits? Whence did the towhee derive his
equanimity, and the brown thrush his saturnine
temper? ‘The waxwing and the vireo have the
same vocal organs; why should the first do

74 CHARACTER @M FEATHERS.

nothing but whisper, while the second is so
loud and voluble? Why is one bird belligerent
and another peaceable; one barbarous and an-
other civilized; one grave and another gay ?
Who can tell? We can make here and there a
plausible conjecture. We know that the be-
havior of the blue jay varies greatly in different
parts of the country, in consequence of the dif-
ferent treatment which he receives. We judge
that the chickadee, from the peculiarity of his
feeding habits, is more certain than most birds
are of finding a meal whenever he is hungry;
and that, we are assured from experience, goes
a long way toward making a body contented.
We think it likely that the brown thrush is at
some special disadvantage in this respect, or has
some peculiar enemies warring upon him; in
which case it is no more than we might expect
that he should be a pessimist. And, with all
our ignorance, we are yet sure that everything
has a cause, and we would fain hold by the
brave word of Emerson, ‘“* Undoubtedly we
have no questions to ask which are unanswer-
able.”

IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.

—_—+-—

Our music ’s in the hills.
EMERSON.

IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.

————

It was early in June when I set out for my
third visit to the White Mountains, and the
ticket-seller and the baggage-master in turn as-
sured me that the Crawford House, which I
named as my destination, was not yet open.
They spoke, too, in the tone which men use
when they mention something which, but for
uncommon stupidity, you would have known
beforehand. The kindly sarcasm missed its
mark, however. I was aware that the hotel
was not yet ready for the “general public.”
But I said to myself that, for once at least, I
was not to be included in that unfashionably
promiscuous company. The vulgar crowd must
wait, of course. For the present the mountains,
in reporters’ language, were “on private view ;”
and despite the ignorance of railway officials, I
was one of the elect. In plainer phrase, I had
in my pocket a letter from the manager of the
famous inn before mentioned, in which he prom-
ised to do what he could for my entertainment,

78 IN THE WHI 1 vo UNTAINS.

even though he was not yet, as he said, keeping
a hotel.

Possibly I made too much of a small matter ;
but it pleased me to feel that this visit of mine
was to be of a peculiarly intimate character, —
almost, indeed, as if Mount Washington him-
self had bidden me to private audience.

Compelled to wait three or four hours in
North Conway, I improved the opportunity to
stroll once more down into the lovely Saco
meadows, whose “ green felicity ’ was just now
at its height. Here, perched upon a fence-rail,
in the shadow of an elm, I gazed at the snow-
crowned Mount Washington range, while the
bobolinks and savanna sparrows made music on
every side. The song of the bobolinks dropped
from above, and the microphonic tune of the
sparrows came up from the grass, — sky and
earth keeping holiday together. Almost I
could have believed myself in Eden. But,
alas, even the birds themselves were long since
shut out of that garden of innocence, and as I
started back toward the village a crow went
hurrying past me, with a kingbird in hot pur-
suit. The latter was more fortunate than us-
ual, or more plucky ; actually alighting on the
crow’s back and riding for some distance. I
could not distinguish his motions, — he was too
far away for that, —but I wished him joy of

eee _—_—-/).

IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 79

his victory, and grace to improve it to the full.
For it is scandalous that a bird of the crow’s
cloth should be a thief; and so, although I
reckon him among my friends, — in truth, be-
cause I do so,—Iam always able to take it
patiently when I see him chastised for his fault.
Imperfect as we all know each other to be, it is
a comfort to feel that few of us are so alto-
gether bad as not to take more or less pleasure
in seeing a neighbor’s character improved un-
der a course of moderately painful discipline.
At Bartlett word came that the passenger
ear would go no further, but that a freight
train would soon start, on which, if I chose, I
could continue my journey. Accordingly, I
rode up through the Notch on a platform car,
—a mode of conveyance which I can heartily
and in all good conscience recommend. ‘There
is no crowd of exclaiming tourists, the train of
necessity moves slowly, and the open platform
offers no obstruction to the view. Fora time
I had a seat, which after a little two strangers
ventured to occupy with me; for “it’s an ill
wind that blows nobody good,” and there hap-
pened to be on the car one piece of baggage, —
a coffin, inclosed in a pine box. Our sitting
upon it could not harm either it or us; nor did
Wwe mean any disrespect to the man, whoever
he might be, whose body was to be buried in it.

80 IN THE WHEM@® MOUNTAINS.

Judging the dead charitably, as in duty bound,
I had no doubt he would have been glad if he
could have seen his “ narrow house” put to
such a use. So we made ourselves comfortable
with it, until, at an invisible station, it was
taken off. Then we were obliged to stand, or
to retreat into a miserable small box-car behind
us. The platform would lurch alittle now and
then, and I, for one, was not experienced as a
“train hand ;” but we all kept our places till
the Frankenstein trestle was reached. Here,
where for five hundred feet we could look down
upon the jagged rocks eighty feet below us,
one of the trio suddenly had an errand into the
box-car aforesaid, leaving the platform to the
other stranger and me. All in all, the ride
through the Notch had never before been so
enjoyable, I thought; and late in the evening
I found myself once again at the Crawford
House, and in one of the best rooms, — as well
enough I might be, being the only guest in the
house.

The next morning, before it was really hight,
I was lying awake looking at Mount Webster,
while through the open window came the loud,
cheery song of the white-throated sparrows.
The hospitable creatures seemed to be inviting
me to come at once into their woods; but I
knew only too well that, if the invitation were

|
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IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 81

accepted, they would every one of them take
to hiding like bashful children.

The white-throat is one of the birds for
whom I cherish a special liking. On my first
trip to the mountains I jumped off the train for
a moment at Bartlett, and had hardly touched
the ground before I heard his familiar call.
Here, then, was Mr. Peabody at home. Season
after season he had camped near me in Massa-
chusetts, and many a time I had been gladdened
by his lively serenade ; now he greeted me from
his own native woods. So far as my observa-
tions have gone, he is common throughout the
mountain region; and that in spite of the
standard guide-book, which puts him down as
patronizing the Glen House almost exclusively.
He knows the routes too well to need any guide,
however, and may be excused for his ignorance
of the official programme. It is wonderful how
shy he is, —the more wonderful, because, dur-
ing his migrations, his manner is so very differ-
ent. Then, even ina city park you may watch
him at your leisure, while his loud, clear whis-
tle is often to be heard rising above a din of
horse-cars and heavy wagons. But here, in his
summer quarters, you will listen to his song a
hundred times before you once catch a glimpse
of the singer. At first thought it seems strange

that a bird should be most at home when he is
:

82 IN THE WHI9? MOUNTAINS.

away from home; but in the one case he has
nothing but his own safety to consult, while in
the other he is thinking of those whose lives
are more to him than his own, and whose hid-
ing-place he is every moment on the alert to
conceal.

In Massachusetts we do not expect to find
sparrows in deep woods. They belong in fields
and pastures, in roadside thickets, or by fence-
rows and old stone-walls bordered with bar-
berry bushes and alders. But these white-
throats are children of the wilderness. It is
one charm of their music that it always comes,
or seems to come, from such a distance, — from
far up the mountain-side, or from the inaccessi-
ble depths of some ravine. I shall not soon for-
get its wild beauty as it rose out of the spruce
forests below me, while I was enjoying an
evening promenade, all by myself, over the
long, flat summit of Moosilauke. From his
habit of singing late at night this sparrow is in
some places known as the nightingale. His
more common name is the Peabody bird; while
a Jefferson man, who was driving me over the
Cherry Mountain road, called him the Peverly
bird, and told me the following story : —

A farmer named Peverly was walking about
his fields one spring morning, trying to make
up his mind whether the time had come to put

IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 83

in his wheat. The question was important,
and he was still in a deep quandary, when a
bird spoke up out of the wood and said, ‘“‘ Sow
wheat, Peverly, Peverly, Peverly !— Sow wheat,
Peverly, Peverly, Peverly!” That settled the
matter. The wheat was sown, and in the fall
a most abundant harvest was gathered; and
ever since then this little feathered oracle has
been known as the Peverly bird.

We have improved on the custom of the an-
cients: they examined a bird’s entrails; we lis-
ten to his song. Who says the Yankee is not
wiser than the Greek ?

But I was lying abed in the Crawford House
when the voice of Zonotrichia albicollis sent
my thoughts thus astray, from Moosilauke to
Delphi. That day and the two following were
passed in roaming about the woods near the
hotel. The pretty painted trillium was in blos-
som, as was also the dark purple species, and
the hobble-bush showed its broad white cymes
in all directions. Here and there was the mod-
est little spring beauty (Claytonia Carolini-
ana), and not far from the Elephant’s Head I
discovered my first and only patch of dicentra,
with its delicate dissected leaves and its oddly
shaped petals of white and pale yellow. The
false mitrewort (Tiarella cordifolia) was in
flower likewise, and the spur which is cut off

84 IN THE WHIP MOUNTAINS.

Mount Willard by the railroad was all aglow
with rhodora, —a perfect flower-garden, on the
monochromatic plan now so much in vogue.
Along the edge of the rocks on the summit of
Mount Willard a great profusion of the com-
mon saxifrage was waving in the fresh breeze:
“Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.”

On the lower parts of the mountains, the foli-
age was already well out, while the upper parts
were of a fine purplish tint, which at first I
was unable to account for, but which I soon
discovered to be due to the fact that the trees
at that height were still only in bud.

A notable feature of the White Mountain
forests is the absence of oaks and hickories.
These tough, hard woods would seem to have
been created on purpose to stand against wind
and cold. But no; the hills are covered with
the fragile poplars and birches and _ spruces,
with never an oak or hickory among them. I
suspect, indeed, that it is the very softness of
the former which gives them their advantage.
For this, as I suppose, is correlated with rapid
growth; and where the summer is very short,
speed may count for more than firmness of
texture, especially during the first one or two
years of the plant’s life. ‘Trees, like men, lose
in one way what they gain in another; or, in

IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 85

other words, they “have the defects of their
qualities.”* Probably Paul’s confession, “ When
I am weak, then am [ strong,” is after all only
the personal statement of a general law, as true
of a poplar as of a Christian. For we all be-
lieve (do we not?) that the world is a uni-
verse, governed throughout by one Mind, so
that whatever holds in one part is good every-
where.

But it was June, and the birds, who were
singing from daylight till dark, would have the
most of my attention. It was pleasant to find
here two comparatively rare warblers, of whom
I had before had only casual glimpses, — the
mourning warbler and the bay-breasted. The
former was singing his loud but commonplace
ditty within a few rods of the piazza on one
side of the house, while his congener, the Mary-
land yellow-throat, was to be heard on the other
side, along with the black-cap (Dendreca strv-
ata), the black-and-yellow, and the Canadian
flycatcher. The mourning warbler’s song, as
I heard it, was like this: Whit whit whit, wit
wit. The first three notes were deliberate and
loud, on one key, and without accent. ‘The
last two were pitched a little lower, and were
shorter, with the accent on the first of the pair ;
they were thinner in tone than the opening
triplet, as is meant to be indicated by the dif-

86 IN THE WHIT MOUNTAINS.

ference of spelling.1 Others of the family were
the golden-crowned thrush, the small - billed
water-thrush, the yellow-rumped, the Black-
burnian (with his characteristic z2llup, zillup,
zillup), the black-throated green, the black-
throated blue (the last with his loud, coarse
kree, kree, kree), the redstart, and the elegant
blue yellow-back. Altogether, they were a gor-
geous company.

But the chief singers were the olive-backed
thrushes and the winter wrens. I should be
glad to know on just what principle the olive-
backs and their near relatives, the hermits, dis-
tribute themselves throughout the mountain
region. Each species seems to have its own
sections, to which it returns year after year,
and the olive-backed, being, as is well known,
the more northern species of the two, naturally
prefers the more elevated situations. I have
found the latter abundant near the Profile
House, and for three seasons it has had exclu-
sive possession of the White Mountain Notch, —
so far, at least, as I have been able to discover.?
The hermits, on the other hand, frequent such
places as North Conway, Gorham, Jefferson,
Bethlehem, and the vicinity of the Flume.

1 He is said to have another song, beautiful and wren-like; but
that I have never heard.

2 This is making no account of the gray-cheeked thrushes, who
are found only near the tops of the mountains.

IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 87

Only once have I found the two species in the
same neighborhood. That was near the Breezy
Point House, on the side of Mount Moosilauke;
but this place is so peculiarly romantic, with its
noble amphitheatre of hills, that I could not
wonder neither species was willing to yield the
ground entirely to the other; and even here it
was to be noticed that the hermits were in or
near the sugar-grove, while the Swainsons were
in the forest, far off in an opposite direction.1
It is these birds, if any, whose music reaches
the ears of the ordinary mountain tourist.
Every man who is known among his acquaint-
ances to have a little knowledge of such things
is approached now and then with the question,
“ What bird was it, Mr. So-and-So, that I heard

_ singing up in the mountains? I didn’t see

him; he was always ever so far off; but his
voice was wonderful, so sweet and clear and

loud!” As arule it may safely be taken for

granted that such interrogatories refer either
to the Swainson thrush or to the hermit. The
inquirer is very likely disposed to be incredu-
lous when he is told that there are birds in his
own woods whose voice is so like that of his
admired New Hampshire songster that, if he
were to hear the two together, he would not at

1 T have since found both species at Willoughby Lake, Vermont,
and the veery with them.

88 IN THE WHI9#? MOUNTAINS.

first be able to tell the one from the other. He
has never heard them, he protests; which is
true enough, for he never goes into the woods
of his own town, or, if by chance he does, he
leaves his ears behind him in the shop. His
case is not peculiar. Men and women gaze
enraptured at New Hampshire sunsets. How
glorious they are, to be sure! What a pity the
sun does not sometimes set in Massachusetts !

As a musician the olive-back is certainly in-
ferior to the hermit, and, according to my taste,
he is surpassed also by the wood thrush and the
Wilson; but he is a magnificent singer, for all
that, and when he is heard in the absence of
the others it is often hard to believe that any
one of them could do better. A good idea of the
rhythm and length of his song may be gained
by pronouncing somewhat rapidly the words,
**T love, I love, I love you,” or, as it sometimes
runs, “I love, I love, I love you truly.” How
literal this translation is I am not scholar
enough to determine, but without question it
gives the sense substantially.

The winter wrens were less numerous than
the thrushes, I think, but, like them, they sang
at all hours of the day, and seemed to be well
distributed throughout the woods. We can
hardly help asking how it is that two birds so
very closely related as the house wren and the

+*- ae

IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 89

winter wren should have chosen haunts so ex-
tremely diverse, — the one preferring door-yards
in thickly settled villages, the other keeping
strictly to the wildest of all wild places. But
whatever the explanation, we need not wish the
fact itself different. Comparatively few ever
hear the winter wren’s song, to be sure (for
you will hardly get it from a hotel piazza), but
it is not the less enjoyed on that account.
There is such a thing as a bird’s making him-
self too common; and probably it is true even of
the great prima donna that it is not those who
live in the house with her who find most pleas-
ure in her music. Moreover, there is much in
time and circumstance. You hear a song in
the village street, and pass along unmoved; but
stand in the silence of the forest, with your feet
in a bed of creeping snowberry and oxalis, and
the same song goes to your very soul.

The great distinction of the winter wren’s
melody is its marked rhythm and accent, which
give it a martial, fife-like character. Note
tumbles over note in the true wren manner, and
the strain comes to an end so suddenly that for
the first few times you are likely to think that
the bird has been interrupted. In the middle
is a long in-drawn note, much like one of the
eanary’s. The odd little creature does not get
far away from the ground. I have never seen

90 IN THE WHIMM MOUNTAINS.

him sing from a living tree or bush, but always
from a stump or a log, or from the root or
branch of an overturned tree, —from some-
thing, at least, of nearly his own color! The
song is intrinsically one of the most beautiful,
and in my ears it has the further merit of being
forever associated with reminiscences of ram-
blings among the White Hills. How well I
remember an early morning hour at Profile
Lake, when it came again and again across the
water from the woods on Mount Cannon, under
the Great Stone Face!

Whichever way I walked, I was sure of the
society of the snow-birds. ‘They hopped famil-
larly across the railroad track in front of the
Crawford House, and on the summit of Mount
Washington were scurrying about among the
rocks, opening and shutting their pretty white-
bordered fans. Half-way up Mount Willard I
sat down to rest on a stone, and after a minute
or two out dropped a snow-bird at my feet, and
ran across the road, trailing her wings. J looked
under the bank for her nest, but, to my surprise,
could find nothing of it. So I made sure of
knowing the place again, and continued my
tramp. Returning two hours later, I sat down
upon the same bowlder, and watched for the

1 True when written, but now needing to be qualified by one
exception. See p. 226.

IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 91

bird to appear as before; but she had gath-
ered courage from my former failure, —or so
it seemed, —and I waited in vain till I rapped
upon the ground over her head. Then she scram-
bled out and limped away, repeating her inno-
cent but hackneyed ruse. This time I was re-
solved not to be baffled. The nest was there,
and I would find it. So down on my knees I
got, and scrutinized the whole place most care-
fully. But though I had marked the precise
spot, there was no sign of a nest. I was about
giving over the search ignominiously, when I de-
scried a slight opening between the overhang-
ing roof of the bank and a layer of earth which
some roots held in place close under it. Into
this slit I inserted my fingers, and there, en-
tirely out of sight, was the nest full of eggs. No
man could ever have found it, had the bird been
brave and wise enough to keep her seat. How-
ever, I had before this noticed that the snow-
bird, while often extremely clever in choosing
a building site, is seldom very skillful in keeping
a secret. I saw him one day standing on the
side of the same Mount Willard road,’ gesticu-

1 Beside this road (in June, 1883) I found a nest of the yellow-
bellied flycatcher (Empidonax flaviventris). It was built at the
base of a decayed stump, in a little depression between two roots,
and was partially overarched with growing moss. It contained
four eggs, — white, spotted with brown. I called upon the bird
half a dozen times or more, and found her a model “‘ keeper at

92 IN THE WHIM) MOUNTAINS.

lating and scolding with all his might, as much
as to say, “ Please don’t stop here! Go straight
along, I beg of you! Our nest is right under
this bank!” And one glance under the bank
showed that I had not misinterpreted his dem-
onstrations. For all that, I do not feel like
taking a lofty tone in passing judgment upon
Junco. He is not the only one whose wisdom
is mixed with foolishness. There is at least one
other person of whom the same is true, —a
person of whom I have nevertheless a very good
opinion, and with whom I am, or ought to be,
better acquainted than I am with any animal
that wears feathers.

The prettiest snow-bird’s nest I ever saw was
built beside the Crawford bridle path, on Mount
Clinton, just before the path comes out of the
woods at the top. It was lined with hair-moss
(a species of Polytrichum) of a bright orange
color, and with its four or five white, llac-spot-
ted eggs made so attractive a picture that I was
constrained to pause a moment to look at it,
even though I had three miles of a steep, rough
footpath to descend, with a shower threatening

home.’’ On one occasion she allowed my hand to come within two
or three inches of her bill. In every case she flew off without any
outcry or ruse, and once at least she fell immediately to fly-catch-
ing with admirable philosophy. So far as I know, this is the only
nest of the species ever found in New England outside of Maine.
But it is proper to add that I did not capture the bird.

IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 93

to overtake me before I could reach the bottom.
I wondered whether the architects really pos-
sessed an eye for color, or had only stumbled
upon this elegant bit of decoration. On the
whole, it seemed more charitable to conclude the
former ; and not only morecharitable, but more
scientific aswell. For,if I understand the mat-
ter aright, Mr. Darwin and his followers have
settled upon the opinion that birds do display
an unmistakable fondness for bright tints ; that,
indeed, the males of many species wear brilliant
plumage for no other reason than that their
mates prefer-them in that dress. Moreover, if
a bird in New South Wales adorns her bower
with shells and other ornaments, why may not
our little Northern darling beautify her nest
with such humbler materials as her surround-
ings offer? On reflection, I am more and more
convinced that the birds knew what they were
doing; probably the female, the moment she
discovered the moss, called to her mate, ‘‘ Oh,
look, how lovely! Do, my dear, let ’s line our
nest with it!”

This artistic structure was found on the an-
niversary of the battle of Bunker Hill, a day
which I had been celebrating, as best I could,
by climbing the highest hill in New England.
Plunging into the woods within fifty yards of
the Crawford House, I had gone up and up,

94 IN THE i MOUNTAINS.

and on and on, through a magnificent forest,
and then over more magnificent rocky heights,
until I stood at last on the platform of the hotel
at the summit. True, the path, which I had
never traveled before, was wet and slippery,
with stretches of ice and snow here and there ;
but the shifting view was so grand, the atmos-
phere so bracing, and the solitude so impressive
that I enjoyed every step, till it came to clam-
bering up the Mount Washington cone over the
bowlders. At this point, to speak frankly, I
began to hope that the ninth mile would prove
to be a short one. ‘The guide-books are agreed
in warning the visitor against making this as-
cent without a companion, and no doubt they
are right in so doing. A crippling accident
would almost inevitably be fatal, while for sey-
eral miles the trail is so indistinet that it would
be difficult, if not impossible, to follow it in a
fog. And yet, if one is willing to take the
risk (and is not so unfortunate as never to
have learned how to keep himself company),
he will find a very considerable compensation
in the peculiar pleasure to be experienced in
being absolutely alone above the world. For
myself, I was shut up to going in this way or
not going at all; and a Bostonian must do
something patriotic on the Seventeenth of June.
But for all that, if the storm which chased me

eT
Rae) et RSTO hw

IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 95

down the mountains in the afternoon, clouding
first Mount Washington and then Mount Pleas-
ant behind me, and shutting me indoors all the
next day, had started an hour sooner, or if I had
been detained an hour later, it is not impossi-
ble that I might now be writing in a different
strain.

My reception at the top was none of the
heartiest. The hotel was tightly closed, while
a large snow-bank stood guard before the door.
However, I invited myself into the Signal Ser-
vice Station, and made my wants known to one
of the officers, who very kindly spread a table
with such things as he and his companions had
just been eating. It would be out of place to
say much about the luncheon: the bread and
butter were good, and the pudding was interest-
ing. [had the cook’s word for it that the lat-
ter was made of corn-starch, but he volunteered
no explanation of its color, which was nearly
that of chocolate. As a working hypothesis I
adopted the molasses or brown-sugar theory, but
a brief experiment (as brief as politeness per-
mitted) indicated a total absence of any saccha-
rine principle. But then, what do we climb
mountains for, if not to see something out of
the common course? On the whole, if this de-
partment of our national government is ever on
trial for extravagance in the matter of high liv-

96 IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.

ing, I shall be moved to offer myself as a com-
petent witness for the defense.

A company of chimney-swifts were flying
criss-cross over the summit, and one of the men
said that he presumed they lived there. I took
the liberty to doubt his opinion, however. To
me it seemed nothing but a blunder that they
should be there even for an hour. ‘There could
hardly be many insects at that height, I thought,
and I had abundant cause to know that the
woods below were full of them. I knew, also,
that the swifts knew it; for while I had been
prowling about between Crawford’s and Fab-
yan’s, they had several times shot by my head
so closely that I had instinctively fallen to cal-
culating the probable consequences of a colli-
sion. But, after all, the swift is no doubt a
far better entomologist than I am, though he
has never heard of Packard’s Guide. Possibly
there are certain species of insects, and those
of a peculiarly delicate savor, which are to be
obtained only at about this altitude.

The most enjoyable part of the Crawford path
is the five miles from the top of Mount Clinton
to the foot of the Mount Washington cone.
Along this ridge I was delighted to find in blos-
som two beautiful Alpine plants, which I had
missed in previous (July) visits, — the diapen-

sia (Diapensia Lapponica) and the Lapland rose-

7

IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 97

bay (Rhododendron Lapponicum), — and to get
also a single forward specimen of Potentilla
frigida. Here and there was a humblebee,
gathering honey from the small purple catkins
of the prostrate willows, now in full bloom.
(Rather high-minded humblebees, they seemed,
more than five thousand feet above the sea!)
Professional entomologists (the chimney-swift,
perhaps, included) may smile at my simplicity,
but I was surprised to find this “ animated tor-
rid zone,” this ‘* insect lover of the sun,” in such
a Greenland climate. Did he not know that his
own poet had described him as “ hot midsum-
mer’s petted crone”? But possibly he was
equally surprised at my appearance. He might
even have taken his turn at quoting Emer-
son : —

‘Pants up hither the spruce clerk
From South Cove and City Wharf’’ ?4

Of the two, he was unquestionably the more at
home, for he was living where in forty-eight
hours I should have found my death. So much
is Bombus better than a man.

In a little pool of water, which seemed to be

1 But by this time the clerk’s appearance was, to say the least,
not reprehensibly ‘‘ spruce.’’ For one thing, what with the moist-
ure and the sharp stones, he was already becoming jealous of his

fe. shoes, lest they should not hold together till he could get back to
5 the Crawford House.
7

98 IN THE Wig MOUNTAINS.

nothing but a transient puddle caused by the
melting snow, was a tiny fish. I asked him by
what miracle he got there, but he could give no
explanation. He, too, might well enough have
joined the noble company of Emersonians : —

‘¢T never thought to ask, I never knew ;

But, in my simple ignorance, suppose

The self-same Power that brought me here brought you.”

Almost at the very top of Mount Clinton I
was saluted by the familiar ditty of the Nash-
ville warbler. I could hardly believe my ears ;
but there was no mistake, for the bird soon ap-
peared in plain sight. Had it been one of the
hardier-seeming species, the yellow-rumped for
example, I should not have thought it very
strange; but this dainty Helminthophaga, so
common in the vicinity of Boston, did appear to
be out of his latitude, summering here on Al-
pine heights. With a good pair of wings, and
the whole continent to choose from, he surely
might have found some more congenial spot
than this in which to bring up his little family.
I took his presence to be only an individual
freak, but a subsequent visitor, who made the
ascent from the Glen, reported the same spe-
cies on that side also, and at about the same
height.

These signs of life on bleak mountain ridges
are highly interesting and suggestive. The.

IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 99

fish, the humblebees, the birds, and a mouse
which scampered away to its hole amid the
rocks, — all these might have found better liv-
ing elsewhere. But Nature will have her world
full. Stunted life is better than none, she
thinks. So she plants her forests of spruces,
and keeps them growing, where, with all their
efforts, they cannot get above the height of a
man’s knee. There is no beauty about them,
no grace. ‘They sacrifice symmetry and every-
thing else for the sake of bare existence, re-
minding one of Satan’s remark, “ All that a
man hath will he give for his life.”

Very admirable are the devices by which veg-
etation maintains itself against odds. LEvery-
body notices that many of the mountain species,
like the diapensia, the rose-bay, the Greenland
sandwort (called the mountain daisy by the
Summit House people, for some inscrutable
reason), and the phyllodoce, have blossoms dis-
proportionately large and handsome; as if they
realized that, in order to attract their indispen-
sable allies, the insects, to these inhospitable
regions, they must offer them some special in-
ducements. Their case is not unlike that of a
certain mountain hotel which might be named,
which happens to be poorly situated, but which
keeps itself full, nevertheless, by the peculiar
excellence of its cuisine.

100 IN THE WHZE MOUNTAINS.

It does not require much imagination to be-
lieve that these hardy vegetable mountaineers
love their wild, desolate dwelling-places as truly
as do the human residents of the region. An
old man in Bethlehem told me that sometimes,
during the long, cold winter, he felt that per-
haps it would be well for him, now his work
was done, to sell his “ place” and go down to
Boston to live, near his brother. ‘ But then,”
he added, “ you know it’s dangerous transplant-
ing an old tree; you ’re likely as not to kill it.”
Whatever we have, in this world, we must pay
for with the loss of something else. ‘The bitter
must be taken with the sweet, be we plants, an-
imals, or men. ‘These thoughts recurred to me
a day or two later, as I lay on the summit of
Mount Agassiz, in the sun and out of the wind,
gazing down into the Franconia Valley, then in
all its June beauty. Nestled under the lee of
the mountain, but farther from the base, doubt-
less, than it seemed from my point of view, was
a small dwelling, scarcely better than a shanty.
Two or three young children were playing about
the door, and near them was the man of the
house splitting wood. Theair was still enough
for me to hear every blow, although it reached
me only as the axe was again over the man’s
head, ready for the next descent. It was a
charming picture, — the broad, green valley full

IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 101

of sunshine and peace, and the solitary cottage,
from whose, doorstep might be seen in one di-
rection the noble Mount Washington range, and
in another the hardly less noble Franconias.
How easy to live simply and well in such a
grand seclusion! But soon there came a
thought of Wordsworth’s sonnet, addressed to
just such a mood, “ Yes, there is holy pleasure
in thine eye,” and I felt at once the truth of his
admonition. What if the cottage really were
mine, — mine to spend a lifetime in? How
quickly the poetry would turn to prose !

An hour afterwards, on my way back to the
Sinclair House, I passed a group of men at
work on the highway. One of them was a lit-
tle apart from the rest, and out of a social im-
pulse I accosted him with the remark, “I sup-
pose, in heaven, the streets never will need
mending.” Quick as thought came the reply:
“ Well, I hope not. If I ever get there, I don’t
want to work on the road.” Here spoke uni-
versal human nature, which finds its strong
argument for immortality in its discontent with
matters as they now are. The one thing we
are all sure of is that we were born for some-
thing better than our present employment ; and
even those who school themselves most relig-
iously in the virtue of contentment know very
well how to define that grace so as not to ex-

102 IN THE Wipe MOUNTAINS.

clude irom it a comfortable mixture of “ divine
dissatisfaction.” Well for us if we are still
able to stand in our place and do faithfully our
allotted task, like the mountain spruces and the
Bethlehemite road-mender.

PHILLIDA AND CORIDON.
Fierce warres and faithful loves shall moralize my song.

SPENSER.

Much ado there was, God wot:

He would love, and she would not.
Nicuo.Las BRETON.

ie Boe ASE ee ies -e.

Te ey

—_———_-
J

PHILLIDA AND CORIDON.

—_¢—

THE happiness of birds, heretofore taken for
granted, and long ago put to service in @ prov-
erb, is in these last days made a matter of
doubt. It transpires that they are engaged
without respite in a struggle for existence, — a
struggle so fierce that at least two of them per-
ish every year for one that survives. How,
then, can they be otherwise than miserable ?

There is no denying the struggle, of course ;
nor need we question some real effect produced
by it upon the cheerfulness of the participants.
The more rationalistic of the smaller species,
we may be sure, find it hard to reconcile the
existence of hawks and owls with the doctrine
of an all-wise Providence ; while even the most
simple-minded of them can scarcely fail to real-
ize that a world in which one is liable any day
to be pursued by a boy with a shot-gun is not
in any strict sense paradisiacal.

And yet, who knows the heart of a bird? A

1 Wallace, Natural Selection, p. 30.

106 PHILLIDA ay? CORIDON.

child, possibly, or a poet; certainly not a phi-
losopher. And happiness, too, — is that some-
thing of which the scientific mind can render
us a quite adequate description? Or is it,
rather, a wayward, mysterious thing, coming
often when least expected, and going away
again when, by all tokens, it ought to remain?
How is it with ourselves? Do we wait to
weigh all the good and evil of our state, to take
an accurate account of it pro and con, before
we allow ourselves to be glad or sorry? Not
many of us, I think. Mortuary tables may
demonstrate that half the children born in this
country fail to reach the age of twenty years.
But what then? Our * expectation of life” is
not based upon statistics. The tables may be
correct, for aught we know; but they deal with
men in general and on the average; they have
no message for you and me individually. And
it seems not unlikely that birds may be equally
illogical ; always expecting to live, and not die,
and often giving themselves up to impulses of
gladness without stopping to inquire whether,
on grounds of absolute reason, these impulses
are to be justified. Let us hope so, at all events,
till somebody proves the contrary.

But even looking at the subject a little more
philosophically, we may say — and be thankful
to say it — that the joy of life is not dependent

ee S te RE ey Of Ube tee ert se

ee ee we?

otte-

eae, See Le

¢

PHILLIDA AND CORIDON. 107

upon comfort, nor yet upon safety. The essen-
tial matter is that the heart be engaged. Then,
though we be toiling up the Matterhorn, or
swept along in the rush of a bayonet charge,

we may still find existence not only endurable,

but in the highest degree exhilarating. On
the other hand, if there is no longer anything
we care for; if enthusiasm is dead, and hope
also, then, though we have all that money can
buy, suicide is perhaps the only fitting action
that is left for us, — unless, perchance, we are
still able to pass the time in writing treatises to
prove that everybody else ought to be as un-
happy as ourselves.

Birds have many enemies and their full share
of privation, but I do not believe that they of-
ten suffer from ennui. Having “neither store-
house nor barn,” ! they are never in want of
something to do. From sunrise till noon there
is the getting of breakfast, then from noon till
sunset the getting of dinner, — both out-of-
doors, and without any trouble of cookery or
dishes, —a kind of perpetual picnic. What

1 The shrike lays up grasshoppers and sparrows, and the Cali-
fornia woodpecker hoards great numbers of acorns, but it is still
in dispute, I believe, whether thrift is the motive with either of
them. Considering what has often been done in similar cases, we
may think it surprising that the Scripture text above quoted (to-
gether with its exegetical parallel, Matthew vi. 26) has never been
brought into court to settle the controversy; but to the best of my
knowledge it never has been.

108 PHILLIDA AND CORIDON.

could be simpler or aoe delightful? Carried
on in this way, eating is no longer the coarse
and sensual thing we make it, with our set
meal-times and elaborate preparations.

Country children know that there are two
ways to go berrying. According to the first
of these you stroll into the pasture in the cool
of the day, and at your leisure pick as many as
you choose of the ripest and largest of the ber-
ries, putting every one into your mouth. This
is agreeable. According to the second, you
carry a basket, which you are expected to bring
home again well filled. And this method —
well, tastes will differ, but following the good
old rule for judging in such cases, I must be-
lieve that most unsophisticated persons prefer
the other. The hand-to-mouth process cer-
tainly agrees best with our idea of life in Eden ;
and, what is more to the purpose now, it is the
one which the birds, still keeping the garden
instead of tilling the ground, continue to follow.

That this unworldliness of the birds has any
religious or theological significance I do not
myself suppose. Still, as anybody may see,
there are certain very plain Scripture texts on
their side. Indeed, if birds were only acute
theologians, they would unquestionably proceed
to turn these texts (since they find it so easy to
obey them) into the basis of a “ system of

PHILLIDA AND CORIDON. 109

truth.” Other parts of the Bible must be zn-
terpreted, to be sure (so the theory would run) ;
but these statements mean just what they say,
and whoever meddles with them is carnally
minded and a rationalist.

Somebody will object, perhaps, that, with
our talk about a ‘perpetual picnic,” we are
making a bird’s life one cloudless holiday ; con-
tradicting what we have before admitted about
a struggle for existence, and leaving out of
sight altogether the seasons of scarcity, the
storms, and the biting cold. But we intend no
such foolish recantation. These hardships are
real enough, and serious enough. What we
maintain is that evils of this kind are not nec-
essarily inconsistent with enjoyment, and may
even give to life an additional zest. It is a
matter of every-day observation that the peo-
ple who have nothing to do except to ‘live
well” (as the common sarcasm has it) are not
always the most cheerful ; while there are
certain diseases, like pessimism and the gout,
which seem appointed to wait on luxury and
idleness, —as though nature were determined
to have the scales kept somewhat even. And
surely this divine law of compensation has not
left the innocent birds unprovided for, — the
innocent birds of whom it was said, “ Your
heavenly Father feedeth them.’ How must

110 PHILLIDA AND CORIDON.

the devoted pair de li Oe ey in spite of owls
and hawks, squirrels and weasels, small boys
and full-grown odlogists, they have finally
reared a brood of offspring! The long uncer-
tainty and the thousand perils only intensify
the joy. In truth, so far as this world is con-
cerned, the highest bliss is never to be had
without antecedent sorrow ; and even of heaven
itself we may not scruple to say that, if there
are painters there, they probably feel obliged
to put some shadows into their pictures,

But of course (and this is what we have been
coming to through this long introduction), — of
course our friends of-the air are happiest in the
season of mating; happiest, and therefore most
attractive to us who find our pleasure in study-
ing them. In spring, of all times of the year,
it seems a pity that everybody should not turn
ornithologist. For “all mankind love a lover ;”
and the world, in consequence, has given itself
up to novel-reading, not knowing, unfortu-
nately, how much better that réle is taken by
the birds than by the common run of story-
book heroes.

People whose notions of the subject are de-
rived from attending to the antics of our im-
ported sparrows have no idea how delicate and
beautiful a thing a real feathered courtship is.
To tell the truth, these foreigners have asso-

- ee oe

ror
om

PHILLIDA AND CORIDON. 111

ciated too long and too intimately with men,
and have fallen far away from their primal in-
nocence. There is no need to describe their
actions. The vociferous and most unmannerly
importunity of the suitor, and the correspond-
ingly spiteful rejection of his overtures by the
little vixen on whom his affections are for the
moment placed, -— these we have all seen to
our hearts’ discontent.

The sparrow will not have been brought over
the sea for nothing, however, if his bad behavior
serves to heighten our appreciation of our own
native songsters, with their “perfect virtues”
and ‘‘ manners for the heart’s delight.”

The American robin, for instance, is far from
being a bird of exceptional refinement. His
nest is rude, not to say slovenly, and his gen-
eral deportment is unmistakably common. But
watch him when he goes a-wooing, and you will

-begin to feel quite a new respect for him. How

gently he approaches his beloved! How care-
fully he avoids ever coming disrespectfully near !
No sparrow-like screaming, no dancing about,
no melodramatic gesticulation. If she moves
from one side of the tree to the other, or to the
tree adjoining, he follows in silence. Yet every
movement is a petition, an assurance that his
heart is hers and ever must be. The action is
extremely simple ; there is nothing of which to

112 PHILLIDA 4up CORIDON.

make an eloquent description; but I should
pity the man who could witness it with indiffer-
ence. Not that the robin’s suit is always car-
ried on in the same way; he is much too versa-
tile for that. On one occasion, at least, I saw
him holding himself absolutely motionless, in a
horizontal posture, staring at his sweetheart as
if he would charm her with his gaze, and emit-
ting all the while a subdued hissing sound. The
significance of this conduct I do not profess to
have understood ; it ended with his suddenly
darting at the female, who took wing and was
pursued. Not improbably the robin finds the
feminine nature somewhat fickle, and counts it
expedient to vary his tactics accordingly ; for
it is getting to be more and more believed that,
in kind at least, the intelligence of the lower
animals is not different from ours.

I once came unexpectedly upon a wood

thrush, who was in the midst of a perform-'
ance very similar to this of the robin; standing °

on the dead branch of a tree, with his crown
feathers erect, his bill set wide open, and his
whole body looking as rigid as death. His
mate, as I perceived the next moment, was
not far away, on the same limb. If he was at-
tempting fascination, he had gone very clumsily
about it, I thought, unless his mate’s idea of
beauty was totally different from mine; for I

PHILLIDA AND CORIDON. 113

could hardly keep from laughing at his absurd
appearance. . It did not occur to me till after-
wards that he had perhaps heard of Othello’s
method, and was at that moment acting out a
story
‘‘of most disastrous chances,

Of moving accidents by flood and field,

Of hair-breadth scapes i’ the imminent deadly breach,

Of being taken by the insolent foe

And sold to slavery.”
How much depends upon the point of view!
Here was I, ready to laugh ; while poor Desde-
mona only thought, “’T was pitiful, ’t was won-
drous pitiful.”” Dear sympathetic soul! Let
us hope that she was never called to play out
the tragedy.

Two things are very noticeable during the
pairing season, —the scarcity of females and
their indifference. : Every one of them seems
to have at least two admirers dangling after
her,! while she is almost sure to carry herself
as if a wedding were the last thing she would
ever consent to think of; and that not because
of bashfulness, but from downright aversion.
The observer begins to suspect that the fair
creatures have really entered into some sort of
no-marriage league, and that there are not to

1 So near do birds come to Mr. Ruskin’s idea that ‘‘ a girl worth
anything ought to have always half a dozen or so of suitors under
vow for her.”’

8

114 PHILLIDA eo CORIDON.

be any nests this year, nor any young birds.
But by and by he discovers that somehow, he
cannot surmise how, —it must have been when
his eyes were turned the other way, — the scene
is entirely changed, the maidens are all wedded,
and even now the nests are being got ready.

I watched a trio of cat-birds in a clump of
alder bushes by the roadside ; two males, almost
as a matter of course, ‘“* paying attentions” to
one female. Both suitors were evidently in
earnest ; each hoped to carry off the prize, and
perhaps felt that he should be miserable for-
ever if he were disappointed ; and yet, on their
part, everything was being done decently and
in order. So far as I saw, there was no dispo-
sition to quarrel. Only let the dear creature
choose one of them, and the other would take
his broken heart away. So, always at a modest
remove, they followed her about from bush to
bush, entreating her in most loving and persua-
sive tones to listen to their suit. But she, all
this time, answered every approach with a
snarl; she would never have anything to do
with either of them; she disliked them both,
and only wished they would leave her to her-
self. This lasted as long as I stayed to watch.
Still I had little doubt she fully intended to
accept one of them, and had even made up her
mind already which it should be. She knew

PES Tae BM Ft =F

PHILLIDA AND CORIDON. 115

enough, I felt sure, to calculate the value of a
proper maidenly reluctance. How could her
mate be expected to rate her at her worth, if
she allowed herself to be won too easily? Be-
sides, she could afford not to be in haste, seeing
she had a choice of two.

What a comfortably simple affair the matri-
monial question is with the feminine cat-bird!
Her wooers are all of equally good family and
all equally rich. There is literally nothing for
her to do but to look into her own heart and
choose. No temptation has she to sell herself
for the sake of a fashionable name: or a fine
house, or in order to gratify the prejudice of
father or mother. As for a marriage settle-
ment, she knows neither the name nor the
thing. In fact, marriage in her thought is a
simple union of hearts, with no taint of any-
thing mercantile about it. Happy cat-bird!
She perhaps imagines that human marriages
are of the same ideal sort!

I have spoken of the affectionate language of
these dusky lovers; but it was noticeable that
they did not sing, although, to have fulfilled
the common idea of such an affair, they cer-
tainly should have been doing so, and each try-
ing his best to outsing the other. Possibly
there had already been such a tournament be-
fore my arrival; or, for aught I know, this

116 PHILLIDA ee CORIDON.

particular female may have given out that she
had no ear for music.

In point of fact, however, there was nothing
peculiar in their conduct. No doubt, in the
earlier stages of a bird’s attachment he is likely
to express his passion musically; but later he
is not content to warble from a tree-top. There
are things to be said which cannot appropri-
ately be spoken at long range; and unless my
study of novels has been to little purpose, all
this agrees well with the practices of human
gallants. Do not these begin by singing under
the lady’s window, or by sending verses to her?
and are not such proceedings intended to pre-
pare the way, as speedily as possible, for others
of a more satisfying, though it may be of a less
romantic nature ? :

Bearing this in mind, we may be able to ac-
count, in part at least, for the inexperienced
observer's disappointment when, fresh from the
perusal of (for example) the thirteenth chapter
of Darwin’s ‘“ Descent of Man,” he goes into
the woods to look about for himself. He ex-
pects to find here and there two or three song-
sters, each in turn doing his utmost to surpass
the brilliancy and power of the other’s music;
while a feminine auditor sits in full view, pre-
paring to render her verdict, and reward the
successful competitor with her own precious

PHILLIDA AND CORIDON. 117

self. This would be a pretty picture. Unfor-
tunately, it is looked for in vain. The two or
three singers may be found, likely enough ; but
the female, if she be indeed within hearing, is
modestly hidden away somewhere in the bushes,
and our student is none the wiser. Let him
watch as long as he please, he will hardly see
the prize awarded.

Nevertheless he need not grudge the time
thus employed; not, at any rate, if he be sensi-
tive to music. For it will be found that birds
have at least one attribute of genius: they can
do their best only on great occasions. Our
brown thrush, for instance, is a magnificent
singer, albeit he is not of the best school, be-
ing too “sensational” to suit the most exacting
taste. His song is a grand improvisation: a
good deal jumbled, to be sure, and without any
recognizable form or theme; and yet, like a
Liszt rhapsody, it perfectly answers its purpose,
— that is, it gives the performer full scope to
show what he can do with his instrument. You
may laugh a little, if you like, at an occasional
grotesque or overwrought passage, but unless
you are well used to it you will surely be aston-
ished. Such power and range of voice; such ~
startling transitions ; such endless variety! And
withal such boundless enthusiasm and almost
incredible endurance! Regarded as pure mu-

118 PHILLIDA e” CORIDON.

sic, one strain of the hermit thrush is to my
mind worth the whole of it; just as a single
movement of Beethoven’s is better than a world
of Liszt transcriptions. But in its own way it
is unsurpassable.

Still, though this is a meagre and quite un-
exaggerated account of the ordinary song of the
brown thrush, I have discovered that even he
can be outdone — by himself. One morning
in early May I came upon three birds of this
species, all singing at once, in a kind of jealous
frenzy. As they sang they continually shifted
from tree to tree, and one in particular (the
one nearest to where I stood) could hardly be
quiet a moment. Once he sang with full power
while on the ground (or close to it, for he was
just then behind a low bush), after which he
mounted to the very tip of a tall pine, which
bent beneath his weight. In the midst of the
hurly-burly one of the trio suddenly sounded
the whip-poor-will’s call twice, — an absolutely
perfect reproduction.}

The significance of all this sound and fury,
— what the prize was, if any, and who obtained

1 ‘¢ That’s the wise thrush: he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never coald recapture
The first fine careless rapture! ”’
The ‘‘authorities’’ long since forbade Harporhynchus rufus to
play the mimic. Probably in the excitement of the moment this
fellow forgot himself.

PHILLIDA AND CORIDON. 119

it, — this another can conjecture as well as my-
self. I know no more than old Kaspar: —

‘** Why, that I cannot tell,’ said he,
‘ But ’t was a famous victory.’ ”’

As I turned to come away, the contest all at
once ceased, and the silence of the woods, or
what seemed like silence, was really impressive.
The chewinks and field sparrows were singing,
but it was like the music of a village singer
after Patti; or, to make the comparison less
unjust, like the Pastoral Symphony of Handel
after a Wagner tempest.

It is curious how deeply we are sometimes
affected by a very trifling occurrence. I have
remembered many times a slight scene in which
three purple finches were the actors. Of the
two males, one was in full adult plumage of
bright crimson, while the other still wore his
youthful suit of brown. First, the older bird
suspended himself in mid air, and sang most
beautifully ; dropping, as he concluded, to a
perch beside the female. Then the younger
candidate, who was already sitting near by,
took his turn, singing nearly or quite as well
as his rival, but without quitting the branch,
though his wings quivered. I saw no more.
Yet, as I say, I have often since thought of the
three birds, and wondered whether the bright
feathers and the flying song carried the day

120 PHILLIDA AND CORIDON.

against the younger suitor. I fear they did.
Sometimes, too, I have queried whether young
birds (who none the less are of age to marry)
can be so very meek or so very dull as never to
rebel against the fashion that only the old fel-
lows shall dress handsomely ; and I have tried
in vain to imagine the mutterings, deep and
loud, which such a law would excite in certain
other quarters. It pains me to say it, but I
suspect that taxation without representation
would seem a small injustice, in comparison.
Like these linnets in the exceptional interest
they excited were two large seabirds, who sud-
denly appeared circling about over the woods,
as Iwas taking a solitary walk on a Sunday
morning in April. One of them was closely
pursuing the other; not as though he were try-
ing to overtake her, but rather as though he
were determined to keep her company. They
swept now this way, now that, — now lost to
sight, and now reappearing; and once they
passed straight over my head, so that I heard
the whistling of their wings. Then they were
off, and I saw them no more. They came from
far, and by night they were perhaps a hundred
leagues away. But I followed them with my
blessing, and to this day I feel toward them a
little as I suppose we all do toward a certain
few strangers whom we have met here and

PHILLIDA AND CORIDON. 121

there in our journeyings, and chatted with for
an hour or two. We had never seen them be-
fore; if we learned their names we have long
ago forgotten them; but somehow the persons
themselves keep a place in our memory, and
even in our affection.

**T crossed a moor, with a name of its own
And a certain use in the world, no doubt ;
Yet a hand’s breadth of it shines alone
*Mid the blank miles round about:

‘* For there I picked up on the heather,
And there [ put inside my breast,
A moulted feather, an eagle-feather !
Well, I forget the rest.”

Since we cannot ask birds for an explanation
of their conduct, we have nothing for it but to
steal their secrets, as far as possible, by patient
and stealthy watching. In this way I hope,
sooner or later, to find out what the golden-
winged woodpecker means by the shout with
which he makes the fields reécho in the spring,
especially in the latter half of April. I have
no doubt it has something to do with the proc-
ess of mating, but it puzzles me to guess just
what the message can be which requires to be
published so loudly. Such a stentorian, long-
winded cry! You wonder where the bird finds
breath for such an effort, and think he must be
a very ungentle lover, surely. But withhold
your judgment for a few days, till you see him

122 PHILLIDA AQP CORIDON.

and his mate gamboling about the branches of
some old tree, calling in soft, affectionate tones,
Wick-a-wick, wick-a-wick ; then you will con-
fess that, whatever failings the golden-wing
may have, he is not to be charged with insensi-
bility. The fact is that our ‘ yellow-hammer ”
has a genius for noise. When he is very happy
he drums. Sometimes, indeed, he marvels how
birds who have n’t this resource are able to get
through the world at all. Nor ought we to
think it strange if in his love-making he finds
great use for this his crowning accomplishment.
True, we have nowhere read of a human lover’s
serenading his mistress with a drum; but we
must remember what creatures of convention
men are, and that there is no inherent reason
why a drum should not serve as well as a flute
for such a purpose.
‘*¢ All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,

All are but ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.’’

I saw two of these flickers clinging to the
trunk of a shell-bark tree; which, by the way,
is a tree after the woodpecker’s own heart.
One was perhaps fifteen feet above the other,
and before each was a strip of loose bark, a sort
of natural drum - head. First, the lower one
“beat his music out,’ rather softly. Then,

BR orice,

PHILLIDA AND CORIDON. 128

as he ceased, and held his head back to listen,
the other’ answered him; and so the dialogue
went on. Evidently, they were already mated,
and were now renewing their mutual vows;

for birds, to their praise be it spoken, believe

in courtship after marriage. The day happened
to be Sunday, and it did occur to me that pos-
sibly this was the woodpeckers’ ritual, —a kind
of High Church service, with antiphonal choirs.
But I dismissed the thought ; for, on the whole,
the shouting seems more likely to be diagnos-
tic, and in spite of his gold-lined wings, I have
set the flicker down as almost certainly an old-
fashioned Methodist.

Speaking of courtship after marriage, I am
reminded of a spotted sandpiper, whose capers
I amused myself with watching, one day last
June, on the shore of Saco Lake. As I caught
sight of him, he was straightening himself up,
with a pretty, self-conscious air, at the same
time spreading his white-edged tail, and calling,
Tweet, tweet, tweet.1 Afterwards he got upon
a log, where, with head erect and wings thrown
forward and downward, he ran for a yard or
two, calling as before. This trick seemed es-

1 May one who knows nothing of philology venture to inquire
whether the very close agreement of this tweet with our sweet
(compare also the Anglo-Saxon swete, the Icelandic setr, and the

Sanskrit svad) does not point toa common origin of the Aryan
and sandpiper languages ?

124 PHILLIDA Ajj CORIDON.

pecially to please him, and was several times
repeated. He ran rapidly, and with a comical
prancing movement ; but nothing he did was
half so laughable as the behavior of his mate,
who all this while dressed her feathers without
once deigning to look at her spouse’s perform-
ance. Undoubtedly they had been married for
several weeks, and she was, by this time, well
used to his nonsense. It must be a devoted
husband, I fancy, who continues to offer atten-
tions when they are received in such a spirit.

Walking a log is a somewhat common prac-
tice with birds. I once detected our little golden-
crowned thrush showing off in this way to his
mate, who stood on the ground close at hand.
In his case the head was lowered instead of
raised, and the general effect was heightened by
his curiously precise gait, which even on ordi-
nary occasions is enough to provoke a smile.

Not improbably every species of birds has its
own code of etiquette ; unwritten, of course, but
carefully handed down from father to son, and
faithfully observed Nor is it cause for wonder
if, in our ignorant eyes, some of these “ society
manners”’ look a little ridiculous. Even the
usages of fashionable human circles have not
always escaped the laughter of the profane.

I was standing on the edge of a small thicket,
observing a pair of cuckoos as they made a break-

PHILLIDA AND CORIDON. 125

fast out of a nest of tent caterpillars (it was a
feast rather than a common meal; for the ecat-
erpillars were plentiful, and, as I judged, just
at their best, being about half grown), when a
couple of scarlet tanagers appeared upon the
scene. The female presently selected a fine strip
of cedar bark, and started off with it, sounding
a call to her handsome husband, who at once
followed in her wake. I thought, What a brute,
to leave his wife to build the house! But he,
plainly enough, felt that in escorting her back
and forth he was doing all that ought to be ex-
pected of any well-bred, scarlet-coated tanager.
And the lady herself, if one might infer any-
thing from her tone and demeanor, was of the
same opinion. I mention this trifling occurrence,
not to put any slight uponPyranga rubra (who
am I, that I should accuse so gentle and well
dressed a bird of bad manners ?), but merely as
an example of the way in which feathered polite-
ness varies. In fact, it seems not unlikely that
the male tanager may abstain on principle from
taking any active part in constructing the nest,
lest his fiery color should betray its whereabouts.
As for his kindness and loyalty, I only wish I
could feel as sure of one half the human hus-
bands whom I meet.

It would be very ungallant of me, however, to
leave my readers to understand that the female

126 PHILLIDA AND CORIDON.
ee

bird is always so unsympathetic as most of the
descriptions thus far given would appear to in-
dicate. In my memory are several scenes, any
one of which, if I could put it on paper as I saw
it, would suffice to correct such an erroneous
impression. In one of these the parties were a
pair of chipping sparrows. Never was man so
cburlish that his heart would not have been
touched with the vision of their gentle but rap-
turous delight. As they chased each other
gayly from branch to branch and from tree to
tree, they flew with that delicate, affected move-
ment of the wings which birds are accustomed
to use at such times, and which, perhaps, bears
the same relation to their ordinary flight that
dancing does to the every-day walk of men and
women. The two seemed equally enchanted,
and both sang. Little they knew of the “ strug-
gle for existence” and the “survival of the
fittest.””> Adam and Eve, in Paradise, were never
more happy.

A few weeks later, taking an evening walk,
I was stopped by the sight of a pair of cedar-
birds on a stone wall. ‘They had chosen a con-
venient flat stone, and were hopping about upon
it, pausing every moment or two to put their
little bills together. What a loving ecstasy pos-
sessed them! Sometimes one, sometimes the
other, sounded a faint lisping note, and motioned

PHILLIDA AND CORIDON. 137

for another kiss. But there is no setting forth
the ineffable grace and sweetness of their chaste
behavior. I looked and looked, till a passing
carriage frightened them away. They were
only common cedar-birds ; if I were to see them
again I should not know them; but if my pen
were equal to my wish, they should be made
immortal.

eae
fa hart npyotainrat peak
Tepulenacg o (La finokoot faye fadool be
iene Si eee ae Seabee’ Ghaiesr
Dailt Gea saw DE Yh) aheideeehos domme ela
reise zo ls tad tava) hed leah biota hha
ennett ei} il seis. Yodt debe" yor bao aa
- sreshaisc

Nia AY eel 7 ea
7) ee ess Sey eee

ps SialeL mmeT SanakrviaL. ®

SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE.

A man that hath friends must show himself friendly.
PROVERBS xviii. 24. .

ad
Sa

*

a hate Bat a

’
i
a
sf

> 4

fe A

i nie os Sida

. 1
a, *

as
4g

a aase ao
a tt

ene ee

Wthinatel Vocal woda dau ig ehaehed Wad sail ee A
iv, DS OURS

SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE.

—e—

As I was crossing Boston Common, some
years ago, my attention was caught by the un-
usual behavior of a robin, who was standing on
the lawn, absolutely motionless, and every few
seconds making a faint hissing noise. So much
engaged was he that, even when a dog ran near
him, he only started slightly, and on the instant
resumed his statue-like attitude. Wondering
what this could mean, and not knowing how
else to satisfy my curiosity, I bethought myself
of aman whose letters about birds I had now
and then noticed in the daily press. So, look-
ing up his name inthe City Directory, and find-
ing that he lived at such a number, Beacon
Street, I wrote him a note of inquiry. He must
have been amused as he read it; for I remem-
ber giving him the title of “* Esquire,” and speak-
ing of his communications to the newspapers as
the ground of my application to him. ‘“ Such
is fame!” he likely enough said to himself.
“Here is a man with eyes in his head, a man,

1382 SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE.

moreover, who has patel; been at school in
his time, — for most of his words are spelled
correctly, —and yet he knows my name only
as he has seen it signed once in a while to a few
lines in a newspaper.” Thoughts like these,
however, did not prevent his replying to the
note (my “ valued favor’’) with all politeness,
although he confessed himself unable to answer
my question; and by the time I had occasion to
trouble him again I had learned that he was to
be addressed as Doctor, and, furthermore, was
an ornithologist of world-wide reputation, being,
in fact, one of the three joint-authors of the
most important work so far issued on the birds
of North America.

Certainly I was and am grateful to him (he
is now dead) for his generous treatment of my
ignorance; but even warmer is my feeling to-
ward that city thrush, who, all unconscious of
what he was doing, started me that day on a
line of study which has been ever since a con-
tinual delight. Most gladly would I do him
any kindness in my power; but I have little
doubt that, long ere this, he, too, has gone the
way of all the earth. Asto what he was think-
ing about on that memorable May morning, Iam
as much in the dark as ever. But there is no
law against a bird’s behaving mysteriously, I
suppose. Most of us, I am sure, often do things

SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE. 133

which are inexplicable to ourselves, and once in
a very great while, perhaps, it would puzzle even
our next-door neighbors to render a complete ac-
count of our motives.

Whatever the robin meant, however, and no
doubt there was some good reason for his con-
duct, he had given my curiosity the needed
jog. Now, at last, I would do what I had often
dreamed of doing, — learn something about the
birds of my own region, and be able to recognize
at least the more common ones when I saw them.

The interest of the study proved to be the
greater for my ignorance, which, to speak
within bounds, was nothing short of wonderful ;
perhaps I might appropriately use a more fash-
ionable word, and call it phenomenal. All my
life long I had had a kind of passion for being
out-of-doors; and, to tell the truth, I had been
so often seen wandering by myself in out-of-the-
way wood-paths, or sitting idly about on stone
walls in lonesome pastures, that some of my
Philistine townsmen had most likely come to
look upon me as no better than a vagabond.
Yet I was not a vagabond, forall that. I liked
work, perhaps, as well as the generality of peo-
ple. But I was unfortunate in this respect:
while I enjoyed in-door work, I hated to be in
the house ; and, on the other hand, while I en-
joyed being out-of-doors, I hated all manner of

134 SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE.

out-door employment. ras not lazy, but I pos-
sessed — well, let us call it the true aboriginal
temperament; though I fear that this distinc-
tion will be found too subtile, even for the well-
educated, unless, along with their education,
they have a certain sympathetic bias, which,
after all, is the main thing to be depended on
in such nice psychological discriminations.

With all my rovings in wood and field, how-
ever, I knew nothing of any open-air study.
Study was a thing of books. At school we were
never taught to look elsewhere for knowledge.
Reading and spelling, geography and grammar,
arithmetic and algebra, geometry and trigo-
nometry, — these were studied, of course, as also
were Latin and Greek. But none of our lessons
took us out of the school-room, unless it was
astronomy, the study of which I had nearly for-
gotten; and that we pursued in the night-time,
when birds and plants were as though they were
not. I cannot recollect that any one of my teach-
ers ever called my attention to a natural object.
It seems incredible, but, so far as my memory
serves, I was never in the habit of observing the
return of the birds in the spring or their de-
parture in the autumn; except, to be sure, that
the semi-annual flight of the ducks and geese
was always a pleasant excitement, more espe-
cially because there were several lakes (invari-

SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE. 135

ably spoken of as ponds) in our vicinity, on the
borders of which the village “gunners” built
pine-branch booths in the season.

But now, as I have said, my ignorance was
converted all at once into a kind of bless-
ing; for no sooner had I begun to read bird
books, and consult a cabinet of mounted speci-
mens, than every turn out-of-doors became full
of all manner of delightful surprises. Could it
be that what I now beheld with so much won-
der was only the same as had been going on
year after year in these my own familiar lanes
and woods? ‘Truly the human eye is nothing
more than a window, of no use unless the man
looks out of it.

Some of the experiences of that period seem
ludicrous enough in the retrospect. Only two
or three days after my eyes were first opened I
was out with a friend in search of wild-flowers
(I was piloting him to a favorite station for
Viola pubescens), when I saw a most elegant
little creature, mainly black and white, but
with brilliant orange markings. He was dart-
ing hither and thither among the branches of
some low trees, while I stared at him in amaze-
ment, calling on my comrade, who was as igno-
rant as myself, but less excited, to behold the
prodigy. Half trembling lest the bird should
prove to be some straggler from the tropics, the

136 SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE.

like of which would oot be found in the cabi-
net before mentioned, I went thither that very
evening. Alas, my silly fears! there stood the
little beauty’s exact counterpart, labeled Seto-
phaga ruticilla, the American redstart, — a bird
which the manual assured me was very common
in my neighborhood.

But it was not my eyes only that were
opened, my ears also were touched. It was as
if all the birds had heretofore been silent, and
now, under some sudden impulse, had broken
out in universal concert. What a glorious
chorus it was; and every voice a stranger!
For a week or more I was puzzled by a song
which I heard without fail whenever I went
into the woods, but the author of which I could
never set eyes on, — a song so exceptionally
loud and shrill, and marked by such a vehe-
ment crescendo, that, even to my new-found
ears, it stood out from the general medley a
thing by itself. Many times I struck into the
woods in the direction whence it came, but
without getting so much as a flying glimpse
of the musician. Very mysterious, surely!
Finally, by accident I believe, I caught the fel-
low in the very act of singing, as he stood on
a dead pine-limb; and a few minutes later he
was on the ground, walking about (not hop-
ping) with the primmest possible gait, —a

SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE. 187

small olive-brown bird, with an orange crown
and a speckled breast. Then I knew him for
the golden-crowned thrush ; but it was not for
some time after this that I heard his famous
evening song, and it was longer still before I
found his curious roofed nest.

“ Happy those early days,’ those days of
childish innocence, — though I was a man
grown, — when every bird seemed newly cre-
ated, and even the redstart and the wood wag-
tail were like rarities from the ends of the
earth. Verily, my case was like unto Adam’s,
when every fowl of the air was brought before
him for a name.

One evening, on my way back to the city
after an afternoon ramble, I stopped just at
dusk in a grove of hemlocks, and soon out of
the tree-top overhead came a song, —a brief
strain of about six notes, in a musical but
rather rough voice, and in exquisite accord
with the quiet solemnity of the hour. Again
and again the sounds fell on my ear, and as
often I endeavored to obtain a view of the
singer; but he was in the thick of the upper
branches, and I looked for him in vain. How
delicious the music was! a _ perfect lullaby,
drowsy and restful ; like the benediction of the
wood on the spirit of a tired city-dweller. I
blessed the unknown songster in return; and

?

138 SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE.

even now I have a feeling that the peculiar en-
joyment which the song of the black-throated
green warbler never fails to afford me may per-
haps be due in some measure to its association
with that twilight hour.

To this same hemlock grove I was in the
habit, in those days, of going now and then
to listen to the evening hymn of the veery, or
Wilson thrush. Here, if nowhere else, might
be heard music fit to be called sacred. Nor did
it seem a disadvantage, but rather the contrary,
when, as sometimes happened, I was compelled
to take my seat in the edge of the wood, and
wait quietly, in the gathering darkness, for
vespers to begin. The veery’s mood is not so
lofty as the hermit’s, nor is his music to be com-
pared for brilliancy and fullness with that of the
wood thrush; but, more than any other bird-
song known to me, the veery’s has, if I may
say so, the accent of sanctity. Nothing is here
of self-consciousness; nothing of earthly pride
or passion. If we chance to overhear it and
laud the singer, that is our affair. Simple-
hearted worshiper that he is, he has never
dreamed of winning praise for himself by the
excellent manner in which he praises his Crea-
tor, —an absence of thrift, which is very be-
coming in thrushes, though, I suppose, it is
hardly to be looked for in human choirs.

—_—- - _T

SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE. 189

And yet, for all the unstudied ease and sim-
plicity of the veery’s strain, he is a great master
of technique. In his own artless way he does
what I have never heard any other bird at-
tempt: he gives to his melody all the force of
harmony. How this unique and curious effect,
this vocal double-stopping, as a violinist might
term it, is produced, is not certainly known ;
but it would seem that it must be by an arpeggio,
struck with such consummate quickness and
precision that the ear is unable to follow it, and
is conscious of nothing but the resultant chord.
At any rate, the thing itself is indisputable, and
has often been commented on.

Moreover, this is only half the veery’s tech-
nical proficiency. Once in a while, at least, he
will favor you with a delightful feat of ventril-
oquism ; beginning to sing in single voice, as
usual, and anon, without any noticeable increase
in the loudness of the tones, diffusing the music
throughout the wood, as if there were a bird in
every tree, all singing together in the strictest
time. Jam not sure that all members of the
species possess this power, and I have never
seen the performance alluded to in print; but
I have heard it when the illusion was complete,
and the effect most beautiful.

Music so devout and unostentatious as the
veery’s does not appeal to the hurried or the

140 SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE.

preoccupied. If you would enjoy it you must
bring an ear to hear. I have sometimes pleased
myself with imagining a resemblance between
it and the poetry of George Herbert, — both
uncared for by the world, but both, on that very
account, prized all the more dearly by the few
in every generation whose spirits are in tune
with theirs.

This bird is one of a group of small thrushes
called the Hylocichle, of which group we have
five representatives in the Atlantic States: the
wood thrush; the Wilson, or tawny thrush ;
the hermit ; the olive-backed, or Swainson ; and
the gray-cheeked, or Alice’s thrush. To the
unpracticed eye the five all look alike. All of
them, too, have the same glorious voice, so that
the young student is pretty sure to find it a
matter of some difficulty to tell them apart.
Yet there are differences of coloration which
may be trusted as constant, and to which, after
a while, the eye becomes habituated; and, at
the same time, each species has a song and call-
notes peculiar to itself. One cannot help wish-
ing, indeed, that he might hear the five singing
by turns in the same wood. Then he could fix
the distinguishing peculiarities of the different
songs in his mind so as never to confuse them
again. But this is more than can be hoped
for; the listener must be content with hearing

SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE. 141

two, or at the most three, of the species singing
together, and trust his memory to make the nec-
essary comparison.

The song of the wood thrush is perhaps the
most easily set apart from the rest, because of
its greater compass of voice and bravery of ex-
ecution. The Wilson’s song, as you hear it by
itself, seems so perfectly characteristic that you
fancy you can never mistake any other for it ;
and yet, if you are in northern New England
only a week afterwards, you may possibly hear
a Swainson (especially if he happens to be one
of the best singers of his species, and, more es-
pecially still, if he happens to be at just the
right distance away), who you will say, at first
thought, is surely a Wilson. The difficulty of
distinguishing the voices is naturally greatest in
the spring, when they have not been heard for
eight or nine months. Here, as elsewhere, the
student must be willing to learn the same lesson
over and over, letting patience have her perfect
work. That the five songs are really. distin-
guishable is well illustrated by the fact (which
I have before mentioned), that the presence of
the Alice thrush in New England during the
breeding season was announced as probable by
myself, simply on the strength of a song which
I had heard in the White Mountains, and which,
as I believed, must be his, notwithstanding I

142 SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE.

was entirely unacquainted with it, and though
all our books affirmed that the Alice thrush
was not a summer resident of any part of the
United States.

It is worth remarking, also, in this connec-
tion, that the Hylocichle differ more decidedly
in their notes of alarm than in their songs.
The wood thrush’s call is extremely sharp and
brusque, and is usually fired off in a little vol-
ley; that of the Wilson is a sort of whine, or
snarl, in distressing contrast with his song ; the
hermit’s is a quick, sotto voce, sometimes almost
inaudible chuck ; the Swainson’s is a mellow
whistle ; while that of the Alice is something
between the Swainson’s and the Wilson’s, —
not so gentle and refined as the former, nor so
outrageously vulgar as the latter.

In what is here said about discriminating
species it must be understood that I am not
speaking of such identification as will answer
a strictly scientific purpose. For that the bird
must be shot. To the maiden

‘¢whose light blue eyes

Are tender over drowning flies,’’
this decree will no doubt sound cruel. Men who
pass laws of that sort may call themselves orni-
thologists, if they will; for her part she calls them
butchers. We might turn on our fair accuser, it
is true, with some inquiry about the two or three

SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE. 1438

bird-skins which adorn her bonnet. But that
would be only giving one more proof of our heart-
lessness ; and, besides, unless a man is down-
right angry he can scarcely feel that he has
really cleared himself when he has done nothing
more than to point the finger and say, You ’re
another. However, I am not set for the defence
of ornithologists. They are abundantly able to
take care of themselves without the help of any
outsider. I only declare that, even to my un-
professional eye, this rule of theirs seems wise
and necessary. ‘They know, if their critics do
not, how easy it is to be deceived; how many
times things have been seen and minutely de-
scribed, which, as was afterwards established,
could not by any possibility have been visible.
Moreover, regret it as we may, it is clear that in
this world nobody can escape giving and taking
more or less pain. We of the sterner sex are
accustomed to think that even our blue-eyed
censors are not entirely innocent in this regard ;
albeit, for myself, I am bound to believe that
generally they are not to blame for the tortures
they inflict upon us.

Granting the righteousness of the scientist’s
caution, however, we may still find a less rigor-
ous code sufficient for our own non-scientific,
though I hope not unscientific, purpose. Tor it
is certain that no great enjoyment of bird study

144 SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE.

is possible for some he if we are never to be
allowed to call our gentle friends by name un-
til in every case we have gone through the for-
mality of a post-mortem examination. Practi-
cally, and for every-day ends, we may know a
robin, or a redstart, or even a hermit thrush,
when we see him, without first turning the bird
into a specimen.

Probably there are none of our birds which
afford more surprise and pleasure to a novice
than the family of warblers. A _ well-known
ornithologist has related how one day he wan-
dered into the forest in an idle mood, and acci-
dentally catching a gleam of bright color over-
head, raised his gun and brought the bird to his
feet ; and how excited and charmed he was with
the wondrous beauty of his little trophy. Were
there other birds in the woods as lovely as this ?
He would see for himself. And that was the
beginning of what bids fair to prove a life-long
enthusiasm.

Thirty-eight warblers are credited to New
England ; but it would be safe to say that not
more than three of them are known to the
average New-Englander. How should he know
them, indeed? They do not come about the
flower-garden like the humming-bird, nor about
the lawn like the robin; neither can they be
hunted with a dog like the grouse and the

SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE. 145

woodcock. Hence, for all their gorgeous ap-
parel, they are mainly left to students and
collectors. Of our common species the most
beautiful are, perhaps, the blue yellow- back,
the blue golden-wing, the Blackburnian, the
black-and-yellow, the Canada flycatcher, and
the redstart; with the yellow-rump, the black-
throated green, the prairie warbler, the sum-
mer yellow-bird, and the Maryland yellow-
throat coming not far behind. But all of them
are beautiful, and they possess, besides, the
charm of great diversity of plumage and hab-
its ; while some of them have the further merit,
by no means inconsiderable, of being rare.

It was a bright day for me when the blue
golden-winged warbler settled in my neighbor-
hood. On my morning walk I detected a new
song, and, following it up, found a new bird,
—a result which is far from being a thing
of course. The spring migration was at its
height, and at first I expected to have the
pleasure of my new friend's society for only
a day or two; soI made the most of it. But
it turned out that he and his companion had
come to spend the summer, and before very long
I discovered their nest. This was still unfin-
ished when I came upon it; but I knew pretty
well whose it was, having several times noticed

the birds about the spot, and a few days after-
10

146 SCRAPING aga UAINTANCE.

wards the female bravely sat still, while I bent
over her, admiring her courage and her hand-
some dress. I paid my respects to the little
mother almost daily, but jealously guarded her
secret, sharing it only with a kind-hearted
woman, whom I.took with me on one of my
visits. But, alas! one day I called, only to
find the nest empty. Whether the villain who
pillaged it traveled on two legs, or on four, I
never knew. Possibly he dropped out of the
air. But I wished him no good, whoever he
was. Next year the birds appeared again, and
more than one pair of them; but no nest could
I find, though I often looked for it, and, as
children say in their games, was sometimes very
warm.

Is there any lover of birds in whose mind
certain birds and certain places are not indis-
solubly joined? Most of us, I am sure, could
go over the list and name the exact spots
where we first saw this one, where we first
heard that one sing, and where we found
our first nest of the other. There is a piece
of swampy woodland in Jefferson, New Hamp-
shire, midway between the hotels and the rail-
way station, which, for me, will always be as-
sociated with the song of the winter wren. I
had been making an attempt to explore the
wood, with a view to its botanical treasures ;

SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE. 147

but the mosquitoes had rallied with such spirit
that I was glad to beat a retreat to the road.
Just then an unseen bird broke out into a song,
and by the time he had finished I was saying to
myself, A winter wren! Now, if I could only
see him in the act, and so be sure of the correct-
ness of my guess! I worked to that end as
cautiously as possible, but all to no purpose;
and finally I started abruptly toward the spot
whence the sound had come, expecting to see
the bird fly. But apparently there was no bird
there, and I stood still, in a little perplexity.
Then, all at once, the wren appeared, hopping
about among the dead branches, within a few
yards of my feet, and peering at the intruder
with evident curiosity ; and the next moment
he was joined by a hermit thrush, equally in-
quisitive. Both were silent as dead men, but
plainly had no doubt whatever that they were
in their own domain, and that it belonged to
the other party to move away. I presumed
that the thrush, at least, had a nest not far off,
but after a little search (the mosquitoes were
still active) I concluded not to intrude further
on his domestic privacy. I had heard the
wren’s famous song, and it had not been over-
praised. But then came the inevitable second
thought: had I really heard it? ‘True, the
music possessed the wren characteristics, and a

148 SCRAPING A pte UAINT ANCE.

winter wren was in the brush; but what proof
had [ that the bird and the song belonged to-
gether? No; I must see him in the act of
singing. But this, I found, was more easily
said than done. In Jefferson, in Gorham, in
the Franconia Notch, in short, wherever I
went, there was no difficulty about hearing the
music, and little about seeing the wren ; but it
was provoking that eye and ear could never
be brought to bear witness to the same bird.
However, this difficulty was not insuperable,
and after it was once overcome I was in the
habit of witnessing the whole performance
almost as often as I wished.

Of similar interest to me is a turn in an old
Massachusetts road, over which, boy and man,
I have traveled hundreds of times; one of those
delightful back-roads, half road and half lane,
where the grass grows between the horse-track
and the wheel-track, while bushes usurp what
ought to be the sidewalk. Here, one morning
in the time when every day was disclosing two
or three new species for my delight, I stopped
to listen to some bird of quite unsuspected
identity, who was calling and singing and scold-
ing in the Indian brier thicket, making, in truth,
a prodigious racket. I twisted and turned, and
was not a little astonished when at last I de-
tected the author of all this outcry. Froma

SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE. 149

study of the manual I set him down as proba-
bly the white-eyed vireo, —a conjecture which
further investigation confirmed. This vireo is
the very prince of stump-speakers, — fluent,
loud, and sarcastic, —and is well called the
politician, though it is a disappointment to learn
that the title was given him, not for his elo-
quence, but on account of his habit of putting
pieces of newspaper into his nest. While I
stood peering into the thicket, a man whom I
knew came along the road, and caught me thus
disreputably employed. Without doubt he
thought me a lazy good-for-nothing ; or pos-
sibly (being more charitable) he said to him-
self, “ Poor fellow! he’s losing his mind.”
Take a gun_on your shoulder, and go wan-
dering about the woods all day long, and you
will be looked upon with respect, no matter
though you kill nothing bigger than a chip-
munk; or stand by the hour at the end of a
fishing-pole, catching nothing but mosquito-
bites, and your neighbors will think no ill of
you. But to be seen staring at a bird for five
minutes together, or picking road-side weeds !
— well, it is fortunate there are asylums for the
crazy. Not unlikely the malady will grow upon
him ; and who knows how soon he may become
dangerous? Something must be wrong about
that to which we are unaccustomed. Blowing

150 SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE.

out the brains of rabbits and squirrels is an
innocent and delightful pastime, as everybody
knows ; and the delectable excitement of pull-
ing half-grown fishes out of the pond to perish
miserably on the bank, that, too, is a recreation
easily enough appreciated. But what shall be
said of enjoying birds without killing them, or
of taking pleasure in plants, which, so far as we
know, cannot suffer even if we do kill them?
Of my many pleasant associations of birds
with places, one of the pleasantest is connected
with the red-headed woodpecker. This showy
bird has for a good many years been very rare
in Massachusetts; and therefore, when, during
the freshness of my ornithological researches, I
went to Washington for a month’s visit, it was
one of the things which I had especially in
mind, to make his acquaintance. But I looked
for him without success, till, at the end of a
fortnight, I made a pilgrimage to Mount Ver-
non. Here, after visiting the grave, and going
over the house, as every visitor does, I saun-
tered about the grounds, thinking of the great
man who used to do the same so many years
before, but all the while keeping my eyes open
for the present feathered inhabitants of the sa-
cred spot. Soon a bird dashed by me, and
struck against the trunk of an adjacent tree,

and glancing up quickly, I beheld my much-

SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE. 151

sought red-headed woodpecker. How appro-
priately patriotic he looked, at the home of
Washington, wearing the national colors, — red,
white, and‘blue! After this he became abun-
dant about the capital, so that I saw him often,
and took much pleasure in his frolicsome ways ;
and, some years later, he suddenly appeared in
force in the vicinity of Boston, where he re-
mained through the winter months. To my
thought, none the less, he will always suggest
Mount Vernon. Indeed, although he is cer-
tainly rather jovial, and even giddy, he is to me
the bird of Washington much more truly than
is the solemn, stupid-seeming eagle, who com-
monly bears that name.

To go away from home, even if the journey
be no longer than from Massachusetts to the
District of Columbia, is sure to prove an event
of no small interest to a young naturalist ; and
this visit of mine to the national capital was no
exception. On the afternoon of my arrival,
walking up Seventh Street, I heard a series of
loud, clear, monotonous whistles, which I had
then no leisure to investigate, but the author
of which I promised myself the satisfaction of
meeting at another time. In fact, I think it
was at least a fortnight before I learned that
these whistles came from the tufted titmouse.
I had been seeing him almost daily, but till

152 SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE.

then he had never ohatieed to use that particu-
lar note while under my eye.

There was a certain tract of country, wood-
land and pasture, over which I roamed a good
many times, and which is still clearly mapped
out in my memory. Here I found my first
Carolina or mocking wren, who ran in at one
side of a woodpile and came out at the other as
I drew near, and who, a day or two afterwards,
sang so loudly from an oak tree that I ransacked
it with my eye in search of some large bird,
and was confounded when finally I discovered
who the musician really was. Here, every day,
were to be heard the glorious song of the car-
dinal grosbeak, the insect-like effort of the blue-
gray gnat-catcher, and the rigmarole of the yel-
low - breasted chat. On a wooded hillside,
where grew a profusion of trailing arbutus,
pink azalea, and bird-foot violets, the rowdy-
ish, great-crested flycatchers were screaming in
the tree-tops. In this same grove I twice saw
the rare red-bellied woodpecker, who, on both
occasions, after rapping smartly with his beak,
turned his head and laid his ear against the
trunk, evidently listening to see whether his
alarm had set any grub a-stirring. Near by,
in an undergrowth, I fell in with a few worm-
eating warblers. They seemed of a peculiarly
unsuspicious turn of mind, and certainly wore

i

SCRAPING ACQUAINTANCE. 153

the quaintest of head-dresses. IJ must mention
also a scarlet tanager, who, all afire as he was,
one day alighted in a bush of flowering dog-
wood, which was completely covered with its
large white blossoms. Probably he had no idea
how well his perch became him.

Perhaps I ought to be ashamed to confess it,
but, though I went several times into the gal-
leries of our honorable Senate and House of
Representatives, and heard speeches by some
celebrated men, including at least half a dozen
candidates for the presidency, yet, after all,
the congressmen in feathers interested me
most. I thought, indeed, that the chat might
well enough have been elected to the lower
house. His volubility and waggish manners
would have made him quite at home in that
assembly, while his orange -colored waistcoat
would have given him an agreeable conspicuity.
But, to be sure, he would have needed to learn
the use of tobacco.

Well, all this was only a few years ago; but
the men whose eloquence then drew the crowd
to the capitol are, many of them, heard there
no longer. Some are dead; some have retired
to private life. But the birds never die. Every
spring they come trooping back for their all-
summer session. The turkey-buzzard still floats
majestically over the city; the chat still prac-

154 SCRAPING Ay UAINTANCE.

tices his lofty tumbling in the suburban pas-
tures, snarling and scolding at all comers ; the
flowing Potomac still yields “a _ blameless
sport ” to the fish-crow and the kingfisher ; the
orchard oriole continues to whistle in front of
the Agricultural Department, and the crow
blackbird to parade back and forth over the
Smithsonian lawns. Presidents and senators
may come and go, be praised and vilified, and
then in turn forgotten; but the birds are sub-
ject to no such mutations. It is a foolish
thought, but sometimes their happy careless-
ness seems the better part.

co A he ~

MINOR SONGSTERS.

ae eee

The lesser lights, the dearer still
That they elude a vulgar eye.
Brownina.

Listen too,
How every pause is filled with under-notes.
SHELLEY.

MINOR SONGSTERS.

—_—o—

AmonG those of us who are in the habit of
attending to bird-songs, there can hardly be
anybody, I think, who has not found himself
specially and permanently attracted by the mu-
sic of certain birds who have little or no gen-
eral reputation. Our favoritism may perhaps
be the result of early associations: we heard the
singer first in some uncommonly romantic spot,
or when we were in a mood of unusual sensibil-
ity ; and, in greater or less degree, the charm of
that hour is always renewed for us with the
repetition of the song. Or it may be (who will
assert the contrary ?) that there is some occult
relation between the bird’s mind and our own.
Or, once more, something may be due to the nat-
ural pleasure which amiable people take (and
all lovers of birds may be supposed, a priori, to
belong to that class) in paying peculiar honor
to merit which the world at large, less discrimi-
nating than they, has thus far failed to recog-
nize, and in which, therefore, as by “right of

158 MINOR SONGSTERS.

discovery,” they have a sort of proprietary inter-
est. This, at least, is evident: our preference
is not determined altogether by the intrinsic
worth of the song; the mind is active, not pass-
ive, and gives to the music something from it-
self, — ‘‘ the consecration and the poet’s dream.”

Furthermore, it is to be said that a singer —
and a bird no less than a man — may be want-
ing in that fullness and scope of voice and that
large measure of technical skill which are abso-
lutely essential to the great artist, properly so
called, and yet, within his own limitations, may
be competent to please even the most fastidious
ear. It is with birds as with other poets: the
smaller gift need not be the less genuine; and
they whom the world calls greatest, and whom
we ourselves most admire, may possibly not be
the ones who touch us most intimately, or to
whom we return oftenest and with most delight.

This may be well illustrated by a comparison
of the chickadee with the brown thrush. The
thrush, or, as he is sometimes profanely styled,
the thrasher, is the most pretentious, perhaps I
ought to say the greatest, of New England song-
sters, if we rule out the mocking-bird, who is so
very rare with us as scarcely to come into the
competition ; and still, in my opinion, his sing-
ing seldom produces the effect of really fine
music. With all his ability, which is nothing

MINOR SONGSTERS. 159

short of marvelous, his taste is so deplorably
uncertain, and his passion so often becomes a
downright frenzy, that the excited listener,
hardly knowing what to think, laughs and shouts
Bravo! by turns. Something must be amiss,
certainly, when the deepest feelings of the heart
are poured forth in a manner to suggest the per-
formance of a buffo. The chickadee, on the
other hand, seldom gets mention as a singer.
Probably he never looked upon himself as such.
You will not find him posing at the top of a
tree, challenging the world to listen and admire.
But, as he hops from twig to twig in quest of
insects’ eggs and other dainties, his merry spirits
are all the time bubbling over in little chirps
and twitters, with now and then a Chickadee,
dee, or a Hear, hear me, every least syllable of
which is like “the very sound of happy
thoughts.” For my part, I rate such trifles with
the best of all good music, and feel that we
cannot be grateful enough to the brave tit, who
furnishes us with them for the twelve months
of every year.

So far as the chickadee is concerned, I see
nothing whatever to wish different; but am
glad to believe that, for my day and long after,
he will remain the same unassuming, careless-
hearted creature that he now is. If I may be
allowed the paradox, it would be too bad for

160 MINOR SONGSTERS.

him to change, even for the better. But the
bluebird, who like the titmouse is hardly to be
accounted a musician, does seem to be some-
what blameworthy. Once ina while, it is true,
he takes a perch and sings; but for the most
part he is contented with a few simple notes,
having no semblance of a tune. Possibly he
holds that his pure contralto voice (I do not re-
member ever to have heard from him any note
of a soprano, or even of a mezzo-soprano quality )
ought by itself to be a sufficient distinction ; but
I think it likelier that his slight attempt at
music is only one manifestation of the habitual
reserve which, more than anything else per-
haps, may be said to characterize him. How
differently he and the robin impress us in this
particular! Both take up their abode in our
door-yards and orchards; the bluebird goes so
far, indeed, as to accept our hospitality outright,
building his nest in boxes put up for his accom-
modation, and making the roofs of our houses
his favorite perching stations. But, while the
robin is noisily and jauntily familiar, the blue-
bird maintains a dignified aloofness ; coming and
going about the premises, but keeping his
thoughts to himself, and never becoming one of
us save by the mere accident of local proximity.
The robin, again, loves to travel in large flocks,
when household duties are over for the season ;

MINOR SONGSTERS. 161

but although the same has been reported of the
bluebird, I have never myself seen such a thing,
and am satisfied that, as a rule, this gentle spirit
finds a family party of six or seven company
enough. His reticence, as we cheerfully admit,
is nothing to quarrel with; it is all well-bred,
and not in the least unkindly ; in fact, we like
it, on the whole, rather better than the robin’s
pertness and garrulity; but, none the less, its
natural consequence is that the bird has small
concern for musical display. When he sings,
it is not to gain applause, but to express his af-
fection ; and while, in one aspect of the case,
there is nothing out of the way in this, — since
his affection need not be the less deep and true
because it is told in few words and with un-
adorned phrase, — yet, as I said to begin with,
it is hard not to feel that the world is being de-
frauded, when for any reason, however amiable,
the possessor of such a matchless voice has no
ambition to make the most of it.

It is always a double pleasure to find a plod-
ding, hamdrum-seeming man with a poet’s heart
in his breast; and a little of the same delighted
surprise is felt by every one, I imagine, when
he learns for the first time that our little brown
creeper is a singer. What life could possibly
be more prosaic than his? Day after day, year

in and out, he creeps up one tree-trunk after
1h

162 MINOR SONGSTERS.
FF

another, pausing only to peer right and left
into the crevices of the bark, in search of mi-
croscopic tidbits. A most irksome sameness,
surely! How the poor fellow must envy the
swallows, who live on the wing, and, as it were,
have their home in heaven! So it is easy for
us to think; but I doubt whether the creeper
himself is troubled with such suggestions. He
seems, to say the least, as well contented as the
most of us; and, what is more, I am inclined to
doubt whether any except “free moral agents,”
like ourselves, are ever wicked enough to find
fault with the orderings of Divine Providence.
I fancy, too, that we may have exaggerated the
monotony of the creeper’s lot. It can scarcely
be that even his days are without their occa-
sional pleasurable excitements. After a good
many trees which yield little or nothing for his
pains, he must now and then light upon one
which is like Canaan after the wilderness, —
“a land flowing with milk and honey.” In-
deed, the longer I think of it the more confi-
dent I feel that every aged creeper must have
had sundry experiences of this sort, which he
is never weary of recounting for the edification
of his nephews and nieces, who, of course, are
far too young to have anything like the wide
knowledge of the world which their venerable
three-years-old uncle possesses. Certhia works

MINOR SONGSTERS. 163

all day for his daily bread; and yet even of
him it is true that “ the life is more than meat.”
He has his inward joys, his affectionate de-
lights, which no outward infelicity can touch.
A bird who thinks nothing of staying by his
nest and his mate at the sacrifice of his life is
not to be written down a dullard or a drudge,
merely because his dress is plain and his occu-
pation unromantic. He has a right to sing, for
he has something within him to inspire the
strain.

There are descriptions of the creeper’s music
which liken it to a wren’s. I am sorry that
I have myself heard it only on one occasion :
then, however, so far was it from being wren-
like that it might rather have been the work of
one of the less proficient warblers, —a some-
what long opening note followed by a hurried
series of shorter ones, the whole given in a
sharp, thin voice, and having nothing to recom-
mend it to notice, considered simply as music.
All the while the bird kept on industriously
with his journey up the tree; and it is not in
the least unlikely that he may have another
and better song, which he reserves for times of
more leisure.1

Our American wood-warblers are all to be

1 Since this was written I have heard the creeper sing a tune
very different from the one described above. See p. 227.

164 MINOR SQYGSTERS.

classed among the minor songsters; standing
in this respect in strong contrast with the true
Old World warblers, of whose musical capacity
enough, perhaps, is said when it is mentioned
that the nightingale is one of them. But, com-
parisons apart, our birds are by no means to be
despised, and not a few of their songs have a
good degree of merit. That of the well-known
summer yellow-bird may be taken as fairly rep-
resentative of the entire group, being neither
one of the best nor one of the poorest. He, I
have noticed, is given to singing late in the
day. ‘Three of the New England species have
at the same time remarkably rough voices and
black throats, —I mean the black - throated
blue, the black-throated green, and the blue
golden-wing, — and seeing that the first two
are of the genus Dendreca, while the last is
a Helminthophaga, I have allowed myself to
query (half in earnest) whether they may not,
possibly, be more nearly related than the sys-
tematists have yet discovered. Several of the
warbler songs are extremely odd. ‘The blue
yellow-back’s, for example, is a brief, hoarse,
upward run, —a kind of scale exercise ; and if
the practice of such things be really as bene-
ficial as music teachers affirm, it would seem
that this little beauty must in time become a
vocalist of the first order. Nearly the same

MINOR SONGSTERS. 165

might be said of the prairie warbler; but his
étude is a little longer and less hurried, besides
being in a higher key. I do not call to mind
any bird who sings a downward scale. Having
before spoken of the tendency of warblers to
learn two or even three set tunes, I was the
more interested when, last summer, I added
another to my list of the species which aspire
to this kind of liberal education. It was on the
side of Mount Clinton that I heard two Black-
burnians, both in full sight and within a few
rods of each other, who were singing two en-
tirely distinct songs. One of these — it is the
common one, I think — ended quaintly with
three or four short notes, like zip, zip, zip;
while the other was not unlike a fraction of the
winter wren’s melody. Those who are familiar
with the latter bird will perhaps recognize the
phrase referred to if I call it the wedlze, willie,
winkie, — with a triple accent on the first syl-
lable of the last word. Most of the songs of
this family are rather slight, but the extremest
case known to me is that of the black- poll
(Dendreca striata), whose zee, zee, zee is al-
most ridiculously faint. You may hear it con-
tinually in the higher spruce forests of the
White Mountains; but you will look a good
many times before you discover its author, and
not improbably will begin by taking it for the

166 MINOR SONGSTERS.

call of the kinglet. The music of the bay-
breasted warbler is similar to the black-poll’s,
but hardly so weak and formless. It seems
reasonable to believe not only that these two
species are descended from a common ancestry,
but that the divergence is of a comparatively
recent date: even now the young of the year
can be distinguished only with great difficulty,
although the birds in full feather are clearly
enough marked.

Warblers’ songs are often made up of two
distinct portions: one given deliberately, the
other hurriedly and with a concluding flourish.
Indeed, the same may be said of bird-songs gen-
erally, — those of the song sparrow, the bay-
winged bunting, and the wood thrush being
familiar examples. Yet there are many sing-
ers who attempt no climax of this sort, but
make their music to consist of two, or three, or
more parts, all alike. The Maryland yellow-
throat, for instance, cries out over and over,
“ What a pity, what a pity, what a pity!” So,
at least, he seems to say; though, I confess, it
is more than likely I mistake the words, since
the fellow never.appears to be feeling badly,
but, on the contrary, delivers his message with
an air of cordial satisfaction. The song of the
pine-creeping warbler is after still another fash-
ion, —one simple short trill. It is musical and

MINOR SONGSTERS. 167

sweet; the more so for coming almost always
out of a pine-tree.

The vireos, or greenlets, are akin to the war-
blers in appearance and habits, and like them
are peculiar to the western continent. We have
no birds that are more unsparing of their mu-
sic (prodigality is one of the American vir-
tues, we are told): they sing from morning till
night, and — some of them, at least — continue
thus till the very end of the season. It is
worth mentioning, however, that the red-eye
makes a short day ; becoming silent just at the
time when the generality of birds grow most
noisy. Probably the same is true of the rest
of the family, but on that point I am not pre-
pared to speak with positiveness. Of the five
New England species (I omit the brotherly-love
greenlet, never having been fortunate enough
to know him) the white-eye is decidedly the
most ambitious, the warbling and the solitary
are the most pleasing, while the red-eye and
the yellow-throat are very much alike, and both
of them rather too monotonous and persistent.
It is hard, sometimes, not to get out of patience
with the red-eye’s ceaseless and noisy iteration
of his trite theme ; especially if you are doing
your utmost to catch the notes of some rarer
and more refined songster. In my note-book I
find an entry describing my vain attempts to

168 MINOR oo

enjoy the music of a rose-breasted grosbeak, —
who at that time had never been a common
bird with me, — while “‘a pesky Wagnerian
red-eye kept up an incessant racket.”

The warbling vireo is admirably named;
there is no one of our birds that can more prop-
erly be said to warble. He keeps further from
the ground than the others, and shows a strong
preference for the elms of village streets, out of
which his delicious music drops upon the ears
of all passers underneath. How many of them
hear it and thank the singer is unhappily an-
other question.

The solitary vireo may once in a while be
heard in a roadside tree, chanting as familiarly
as any red-eye; but he is much less abundant
than the latter, and, as a rule, more retiring.
His ordinary song is like the red-eye’s and the
yellow-throat’s, except that it is pitched some-
what higher and has a peculiar inflection or ca-
dence, which on sufficient acquaintance becomes
quite unmistakable. This, however, is only the
smallest part of his musical gift. One morning
in May, while strolling through a piece of thick
woods, I came upon a bird of this species, who,
all alone like myself, was hopping from one low
branch to another, and every now and then
breaking out into a kind of soliloquizing song,
—a musical chatter, shifting suddenly to an in-

MINOR SONGSTERS. 169

tricate, low-voiced warble. Later in the same
day I found another in a chestnut grove. This
last was in a state of quite unwonted fervor,
and sang almost continuously ; now in the usual
disconnected vireo manner, and now with a
chatter and warble like what I had heard in the
morning, but louder and longer. His best ef-
forts ended abruptly with the ordinary vireo
call, and the instantaneous change of voice gave
to the whole a very strange effect. The chat-
ter and warble appeared to be related to each
other precisely as are those of the ruby-crowned
kinglet ; while the warble had a certain tender,
affectionate, some would say plaintive quality,
which at once put me in mind of the goldfinch.

I have seldom been more charmed with the
song of any bird than I was on the 7th of last
October with that of this same Vireo solitarius.
The morning was bright and warm, but the
birds had nearly all taken their departure, and
the few that remained were silent. Suddenly
the stillness was broken by a vireo note, and I
said to myself with surprise, A red-eye? List-
ening again, however, I detected the solitary’s
inflection ; and after a few moments the bird,
in the most obliging manner, came directly to-
wards me, and began to warble in the fashion
already described. He sang and sang, —as if
his song could have no ending, —and mean-

170 MINOR SONGSTERS.

while was flitting a tree to tree, intent upon
his breakfast. As far as I could discover, he
was without company; and his music, too,
seemed to be nothing more than an unpremed-
itated, half-unconscious talking to himself.
Wonderfully sweet it was, and full of the hap-
piest content. “TI listened till I had my fill,”
and returned the favor, as best I could, by hop-
ing that the little wayfarer’s lightsome mood
would not fail him, all the way to Guatemala
and back again.

Exactly a month before this, and not far from
the same spot, I had stood for some minutes to
enjoy the “recital” of the solitary’s saucy
cousin, the white-eye. Even at that time, al-
though the woods were swarming with birds, —
many of them travelers from the North, —this
white-eye was nearly the only one still in song.
He, however, was fairly brimming over with
music; changing his tune again and again, and
introducing (for the first time in Weymouth, as
concert programmes say) a notably fine shake.
Like the solitary, he was all the while busily
feeding (birds in general, and vireos in particu-
lar, hold with Mrs. Browning that we may
*‘ prove our work the better for the sweetness of
our song”’), and one while was exploring a poi-
son-dogwood bush, plainly without the slightest
fear of any ill-result. It occurred to me that

MINOR SONGSTERS. 171

possibly it is our fault, and not that of Rhus
venenata, when we suffer from the touch of that
graceful shrub.

The white-eyed greenlet is a vocalist of such
extraordinary versatility and power that one
feels almost guilty in speaking of him under the
title which stands at the head of this paper.
How he would scold, out-carlyling Carlyle, if he
knew what were going on! Nevertheless I can-
not rank him with the great singers, exception-
ally clever and original as, beyond all dispute,
he is; and for that matter, I look upon the sol-
itary as very much his superior, in spite of —
or, shall I say, because of ? —the latter’s greater
simplicity and reserve.

But if we hesitate thus about these two in-
conspicuous vireos, whom half of those who do
them the honor to read what is here said about
them will have never seen, how are we to deal
with the scarlet tanager? Our handsomest
bird, and with musical aspirations as well, shall
we put him into the second class? It must be
so, I fear: yet such justice is a trial to the
flesh ; for what critic could ever quite leave out
of account the beauty of a prima donna in pass-
ing judgment on her work? Does not her an-
gelic face sing to his eye, as Emerson says ?

Formerly I gave the tanager credit for only
one song,— the one which suggests a robin

172 MINOR gp ONGSTERS.

laboring under an attack of hoarseness; but I
have discovered that he himself regards his chip-
cherr as of equal value. At least, I have found
him perched at the tip of a tall pine, and re-
peating this inconsiderable and not very melo-
dious trochee with all earnestness and persever-
ance. Sometimes he rehearses it thus at night-
fall; but even so I cannot call it highly artistic.
I am glad to believe, however, that he does not
care in the least for my opinion. Why should
he? He is too true a gallant to mind what
anybody else thinks, so long as one is pleased ;
and she, no doubt, tells him every day that he
is the best singer in the grove. Beside his di-
vine chip-cherr the rhapsody of the wood thrush
is a mere nothing, if she is to be the judge.
Strange, indeed, that so shabbily dressed a
creature as this thrush should have the pre-
sumption to attempt to sing at all! “But
then,” she charitably adds, ‘perhaps he is not
to blame; such things come by nature; and
there are some birds, you know, who cannot tell
the difference between noise and music.”

We trust that the tanager will improve as
time goes on; but in any case we are largely in
his debt. How we should miss him if he were
gone, or even were become as rare as the sum-
mer red-bird and the cardinal are in our lati-
tude! As it is, he hghts up our Northern woods

MINOR SONGSTERS. 173

with a truly tropical splendor, the like of which
no other of our birds can furnish. Let us hold
him in hearty esteem, and pray that he may
never be exterminated ; no, not even to beau-
tify the head-gear of our ladies, who, if they
only knew it, are already sufficiently bewitch-
ing.

What shall we say now about the lesser
lights of that most musical family, the finches?
Of course the cardinal and rose-breasted gros-
beaks are not to be included in any such cate-
gory. Nor will J put there the goldfinch, the
linnet, the fox-colored sparrow, and the song
sparrow. These, if no more, shall stand among
the immortals ; so far, at any rate, as my suf-
frage counts. But who ever dreamed of calling
the chipping sparrow a fine singer? And yet,
who that knows it does not love his earnest,
long-drawn trill, dry and tuneless as it. is? I
can speak for one, at all events; and he always
has an ear open for it by the middle of April.
It is the voice of a friend,—a friend so true
and gentle and confiding that we do not care to
ask whether his voice be smooth and his speech
eloquent.

The chipper’s congener, the field sparrow,
is less neighborly than he, but a much better
musician. His song is simplicity. itself; yet,
even at its lowest estate, it never fails of being

174 MINOR SONGSTERS.

truly melodious, ae by one means and an-
other its wise little author contrives to impart
to it a very considerable variety, albeit within
pretty narrow limits. Last spring the field
sparrows were singing constantly from the mid-
dle of April till about the 10th of May, when
they became entirely dumb. Then, after a
week in which I heard not a note, they again
grew musical. I pondered not a little over
their silence, but concluded that they were just
then very much occupied with preparations for
housekeeping.

The bird who is called indiscriminately the
grass finch, the bay-winged bunting, the bay-
winged sparrow, the vesper sparrow, and I know
not what else (the ornithologists have nick-
named him Powcetes gramineus), is a singer
of good parts, but is especially to be com-
mended for his refinement. In form his music
is strikingly like the song sparrow’s; but the
voice is not so loud and ringing, and the two
or three opening notes are less sharply empha-
sized. In general the difference between the
two songs may perhaps be well expressed by
saying that the one is more declamatory, the
other more cantabile ; a difference exactly such
as we might have expected, considering the ner-
vous, impetuous disposition of the song sparrow

and the placidity of the bay-wing.

MINOR SONGSTERS. 175

As one of his titles indicates, the bay-wing
is famous for singing in the evening, when, of
course, his efforts are doubly acceptable; and I
can readily believe that Mr. Minot is correct in
his “impression” that he has once or twice
heard the song in the night. For while spend-
ing a few days at a New Hampshire hotel,
which was surrounded with fine lawns such as
the grass finch delights in, I happened to be
awake in the morning, long before sunrise, —
when, in fact, it seemed like the dead of night,
—and one or two of these sparrows were pip-
ing freely. The sweet and gentle strain had
the whole mountain valley to itself. How
beautiful it was, set in such a broad ‘ margin
of silence,” I must leave to be imaginea. I
noticed, moreover, that the birds sang almost
incessantly the whole day through. Much of
the time there were two singing antiphonally.
Manifestly, the lines had fallen to them in
pleasant places: at home for the summer in
those luxuriant Sugar-Hill fields, in continual
sight of yonder magnificent mountain pano-
rama, with Lafayette himself looming grandly
in the foreground ; while they, innocent souls,
had never so much as heard of hotel-keepers
and their bills. ‘“ Happy commoners,” indeed !
Their “ songs in the night ” seemed nowise sur-
prising. I fancied that I could be happy my-
self in such a case.

176 MINOR SONGSTERS.

Our familiar Kat Paveitseelobin’ snow-bird,
known in some quarters as the black chipping-
bird, and often called the black snow-bird, has
a long trill, not altogether unlike the common
chipper’s, but in a much higher key. It is a
modest lay, yet doubtless full of meaning ; for
the singer takes to the very tip of a tree, and
throws his head back in the most approved
style. He does his best, at any rate, and so far
ranks with the angels; while, if my testimony
can be of any service to him, I am glad to say
(’t is too bad the praise is so equivocal) that I
have heard many human singers who gave me
less pleasure ; and further, that he took dn in-
dispensable though subordinate part in what
was one of the most memorable concerts at
which I was ever happy enough to be a listener.
This was given some years ago in an old apple-
orchard by a flock of fox-colored sparrows, who,
perhaps for that occasion only, had the “ valua-
ble assistance ” of a large choir of snow-birds.
The latter were twittering in every tree, while
to this goodly accompaniment the sparrows
were singing their loud, clear, thrush-like song.
The combination was felicitous in the extreme.
I would go a long way to hear the like again.

If distinction cannot be attained by one means,
who knows but that it may be by another? It
is denied us to be great? Very well, we can at

MINOR SONGSTERS. 177

least try the effect of a little originality. Some-
thing like this seems to be the philosophy of the
indigo-bird ; and he carries it out both in dress
and in song. As we have said already, it is usual
fer birds to reserve the loudest and most taking
parts of their music for the close, though it may
be doubted whether they have any intelligent
purpose in so doing. Indeed, the apprehension
of a great general truth such as lies at the basis
of this well-nigh universal habit, — the truth,
namely, that everything depends upon the im-
pression finally left on the hearer’s mind ; that
to end with some grand burst, or with some
surprisingly lofty note, is the only, or to speak
cautiously, the principal, requisite to a really
great musical performance, — the intelligent
grasp of such a truth as this, I say, seems to me
to lie beyond the measure of a bird’s capacity
in the present stage of his development. Be
this as it may, however, it is noteworthy that
the indigo-bird exactly reverses the common
plan. He begins at his loudest and spright-
liest, and then runs off into a diminuendo, which
fades into silence almost imperceptibly. The
strain will never be renowned for its’ beauty ;
but it is unique, and, further, is continued well
into August. Moreover, — and this adds grace
to the most ordinary song, — it is often let fall

while the bird is on the wing.
12

178 MINOR SONGSTERS.

This eccentric ne has taken possession of
a certain hillside pasture, which, in another
way, belongs to me also. Year after year he
comes back and settles down upon it about the
middle of May; and I have often been amused
to see his mate — who is not permitted to wear
a single blue feather — drop out of her nest in
a barberry bush and go fluttering off, both
wings dragging helplessly through the grass. I
should pity her profoundly but that I am in no
doubt her injuries will rapidly heal when once
Tam out of sight. Besides, I like to imagine
her beatitude, as, five minutes afterward, she
sits again upon the nest, with her heart’s treas-
ures all safe underneath her. Manya time was
a boy of my acquaintance comforted in some
ache or pain with the words, “ Never mind!
*t will feel better when it gets well;”’’ and so,
sure enough, it always did. But what a wicked
world this is, where nature teaches even a bird
to play the deceiver !

On the same hillside is always to be found the
chewink, —a creature whose dress and song are
so unlike those of the rest of his tribe that the
irreverent amateur is tempted to believe that,
for once, the men of science have made a mis-
take. What has any finch to do with a call
like cherawink, or with such a _ three-colored
harlequin suit? But it is unsafe to judge ac-

MINOR SONGSTERS. 179

cording to the outward appearance, in ornithol-
ogy as in other matters; and I have heard that
it is only those who are foolish as well as igno-

rant who indulge in off-hand criticisms of wiser

men’s conclusions. So let us call the towhee a
finch, and say no more about it.

But whatever his lineage, it is plain that the
chewink is not a bird to be governed very strictly
by the traditions of the fathers. His usual song
is characteristic and pretty, yet he is so far
from being satisfied with it that he varies it con-
tinually and in many ways, some of them sadly
puzzling to the student who is set upon telling
all the birds by their voices. I remember well
enough the morning I was inveigled through the
wet grass of two pastures— and that just as I
was shod for the city — by a wonderfully for-
eign note, which filled me with lively anticipa-
tions of a new bird, but which turned out to be
the work of a most innocent-looking towhee. It
was perhaps this same bird, or his brother, whom
I one day heard throwing in between his cus-
tomary cherawinks a profusion of staccato notes
of widely varying pitch, together with little vol-
leys of tinkling sounds such as his every-day
song concludes with. This medley was not laugh-
able, like the chat’s, which it suggested, but it
had the same abrupt, fragmentary, and promis-
cuous character. Allin all, it was what I never

180 MINOR SONGSTERS.

should have expected erin this paragon of self-
possession.

For self-control, as I have elsewhere said, is
Pipilo’s strong point. One afternoon last sum-
mer a young friend and I found ourselves, as we
suspected, near a chewink’s nest, and at once
set out to see which of us should have the honor
of the discovery. We searched diligently, but
without avail, while the father-bird sat quietly
in a tree, calling with all sweetness and with
never a trace of anger or trepidation, cherawink,
cherawink. Finally we gave over the hunt, and
I began to console my companion and myself
for our disappointment by shaking in the face
of the bird a small tree which very conveniently
leaned toward the one in which he was perched.
By rather vigorous efforts I could make this pass
back and forth within a few inches of his bill ;
but he utterly disdained to notice it, and kept
on calling as before. While we were laughing
at his impudence (Ais impudence!) the mother
suddenly appeared, with an insect in her beak,
and joined her voice to her husband’s.” I was
just declaring how cruel as well as useless it
was for us to stay, when she ungratefully gave
a ludicrous turn to what was intended for a very
sage and considerate remark, by dropping almost
at my feet, stepping upon the edge of her nest,
and offering the morsel to one of her young.

MINOR SONGSTERS. 181

We watched the little tableau admiringly (I had
never seen a prettier show of nonchalance), and
thanked our stars that we had been saved from
an involuntary slaughter of the innocents while
trampling all about the spot. The nest, which
we had tried so hard to find, was in plain sight,
concealed only by the perfect agreement of its
color with that of the dead pine-branches in the
midst of which it was placed. The shrewd birds
had somehow learned — by experience, perhaps,
like ourselves — that those who would escape
disagreeable and perilous conspicuity must con-
form as closely as possible to the world around
them.

According to my observation, the towhee is
not much given to singing after July; but he
keeps up his call, which is little less musical
than his song, till his departure in late Septem-
ber. At that time of the year the birds collect
together in their favorite haunts; and I remem-
ber my dog’s running into the edge of a road-
side pasture among some cedar-trees, when there
broke out such a chorus of cherawinks that I
was instantly reminded of a swamp full of frogs
in April.

After the tanager the Baltimore oriole (named
for Lord Baltimore, whose colors he wears) is
probably the most gorgeous, as he is certainly
one of the best known, of New England birds.

182 MINOR SONGSTERS.

He has discovered tlt men, bad as they are,
are less to be dreaded than hawks and weasels,
and so, after making sure that his wife is not
subject to sea-sickness, he swings his nest boldly
from a swaying shade-tree branch, in full view
of whoever may choose to look at it. Some
morning in May — not far from the 10th — you
will wake to hear him fifing in the elm before
your window. He has come in the night, and
is already making himself at home. Once I saw
a pair who on the very first morning had begun
to get together materials for anest. His whistle
is one of the clearest and loudest, but he makes
little pretensions to music. I have been pleased
and interested, however, to see how tuneful he
becomes in August, after most other birds have
ceased to sing, and after a long interval of silence
on his own part. Early and late he pipes and
chatters, as if he imagined that the spring were
really coming back again forthwith. What the
explanation of this lyrical revival may be I have
never been able to gather; but the fact itself is
very noticeable, so that it would not be amiss to
call the * golden robin ” the bird of August.
The oriole’s dusky relatives have the organs
of song well developed; and although most of
the species have altogether lost the art of music,
there are none of them, even now, that do not
betray more or less of the musical impulse. The

MINOR SONGSTERS. 183

red-winged blackbird, indeed, has some really
praiseworthy notes ; and to me—for personal
reasons quite aside from any question about its
lyrical value — his rough ecucurree is one of the
very pleasantest of sounds. For that matter,
however, there is no one of our birds — be he,
in technical language, “ oscine ” or “ non-oscine ”’
— whose voice is not, in its own way, agreeable.
Except a few uncommonly superstitious people,
who does not enjoy the whip-poor-will’s trisyl-
labic exhortation, and the yak of the night-
hawk? Bob White’s weather predictions, also,
have a wild charm all their own, albeit his
persistent Vo more wet is often sadly out of ac-
cord with the farmer’s hopes. We have no more
untuneful bird, surely, than the cow bunting ;
yet even the serenades of this shameless polyg-
amist have one merit, — they are at least amus-
ing. With what infinite labor he brings forth his
forlorn, broken-winded whistle, while his tail
twitches convulsively, as if tail and larynx were
worked by the same spring !

The judging, comparing spirit, the conscien-
tious dread of being ignorantly happy when a
broader culture would enable us to be intelli-
gently miserable, — this has its place, unques-
tionably, in concert halls ; but if we are to make
the best use of out-door minstrelsy, we must
learn to take things as we find them, throwing

184 MINOR SONGSTERS.

criticism to the ee Having said which, I
am bound to go further still, and to acknowledge
that on looking back over the first part of this
paper I feel more than half ashamed of the
strictures therein passed upon the bluebird and
the brown thrush. When I heard the former’s
salutation from a Boston Common elm on the
morning of the 22d of February last, I said to
myself that no music, not even the nightingale’s,
could ever be sweeter. Let him keep on, by all
means, in his own artless way, paying no heed
to what I have foolishly written about his short-
comings. As for the thrasher’s smile-provoking
gutturals, I recall that even in the symphonies
of the greatest of masters there are here and
there quaint bassoon phrases, which have, and
doubtless were intended to have, a somewhat
whimsical effect ; and remembering this, I am
ready to own that I was less wise than I thought
myself when I found so much fault with the
thrush’s performance. I have sins enough to
answer for: may this never be added to them,
that I set up my taste against that of Beethoven
and Harporhynchus rufus.

WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON.

———

Not much to find, not much to see;
But the air was fresh, the path was free.

W. ALLINGHAM.

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WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON.

—

A WEED has been defined as a plant the use
of which is not yet discovered. If the defini-
tion be correct there are few weeds. For the
researches of others beside human investigators
must be taken into the account. What we com-
placently call the world below us is full of in-
telligence. Every animal has a lore of its own;
not one of them but is— what the human
scholar is more and more coming to be —a spe-
cialist. In these days the most eminent bot-
anists are not ashamed to compare notes with
the insects, since it turns out that these bits of
animate wisdom long ago anticipated some of
the latest improvements of our modern system-
atists. We may see the red squirrel eating,

1 See a letter by Dr. Fritz Miiller, ‘‘ Butterflies as Botanists :’’
Nature, vol. xxx. p. 240. Of similar import is the case, cited by
Dr. Asa Gray (in the American Journal of Science, November,
1884, p. 325), of two species of plantain found in this country,
which students have only of late discriminated, although it turns
out that the cows have all along known them apart, eating one and
declining the other, — the bovine taste being more exact, it would
seem, or at any rate more prompt, than the botanist’s lens.

188 WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON.

with real epicurean west, mushrooms, the white
and tender flesh of which we have ourselves
looked at longingly, but have never dared to
taste. How amused he would be (I fear he
would even be rude enough to snicker) were
you to caution him against poison! As if Sei-
urus Hudsonius didn’t know what he were
about! Why should men be so provincial as
to pronounce anything worthless merely because
they can do nothing with it? The clover is not
without value, although the robin and the ori-
ole may agree to think so. We know better;
and so do the rabbits and the humblebees. The
wise respect their own quality wherever they
see it, and are thankful for a good hint from no
matter what quarter. Here is a worthy neigh-
bor of mine whom I hear every summer com-
plaining of the chicory plants which disfigure
the roadside in front of her windows. She
wishes they were exterminated, every one of
them. And they are homely, there is no deny-
ing it, for all the beauty of their individual
sky-blue flowers. No wonder a neat housewife
finds them an eyesore. But I never pass the
spot in August (I do not pass it at all after
that) without seeing that hers is only one side
of the story. My approach is sure to startle ~
a few goldfinches (and they too are most esti-
mable neighbors), to whom these scraggy herbs

pa

WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 189

are quite as useful as my excellent lady’s apple-
trees and pear-trees are to her. I watch them
as they circle about in musical undulations, and
then drop down again to finish their repast ;
and I perceive that, in spite of its unsightli-
ness, the chicory is not a weed, — its use has
been discovered.

In truth, the lover of birds soon ceases to
feel the uncomeliness of plants of this sort; he
even begins to have a peculiar and kindly in-
terest in them. A piece of “‘ waste ground,” as
it is called, an untidy garden, a wayside thicket
of golden-rods and asters, pig-weed and even-
ing primrose, — these come to be almost as
attractive a sight to him as a thrifty field of
wheat is to an agriculturalist. Taking his cue
from the finches, he separates plants into two
grand divisions, — those that shed their seeds
in the fall, and those that hold them through
the winter. The latter, especially if they are
of a height to overtop a heavy snow-fall, are
friends in need to his clients; and he is certain
to have marked a few places within the range
of his every-day walks where, thanks to some-
body’s shiftlessness, perhaps, they have been
allowed to flourish.

It is not many years since there were several
such winter gardens of the birds in Common-
wealth Avenue, — vacant house-lots overgrown

190 WINTER AIR DS ABOUT BOSTON.

with tall weeds. Hither came flocks of gold-
finches, red- poll linnets, and snow buntings ;
and thither I went to watch them. It hap-
pened, I remember, that the last two species,
which are not to be met with in this region
every season, were unusually abundant during
the first or second year of my ornithological
enthusiasm. Great was the delight with which
I added them to the small but rapidly increas-
ing list of my feathered.acquaintances.

The red-polls and the goldfinches often travel
together, or at least are often to be found feed-
ing in company; and as they resemble each
other a good deal in size, general appearance,
and ways, the casual observer is very likely not
to discriminate between them. Only the sum-
mer before the time of which I speak I had
spent a vacation at Mount Wachusett; and a
resident of Princeton, noticing my attention to
the birds (a taste so peculiar is not easily con-
cealed), had one day sought an interview with
me to inquire whether the ‘ yellow-bird ” did
not remain in Massachusetts through the win-
ter. J explained that we had two birds which
commonly went by that name, and asked
whether he meant the one with a black fore-
head and black wings and tail. Yes, he said,
that was the one. I assured him, of course,

that this bird, the goldfinch, did stay with us

WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 191

all the year round, and that whoever had in-
formed him to the contrary must have under-
stood him to be speaking about the golden
warbler. He expressed his gratification, but
declared that he had really entertained no
doubt of the fact himself; he had often seen
the birds on the mountain when he had been
cutting wood there in midwinter. At such
times, he added, they were very tame, and
would come about his feet to pick up crumbs
while he was eating his dinner. ‘Then he went
on to tell me that at that season of the year
their plumage took on more or less of a red-
dish tinge: he had seen in the same flock some
with no trace of red, others that were slightly
touched with it, and others still of a really
bright color. At this I had nothing to say,
save that his red birds, whatever else they
were, could not have been goldfinches. But
next winter, when I saw the “ yellow-birds ”
and the red-poll linnets feeding together in
Commonwealth Avenue, I thought at once of
my Wachusett friend. Here was the very
scene he had so faithfully described, — some
of the flock with no red at all, some with red
crowns, and a few with bright carmine crowns
and breasts. They remained all winter, and
no doubt thought the farmers of Boston a very
good and wise set, to cultivate the evening

192 WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON.

primrose so extensively. This plant, like the
succory, is of an ungraceful aspect; yet it has
sweet and beautiful blossoms, and as an herb
bearing seed is in the front rank. I doubt
whether we have any that surpass it, the birds
being judges.

Many stories are told of the red-polls’ fear-
lessness and ready reconciliation to captivity,
as well as of their constancy to each other. I
have myself stood still in the midst of a flock,
until they were feeding round my feet so closely
that it looked easy enough to catch one or two
of them with a butterfly net. Strange that
creatures so gentle and seemingly so delicately
organized should choose to live in the regions
about the North Pole! Why should they pre-
fer Labrador and Greenland, Iceland and Spitz-
bergen, to more southern countries? Why ?
Well, possibly for no worse a reason than this,
that these are the lands of their fathers. Other
birds, it may be, have grown discouraged, and
one after another ceased to come back to their
native shores as the rigors of the climate have
increased ; but these little patriots are still faith-
ful. Spitzbergen is home, and every spring they
make the long and dangerous passage toit. All
praise to them !

If any be ready to call this an over-refine-
ment, deeming it incredible that beings so small

WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 193

and lowly should come so near to human senti-
ment and virtue, let such not be too hasty with
their dissent. Surely they may in reason wait
till they can point to at least one country where
the men are as universally faithful to their
wives and children as the birds are to theirs.

The red-poll linnets, as I have said, are ir-
regular visitors in this region; several years
may pass, and not one be seen; but the gold-
finch we have with us always. Easily recog-
nized as he is, there are many well-educated
New-Englanders, I fear, who do not know him,
even by sight; yet when that distinguished
ornithologist, the Duke of Argyll, comes to
publish his impressions of this country, he avers
that he has been hardly more interested in the
‘glories of Niagara” than in this same little
yellow-bird, which he saw for the first time
while looking from his hotel window at the
great cataract. ‘A golden finch, indeed!” he
exclaims. Such a tribute as this from the pen
of a British nobleman ought to give Astragali-
nus tristis immediate entrance into the very
best of American society.

It is common to say that the goldfinches wan-
der about the country during the winter. Un-
doubtedly this is true in a measure; but I have
seen things which lead me to suspect that the

statement is sometimes made too sweeping.’
13

194 WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON.

Last winter, for a a flock took up their
quarters in a certain neglected piece of ground
on the side of Beacon Street, close upon the |
boundary between Boston and Brookline, and
remained there nearly or quite the whole sea-
son. Week after week I saw them in the same
place, accompanied always by half a dozen tree
sparrows. They had found a spot to their
mind, with plenty of succory and evening prim-
rose, and were wise enough not to forsake it for
any uncertainty.

The goldfinch loses his bright feathers and
canary-like song as the cold season approaches,
but not even a New England winter can rob
him of his sweet call and his cheerful spirits ;
and for one, I think him never more winsome
than when he hangs in graceful attitudes above
a snowbank, on a bleak January morning.

Glad as we are of the society of the goldfinches
and the red-polls at this time of the year, we
cannot easily rid ourselves of a degree of solici-
tude for their comfort; especially if we chance
to come upon them after sunset on some bit-
terly cold day, and mark with what a nervous
haste they snatch here and there a seed, making
the utmost of the few remaining minutes of twi-
light. They will go to bed hungry and cold,
we think, and were surely better off in a milder
clime. But, if Iam to judge from my own ex-

WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 195

perience, the snow buntings awaken no such
emotions. Arctic explorers by instinct, they
come to us only with real arctic weather, and
almost seem to be themselves a part of the
snow-storm with which they arrive. No matter
what they are doing: running along the street
before an approaching sleigh; standing on a
wayside fence ; jumping up from the ground to
snatch the stem of a weed, and then setting at
work hurriedly to gather the seeds they have
shaken down; or, best of all, skimming over
the snow in close order, their white breasts
catching the sun as they veer this way or that,
— whatever they may be doing, they are the
most picturesque of all our cold-weather birds.
In point of suspiciousness their behavior is very
different at different times, as, for that matter,
is true of birds generally. Seeing the flock
alight in a low roadside lot, you steal silently
to the edge of the sidewalk to look over upon
them. There they are, sure enough, walking
and running about, only a few rods distant.
What lovely creatures, and how prettily they
walk! But just as you are wishing, perhaps,
that they were a little nearer, they begin to fly
from right under your feet. You search the
ground eagerly, right and left, but not a bird
can you discover; and still they continue to
start up, now here, now there, till you are

196 WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON.

ready to question whether, indeed, ‘‘ eyes were
made for seeing.” The “snow-flakes”” wear
protective colors, and, like most other animals,
are of opinion that, for such as lack the receipt
of fern-seed, there is often nothing safer than
to sit still. The worse the weather, the less
timorous they are, for with them, as with wiser
heads, one thought drives out another; and it
is nothing uncommon, when times are hard, to
see them stay quietly upon the fence while a
sleigh goes past, or suffer a foot passenger to
come again and again within a few yards.

It gives a lively touch to the imagination to
overtake these beautiful strangers in the middle
of Beacon Street; particularly if one has lately
been reading about them in some narrative of
Siberian travel. Coming from so far, associa-
ting in flocks, with costumes so becoming and
yet so unusual, they might be expected to at-
tract universal notice, and possibly to get into
the newspapers. But there is a fashion even
about seeing; and of a thousand persons who
may take a Sunday promenade over the Muill-
dam, while these tourists from the North Pole
are there, it is doubtful whether a dozen are
aware of their presence. Birds feeding in the
street ? Yes, yes; English sparrows, of course 5
we haven’t any other birds in Boston nowa-
days, you know.

WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 197

With the pine grosbeaks the case is different.
When a man sees a company of rather large
birds about the evergreens in his door-yard, most
of them of a neutral ashy-gray tint, but one or
two in suits of rose-color, he is pretty certain to
feel at least a momentary curiosity about them.
Their slight advantage in size counts for some-
thing ; for, without controversy, the bigger the
bird the more worthy he is of notice. And
then the bright color! The very best men are
as yet but imperfectly civilized, and there must
be comparatively few, even of Bostonians, in
whom there is not some lingering susceptibility
to the fascination of red feathers. Add to these
things the fact that the grosbeaks are extremely
confiding, and much more likely than the bunt-
ings to be seen from the windows of the house,
and you have, perhaps, a sufficient explanation
of the more general interest they excite. Like
the snow buntings and the red-polls, they roam
over the higher latitudes of Europe, Asia, and
America, and make only irregular visits to our
corner of the world.}

Icannot boast of any intimate acquaintance
with them. I have never caught them in a net,
or knocked them over with a club, as other per-

1 Unlike the snow bunting and the red-poll, however, the pine
grosbeak is believed to breed sparingly in Northern New Eng-
land.

198 WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON.

sons have done, although I have seen them
when their tameness promised success to any
such loving experiment. Indeed, it was sev-
eral years before my lookout for them was re-
warded. Then, one day, I saw a flock of about
ten fly across Beacon Street, —on the edge of
Brookline, — and alight in an apple-tree; at
which I forthwith clambered over the picket-
fence after them, heedless alike of the deep
snow and the surprise of any steady-going cit-
izen who might chance to witness my high-
handed proceeding. Some of the birds were
feeding upon the rotten apples; picking them
off the tree, and taking them to one of the large
main branches or to the ground, and there tear-
ing them to pieces, — for the sake of the seeds,
I suppose. The rest sat still, doing nothing.
I was most impressed with the exceeding mild-
ness and placidity of their demeanor; as if
they had time enough, plenty to eat, and noth-
ing to fear. ‘Their only notes were in quality
much like the goldfinch’s, and hardly louder,
but without his characteristic inflection. I left
_the whole company seated idly in a maple-tree,
where, to all appearance, they proposed to ob-
serve the remainder of the day as a Sabbath.
Last winter the grosbeaks were uncommonly
abundant. I found a number of them within a
few rods of the place just mentioned; this time

WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 199

in evergreen trees, and so near the road that I
had no call tocommit trespass. Evergreens are
their usual resort, —so, at least, I gather from
books, — but I have seen them picking up prov-
ender from a bare-looking last year’s garden.
Natives of the inhospitable North, they have
learned by long experience how to adapt them-
selves to circumstances. If one resource fails,
there is always another to be tried. Let us
hope that they even know how to show fight
upon occasion.

The purple finch — a small copy of the pine
grosbeak, as the indigo bird is of the blue gros-
beak —is a summer rather than a winter bird
with us ; yet he sometimes passes the cold sea-
son in Eastern Massachusetts, and even in
Northern New Hampshire. I have never heard
him sing more gloriously than once when the
ground was deep under the snow; a wonder-
fully sweet and protracted warble, poured out
while the singer circled about in the air with a
kind of half-hovering flight.

As I was walking briskly along a West End
street, one cold morning in March, I heard a
bird’s note close at hand, and, looking down,
discovered a pair of these finches in a front
yard. The male, in bright plumage, was flit-
ting about his mate, calling anxiously, while
she, poor thing, sat motionless upon the snow,

200 WINTER ss ABOUT BOSTON.

too sick or too badly exhausted to fly. I
stroked her feathers gently while she perched
on my finger, and then resumed my walk ; first
putting her into a little more sheltered position
on the sill of a cellar window, and promising to
call on my way back, when, if she were no bet-
ter, I would take her home with me, and give
her a warm room and good nursing. When I
returned, however, she was nowhere to be
found. Her mate, I regret to say, both on his
own account and for the sake of the story, had
taken wing and disappeared the moment I en-
tered the yard. Possibly he came back and en-
couraged her to fly off with him; or perhaps
some cat made a Sunday breakfast of her. The
truth will never be known; our vigilant city
police take no cognizance of tragedies so hum-
ble.

For several years a few song sparrows—a
pair or two, at least — have wintered in a piece
of ground just beyond the junction of Beacon
street and Brookline Avenue. Ihave grown ac-
customed to listen for their ¢seep as I go by the
spot, and occasionally I catch sight of one of them
perched upon a weed, or diving under the plank
sidewalk. It would be a pleasure to know the
history of the colony: how it started; whether
the birds are the same year after year, as I sup-
pose to be the case; and why this particular

WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 201

site was selected. The lot is small, with no
woods or bushy thicket near, while it has build-
ings in one corner, and is bounded on its three
sides by the streets and the railway; but it is
full of a rank growth of weeds, especially a
sturdy species of aster and the evergreen gold-
en-rod, and I suspect that the plank walk, which
on one side is raised some distance from the
ground, is found serviceable for shelter in severe
weather, as it is certainly made to take the place
of shrubbery for purposes of concealment.
Fortunately, birds, even those of the same
species, are not all exactly alike in their tastes
and manner of life. So, while by far the greater
part of our song sparrows leave us in the fall,
there are always some who prefer tostay. They
have strong local attachments, perhaps; or they
dread the fatigue and peril of the journey; or
they were once incapacitated for flight when
their companions went away, and, having found
a Northern winter not so unendurable as they
had expected, have since done from choice what
at first they did of necessity. Whatever their
reasons, — and we cannot be presumed to have
guessed half of them, —at all events a goodly
number of song sparrows do winter in Massachu-
setts, where they open the musical season before
the first of the migrants make their appearance.
I doubt, however, whether many of them choose

202 WINTER BIRQ ABOUT BOSTON.

camping grounds so exposed and public as this
in the rear of the “* Half-way House.”

Our only cold-weather thrushes are the rob-
ins. They may be found any time in favorable
situations ; and even in so bleak a place as Bos-
ton Common I have seen them in every month
of the year except February. This exception,
moreover, is more apparent than real, — at the
most a matter of but twenty-four hours, since
I once saw four birds in a tree near the Frog
Pond on the last day of January. The house
sparrows were as much surprised as I was at
the sight, and, with characteristic urbanity, gath-
ered from far and near to sit in the same tree
with the visitors, and stare at them.

We cannot help being grateful to the robins
and the song sparrows, who give us their soci-
ety at so great a cost; but their presence can
scarcely be thought to enliven the season.
At its best their bearing is only that of patient
submission to the inevitable. They remind us
of the summer gone and the summer coming,
rather than brighten the winter that is now
upon us; like friends who commiserate us in
some affliction, but are not able to comfort us.
How different the chickadee! In the worst
weather his greeting is never of condolence, but
of good cheer. He has no theory upon the sub-
ject, probably ; he is no Shepherd of Salisbury

_ aay e
ar
=

Plain; but he knows better than to waste the
exhilarating air of this wild and frosty day in
reminiscences of summer time. It is a pretty-
sounding couplet, —

WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 203

** Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
No winter in thy year,” —

but rather incongruous, he would think. Chick-
adee, dee, he calls, — chickadee, dee ; and though
the words have no exact equivalent in English,
their meaning is felt by all such as are worthy
to hear them.

Are the smallest birds really the most cour-
ageous, or does an unconscious sympathy on our
part inevitably give them odds in the compari-
son? Probably the latter supposition comes
nearest the truth. When a sparrow chases a
butcher-bird we cheer the sparrow, and then
when a humming-bird puts to flight a sparrow,
we cheer the humming-bird; we side with the
kingbird against the crow, and with the vireo
against the kingbird. It is a noble trait of
human nature — though we are somewhat too
ready to boast of it—that we like, as we say,
to see the little fellow at the top. ‘These re-
marks are made, not with any reference to the
chickadee, — I admit no possibility of exagger-
ation in his case,—but as leading to a men-
tion of the golden-crested kinglet. He is the
least of all our winter birds, and one of the most

204 WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON.

engaging. Emerson’s “atom in full breath”
and “scrap of valor’ would apply to him even
better than to the titmouse. He says little, —
zee, zee, zee is nearly the limit of his vocabu-
lary ; but his lively demeanor and the grace
and agility of his movements are in themselves
an excellent language, speaking infallibly a con-
tented mind. (It is a fact, on which I forbear
to moralize, that birds seldom look unhappy
except when they are idle.) His diminutive size
attracts attention even from those who rarely
notice such things. About the first of Decem-
ber, a year ago, I was told of a man who had
shot a humming-bird only a few days before in
the vicinity of Boston. Of course I expressed a
polite surprise, and assured my informant that
such a remarkable capture ought by all means
to be put on record in ‘** The Auk,” as every
ornithologist in the land would be interested
in it. On this he called upon the lucky sports-
man’s brother, who happened to be standing by,
to corroborate the story. Yes, the latter said,
the fact was as had been stated. ‘ But then,”
he continued, ‘the bird did n’t have a long bill,
like a humming-bird ;” and when I suggested
that perhaps its crown was yellow, bordered
with black, he said, ‘‘ Yes, yes; that’s the bird,
exactly.” So easy are startling discoveries to
an observer who has just the requisite amount

— < 63

WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 205

of knowledge, — enough, and (especially) not
too much!

The brown creeper is quite as industrious and
good-humored as the kinglet, but he is less tak-
ing in his personal appearance and less roman-
tic in his mode of life. The same may be said
of our two black-and-white woodpeckers, the
downy and the hairy; while their more showy
but less hardy relative, the flicker, evidently
feels the weather a burden. The creeper and
these three woodpeckers are with us in limited
numbers every winter; and in the season of
1881-82 we had an altogether unexpected visit
from the red-headed woodpecker, — such a
thing as had not been known for a long time,
if ever. Where the birds came from, and what
was the occasion of their journey, nobody could
tell. They arrived early in the autumn, and
went away, with the exception of a few strag-
glers, in the spring ; and as far as I know have
never been seen since. It is a great pity they
did not like us well enough to come again ; for
they are wide-awake, entertaining creatures, and
gorgeously attired. I used to watch them in
the oak groves of some Longwood estates, but

~it was not till our second or third interview

that I discovered them to be the authors of a
mystery over which I had been exercising my
wits in vain, a tree-frog’s note in winter! One of

206 WINTER BIR DA ABOUT BOSTON.

their amusements was to drum on the tin girdles
of the shade trees; and meanwhile they them-
selves afforded a pastime to the gray squirrels,
who were often to be seen creeping stealthily
after them, as if they imagined that Melanerpes
erythrocephalus might possibly be caught, if
only he were hunted long enough. I laughed
at them; but, after all, their amusing halluci-
nation was nothing but the sportsman’s instinct ;
and life would soon lose its charm for most of
us, sportsmen or not, if we could no longer pur-
sue the unattainable.

Probably my experience is not singular, but
there are certain birds, well known to be more
or less abundant in this neighborhood, which
for some reason or other I have seldom, if
ever, met. For example, of the multitude of
pine finches which now and then overrun East-
ern Massachusetts in winter I have never
seen one, while on the other hand I was once
lucky enough to come upon a few of the very
much smaller number which pass the summer
in Northern New Hampshire. This was in the
White Mountain Notch, first on Mount Willard
and then near the Crawford House, at which
latter place they were feeding on the lawn and
along the railway track as familiarly as the
gold-finches.

The shore larks, too, are no doubt common

WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 207

near Boston for a part of every year; yet I
found half a dozen five or six years ago in the
marsh beside a Back Bay street, and have seen
none since. One of these stood upon a pile of
earth, singing to himself in an undertone, while
the rest were feeding in the grass. Whether
the singer was playing sentinel, and sounded an
alarm, I was not sure, but all at once the flock
started off, as if on a single pair of wings.
Birds which elude the observer in this man-
ner year after year only render themselves all
the more interesting. ‘They are like other spe-
cies with which we deem ourselves well ac-
quainted, but which suddenly appear in some
quite unlooked-for time or place. The long-
expected and the unexpected have both an es-
pecial charm. I have elsewhere avowed my
favoritism for the white-throated sparrow ; but
I was never more delighted to see him than on
one Christmas afternoon. I was walking in a
back road, not far from the city, when I de-
scried a sparrow ahead of me, feeding in the
path, and, coming nearer, recognized my friend
the white-throat. He held his ground till the
last moment (time was precious to him that
short day), and then flew into a bush to let me
pass, which I had no sooner done than he was
back again; and on my return the same thing
was repeated. Far and near the ground was

208 WINTER BIBpS ABOUT BOSTON.

white, but just at this place the snow-plough
had scraped bare a few square feet of earth, and
by great good fortune this solitary and hungry
strageler had hit upon it. I wondered what he
would do when the resources of this garden
patch were exhausted, but consoled myself with
thinking that by this time he must be well used
to living by his wits, and would probably find
a way to do so even in his present untoward
circumstances.

The snow-birds (not to be confounded with
the snow buntings) should have at least a men-
tion in such a paper as this. They are among
the most familiar and constant of our winter
guests, although very much less numerous at
that time than in spring and autumn, when the
fields and lanes are fairly alive with them.

A kind word must be said for the shrike,
also, who during the three coldest months is to
be seen on the Common oftener than any other
of our native birds. here, at all events, he is
doing a good work. May he live to finish it!

The blue jay stands by us, of course. You
will not go far without hearing his scream, and
catching at least a distant view of his splendid
coat, which he is too consistent a dandy to put
off for one of a duller shade, let the season shift
as it will. He is not always good-natured ; but
none the less he is generally in good spirits (he

WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON. 209

seems to enjoy his bad temper), and, all in all,
is not to be lightly esteemed in a time when
bright feathers are scarce.

As for the jay’s sable relatives, they are the
most conspicuous birds in the winter landscape.
You may possibly walk to Brookline and back
without hearing a chickadee, or a blue jay, or
even a goldfinch; but you will never miss sight
and sound of the crows. Black against white
is a contrast hard to be concealed. Sometimes
they are feeding in the street, sometimes stalk-
ing about the marshes; but oftenest they are
on the ice in the river, near the water’s edge.
For they know the use of friends, although they
have never heard of Lord Bacon’s “ last fruit of
friendship,” and would hardly understand what
that provident philosopher meant by saying
that ‘the best way to represent to life the man-
ifold use of friendship is to cast and see how
many things there are which a man cannot do
himself.” How aptly their case illustrates the
not unusual coexistence of formal ignorance
with real knowledge! Having their Southern
brother’s fondness for fish without his skill in
catching it, they adopt a plan worthy of the
great essayist himself, — they court the society
of the gulls ; and with a temper eminently phil-
osophical, not to say Baconian, they cheerfully

sit at their patrons’ second table. From the
14

210 WINTER BIRDS ABOUT BOSTON.

Common you may see them almost any day
(in some seasons, at least) flying back and
forth between the river and the harbor. One
morning in early March I witnessed quite a
procession, one small company after another,
the largest numbering eleven birds, though it
was nothing to compare with what seems to be
a daily occurrence at some places further south.
At another time, in the middle of January, I
saw what appeared to be a flock of herring gulls
sailing over the city, making progress in their
own wonderfully beautiful manner, circle after
circle. But I noticed that about a dozen of
them were black! What were these? If they
could have held their peace I might have gone
home puzzled; but the crow is in one respect a
very polite bird: he will seldom fly over your
head without letting fall the compliments of
the morning, and a vigorous caw, caw soon pro-
claimed my black gulls to be simply erratic
specimens of Corvus Americanus. Why were
they conducting thus strangely ? Had they be-
come so attached to their friends as to have
taken to imitating them unconsciously? Or
were they practicing upon the vanity of these
useful allies of theirs, these master fishermen ?
Who can answer? The ways of shrewd people
are hard to understand; and in all New Eng-
land there is no shrewder Yankee than the
crow.

A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL.

—e—

There shall be
Beautiful things made new, for the surprise
Of the sky-children.
KEats.

Everywhere the blue sky belongs to them, and is their ap-
pointed rest, and their native country and their own natural homes,
which they enter unannounced, as lords that are certainly ex-
pected, and yet there is a silent joy at their arrival.

COLERIDGE.

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Page a aon

A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL.

—e—

It began on the 29th of March ; in the after-
noon of which day, despite the authority of the
almanac and the banter of my acquaintances
(March was March to them, and it was nothing
more), I shook off the city’s dust from my feet,
and went into summer quarters. The roads
were comparatively dry; the snow was entirely
gone, except a patch or two in the shadow of
thick pines under the northerly side of a hill;
and all tokens seemed to promise an early
spring. So much I learned before the hasten-
ing twilight cut short my first brief turn out-of-
doors. In the morning would be time enough
to discover what birds had already reported
themselves at my station.

Unknown to me, however, our national
weather bureau had announced a snow-storm,
and in the morning I drew aside the curtains
to look out upon a world all in white, with a
cold, high wind blowing and snow falling fast.
‘¢ The worst Sunday of the winter,” the natives

214 A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL.

said. The “summer boarder” went to church,
of course. To have done otherwise might have
been taken for a confession of weakness; as if
inclemency of this sort were more than he had
bargained for. The villagers, lacking any such
spur to right conduct, for the most part stayed
at home; feeling it not unpleasant, I dare say,
some of them, to have a natural inclination
providentially confirmed, even at the cost of an
hour’s exercise with the shovel. The bravest
parishioner of all, and the sweetest singer, —
the song sparrow by name, — was not in the
meeting-house, but by the roadside. What if
the wind did blow, and the mercury stand at
fifteen or twenty degrees below the freezing
point? In cold as in heat “ the mind is its own
place.”

Three days after this came a second storm,
one of the heaviest snow-falls of the year. The
robins were reduced to picking up seeds in the
asparagus bed. The bluebirds appeared to be
trying to glean something from the bark of
trees, clinging rather awkwardly to the trunk
meanwhile. (They are given to this, more or
less, at all times, and it possibly has some con-
nection with their half-woodpeckerish habit of
nestling in holes.) Some of the snow-birds
were doing likewise; I noticed one traveling up
a trunk, —which inclined a good deal, to be

A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL. 215

sure, — exploring the crannies right and left,
like any creeper. Half a dozen or more pheebes
“were in the edge of a wood; and they too
seemed to have found out that, if worst came
to worst, the tree-boles would yield a pittance
for their relief. They often hovered against
them, pecking hastily at the bark, and one at
least was struggling for a foothold on the per-
pendicular surface. Most of the time, however,
they went skimming over the snow and the
brook, in the regular flycatcher style. The
chickadees were put to little or no inconven-
ience, since what was a desperate makeshift to
the others was to them only an every-day affair.
It would take a long storm to bury their gran-
ary! After the titmice, the fox-colored spar-
rows had perhaps the best of it. Looking out
places where the snow had collected least, at
the foot of a tree or on the edge of water, these
adepts at scratching speedily turned up earth
enough to checker the white with very consid-
erable patches of brown. While walking I
continually disturbed song sparrows, fox spar-
rows, tree sparrows, and snow-birds feeding in
the road ; and when I sat in my room I was
advised of the approach of carriages by seeing

1 In the titmouse’s cosmological system trees occupy a highly
important place, we may be sure; while the purpose of their tall,
upright method of growth no doubt receives a very simple and
logical (and correspondingly lucid) explanation.

216 A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL.
er

these ‘‘ pensioners upon the traveler’s track”
scurry past the window in advance of them.

It is pleasant to observe how naturally birds
flock together in hard times, — precisely as men
do, and doubtless for similar reasons. ‘The edge
of the wood, just mentioned, was populous with
them: robins, bluebirds, chickadees, fox spar-
rows, snow-birds, song sparrows, tree sparrows,
pheebes, a golden-winged woodpecker, and a
rusty blackbird. The last, noticeable for his
conspicuous light-colored eye-ring, had some-
how become separated from his fellows, and re-
mained for several days about this spot entirely
alone. I liked to watch his aquatic perform-
ances; they might almost have been those of
the American dipper himself, I thought. He
made nothing of putting his head and neck
clean under water, like a duck, and sometimes
waded the brook when the current was so
strong that he was compelled every now and
then to stop and brace himself against it, lest
he should be carried off his feet.

It is clear that birds, sharing the frailty of
some who are better than many sparrows, are
often wanting in patience. As spring draws
near they cannot wait for its coming. What
it has been the fashion to call their unerring
instinct is after all infallible only as a certain
great public functionary is,— in theory; and

A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL. Q17

their mistaken haste is too frequently nothing
but a hurrying to their death. But I saw no
evidence that this particular storm was attended
with any fatal consequences. The snow com-
pletely disappeared within a day or two; and
even while it lasted the song sparrows, fox spar-
rows, and linnets could be heard singing with
all cheerfulness. On the coldest day, when
the mercury settled to within twelve degrees of
zero, I observed that the song sparrows, as they
fed in the road, had a trick of crouching till
their feathers all but touched the ground, so
protecting their legs against the biting wind.
The first indications of mating were noticed
on the 5th, the parties being two pairs of blue-
birds. One of the females was rebuffing her
suitor rather petulantly, but when he flew away
she lost no time in following. Shall I be ac-
cused of slander if I suggest that possibly her
No meant nothing worse than Ask me again ?
I trust not; she was only a bluebird, remem-
ber. Three days later I came upon two couples
engaged in house-hunting. In this business the
female takes the lead, with a silent, abstracted
air, as if the matter were one of absorbing in-
terest; while her mate follows her about some-
what impatiently, and with a good deal of talk,
which is plainly intended to hasten the decision.
“Come, come,” he says; ‘‘ the season is short,

218 A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL.

and we can’t Sy whole of it in getting
ready.” I never could discover that his elo-
quence produced much effect, however. Her
ladyship will have her own way; as indeed she
ought to have, good soul, considering that she
is to have the discomfort and the hazard. In
one case I was puzzled by the fact that there
seemed to be two females to one of the opposite
sex. It really looked as if the fellow proposed
to set up housekeeping with whichever should
first find a house to her mind. But this zs
slander, and I hasten to take it back. No
doubt I misinterpreted his behavior; for it is
true — with sorrow I confess it —that I am as
yet but imperfectly at home in the Sialian dia-
lect.

For the first fortnight my note-book is full of
the fox-colored sparrows. It was worth while
to have come into the country ahead of time,
as city people reckon, to get my fill of this
Northern songster’s music. Morning and night,
wherever I walked, and even if I remained in-
doors, I was certain to hear the loud and beau-
tiful strain ; to which I listened with the more
attention because the birds, I knew, would soon
be off for their native fields, beyond the boun-
daries of the United States.

It is astonishing how gloriously birds may
sing, and yet pass unregarded. We read of

A BIRD-LOVER'S APRIL. 219

nightingales and skylarks with a self-satisfied
thrill of second-hand enthusiasm, and mean-
while our native songsters, even the best of
them, are piping unheeded at our very: doors.
There may have been half a dozen of the town’s
people who noticed the presence of these fox
sparrows, but I think it doubtful; and yet the
birds, the largest, handsomest, and most musi-
cal of all our many sparrows, were, as I say,
abundant everywhere, and in full voice.

One afternoon I stood still while a fox spar-
row and a song sparrow sang alternately on
either side of me, both exceptionally good vo-
calists, and each doing his best. The songs
were of about equal length, and as far as theme
was concerned were not a little alike; but the
fox sparrow’s tone was both louder and more
mellow than the other’s, while his notes were
longer, — more sustained, —and his voice was
“ carried’ from one pitch to another. On the
whole, I had no hesitation about giving him
the palm ; but I am bound to say that his rival
was a worthy competitor. In some respects, in-
deed, the latter was the more interesting singer —
of the two. His opening measure of three pips
was succeeded by a trill of quite peculiar brill-
iancy and perfection ; and when the other bird
had ceased he suddenly took a lower perch, and
began to rehearse an altogether different tune

220 A seat VER’S APRIL.

in a voice not more than half as loud as what
he had been using; after which, as if to cap
the climax, he several times followed the tune
with a detached phrase or two in a still fainter
voice. This last was pretty certainly an im-
provised cadenza, such a thing as I do not re-
member ever to have heard before from Melo-
spiza melodia.

The song of the fox sparrow has at times an
almost thrush-like quality; and the bird him-
self, as he flies up in front of you, might easily
be mistaken for some member of that noble
family. Once, indeed, when I saw him eating
burning-bush berries in a Boston garden, I was
half ready to believe that I had before my eyes
a living example of the development of one
species out of another, —a finch already well
on his way to become a thrush. Most often,
however, his voice puts me in mind of the car-
dinal grosbeak’s; his voice, and perhaps still
more his cadence, and especially his practice of
the portamento.

The 11th of the month was sunny, and the
next morning I came back from my accustomed
rounds under a sense of bereavement: the fox
sparrows were gone. Where yesterday there
had been hundreds of them, now I could find
only two silent stragglers. They had been well
scattered over the township, — here a flock and

A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL. 291

there a flock ; but in some way—lI should be
glad to have anybody tell me how — the word
had passed from company to company that after
sundown Friday night all hands would set out
once more on their northward journey. There
was one man, at least, who missed them, and
in the comparative silence which followed their
departure appreciated anew how much they had
contributed to fill the wet and chilly April morn-
ings with melody and good cheer.

The snow-birds tarried longer, but from this
date became less and less abundant. For the
first third of the month they had been as nu-
merous, I calculated, as all other species put
together. On one occasion I saw a large com-
pany of them chasing an albino, the latter dash-
ing wildly round a pine-tree, with the whole
flock in furious pursuit. They drove him off,
across an impassable morass, before I could get
close enough really to see him, but I presumed
him to be of their own kind. As far as I could
make out he was entirely white. For the mo-
ment it lasted, it was an exciting scene; and I
was especially gratified to notice with what ex-
treme heartiness and unanimity the birds dis-
countenanced their wayward brother’s hetero-
doxy. I agreed with them that one who cannot
be content to dress like other people ought not
to be allowed to live with them. The world is
large, — let him go to Rhode Island!

222 A BIRD VER'S APRIL.

On the evening of the 6th, just at dusk, I
had started up the road for a lazy after-dinner
saunter, when I was brought to a sudden halt
by what on the instant I took for the cry of a
night-hawk. But no night-hawk could be here
thus early in the season, and listening further,
I perceived that the bird, if bird it was, was on
the ground, or, at any rate, not far from it.
Then it flashed upon me that this was the note
of the woodcock, which I had that very day
startled upon this same hillside. Now, then,
for another sight of his famous aerial courtship
act! So, scrambling down the embankment,
and clambering over the stone-wall, I pushed up
the hill through bushes and _ briers, till, having
come as near the bird as I dared, I crouched,
and awaited further developments. I had not
long to wait, for after a few yaks, at intervals
of perhaps fifteen or twenty seconds, the fellow
took to wing, and went soaring in a circle above
me; calling hurriedly click, click, click, with a
break now and then, as if for breath-taking.
All this he repeated several times; but unfor-
tunately it was too dark for me to see him, ex-
cept as he crossed a narrow illuminated strip of
sky just above the horizon line. I judged that
he mounted to a very considerable height, and
dropped invariably into the exact spot from
which he had started. For a week or twol

A BIRD-LOVER'S APRIL. 223

listened every night for a repetition of the yak ;
but I heard nothing more of it for a month.
Then it came to my ears again, this time from
a field between the road and a swamp. Watch-
ing my opportunity, while the bird was in the
air, I hastened across the field, and stationed
myself against a small cedar. He was still
clicking high overhead, but soon alighted
silently within twenty yards of where I was
standing, and commenced to “ bleat,” prefacing
each yak with a fainter syllable which I had
never before been near enough to detect. Pres-
ently he started once more on his skyward
journey. Up he went, in a large spiral,
‘higher still and higher” till the cedar cut
off my view for an instant, after which I could
not again get my eye upon him. Whether he
saw me or not I cannot tell, but he dropped to
the ground some rods away, and did not make
another ascension, although he continued to
call irregularly, and appeared to be walking
about the field. Perhaps by this time the fair
one for whose benefit all this parade was in-
tended had come out of the swamp to meet and
reward her admirer.

Hoping for a repetition of the same pro-
gramme on the following night, I invited a
friend from the city to witness it with me ; one
who, less fortunate than the ‘“ forest seer,’”’ had

224 A BIRD-LQVER'S APRIL.

never ‘heard the woodcock’s evening hymn,”
notwithstanding his knowledge of birds is a
thousand-fold more than mine, as all students
of American ornithology would unhesitatingly
avouch were [ to mention his name. We waited
till dark; but though Philohela was there, and
sounded his yak two or three times, — just
enough to excite our hopes, — yet for some
reason he kept to terra firma. Perhaps he was
aware of our presence, and disdained to exhibit
himself in the réle of a wooer under our pro-
fane and curious gaze; or possibly, as my more
scientific (and less sentimental) companion sug-
gested, the light breeze may have been counted
unfavorable for such high-flying exploits.

After all, our matter-of-fact world is surpris-
ingly full of romance. Who would have ex-
pected to find this heavy-bodied, long-billed,
gross-looking, bull-headed bird singing at heavy-
en’s gate? He a ‘“scorner of the ground”?
Verily, love worketh wonders! And perhaps
it is really true that the outward semblance is
sometimes deceptive. To be candid, however,
I must end with confessing that, after listening
to the woodcock’s “ hymn” a good many times,
first and last, I cannot help thinking that it
takes an imaginative ear to discover anything
properly to be called a song in its monotonous
click, click, even at its fastest and loudest. 4

1 While this book is passing through the press (April 30th,

A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL. 225

While I was enjoying the farewell matinée
of the fox-colored sparrows on the 11th, sud-
denly there ran into the chorus the fine silver
thread of the winter wren’s tune. Here was
pleasure unexpected. It is down in all the
books, I believe, that this bird does not sing
while on his travels; and certainly I had my-
self never known him to do anything of the
sort before. But there is always something
new under the sun.

‘¢ Who ever heard of th’ Indian Peru ?
Or who in venturous vessell measuréd
The Amazon’s huge river, now found trew ?
Or fruitfullest Virginia who did ever vew ?”

I was all ear, of course, standing motionless
while the delicious music came again and again

1885) I am privileged with another sight and sound of the wood-
cock’s vespertine performance, and under peculiarly favorable
conditions. In the account given above, sufficient distinction is
not made between the clicking noise, heard while the bird is soar-
ing, and the sounds which signalize his descent. The former is
probably produced by the wings, although I have heretofore
thought otherwise, while the latter are certainly vocal, and no
doubt intended as asong. But they are little if at all louder than
the click, click of the wings, and as far as I have ever been able
to make out are nothing more than a series of quick, breathless
whistles, with no attempt at either melody or rhythm.

In the present instance I could see only the start and the ‘ fin-
ish,’’ when the bird several times passed directly by and over me,
as I stood in a cluster of low birches, within two or three rods of
his point of departure. His angle of flight was small; quite as if
he had been going and coming from one field to another, in the
ordinary course. Once I timed him, and found that he was on the
wing for a few seconds more than a minute.

15

226 A BIRD-ggVER'S APRIL.

out of a tangle of underbrush behind a dilapi-
dated stone-wall, —a spot for all the world
congenial to this tiny recluse, whose whole life,
we may say, is one long game of hide-and-seek.
Altogether the song was repeated twenty times
at least, and to my thinking I had never heard
it given with greater brilliancy and fervor.
The darling little minstrel! he will never know
how grateful I felt. I even forgave him when
he sang thrice from a living bush, albeit in so
doing he spoiled a sentence which I had al-
ready committed to ‘“‘ the permanency of print.”
Birds of all kinds will play such tricks upon us ;
but whether the fault be chargeable to fickle-
ness or a mischievous spirit on their part, rather
than to undue haste on the part of us their re-
porters, is a matter about which I am perhaps
not sufficiently disinterested to judge. In this
instance, however, it was reasonably certain
that the singer did not show himself intention-
ally ; for unless the whole tenor of his life belies
him, the winter wren’s motto is, Little birds
should be heard, and not seen.

Two days afterward I was favored again in
like manner. But not by the same bird, I
think; unless my hearing was at fault (the
singer was further off than before), this one’s
tune was in places somewhat broken and hesi-
tating, —as if he were practicing a lesson not
yet fully learned.

A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL. YH §

I felt under a double obligation to these two
specimens of Anorthura troglodytes hiemalis:
first for their music itself; and then for the sup-
port which it gave to a pet theory of mine, that
all our singing birds will yet be found to sing
more or less regularly in the course of the
vernal migration.

Within another forty-eight hours this same
theory received additional confirmation. I was
standing under an apple-tree, watching a pair
of titmice who were hollowing out a stub for a
nest, when my ear caught a novel song not far
away. Of course I made towards it; but the
bird flew off, across the road and into the woods.
My hour was up, and I reluctantly started home-
ward, but had gone only a few rods before the
song was repeated. This was more than human
nature could bear, and, turning back upon the
run, I got into the woods just in time to see
two birds chasing each other round a tree, both
uttering the very notes which had so roused my
curiosity. Then away they went; but as I was
again bewailing my evil luck, one of them re-
turned, and flew into the oak, directly over my
head, and as he did so fell to calling anew, Swe,
suky, suky. A single glance upward revealed
that this was another of the silent migrants, —
a brown creeper! Only once before had I
heard from him anything beside his customary

228 A BIRD-LQVER’S APRIL.

lisping zee, zee ; and even on that occasion (in
June and in New Hampshire) the song bore no
resemblance to his present effort. I have writ-
ten it down as it sounded at the moment, Sue,
suky, suky, five notes, the first longer than the
others, and all of them brusque, loud, and mu-
sical, though with something of a warbler
quality.1

It surprised me to find how the migratory
movement lagged for the first half of the month.
A pair of white-breasted swallows flew over my
head while I was attending to the winter wren
on the 11th, and on the 14th appeared the first
pine -creeping warblers,— welcome for their
own sakes, and doubly so as the forerunners of
a numerous and splendid company ; but aside
from these two, I saw no evidence that a single

1 Still further to corroborate my ‘‘pet theory,’’ I may say here
in a foot-note, what I have said elsewhere with more detail, that
before the end of the following month the hermit thrushes, the
olive-backed thrushes, and the gray-cheeked thrushes all sang for
me in my Melrose woods.

Let me explain, also, that when I call the brown creeper a silent
migrant I am not unaware that others beside myself, and more
than myself, have heard him sing while traveling. Mr. William
Brewster, as quoted by Dr. Brewer in the History of North Amer-
ican Birds, has been exceptionally fortunate in this regard. But
my expression is correct as far as the rule is concerned; and the
latest word upon the subject which has come under my eye is this -
from Mr. E. P. Bicknell’s ‘‘ Study of the Singing of our Birds,’’ in
The Auk for April, 1884: ‘‘ Some feeble notes, suggestive of those

of Regulus satrapa, are this bird’s usual utterance during its visit.
Its song I have never heard.”’

—

A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL. 229

new species arrived at my station for the entire
fortnight.

Robins sang sparingly from the beginning,
and became perceptibly more musical on the
8th, with signs of mating and jealousy; but
the real robin carnival did not open till the
morning of the 14th. Then the change was
wonderful. Some of the birds were flying this
way and that, high in air, two or three to-
gether; others chased each other about nearer
the ground; some were screaming, some hiss-
ing, and more singing. So sudden was the out-
break and so great the commotion that I was
persuaded there must have been an arrival of
females in the night.

I have heard it objected against these
thrushes, whose extreme commonness renders
them less highly esteemed than they would
otherwise be, that they find their voices too
early in the morning. But I am not myself
prepared to second the criticism. They are
not often at their matins, I think, until the
eastern sky begins to flush, and it is not quite
certain to my mind that they are wrong in as-
suming that daylight makes daytime. I have
questioned before now whether our own custom
of sitting up for five or six hours after sunset,
and then lying abed two or three hours after
sunrise, may not have come down to us from

230 A BIRD AgQVER'S APRIL.

times when there were still people in the world
who loved darkness rather than light, because
their deeds were evil; and whether, after all,
in this as in some other respects, we might not
wisely take pattern of the fowls of the air.
Individually, the phcebes were almost as
noisy as the robins, but of course their numbers
were far less. They are models of persever-
ance. Were their voice equal to the nightin-
gale’s they could hardly be more assiduous and
enthusiastic in its use. As a general thing they
are content to repeat the simple Phebe, Phebe
(there are moods in the experience of all of us,
I hope, when the repetition of a name is by it-
self music sufficient), but it is not uncommon
for this to be heightened to Phebe, O Phebe ;
and now and then you will hear some fellow
calling excitedly, Phebe, Phebe-be-be-be-be, —
a comical sort of stuttering, in which the diff-
culty is not in getting hold of the first syllable,
but in letting go the last one. On the 15th I
witnessed a certain other performance of theirs,
— one that I had seen two or three times the
season previous, and for which I had been on
the lookout from the first day of the month. I
heard a series of chips, which might have been
the cries of a chicken, but which, it appeared,
did proceed from a pheebe, who, as I looked up,
was just in the act of quitting his perch on the

A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL. 231

ridge-pole of a barn. He rose for perhaps thirty
feet, not spirally, but in a zigzag course, — like
a horse climbing a hill with a heavy load, —
all the time calling, chip, chip, chip. Then he
went round and round in a small circle, with a
kind of hovering action of the wings, vocifer-
ating hurriedly, Phebe, Phebe, Phebe ; after
which he shot down into the top of a tree, and
with a lively flirt of his tail took up again the
same eloquent theme. During the next few
weeks I several times found birds of this spe-
cies similarly engaged. And it is worthy of re-
mark that, of the four flycatchers which regu-
larly pass the summer with us, three may be
said to be in the habit of singing in the air,
while the fourth (the wood pewee) does the
same thing, only with less frequency. It is cu-
rious, also, on the other hand, that not one of
our eight common New England thrushes, as
far as I have ever seen or heard, shows the least
tendency toward any such state of lyrical exal-
tation. Yet the thrushes are song birds par ez-
cellence, while the phebe, the least flycatcher,
and the kingbird are not supposed to be able
to sing at all. The latter have the soul of mu-
sic in them, at any rate; and why should it not
be true of birds, as it is of human poets and
would-be poets, that sensibility and faculty are
not always found together? Perhaps those

232 A BIRD QP VERS APRIL.

who have nothing but the sensibility have,
after all, the better half of the blessing.

The golden- winged woodpeckers shouted
comparatively little before the middle of the
month, and I heard nothing of their tender
wick-a-wick until the 22d. After that they were
noisy enough. With all their power of lungs,
however, they not only are not singers ; they
do not aspire to be. They belong to the tribe
of Jubal. Hearing somebody drumming on
tin, I peeped over the wall, and saw one of
these pigeon woodpeckers hammering an old
tin pan lying in the middle of the pasture.
Rather small sport, I thought, for so large a
bird. But that was a matter of opinion, merely,
and evidently the performer himself had no
such scruples. He may even have considered
that his ability to play on this instrument of the
tinsmith’s went far to put him on an equality
with some who boast themselves the only tool-
using animals. True, the pan was battered and
rusty; but it was resonant, for all that, and
day after day he pleased himself with beating
reveille upon it. One morning I found him
sitting in a tree, screaming lustily in response
to another bird in an adjacent field. After a_
while, waxing ardent, he dropped to the ground,
and, stationing himself before his drum, pro-
ceeded to answer each cry of his rival with a

A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL. 233

vigorous rubadub, varying the programme with
an occasional halloo. How long this would have
lasted there is no telling, but he caught sight of
me, skulking behind a tree-trunk, and flew back
to his lofty perch, where he was still shouting
when I came away. It was observable that,
even in his greatest excitement, he paused once
in a while to dress his feathers. At first I was
inclined to take this as betraying a want of
earnestness; but further reflection led me to a
different conclusion. For I imagine that the
human lover,.no matter how consuming his pas-
sion, is seldom carried so far beyond himself as
not to be able to spare now and then a thought
to the parting of his hair and the tie of his cra-
vat.

Seeing the great delight which this wood-
pecker took in his precious tin pan, it seemed
to me not at all improbable that he had selected
his summer residence with a view to being near
it, just as I had chosen mine for its convenience
of access to the woods on the one hand, and to
the city on the other. I shall watch with in-
terest to see whether he returns to the same
pasture another year.

A few field sparrows and chippers showed
themselves punctually on the 15th; but they
were only scouts, and the great body of their
followers were more than a week behind them.

234 A BIRDghOVER'S APRIL.

I saw no bay-winged buntings until the 22d,
although it is likely enough they had been here
for some days before that. By a lucky chance,
my very first bird was a peculiarly accomplished
musician: he altered his tune at nearly every
repetition of it, sang 1t sometimes loudly and
then softly, and once in a while added cadenza-
like phrases. It lost nothing by being heard on
a bright, frosty morning, when the edges of the
pools were filmed with ice.

Only three species of warblers appeared dur-
ing the month: the pine-creeping warblers, al-
ready spoken of, who were trilling on the 14th ;
the yellow-rumped, who came on the 23d; and
the yellow red-polls, who followed the next morn-
ing. The black-throated greens were mysteri-
ously tardy, and the black-and-white creepers
waited for May-day.

A single brown thrush was leading the chorus
on the 29th. ‘A great singer,’ my note-book
says: “not so altogether faultless as some, but
with a large voice and style, adapted to a great
part ;”’ and then is added, “ I thought this morn-
ing of ‘Titiens, as I listened to him!” —a bit of
impromptu musical criticism, which, under cover
of the saving quotation marks may stand for.
what it is worth.

Not long after leaving him I ran upon two
hermit thrushes (one had been seen on the

A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL. 235

25th), flitting about the woods like ghosts. I
whistled softly to the first, and he condescended
to answer with a low chuck, after which I could
get nothing more out of him. This demure
taciturnity is very curious and characteristic,
and to me very engaging. The fellow will
neither skulk nor run, but hops upon some low
branch, and looks at you, — behaving not a lit-
tle as if you were the specimen and he the stu-
dent! And in such a case, as far as I can see,
the bird equally with the man has a right to his
own point of view.

The hermits were not yet in tune; and with-
out forgetting the fox-colored sparrows and the
linnets, the song sparrows and the bay-wings,
the winter wrens and the brown thrush, I am
almost ready to declare that the best music of
the month,came from the smallest of all the
month’s birds, the ruby-crowned kinglets. Their
spring season is always short with us, and un-
happily it was this year shorter even than usual,
my dates being April 23d and May oth. But
we must be thankful for a little, when the little
is of sucha quality. Once I descried two of them
in the topmost branches of a clump of tall ma-
ples. For a long time they fed in silence; then
they began to chase each other about through
the trees, in graceful evolutions (I can imagine
nothing more graceful), and soon one, and then

236 A BIRDgLO VER’S APRIL.

the other, broke out intosong. ‘ ‘ Infinite riches
in a little room,’ ” my note-book says, again; and
truly the song is marvelous, — a prolonged and
varied warble, introduced and often broken into,
with delightful effect, by a wrennish chatter.
For fluency, smoothness, and ease, and especially
for purity and sweetness of tone, I have never
heard any bird-song that seemed to me more
nearly perfect. If the dainty creature would
bear confinement, —on which point I know
nothing, — he would make an ideal parlor song-
ster; for his voice, while round and full, — in
contrast with the goldfinch’s, for example, — is
yet, even at its loudest, of a wonderful softness
and delicacy. Nevertheless, I trust that nobody
will ever cage him. Better far go out-of-doors,
and drink in the exquisite sounds as they drop
from the thick of some tall pine, while you catch
now and then a glimpse of the tiny author, flit-
ting busily from branch to branch, warbling at
his work; or, as you may oftener do, look and
listen to your heart’s content, while he explores
some low cedar or a cluster of roadside birches,
too innocent and happy to heed your presence.
So you will carry home not the song only, but
“ the river and sky.” .

But if the kinglets were individually the best
singers, I must still confess that the goldfinches
gave the best concert. It was on asunny after-

A BIRD-LOVER'’S APRIL. 237

noon, — the 27th, — and in a small grove of tall
pitch-pines. _How many birds there were |
could form little estimate, but when fifteen flew
away for a minute or two the chorus was not
perceptibly diminished. All were singing, twit-
tering, and calling together; some of them di-
rectly over my head, the rest scattered through-
out the wood. No one voice predominated in
the least ; all sang softly, and with an inde-
scribable tenderness and beauty. Any who do
not know how sweet the goldfinch’s note is may
get some conception of the effect of such a con-
cert if they will imagine fifty canaries thus en-
gaged out-of-doors. I declared then that I had
never heard anything so enchanting, and I am
not certain even now that I was over-enthusi-
astic.

A pine-creeping warbler, I remember, broke
in upon the choir two or three times with his
loud, precise trill. Foolish bird! His isa pretty
song by itself, but set in contrast with music so
full of imagination and poetry, it sounded pain-
fully abrupt and prosaic.

I discovered the first signs of nest-building on
the 13th, while investigating the question of a
bird’s ambi-dexterity. It happened that I had
just been watching a chickadee, as he picked
chip after chip from a dead branch, and held
them fast with one claw, while he broke them in

238 A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL.

pieces with his beak; and walking away, it oc-
curred to me to ask whether or not he could
probably use both feet equally well for such a
purpose. Accordingly, seeing another go into
an apple-tree, I drew near to take his testimony
on that point. But when I came to look for
him he was nowhere in sight, and pretty soon it
appeared that he was at work in the end of an
upright stub, which he had evidently but just
begun to hollow out, as the tip of his tail still
protruded over the edge. A bird-lover’s curi-
osity can always adapt itself to circumstances,
and in this case it was no hardship to post-
pone the settlement of my newly raised inquiry,
while I observed the pretty labors of my little
architect. These proved to be by no means
inconsiderable, lasting nearly or quite three
weeks. The birds were still bringing away
chips on the 30th, when their cavity was about
eleven inches deep; but it isto be said that, as
far as I could find out, they never worked in the
afternoon or on rainy days.

Their demeanor toward each other all -this
time was beautiful to see; no effusive display of
affection, but every appearance of a perfect mu-
tual understanding and contentment. And their
treatment of me was no less appropriate and
delightful, —a happy combination of freedom
and dignified reserve. I took it for an ex-

A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL. 239

tremely neat compliment to myself, as well as
incontestable evidence of unusual powers of dis-
crimination on their part.

On my second visit the female sounded a call
as I approached the tree, and I looked to see
her mate take some notice of it; but he kept
straight on with what he was doing. Not long
after she spoke again, however ; and now it was
amusing to see the fellow all at once stand still
on the top of the stub, looking up and around,
as much as to say, “* What is it, my dear? I
see nothing.” Apparently it was nothing, and
he went head first into the hole again. Pretty
soon, while he was inside, I stepped up against
the trunk. His mate continued silent, and after
what seemed a long time he came out, flew to
an adjacent twig, dropped his load, and returned.
This he did over and over (the end of the stub
was perhaps ten feet above my head), and once
he let fall a beakful of chips plump in my face.
They were light, and I did not resent the liberty.

Two mornings later I found him at his task
again, toiling in good earnest. In and out he
went, taking care to bring away the shavings
at every trip, as before, and generally sounding
a note or two (keeping the tally, perhaps) be-
fore he dropped them. For the fifteen minutes
or so that I remained, his mate was perched in
another branch of the same tree, not once shift-

240 A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL.
F

ing her position, and doing nothing whatever
except to preen her feathers a little. She paid
no attention to her husband, nor did he to her.
It was a revelation to me that a chickadee could
possibly sit still so long.

Eight days after this they were both at work,
spelling each other, and then going off in com-
pany for a brief turn at feeding.

So far they had never manifested the least an-
noyance at my espionage ; but the next morn-
ing, as I stood against the tree, one of them
seemed slightly disturbed, and flew from twig
to twig about my head, looking at me from all
directions with his shining black eyes. The re-
connoissance was satisfactory, however; every-
thing went on as before, and several times the
chips rattled down upon my stiff Derby hat.
The hole was getting deep, it was plain; I
could hear the little carpenter hammering at
the bottom, and then scrambling up the walls
on his way out. One of the pair brought a
black tidbit from a pine near by, and offered it
to the other as he emerged into daylight. He
took it from her bill, said chit, — chickadese for
thank you, —and hastened back into the mine.

Finally, on the 27th, after watching their op-
erations a while from the ground, I swung my-
self into the tree, and took a seat with them.
To my delight, the work proceeded without

A BIRD-LOVER’S APRIL. 241

interruption. Neither bird made any outcry,
although one of them hopped round me, just
out of reach, with evident curiosity. He must
have thought me a queer specimen. When I
drew my overcoat up after me and put it on,
they flew away; but within a minute or two
they were both back again, working as merrily
as ever, and taking no pains not to litter me
with their rubbish. Once the female (I took
it to be she from her smaller size, not from this
piece of shiftlessness) dropped her load with-
out quitting the stub, a thing I had not seen
either of them do before. Twice one brought
the other something to eat. At last the male
took another turn at investigating my charac-
ter, and it began to look as if he would end
with alighting on my hat. This time, too, I
am proud to say, the verdict was favorable.
Their confidence was not misplaced, and un-
less all signs failed they reared a full brood of
tits. May their tribe increase! Of birds so
innocent and unobtrusive, so graceful, so merry-
hearted, and. so musical, the world can never

have too many.
= 16

AN OWL’S HEAD HOLIDAY.

.
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And what the Swede intends, and what the French.
MILTON.

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AN OWL’S HEAD HOLIDAY.

—_oe—

My trip to Lake Memphremagog was by the
way, and was not expected to detain me for
more than twenty-four hours; but when I went
ashore at the Owl’s Head Mountain-House, and
saw what a lodge in the wilderness it was, I
said to myself, Go to, this is the place; Mount
Mansfield will stand for another year at least,
and I will waste no more of my precious fort-
night amid dust and cinders. Here were to be
enjoyed many of the comforts of civilization,
with something of the wildness and freedom
of a camp. Out of one of the windows of my
large, well-furnished room I could throw a stone
into the trackless forest, where, any time I
chose, I could make the most of a laborious
half-hour in traveling half a mile. The other
two opened upon a piazza, whence the lake was
to be seen stretching away northward for ten or
fifteen miles, with Mount Orford and his sup-
porting hills in the near background ; while I
had only to walk the length of the piazza to

246 AN OWL'S gesn HOLIDAY.

look round the corner of the house at Owl’s
Head itself, at whose base we were. ‘The hotel
had less than a dozen guests and no piano, and
there was neither carriage-road nor railway
within sight or hearing. Yes, this was the
place where I would spend the eight days
which yet remained to me of idle time.

Of the eight days five were what are called
unpleasant ; but the unseasonable cold, which
drove the stayers in the house to huddle about
the fire, struck the mosquitoes with a torpor
which made strolling in the woods a double
luxury ; while the rain was chiefly of the show-
ery sort, such as a rubber coat and old clothes
render comparatively harmless. Not that I
failed to take a hand with my associates in
grumbling about the weather. Table-talk
would speedily come to an end in such circum-
stances if people were forbidden to criticise the
order of nature; and it is not for me to boast
any peculiar sanctity in this respect. But when
all was over, it had to be acknowledged that I,
for one, had been kept in-doors very little. In
fact, if the whole truth were told, it would
probably appear that my fellow boarders, see-
ing my persistency in disregarding the inclem-
ency of the elements, soon came to look upon
me as decidedly odd, though perhaps not abso-
lutely demented. At any rate, I was rather

AN OWL'S HEAD HOLIDAY. 247

glad than otherwise to think so. In those long
days there must often have been a dearth of
topics for profitable conversation, no matter
how outrageous the weather, and it was a
pleasure to believe that this little idiosyncracy
of mine might answer to fill here and there a
gap. For what generous person does not re-
joice to feel that even in his absence he may be
doing something for the comfort and well-being_
of his brothers and sisters? As Seneca said,
*¢ Man is born for mutual assistance.”
According to Osgood’s “ New England,” the
summit of Owl’s Head is 2,743 feet above the
level of the lake, and the path to it is a mile
and a half and thirty rods in length. It may
seem niggardly not to throw off the last petty
fraction ; and indeed we might well enough let
it pass if it were at the beginning of the route,
— if the path, that is, were thirty rods and a
mile and a half long. But this, it will be ob-
served, is not the case; and it is a fact per-
fectly well attested, though perhaps not yet
scientifically accounted for (many things are
known to be true which for the present cannot
be mathematically demonstrated), that near the
top of a mountain thirty rods are equivalent to
a good deal more than four hundred and ninety-
five feet. Let the guide-book’s specification
stand, therefore, in all its surveyor-like exact-

248 AN OWL? Sg EAD HOLIDAY.

ness. After making the climb four times in
the course of eight days, I am not disposed to
abate so much as a jot from the official figures.
Rather than do that I would pin my faith to
an unprofessional-looking sign-board in the rear
of the hotel, on which the legend runs, “ Sum-
mit of Owl’s Head 214 miles.” For aught I
know, indeed (in such a world as this, uncer-
tainty is a principal mark of intelligence), —
for aught I know, both measurements may be
correct; which fact, if once it were established,
would easily and naturally explain how it came
to pass that I myself found the distance so
much greater on some days than on others ; al-
though, for that matter, which of the two would
be actually longer, a path which should rise
2,748 feet in a mile and a half, or one that
should cover two miles and a quarter in reach-
ing the same elevation, is a question to which
different pedestrians would likely enough re-
turn contradictory answers.!

Yet let me not be thought to magnify so
small a feat as the ascent of Owl’s Head, a
mountain which the ladies of the Appalachian
Club may be presumed to look upon as hardly
better than a hillock. The guide-book’s “ thirty

1 The guide-book allows two hours for the mile and a half on
Owl’s Head, while it gives only an hour and a half for the three
miles up Mount Clinton — from the Crawford House.

AN OWL’S HEAD HOLIDAY. 249

rods ’’ have betrayed me into saying more than
I intended. .It would have been enough had
I mentioned that the way is in many places
steep, while at the time of my visit the con-
stant rains kept it in a muddy, treacherous con-
dition. I remember still the undignified and
uncomfortable celerity with which, on one oc-
casion, I took my seat in what was little better
than the rocky bed of a brook, such a place as
I should by no means have selected for the pur-
pose had I been granted even a single moment
for deliberation.

‘“‘ Hills draw like heaven” (as applied to
some of us, it may be feared that this is rather
an under-statement), and it could not have
been more than fifteen minutes after I landed
from the Lady of the Lake — the “ Old Lady,”
as one of the fishermen irreverently called her
— before I was on my way to the summit.

I was delighted then, as I was afterwards,
whenever I entered the woods, with the ex-
traordinary profusion and variety of the ferns.
Among the rest, and one of the most abun-
dant, was the beautiful Cystopteris bulbifera ; its
long, narrow, pale green, delicately cut, Dick-
sonia-like fronds bending toward the ground at
the tip, as if about to take root for a new
start, in the walking-fern’s manner. Some of
these could not have been less than four feet in

250 AN OWL'S wv HOLIDAY.

length (including the stipe), and I picked one
which measured about two feet and a half, and
bore twenty-five bulblets underneath. Half a
mile from the start, or thereabouts, the path
skirts what I should call the fernery; a cir-
cular space, perhaps one hundred and fifty feet
in diameter, set in the midst of the primeval
forest, but itself containing no tree or shrub
of any sort, — nothing but one dense mass of
ferns. In the centre was a patch of the sensi-
tive fern ( Onoclea sensibilis), while around this,
and filling nearly the entire circle, was a mag-
nificent thicket of the ostrich fern (Onoclea
struthiopteris), with sensibilis growing hidden
and scattered underneath. About the edge
were various other species, notably Aspzdium
Goldianum, which I here found for the first
time, and Aspidium aculeatum, var. Braunii.
All in all, it was a curious and pretty sight, —
this tiny tarn filled with ferns instead of water,
—one worth going a good distance to see, and
sure to attract the notice of the least observant
traveler.!

Ferns are mostly of a gregarious habit. Here
at Owl’s Head, for instance, might be seen in

1 To bear out what has been said in the text concerning the
abundance of ferns at Owl’s Head, I subjoin a list of the species
observed ; premising that the first interest of my trip was not
botanical, and that I explored but a very small section of the
woods : —

AN OWL'S HEAD HOLIDAY. 251

one place a rock thickly matted with the com-
mon polypody; in another a patch of the
maiden-hair ; in still another a plenty of the
Christmas fern, or a smaller group of one of
the beech ferns (Phegopteris polypodioides or
Phegopteris Dryopteris). Our grape-ferns or
moonworts, on the other hand, covet more
elbow-room. The largest species (Botrychium
Virginianum), although never growing in any-
thing like a bed or tuft, was nevertheless com-
mon throughout the woods; you could gather
a handful almost anywhere; but I found only
one plant of Botrychium lanceolatum, and only
two of Botrychium matricariefolium (and these
a long distance apart), even though, on account
of their rarity and because I had never before
seen the latter, I spent considerable time, first
and last, in hunting for them. What can these

Polypodium vulgare. A. aculeatum, var. Braunit.
Adiantum pedatum. Cystopteris bulbifera.
Pieris aquilina. C. fragilis.
Asplenium Trichomanes. Onoclea struthiopteris.
A, thelypteroides. O. sensibilis.
A. Filix-femina. Woodsia Ilvensis.
Phegopteris polypodioides. Dicksonia punctilobula.
P. Dryopteris. Osmunda regalis.
Aspidium marginale. O. Claytoniana.
A. spinulosum, variety undeter- 0. cinnamomea.

mined. Botrychium lanceolatum.
A, spinulosum, var. dilatatum. B. matricariefolium.
A. Goldianum. B. ternatum.

A. acrostichoides. B. Virginianum.

252 AN OWL Sg EAD HOLIDAY.

diminutive hermits have ever done or suffered,
that they should choose thus to live and die,
each by itself, in the vast solitude of a moun-
tain forest ?

It was already the middle of July, so that I
was too late for the better part of the wood
flowers. The oxalis (Ovalis acetosella), or
wood-sorrel was in bloom, however, carpeting
the ground in many places. I plucked a blos-
som now and then to admire the loveliness of
the white cup, with its fine purple lines and
golden spots. If each had been painted on
purpose for a queen, they could not have been
more daintily touched. Yet here they were,
opening by the thousand, with no human eye
to look upon them. Quite as common (Words-
worth’s expression, “ Ground flowers in flocks,”
would have suited either) was the alpine en-
chanter’s night-shade ( Circeea, alpina); a most
frail and delicate thing, though it has little
other beauty. Who would ever mistrust, to
see it, that it would prove to be connected in
any way with the flaunting willow-herb, or fire-
weed ? But such incongruities are not confined
to the “ vegetable kingdom.” The wood-nettle
was growing everywhere; a juicy-looking but.
coarse weed, resembling our common roadside
nettles only in its blossoms. The cattle had
found out what I never should have surmised,

AN OWL'S HEAD HOLIDAY. 253

—having had a taste of its sting, — that it is
good for food; there were great patches of it,
as likewise of the pale touch-me-not (Impatiens
pallida), which had been browsed over by
them. It seemed to me that some of the ferns,
the hay-scented for example, ought to have
suited them better; but they passed these all
by, as far as I could detect. About the edges
of the woods, and in favorable positions well
up the mountain-side, the flowering raspberry
was flourishing; making no display of itself,
but offering to any who should choose to turn
aside and look at them a few blossoms such as,
for beauty and fragrance, are worthy to be, as
they really are, cousin to the rose. On one of
my rambles I came upon some plants of a
strangely slim and prim aspect; nothing but
a straight, erect, military-looking, needle-like
stalk, bearing a spike of pods at the top, and
clasped at the middle by two small stemless
leaves. By some occult means (perhaps their
growing with Tiarella had something to do with
the matter) I felt at once that these must be
the mitre-wort (Mitella diphyila). My pro-
phetic soul was not always thus explicit and in-
fallible, however. Other novelties I saw, about
which I could make no such happy impromptu
guess. And here the manual afforded little
assistance ; for it has not yet been found prac-

254 AN OWL'S gpan HOLIDAY.

ticable to “ analyze,”’ and so to identify plants
simply by the stem and foliage, — although I
remember to have been told, to be sure, of a
young lady who professed that at her college
the instruction in botany was so thorough that
it was possible for the student to name any
plant in the world from seeing only a single
leaf! But her college was not.Harvard, and
Professor Gray has probably never so much as
heard of such an admirable method.

On the whole, it is good to have the curios-
ity piqued with here and there a vegetable
stranger, — its name and even its family rela-
tionship a mystery. The leaf is nothing ex-
traordinary, perhaps, yet who knows but that
the bloom may be of the rarest beauty? Or the
leaf is of a gracious shape and texture, but how
shall we tell whether the flower will correspond
with it? No; we must do with them as with
chance acquaintances of our own kind. The
man looks every inch a gentleman; his face
alone seems a sufficient guaranty of good-breed-
ing and intelligence ; but none the less, — and
not forgetting that charity thinketh no evil, —
we shall do well to wait till we have heard him
talk and seen how he will behave, before we put
a final label upon him. Wait for the blossom —
and the fruit (the blossom zs the fruit in its
first stage); for the old rule is still the true

AN OWL’S HEAD HOLIDAY. PAGS |

one, — alike in botany and in morals, — “ By
their fruits ye shall know them.”

What a world within a world the forest is!
Under the trees were the shrubs, — knee-high
rock-maples making the ground verdant for
acres together, or dwarf thickets of yew, now
bearing green acorn-like berries; while below
these was a variegated carpet, oxalis and the
flower of Linnzeus, ferns and club-mosses (the
glossy Lycopodium lucidulum was especially
plentiful), to say nothing of the true mosses
and the lichens.

Of all these things I should have seen more,
no doubt, had not my head been so much of
the time in the tree-tops. For yonder were the
birds ; and how could I be expected to notice
what lay at my feet, while I was watching in-
tently for a glimpse of the warbler that flitted
from twig to twig amid the foliage of some beech
or maple, the very lowest branch of which,
likely enough, was fifty or sixty feet above the
ground. It was in this way (so I choose to be-
lieve, at any rate) that I walked four or five
times directly over the acute-leaved hepatica
before I finally discovered it, notwithstanding it
was one of the plants for which I had all the
while been on the lookout.

I said that the birds were in the tree-tops;
but of course there were exceptions. Here and

956 AN OWL Sg EAD HOLIDAY.

there was a thrush, feeding on the ground ; or
an oven-bird might be seen picking his devious
way through the underwoods, in paths of his
own, and with a gait of studied and “ sanctimo-
nious”’ originality. In the list of the lowly
must be put the winter wrens also; one need
never look skyward for them. For a minute or
two during my first ascent of Owl’s Head I
had lively hopes of finding one of their nests.
Two or three of the birds were scolding ear-
nestly right about my feet, as it were, and
their cries redoubled, or so I imagined, when I
approached a certain large, moss-grown stump.
This I looked over carefully on all sides, put-
ting my fingers into every possible hole and
crevice, till it became evident that nothing
was to be gained by further search. (What
a long chapter we could write, any of us who
are ornithologists, about the nests we did not
find!) It dawned upon me a little later that
I had been fooled; that it was not the nest
which had been in question at all. That, wher-
ever it was, had been forsaken some days before ;
and the birds were parents and young, the for-
mer distracting my attention by their outcries,
while at the same moment they were ordering
the youngsters to make off as quickly as possible,
lest yonder hungry fiend should catch and de-
vour them. If wrens ever laugh, this pair must

AN OWL'S HEAD HOLIDAY. vite

have done so that evening, as they recalled to
each other my eager fumbling of that innocent
old stump. ‘This opinion as to the meaning of
their conduct was confirmed in the course of a
few days, when I came upon another similar
group. ‘These were at first quite unaware of my
presence ; and a very pretty family picture they
made, in their snuggery of overthrown trees,
the father breaking out into a song once ina
while, or helping his mate to feed the young,
who were already able to pick up a good part
of their own living. Before long, however, one
of the pair caught sight of the intruder, and then
all at once the scene changed. The old birds
chattered and scolded, bobbing up and down in
their own ridiculous manner (although, consid-
ered by itself, this gesture is perhaps no more
laughable than some which other orators are
applauded for making), and soon the place was
silent and to all appearance deserted.
Notwithstanding Owl’s Head is in Canada,
the birds, as I soon found, were not such as
characterize the ‘‘ Canadian Fauna.” Olive-
backed thrushes, black-poll warblers, crossbills,
pine linnets, and Canada jays, all of which I
had myself seen in the White Mountains, were
none of them here ; but instead, to my surprise,
were wood thrushes, scarlet tanagers, and wood

ewees, — the two latter species in comparative
) Pp
17

258 AN OWL’ <gQlEAD HOLIDAY.

abundance. My first wood thrush was seen for
a moment only, and although he had given mea
plain sight of his back, I concluded that my eyes
must once more have played me false. But
within a day or two, when half-way down the
mountain path, [ heard the well-known strain
ringing through the woods. It was unquestion-
ably that, and nothing else, for I sat down upon
a convenient log and listened for ten minutes or
more, while the singer ran through all those
inimitable variations which infallibly distinguish
the wood thrush’s song from every other. And —
afterward, to make assurance doubly sure, I
again saw the bird in the best possible position,
and at short range. On looking into the sub-
ject, indeed, I learned that his being here was
nothing wonderful ; since, while it is true, as far
as the sea-coast is concerned, that he seldom
ventures north of Massachusetts, it is none the
less down in the books that he does pass the
summer in Lower Canada, reaching it, probably,
by way of the valley of the St. Lawrence.

A few robins were about the hotel, and I saw
a single veery in the woods, but the only mem-
bers of the thrush family that were present in
large numbers were the hermits. These sang
everywhere and at all hours. On the summit,
even at mid-day, I was invariably serenaded by
them. In fact they seemed more abundant

AN OWL'S HEAD HOLIDAY. 259

there than anywhere else ; but they were often
to be heard by the lake-side, and in our apple
orchard, and once at least one of them sang at
some length from a birch-trce within a few feet
of the piazza, between it and the bowling alley.
As far as I have ever been able to discover, the
hermit, for all his name and consequent reputa-
tion, is less timorous and more approachable
than any other New England representative of
his ‘‘sub-genus.”’

On this trip I settled once more a question
which I had already settled several times, — the
question, namely, whether the wood thrush or
the hermit is the better singer. This time my
decision was in favor of the former. How the
case would have turned had the conditions been
reversed, had there been a hundred of the wood
thrushes for one of the hermits, of course I can-
not tell. So true is a certain old Latin proverb,
that in matters of this sort it is impossible for
a man to agree even with himself for any long
time together.

The conspicuous birds, noticed by everybody,
were a family of hawks. The visitor might
have no appreciation of music; he might go up
the mountain and down again without minding
the thrushes or the wrens, — for there is nothing
about the human ear more wonderful than its
ability not to hear; but these hawks passed a

260 AN OWL Sag EAD HOLIDAY.

good part of every day in screaming, and were
bound to be attended to by all but the stone-
deaf. A native of the region pointed out a
ledge, on which, according to his account, they
had made their nest for more than thirty years.
‘“ We call them mountain hawks,” he said, in
answer to an inquiry. The keepers of the hotel,
naturally enough, called them eagles ; while a
young Canadian, who one day overtook me as
I neared the summit, and spent an hour there
in my company, pronounced them fish-hawks.
I asked him, carelessly, how he could be sure
of that, and he replied, after a little hesitation,
“ Why, they are all the time over the lake ; and
besides, they sometimes dive into the water and
come up with afish.” The last item would have
been good evidence, no doubt. My difficulty
was that I had never seen them near the lake,
and what was more conclusive, their heads were
dark-colored, if not really black. A few min-
utes after this conversation I happened to have
my glass upon one of them as he approached
the mountain at some distance below us, when
my comrade asked, “ Looking at that bird?”
‘© Yes,” I answered ; on which he continued, in
a matter-of-fact tone, “That’s a crow;”’ plainly
thinking that, as I appeared to be slightly in-
quisitive about such matters, it would be a kind-
ness to tell me a thing or two. I made bold to

AN OWL’S HEAD HOLIDAY. 261

intimate that the bird had a barred tail, and
must, I thought, be one of the hawks. He did
not dispute the point; and, in truth, he was a
modest and well-mannered young gentleman.
I liked him in that he knew both how to con-
verse and how to be silent ; without which latter
qualification, indeed, not even an angel would be
a desirable mountain-top companion. He gave
me information about the surrounding country
such as I was very glad to get; and in the case
of the hawks my advantage over him, if any,
was mainly in this, — that my lack of knowledge
partook somewhat more fully than his of the na--
ture of Lord Bacon’s “ learned ignorance, that
knows itself.”

Whatever the birds may have been, “ moun-
_ tain hawks,” “ fish-hawks,” or duck-hawks, their
aerial evolutions, as seen from the summit, were
beautiful beyond description. One day in par-
ticular three of them were performing together.
For a time they chased each other this way
and that at lightning speed, screaming wildly,
though whether in sport or anger I could not
determine. Then they floated majestically, high
above us, while now and then one would set his
wings and shoot down, down, till the precipitous
side of the mountain hid him from view; only
to reappear a minute afterward, soaring again,
with no apparent effort, to his former height.

262 AN OWL BafEAD HOLIDAY.

One of these noisy fellows served me an ex-
cellent turn. It was the last day of my visit,
and I had just taken my farewell look at the
enchanting prospect from the summit, when I
heard the lisp of a brown creeper. This was
the first of his kind that I had seen here, and I
stopped immediately to watch him, in hopes he
would sing. Creeper-like he tried one tree after
another in quick succession, till at last, while he
was exploring a dead spruce which had toppled
half-way to the ground, a hawk screamed loudly
overhead. Instantly the little creature flattened
himself against the trunk, spreading his wings
to their very utmost and ducking his head until,
though I had been all the while eying his mo-.
tions through a glass at the distance of only a
few rods, it was almost impossible to believe
that yonder tiny brown fleck upon the bark was
really a bird and nota lichen. He remained in
this posture for perhaps a minute, only putting
up his head two or three times to peer cautiously —
round.. Unless I misjudged him, he did not
discriminate between the screech of the hawk
and the ank, ank of a nuthatch, which followed
it; and this, with an indefinable something in
his manner, made me suspect him of being a
young bird. Young or old, however, he had
learned one lesson well, at all events, one which
I hoped would keep him out of the talons of his
enemies for long days to come.

AN OWL'S HEAD HOLIDAY. 268

It was pleasant to see how cheerfully he re-
sumed work as soon as the alarm was over.
This danger was escaped, at any rate; and why
should he make himself miserable with worry-
ing about the next? He had the true philoso-
phy. We who pity the birds for their number-
less perils are ourselves in no better case. Con-
sumption, fevers, accidents, enemies of every
name are continually lying in wait for our de-
struction. We walk surrounded with them ;
seeing them not, to be sure, but knowing, all
the same, that they are there ; yet feeling, too,
like the birds, that in some way or other we
shall elude them a while longer, and holding
at second hand the truth which these humble
creatures practice upon instinctively, — “ Sufh-
cient unto the day is the evil thereof.”

Not far from this spot, on a previous occa-
sion, I had very unexpectedly come face to face
with another of the creeper’s blood-thirsty per-
secutors. It happened that a warbler was sing-
ing in a lofty birch, and being in doubt about
the song (which was a little like the Nash-
ville’s, but longer in each of its two parts and
ending with a less confused flourish), I was of
course very desirous to see the singer. But
to catch sight of a small bird amid thick foli-
age, fifty feet or more above you, is not an easy
matter, as I believe I have already once re-

264 AN se HEAD HOLIDAY.

marked. So when I grew weary of the at-
tempt, I bethought myself to try the efficacy of
an old device, well known to all collectors, and
proceeded to imitate, as well as I could, the
cries of some bird in distress. My warbler was
imperturbable. He had no nest or young to be
anxious about, and kept on singing. But pretty
soon I was apprised of something in the air,
coming toward me, and looking up, beheld a
large owl who appeared to be dropping straight
upon my head. He saw me in time to avoid
such a catastrophe, however, and, describing a
graceful curve, alighted on a low branch near
by, and stared at meas only an owl can. Then
away he went, while at the same instant a jay
dashed into the thicket and out again, shouting
derisively, “I saw you! I saw you!” Evi-
dently the trick was a good one, and moderately
well played; in further confirmation of which
the owl hooted twice in response to some pecul-
larly happy efforts on my part, and then actu-
ally came back again for another look. This
proved sufficient, and he quickly disappeared ;
retiring to his leafy covert or hollow tree, to
meditate, no doubt, on the strange creature
whose unseasonable noises had disturbed his
afternoon slumbers. Likely enough he could
not readily fall asleep again for wondering how
I could possibly find my way through the woods

AN OWL’S HEAD HOLIDAY. 265

in the darkness of daylight. So difficult is it,
we may suppose, for even an owl to put himself
in another’s place and see with another’s eyes.
This little episode over, I turned again to
the birch-tree, and fortunately the warbler’s
throat was of too fiery a color to remain long
concealed ; though it was at once a pleasure
and an annoyance to find myself still unac-
quainted with at least one song out of the
Blackburnian’s repertory. In times past I had
carefully attended to his music, and within only
a few days, in the White Mountain Notch, I
had taken note of two of its variations; but
here was still another, which neither began
with zillup, zillup, nor ended with zip, zip,
—notes which I had come to look upon as the
Blackburnian’s sign-vocal. Yet it must have
been my fault, not his, that I failed to recognize
him ; for every bird’s voice has something char-
acteristic about it, just as every human voice
has tones and inflections which those who are
sufficiently familiar with its owner will infalli-
bly detect. The ear feels them, although words
cannot describe them. Articulate speech is but
a modern invention, as it were, in comparison
with the five senses; and since practice makes
perfect, it is natural enough that every one of
the five should easily, and as a matter of course,
perceive shades of difference so slight that lan-

266 AN ded HEAD HOLIDAY.

guage, in its present rudimentary state, cannot
begin to take account of them.

The other warblers at Owl’s Head, as far as
they came under my notice, were the black-and-
white creeper, the blue yellow-backed warbler,
the Nashville, the black-throated green, the
black -throated blue, the yellow-rumped, the
chestnut - sided, the oven - bird (already spoken
of), the small-billed water thrush, the Maryland
yellow-throat, the Canadian flycatcher, and the
redstart.

The water thrush (I saw only one individual)
was by the lake-side, and within a rod or two of
the bowling alley. What a strange, composite
creature he is! thrush, warbler, and sandpiper
all in one; with such a bare-footed, bare-legged
appearance, too, as if he must always be ready
to wade; and such a Saint Vitus’s dance! His
must be a curious history. In particular, I
should like to know the origin of his teetering
habit, which seems to put him among the beach
birds. Can it be that such frequenters of shal-
low water are rendered less conspicuous by this
wave-like, up-and-down motion, and have actu-
ally adopted it as a means of defense, just as they
and many more have taken on a color harmoniz-
ing with that of their ordinary surroundings? }

1 This bird (Siwrus nevius) is remarkable for the promptness
with which he sets out on his autumnal journey, appearing in
Eastern Massachusetts early in August. Last year (1884) one was

AN OWL’S HEAD HOLIDAY. 267

The black-throated blue warblers were com-
mon, and like most of their tribe were waiting
upon offspring just out of the nest. I watched
one as he offered his charge a rather large in-
sect. The awkward fledgeling let it fall three
times; and still the parent picked it up again,
only chirping mildly, as if to say, “ Come, come,
my beauty, don’t be quite so bungling.” But
even in the midst of their family cares, they
still found leisure for music; and as they and
the black-throated greens were often singing to-
gether, I had excellent opportunities to compare
the songs of the two species. The voices, while
both very peculiar, are at the same time so
nearly alike that it was impossible for me on
hearing the first note of either strain to tell
whose it was. With the voice the similarity
ends, however; for the organ does not make
the singer, and while the blue seldom attempts
more than a harsh, monotonous kree, kree, kree,
the green possesses the true lyrical gift, so that
in my door-yard on the morning of the 7th. I heard his loud chip,
and looking out of the window, saw him first on the ground and
then in an ash-tree near a crowd of house sparrows. The latter
were scolding at him with their usual cordiality, while he, on his
part, seemed under some kind of fascination, returning again and
again to walk as closely as he dared about the blustering crew.
His curiosity was laughable. Evidently he thought, considering
what an ado the sparrows were making, that something serious
must be going on, something worth any bird’s while to turn aside

for a moment to look into. The innocent recluse ! if he had lived
where I do he would have grown used to such “‘ windy congresses.’’

268 AN OWL SpE AD HOLIDAY.

few of our birds have a more engaging song than
his simple Trees, trees, murmuring trees, or if
you choose to understand it so, Sleep, sleep,
pretty one, sleep.4

I saw little of the blue yellow-backed war-
bler, but whenever I took the mountain path I
was certain to hear his whimsical upward-run-
ning song, broken off at the end with a smart
snap. He seemed to have chosen the neighbor-
hood of the fernery for his peculiar haunt, a
piece of good taste quite in accord with his gen-
eral character. Nothing could well be more
beautiful than this bird’s plumage; and his
nest, which is “ globular, with an entrance on
one side,”’ is described as a wonder of elegance ;
while in grace of movement not even the tit-
mouse can surpass him. Strange that such an
exquisite should have so fantastic a song.

I have spoken of the rainy weather. There
were times when the piazza was as far out-of-
doors as it was expedient to venture. Buteven
then I was not without excellent feathered
society. Red-eyed vireos (one pair had their

1 After all that has been said about the ‘‘ pathetic fallacy,’’ so
called, it remains true that Nature speaks to us according to our
mood. With all her ‘‘various language’’ she ‘‘cannot talk and
find ears too.”” And soit happens that some, listening to the
black-throated green warbler, have brought back a report of
““ Cheese, cheese, a little more cheese.’ Prosaic and hungry
souls! This voice out of the pine-trees was not for them. They
have caught the rhythm but missed the poetry.

AN OWLS HEAD HOLIDAY. 269

nest within twenty feet of the hotel), chippers,
song sparrows, snow- birds, robins, waxwings,
and phosbes were to be seen almost any mo-
ment, while the hermit thrushes, as I have be-
fore mentioned, paid us occasional visits. The
most familiar of our door-yard friends, however,
to my surprise, were the yellow-rumped war-
blers. Till now I had never found them at
home except in the forests of the White Moun-
tains; but here they were, playing the réle
which in Massachusetts we are accustomed to
see taken by the summer yellow-birds, and by
no others of the family. At first, knowing that
this species was said to build in low evergreens,
I looked suspiciously at some small spruces
which lined the walk to the pier; but after a
while I happened to see one of the birds flying
into a rock-maple with something in his bill, and
following him with my eye, beheld him alight
on the edge of his nest. “About four feet
from the ground,” the book said (the latest
book, too); but this lawless pair had chosen a
position which could hardly be less than ten
times that height, — considerably higher, at all
events, than the eaves of the three-story house.
It was out of reach in the small topmost
branches, but I watched its owners at my leis-
ure, as the maple was not more than two rods
from my window. At this time the nestlings

270 AN OWL'S yp HOLIDAY.

were nearly ready to fly, and in the course of a
day or two I saw one of them sitting in a tree in
the midst of a drenching rain. On my offering
to lay hold of him he dropped into the grass,
and when I picked him up both parents began
to fly about me excitedly, with loud outcries.
The male, especially, went nearly frantic, enter-
ing the bowling alley where I happened to be,
and alighting on the floor; then, taking to the
bole of a tree, he fluttered helplessly upon it,
spreading his wings and tail, seeming to say as
plainly as words could have done, ‘* Look, you
monster! here’s another young bird that can’t
fly; why don’t you come and catch him?”
The acting was admirable, —all save the spread-
ing of the tail; that was a false note, for the
youngster in my hand had no tail feathers at
all. I put the fellow upon a tree, whence he
quickly flew to the ground (he could fly down
but not up), and soon both parents were again
supplying him with food. The poor thing had
not eaten a morsel for possibly ten minutes, a
very long fast for a bird of hisage. I hoped he
would fall into the hands of no worse enemy
than myself, but the chances seemed against
him. The first few days after quitting the nest
must be full of perils for such helpless inno-
cents.

For the credit of my own sex I was pleased

AN OWL’S HEAD HOLIDAY. 271

to notice that it was the father-bird who man-
ifested the deepest concern and the readiest
wit, not to say the greatest courage; but I am
obliged in candor to acknowledge that this fea-
ture of the case surprised me not a little.

In what language shall I speak of the song of
these familiar myrtle warblers, so that my praise
may correspond in some degree with the gracious
and beautiful simplicity of the strain itself ?
For music to be heard constantly, right under
one’s window, it could scarcely be improved ;
sweet, brief, and remarkably unobtrusive, with-
out sharpness or emphasis; a trill not altogether
unlike the pine-creeping warbler’s, but less mat-
ter-of-fact and business-like. I used to listen
to it before I rose in the morning, and it was
to be heard at intervals all day long. Occasion-
ally it was given in an absent-minded, medi-
tative way, in a kind of half-voice, as if the
happy creature had no thought of what he was
doing. Then it was at its best, but one needed
to be near the singer.

In a clearing back of the hotel, but sur-
rounded by the forest, were always a goodly
company of birds, among the rest a family of
yellow-bellied woodpeckers; and in a second
similar place were white - throated sparrows,
Maryland yellow - throats, and chestnut -sided
warblers, the last two feeding their young.

272 AN OWL'S gan HOLIDAY.

Immature warblers are a puzzling set. The
birds themselves have no difficulty, I suppose ;
but seeing young and old together, and noting
how unlike they are, I have before now been
reminded of Launcelot Gobbo’s saying, “ It is
a wise father that knows his own child.”

While traversing the woods between these
two clearings I saw, as I thought, a chimney
swift fly out of the top of a tree which had been
broken off at a height of twenty-five or thirty
feet. I stopped, and pretty soon the thing was
repeated ; but even then I was not quick enough
to be certain whether the bird really came from
the stump or only out of the forest behind it.
Accordingly, after sounding the trunk to make
sure it was hollow, I sat down in a clump of
raspberry bushes, where I should be sufficiently
concealed, and awaited further developments.
I waited and waited, while the mosquitoes,
seeing how sheltered I was from the breeze,
gathered about my head in swarms. A win-
ter wren at my elbow struck up to sing, going
over and over with his exquisite tune; anda
scarlet tanager, also, not far off, did what he
could — which was somewhat less than the
wren’s — to relieve the tedium of my situation. _
Finally, when my patience was well-nigh ex-
hausted, — for the afternoon was wearing away
and I had some distance to walk, — a swift flew

AN OWL'S HEAD HOLIDAY. oT3

past me from behind, and, with none of that
poising over the entrance such as is commonly
seen when a swift goes down a chimney, went
straight into the trunk. In half a minute or
less he reappeared without a sound, and was
out of sight in a second. Then I picked up my
rubber coat, and with a blessing on the wren
and the tanager, and a malediction on the mos-
quitoes (so unjust does self-interest make us),
started homeward.

Conservatives and radicals! Even the swifts,
it seems, are divided into these two classes.
‘Hollow trees were good enough for our fa-
thers ; who are we that we should assume to
know more than all the generations before us?
To change is not of necessity to make progress.
Let those who will, take up with smoky chim-
neys ; for our part we prefer the old way.”

Thus far the conservatives; but now comes
the party of modern ideas. “ All that is very
well,” say they. ‘Our ancestors were worthy
folk enough ; they did the best they could in
their time. But the world moves, and wise
birds will move with it. “Why should we make
a fetish out of some dead forefather’s example ?
We are alive now. To refuse to take advan-
tage of increased light and improved condi-
tions may look like filial piety in the eyes of

some: to us such conduct appears nothing better
18

274 AN OWL'S jBAD HOLIDAY.

than a distrust of the Divine Providence, a sub-
tle form of atheism. What are chimneys for,
pray? And as for soot and smoke, we were
made to live in them. Otherwise, let some of
our opponents be kind enough to explain why
we were created with black feathers.”

So, in brief, the discussion runs; with the
usual result, no doubt, that each side convinces
itself.

We may assume, however, that these old-
school and new-school swifts do not carry their
disagreement so far as actually to refuse to hold
fellowship with one another. Conscience is but
imperfectly developed in birds, as yet, and they
can hardly feel each other’s sins and errors of
belief (if indeed these things be two, and not
one) quite so keenly as men are accustomed to
do.

After all, it is something to be grateful for,
this diversity of habit. We could not spare
the swifts from our villages, and it would be
too bad to lose them out of the Northern for-
ests. May they live and thrive, both parties
of them. °

Iam glad, also, for the obscurity which at-
tends their annual coming and going. Whether
they hibernate or migrate, the secret is their
own; and for my part, I wish them the wit to
keep it. In this age, when the world is in such

AN OWL’S HEAD HOLIDAY. 275

danger of becoming omniscient before the time,
it is good to have here and there a mystery in
reserve. Though it be only a little one, we may
well cherish it as a treasure.

peas ue ean ~ a Wee
oitet | ae

MA te oS

res bla

A MONTH’S MUSIC.

—_@—

And now ’t was like all instruments,

Now like a lonely flute;

And now it is an angel’s song,

That makes the heavens be mute.
CoLERIDGE.

DICUM SP TVOM: Ae ae

Senate“ attain

bigs ives Ls mal cated” Woe, Bad
Oni) “otnak a lik Work

Oden 5 Testy oe ee Th ee ae
oti ah daz ane ahh eealae fei
it Sh Chait EF

A MONTH’S MUSIC.

——_——=

THE morning of May-day was bright and
spring-like, and should have been signalized, it
seemed to me, by the advent of a goodly num-
ber of birds ; but the only new-comer to be found
was a single black-and-white creeper. Glad as
I was to see this lowly acquaintance back again
after his seven months’ absence, and natural as
he looked on the edge of Warbler Swamp, bob-
bing along the branches in his own unique, end-
for-end fashion, there was no resisting a sensa-
tion of disappointment. Why could not the
wood thrush have been punctual? He would
have made the woods ring with an ode worthy
of the festival. Possibly the hermits — who
had been with us for several days in silence —
divined my thoughts. Atall events, one of them
presently broke into a song —the first Hylo-
cichla note of the year. Never was voice more
beautiful. Like the poet’s dream, it “left my
after-morn content.”

It is too much to be expected that the wood

280 A M Opp 1S MUSIC.

thrush should hold himself bound to appear at
a given point on a fixed date. How can we
know the multitude of reasons, any one of which
may detain him for twenty-four hours, or even
for a week? It is enough for us to be assured,
in general, that the first ten days of the month
will bring this master of the choir. The pres-
ent season he arrived on the 6th—the veery
with him; last year he was absent until the
8th ; while on the two years preceding he as-
sisted at the observance of May-day.

All in all, I must esteem this thrush our great-
est singer ; although the hermit might dispute
the palm, perhaps, but that he is merely a semi-
annual visitor in most parts of Massachusetts.
If perfection be held to consist in the absence
of flaw, the hermit’s is unquestionably the more
nearly perfect song of the two. Whatever he
attempts is done beyond criticism ; but his range
and variety are far less than his rival’s, and, for
my part, I can forgive the latter if now and then
he reaches after a note lying a little beyond his
best voice, and withal is too commonly wanting
in that absolute simplicity and ease which lend
such an ineffable charm to the performance of
the hermit and the veery. Shakespeare is not a
faultless poet, but in the existing state of public
opinion it will hardly do to set Gray above him.

In the course of the month about which I am

A MONTH'S MUSIC. 281

now writing (May, 1884) I was favored with
thrush music to a quite unwonted degree. With
the exception of the varied thrush (a New-Eng-
lander by accident only) and the mocking-bird,
there was not one of our Massachusetts repre-
sentatives of the family who did not put me in
his debt. The robin, the brown thrush, the cat-
bird, the wood thrush, the veery, and even the
hermit (what a magnificent sextette!) — so
many I counted upon hearing, as a matter of
course ; but when to these were added the Are-
tic thrushes — the olive-backed and the gray-
cheeked —I gladly confessed surprise. I had
never heard either species before, south of the
White Mountains ; nor, as far as I then knew,
had anybody else been more fortunate than
myself. Yet the birds themselves were seem-
ingly unaware of doing anything new or note-
worthy. This was especially the case with the
olive-backs ; and after listening to them for three
days in succession I began to suspect that they
were doing nothing new, — that they had sung
every spring in the same manner, only, in the
midst of the grand May medley, my ears had
somehow failed to take account of their contri-
bution. Their fourth (and farewell) appear-
ance was on the 23d, when they sang both morn-
ing and evening. At that time they were ina
bit of swamp, among some tall birches, and as

282 A MONgH 'S MUSIC.

I caught the familiar and characteristic notes
— a brief ascending spiral — I was almost ready
to believe myself in some primeval New Hamp-
shire forest ; an illusion not a little aided by the
frequent lisping of black-poll warblers, who
chanced just then to be remarkably abundant.

It was on the same day, and within a short dis-
tance of the same spot, that the Alice thrushes,
or gray-cheeks, were in song. ‘Their music was
repeated a good many times, but unhappily it
ceased whenever I tried to get near the birds.
Then, as always, it put me in mind of the
veery’s effort, notwithstanding a certain part
of the strain was quite out of the veery’s man-
ner, and the whole was pitched in decidedly
too high a key. It seemed, also, as if what I
heard could not be the complete song; but I
had been troubled with the same feeling on
previous occasions, and a friend whose oppor-
tunities have been better than mine reports a
similiar experience ; so that it is perhaps not
uncharitable to conclude that the song, even at
its best, is more or less broken and amorphous.

In their Northern homes these gray-cheeks
are excessively wild and unapproachable ; but
while traveling they are little if at all worse ~
than their congeners in this respect, — taking
short flights when disturbed, and often doing
nothing more than to hop upon some low perch
to reconnoitre the intruder.

A MONTH'S MUSIC. 288

At the risk of being thought to reflect upon
the acuteness of more competent observers, I am
free to express my hope of hearing the music of
both these noble visitors again another season.
For it is noticeable how common such things
tend to become when once they are discovered.
An enthusiastic botanical collector told me that
for years he searched far and near for the adder’s-
tongue fern, till one day he stumbled upon it in
a place over which he had long been in the habit
of passing. Marking the peculiarities of the
spot he straightway wrote to a kindred spirit,
whom he knew to have been engaged in the
same hunt, suggesting that he would probably
find the coveted plants in a particular section
of the meadow back of his own house (in Con-
cord) ; and sure enough, the next day’s mail
brought an envelope from his friend, inclosing
specimens of Ophioglossum vulgatum, with the
laconic but sufficient message, Hureka! There
are few naturalists, I suspect, who could not
narrate adventures of a like sort.

One such befell me during this same month,
in connection with the wood wagtail, or golden-
crowned thrush. Not many birds are more
abundant than he in my neighborhood, and I
fancied myself pretty well acquainted with his
habits and manners. Above all, I had paid
attention to his celebrated love-song, listening

284 A Moy H's MUSIC.

to it almost daily for several summers. Thus
far it had invariably been given out in the after-
noon, and on the wing. To my mind, indeed,
this was by far its most interesting feature (for
in itself the song is by no means of surpassing
beauty), and I had even been careful to record
the earliest hour at which I had heard it — three
o'clock P.M. But on the 6th of May aforesaid
I detected a bird practicing this very tune in
the morning, and from a perch! I set the fact
down without hesitation as a wonder, — a purely
exceptional occurrence, the repetition of which
was not to be looked for. Anything might hap-
pen once. Only four days afterwards, however,
at half-past six in the morning, I had stooped
to gather some peculiarly bright-colored anem-
ones (I can see the patch of rosy blossoms at
this moment, although I am writing by a blaz-
ing fire while the snow is falling without), when
my ear caught the same song again ; and keep-
ing my position, I soon descried the fellow step-
ping through the grass within ten yards of me,
caroling as he walked. The hurried warble,
with the common Weechee, weechee, weechee
interjected in the midst, was reiterated perhaps
a dozen times, —the full evening strain, but in
a rather subdued tone. He was under no excite-
ment, and appeared to be entirely by himself ;
in fact, when he had made about half the cir-

A MONTH’S MUSIC. 285

cuit round me he flew into a low bush and pro-
ceeded to dress his feathers listlessly. Probably
what I had overheard was nothing more than a
rehearsal. Within a week or two he would need
to do his very best in winning the fair one of
his choice, and for that supreme moment he had
already put himself in training. The wise-
hearted and obliging little beau! I must have
been the veriest chufl not to wish him his pick
of all the feminine wagtails in the wood. As
for the pink anemones, they had done me a
double kindness, in requital for which I could
only carry them to the city, where, in their
modesty, they would have blushed to a down-
right crimson had they been conscious of one-
half the admiration which their loveliness called
forth.

Before the end of the month (it was on the
morning of the 18th) I once more heard the
wagtail’s song from the ground. This time the
affair was anything but a rehearsal. There
were two birds,—a lover and his lass, — and
the wooing waxed fast and furious. For that
matter, it looked not so much like love-making
as like an aggravated case of assault and battery.
But, as I say, the male was warbling, and not
improbably (so strange are the ways of the
world), if he had been a whit less pugnacious in
his addresses, his lady-love, who was plainly well

286 A MONTH’S MUSIC.

able to take care of herself, would have thought
him deficient in earnestness. At any rate, the
wood wagtail is not the only bird whose court-
ship has the appearance of a scrimmage ; and I
believe there are still tribes of men among whom
similar practices prevail, although the greater
part of our race have learned, by this time, to
take somewhat less literally the old proverb,
‘“* None but the brave desérve the fair.” Love,
it is true, is still recognized as one of the pas-
sions (in theory at least) even among the most
highly civilized peoples; but the tendency is
more and more to count it a tender passion.
While I am on the subject of marriage I may
as well mention the white-eyed vireo. It had
come to be the 16th of the month, and as yet
I had neither seen nor heard anything of this
obstreperous genius; so I made a special pil-
grimage to a certain favorite haunt of his—
Woodcock Swamp — to ascertain if he had ar-
rived. After fifteen minutes or more of wait-
ing I was beginning to believe him still absent,
when he burst out suddenly with his loud and
unmistakable Chip-a-weé-o. ‘* Who are you, —
now?” the saucy fellow seemed to say, “ Who
are you, now?” Pretty soon a pair of the
birds appeared near me, the male protesting his
affection at a frantic rate, and the female re-
pelling his advances with a snappish determina-

A MONTH'S MUSIC. 287

tion which might have driven a timid suitor
desperate. He posed before her, puffing out his
feathers, spreading his tail, and crying hysteri-
cally, Yip, yip, yaah, —the last note a down-
right whine or snarl, worthy of the cat-bird.
Poor soul! he was well-nigh beside himself, and
could not take no for an answer, even when the
word was emphasized with an ugly dab of his
beloved’s beak. The pair shortly disappeared
in the swamp, and I was not privileged to wit-
ness the upshot of the battle; but I consoled
myself with believing that Phyllis knew how
far she could prudently carry her resistance,
and would have the discretion to yield before
her adorer’s heart was irremediably broken.

In this instance there was no misconceiy-
ing the meaning of the action; but whoever
watches birds in the pairing season is often at
his wit’s end to know what to make of their
demonstrations. One morning a linnet chased
another past me down the road, flying at the
very top of his speed, and singing as he flew;
not, to be sure, the full and copious warble such
as is heard when the bird hovers, but still a
lively tune. I looked on in astonishment. It
seemed incredible that any creature could sing
while putting forth such tremendous muscular
exertions; and yet, as if to show that this was
a mere nothing to him, the finch had no sooner

288 A MONTH'S MUSIC.

struck a perch thatthe broke forth again in his
loudest and most spirited manner, and contin-
ued without a pause for two or three times the
length of his longest ordinary efforts. ‘“ What
lungs he must have!” I said to myself; and at
once fell to wondering what could have stirred
him up to such a pitch of excitement, and
whether the bird he had been pursuing was
male or female. He would have said, perhaps,
if he had said anything, that that was none of
my business.

What I have been remarking with regard to
the proneness of newly discovered things to be-
come all at once common was well illustrated
for me about this time by these same linnets,
or purple finches. One rainy morning, while
making my accustomed rounds, enveloped in
rubber, I stopped to notice a blue-headed vireo,
who, as I soon perceived, was sitting lazily in
the top of a locust-tree, looking rather discon-
solate, and ejaculating with not more than half
his customary voice and emphasis, Mary Ware !
— Mary Ware! His indolence struck me as
very surprising for a vireo; still I had no ques-
tion about his identity (he sat between me and
the sun) till I changed my position, when be-
hold! the vireo was a linnet. A strange per-
formance, indeed! What could have set this
fluent vocalist to practicing exercises of such an

A MONTH’S MUSIC. 289

inferior, disconnected, piecemeal sort? Within
the next week. or two, however, the same game
was played upon me several times, and in dif-
ferent places. No doubt the trick is an old one,
familiar to many observers, but to me it had all
the charm of novelty.

There are no birds so conservative but that
they will now and then indulge in some unex-
pected stroke of originality. Few are more art-
less and regular in their musical efforts than
the pine warblers ; yet I have seen one of these
sitting at the tip of a tree, and repeating a trill
which toward the close invariably declined by
an interval of perhaps three tones. Even the
chipping sparrow, whose lay is yet more mo-
notonous and formal than the pine warbler’s, is
not absolutely confined to his score. I once
heard him when his trill was divided into two
portions, the concluding half being much higher
than the other — unless my ear was at fault,
exactly an gctave higher. This singular refrain
was given out six or eight times without the
slightest alteration. Such freaks as these, how-
ever, are different from the linnet’s Mary Ware,
inasmuch as they are certainly the idiosyncra-
sies of single birds, not a part of the artistic
proficiency of the species as a whole.

During this month I was lucky enough to
close a little question which I had been hold-

f

C 19

290 A MogrH’s MUSIC.

ing open for a number of years concerning our
very common and familiar black-throated green
warbler. This species, as is well known, has
two perfectly well-defined tunes of about equal
length, entirely distinct from each other. My
uncertainty had been as to whether the two are
ever used by the same individual. I had lis-
tened a good many times, first and last, in hopes
to settle the point, but hitherto without success.
Now, however, a bird, while under my eye, de-
livered both songs, and then went on to give
further proof of his versatility by repeating one
of them minus the final note. This abbrevia-
tion, by the way, is not very infrequent with
Dendreca virens ; and he has still another vari-
ation, which I hear once in a while every sea-
son, consisting of a grace note introduced in
the middle of the measure, in such a connec-
tion as to form what in musical language is de-
nominated a turn. At my first hearing of this
I looked upon it as the private property of the
bird to whom I was listening, — an improve-
ment which he had accidentally hit upon. But
it is clearly more than that; for besides hear-
ing it in different seasons, I have noticed it in
places a good distance apart. Perhaps, after
the lapse of ten thousand years, more or less,
the whole tribe of black-throated greens will
have adopted it; and then, when some ornithol-

A MONTH'S MUSIC. 291

ogist chances to fall in with an old-fashioned
specimen who, still clings to the plain song as
we now commonly hear it, he will fancy that
to be the very latest modern improvement, and
proceed forthwith to enlighten the scientific
world with a description of the novelty.
Hardly any incident of the month interested
me more than a discovery (I must call it such,
although I am almost ashamed to allude to it
at all) which I made about the black-capped
titmouse. For several mornings in succession
I was greeted on waking by the trisyllabic
minor whistle of a chickadee, who piped again
and again not far from my window. There
could be little doubt about its being the bird
that I knew to be excavating a building site in
one of our apple-trees; but I was usually not
out-of-doors until about five o’clock, by which
time the music always came to an end. So one
day I rose half an hour earlier than common
on purpose to have a look at my little matuti-
nal serenader. My conjecture proved correct.
There sat the tit, within a few feet of his ap-
ple-branch door, throwing back his head in the
truest lyrical fashion, and calling Hear, hear
me, with only a breathing space between the
repetitions of the phrase. He was as plainly
singing, and as completely absorbed in his work,
as any thrasher or hermit thrush could have

292 A MgyrH's MUSIC.

been. Heretofore I had not realized that these
whistled notes were so strictly a song, and as
such set apart from all the rest of the chicka-
dee’s repertory of sweet sounds ; and I was de-
lighted to find my tiny pet recognizing thus
unmistakably the difference between prose and
poetry.

But we linger unduly with these lesser lights
of song. After the music of the Alice and the
Swainson thrushes, the chief distinction of May,
1884, as far as my Melrose woods were con-
cerned, was the entirely unexpected advent of a
colony of rose-breasted grosbeaks. For five sea-
sons I had called these hunting-grounds my own,
and during that time had seen perhaps about
the same number of specimens of this royal spe-
cies, always in the course of the vernal migra-
tion. The present year the first comer was. ob-
served on the 15th — solitary and, except for an
occasional monosyllable, silent. Only one more
straggler, I assumed. But on the following
morning I saw four others, all of them males in
full plumage, and two of them in song. To one
of these I attended for some time. According
to my notes “he sang beautifully, although not
with any excitement, nor as if he were doing his
best. The tone was purer and smoother than
the robin’s, more mellow and sympathetic, and
the strain was especially characterized by a drop-

A MONTH’S MUSIC. 298

ping to a fine contralto note at the end.”” The
next day I saw nothing of my new friends till
toward night. Then, after tea, I strolled into
the chestnut grove, and walking along the path,
noticed a robin singing freely, remarking the
fact because this noisy bird had been rather
quiet of late. Justas I passed under him, how-
ever, it flashed upon me that the voice and song
were not exactly the robin’s. They must be
the rose-breast’s then ; and stepping back to
look up, I beheld him in gorgeous attire, perched
in the top of an oak. He sang and sang, while
I stood quietly listening. Pretty soon he re-
peated the strain once or twice in a softer voice,
‘and I glanced up instinctively to see if a female
were with him; but instead, there were two
males sitting within a yard of each other. They
flew off after a little, and I resumed my saunter.
A party of chimney swifts were shooting hither
and thither over the trees, a single wood thrush
was chanting not far away, and in another di-
rection a tanager was rehearsing his chip-cherr
with characteristic assiduity. Presently I be-
gan to be puzzled by a note which came now
from this side, now from that, and sounded like
the squeak of a pair of rusty shears. My first
conjecture about the origin of this hie it would
hardly serve my reputation to make public ; but
I was not long in finding out that it was the

294 A MOMBH'S MUSIC.

orosbeaks’ own, and that, instead of three, there
were at least twice that number of these bril-
lant strangers in the grove. Altogether, the
half hour was one of very enjoyable excitement 3.
and when, later in the evening, I sat down to
my note-book, I started off abruptly in a hor-
tatory vein, — “* Always take another walk!”
In the morning, naturally enough, I again
turned my steps toward the chestnut grove.
The rose-breasts were still there, and one of them
earned my thanks by singing on the wing, fly-
ing slowly —half-hovering, as it were — and
singing the ordinary song, but more continu- °
ously than usual. That afternoon one of them
was in tune at the same time with a robin, af-
fording me the desired opportunity for a direct
comparison. ‘It is really wonderful,” my rec-
ord says, “ how nearly alike the two songs are ;
but the robin’s tone is plainly inferior, — less
mellow and full. In general, too, his strain is
pitched higher; and, what perhaps is the most
striking point of difference, it frequently ends
with an attempt at a note which is a little out
of reach, so that the voice breaks.” (This last
defect, by the bye, the robin shares with his
cousin the wood thrush, as already remarked. )
A few days afterwards, to confirm my own im-
pression about the likeness of the two songs, I
_ called the attention of a friend with whom I was

A MONTH'S MUSIC. 295

walking, to a grosbeak’s notes, and asked him
what bird’s they were. He, having a good ear
for matters of this kind, looked somewhat dazed
at such an inquiry, but answered promptly,
“ Why, a robin’s, of course.” As one day after
another passed, however, and I listened to both
species in full voice on every hand, I came to
feel that I had overestimated the resemblance.
With increasing familiarity I discerned more
and more clearly the respects in which the songs
differed, and each came to have to my ear an
individuality strictly its own. They were alike,
doubtless, —as the red-eyed vireo’s and the
blue-head’s are, — and yet they were not alike.
Of one thing I grew better and better assured :
the grosbeak is out of all comparison the finer
musician of the two. To judge from my last-
year’s friends, however, his concert season is
very short — the more’s the pity.

I begin to perceive (indeed it has been dawn-
ing upon me for some time) that our essay is
not to fulfill the promise of its caption. In-
stead of the glorious fullness and variety of the
month’s music (for May, in this latitude, is the
musical month of months) the reader has been
put off with a few of the more exceptional fea-
tures of the carnival. He will overlook it, I
trust; and as for the great body of the chorus,
who have not been honored with so much as a

296 A MONTH'S MUSIC.

mention, they, I am assured, are far too amia-
ble to take offense at any such unintentional
slight. Let me conclude, then, with transcribing
from my note-book an evening entry or two.
Music is never so sweet as at the twilight hour;
and the extracts may serve at least as a con-
venient and quasi-artistic ending for a paper
which, so to speak, has run away with its
writer. The first is under date of the 19th: —

“ Walked, after dinner, in the Old Road, as I have
done often of late, and sat for a while at the entrance
to Pyrola Grove. A wood thrush was singing not
far off, and in the midst a Swainson thrush vouchsafed
a few measures. I wished the latter would continue,
but was thankful for the little. A tanager called ex-
citedly, Chip-cherr, moving from tree to tree mean-
while, once to a birch in full sight, and then into the
pine over my head. As it grew dark the crowd of
warblers were still to be seen feeding busily, making
the most of the lingering daylight. A small-billed
water thrush was teetering along a willow-branch,
while his congeners, the oven-birds, were practicing
their aerial hymn. One of these went past me as I
stood by the roadside, rising very gradually into the
air and repeating all the way, Chip, chip, chip, chip,
till at last he broke into the warble, which was a full
half longer than usual. He was evidently doing his
prettiest. No vireos sang after sunset. A Maryland
yellow-throat piped once or twice (he is habitually an
evening musician), and the black-throated greens were

A MONTH'S MUSIC. 297

in tune, but the rest of the warblers were otherwise
engaged. Finally, just as a distant whippoorwill be-
gan to call, a towhee sang once from the woods; and
a moment later the stillness was broken by the sudden
outburst of a thrasher. ‘ Now then,’ he seemed to
say, ‘if the rest of you are quite done, I will see what
Ican do. He kept on for two or three minutes in
his best manner, and at the same time a pair of cat-
birds were whispering love together in the thicket.
Then an ill-timed carriage came rattling along the
road, and when it had passed, every bird’s voice was
hushed. ‘The hyla’s tremulous cry was the only mu-
sical sound to be heard. As I started away, one of
these tree-frogs hopped out of my path, and I picked
him up at the second or third attempt. What did he
think, I wonder, when I turned him on his back to
look at the disks at his finger-tips? Probably he
supposed that his hour was come; but I had no evil
designs upon him, — he was not to be drowned in alco-
hol at present. Walking homeward I heard the rob-
in’s scream now and again; but the thrasher’s was
the last song, as it deserved to be.”

Two days later I find the following : —

‘Into the woods by the Old Road. As I approached
them, a little after sundown, a chipper was trilling,
and song sparrows and golden warblers were sing-
ing, —as were the black-throated greens also, and
the Maryland yellow-throats. A wood thrush called
brusquely, but offered no further salute to the god of
day at hisdeparture. Oven-birds were taking to wing

298 A aig MUSIC.

on the right and left. Then, as it grew dark, it grew
silent, — except for the hylas, — till suddenly a field
sparrow gave out his sweet strain once. After that
all was quiet for another interval, till a thrasher from
the hillside began to sing. He ceased, and once more
there was stillness. All at once the tanager broke
forth in a strangely excited way, blurting out his
phrase two or three times and subsiding as abruptly
as he had commenced. Some crisis in his love-mak-
ing, I imagined. Now the last oven-bird launched
into the air and let fall a little shower of melody, and
a whippoorwill took up his chant afar off. This
should have been the end; but a robin across the
meadow thought otherwise, and set at work as if de-
termined to make a night of it. Mr. Early-and-late,
the robin’s name ought to be. As I left the wood the
whippoorwill followed; coming nearer and nearer,
till finally he overpassed me and sang with all his
might (while I tried in vain to see him) from a tree
or the wall, near the big buttonwood. He too is an
early riser, only he rises before nightfall instead of
before daylight.”

INDEX.

ie

BLACKBIRD, crow, 17; red-winged,
183 ; rusty, 216.

Bluebird, 14, 72, 160, 184, 214, 217.

Blue-gray gnatcatcher, 152.

Bobolink, 16, 78.

Bunting, ’ pay-winged, 27, 174, 234 ;
snow, 190, 195; towhee, 25, 39,
62, 178.

Butcher- bird, 5, 11, 66, 208.

Cat-bird, 3, 72, 114.
Cedar-bird, 26, 50, 126, 269.
Chat, Eggle goa 69, 152, 153.

Chewink, 25, 39, 62,

Chickadee, 27, 58 eg, 158, 202, 215, 237,
201.

Chimney swift, 23, 96, 272.

Cowbird, 183.

Creeper, brown, 20, 161, 205, 227,

a black - and - ‘white, 21, 266,

Crow, fe 26, 78, 209; fish,

154, 2
Cuckoo, black-billed, 18.

Finch, grass, 27, 174, 234; purple,
_ 119, 173, 199, 217, 287; pine,

Flicker, 25, 121, 232.
Flycatcher, great -crested, 152 ;

least, 26, 36, 231; phoebe, 26, 215,

230, 269; wood pewee, 36, 231,
257 ; yellow-bellied, 91.

eae 16, 19, 60, 173, 188, 190,
193, 2 36.

Grosbeak, cardinal, 27, 37, 152, 173;
pine, 197 ; rose-breasted, 173, 292. |

Humming-bird, ruby-throated, 21.
Indigo-bird, 177.

Jay, blue, 26, 65, 208, 264; Canada,
Te

Kingbird, 26, 78, 231.

Kingfisher, 26, 154.

Kinglet, golden - crested, 21, 203;
ruby-crowned, 21, 235.

Lark, western meadow, 40, 41;
shore, 206.

Linnet, 27, 119, 173, 199, 217, 287 ;
red-poll, 27, 190, 1

Maryland yellow-throat, 9, 21, 85,
166, 266, 296.
Mocking-bird, 27.

Night-hawk, 27, 183.
Nuthatch, red-bellied, 25; white-
bellied, 24

Gnoles Baltimore, 16, 181 ; orchard,
154.

Oven-bird, 21, 42, 86, 124, 136, 256,
283, 296.

Pewee, wood, 36, 231, 257.
Pheebe, 26, 215, 930, 969.

Red-poll linnet, 27, 190, 192

Redstart, 21, 86, 1 135.

Robin, 15, 16, 35, 38, 111, 131, 160,
202, "999, 294, 298,

Sandpiper, spotted, 1

Scarlet tanager, 125, tS, 171, 257,
296, 298.

Shrike, 5, 11, 66, 208.

Small-billed water thrush, 21, 86,
266.

Bate bin 90, 176, 208, 214, 221,
6: -

300

Snow bunting, 190, 195.

Sparrow, chipping, 10, 16, 126, 173,
233, 289; field, 27, 40, 173, 233;
fox-colored, 17, 173, 176, 215, 217,
218; house (or ‘‘ English’), 14,
17, 20, 22, 45, 110; savanna, 27,
49, 78; song, 15, 40, 173, 174, 200,
214, 217, 219; swamp, 27; tree,
27, 215; white-throated, 16, 80,
207, 271.

Swallow, barn, 23 ; white-bellied, 23,
228.

Swift, chimney, 23, 96, 272.

Tanager, scarlet, 125, 153, 171, 257,
296, 298.

Thrush, brown, 16, 61, 117, 158, 184,
234, 297 ; gray-cheeked (or Alice’s),
17, 140, 141, 281; golden-crowned,
21, 42, 86, 124, 136, 256, 283, 296 ;
hermit, 20, 71, 86, 140, 234, 258,
279; olive-backed (or Swainson’s),
20, 86, 88, 140, 281; small-billed
water, 21, 86, 266; Wilson’s (or
veery), 25, 71, 138: wood, 38, 112,
140, 258, 279.

Titmouse, black-capped, 27, 58,
158, 202, 215, 237g 291; tufted,
151.

Towhee bunting, 25, 39, 62, 178.

Veery, 25, 71, 138.
Vireo (or greenlet), blue- headed,

INDEX.

167, 168; red-eyed, 16, 167, 268;
solitary, 167, 168 ; yellow-throated,
27, 167; warbling, 16, 167, 168;
white-eyed, 40, 41, 69, 148, 167,
170, 286.

Warbler, bay - breasted, 85, 166;
Blackburnian, 86, 165, 265; black-
and-yellow, 85; black-poll, 21, 85,
165; black-throated blue, 21, 41,
86, 164, 267 ; black-throated green,
21, 41, 86, 187, 164, 267, 290; blue
golden-winged, 42, 145, 164; blue
yellow-backed, 21, 86, 164, 268;
Canada, 21, 85, 266; chestnut-
sided, 42, 266, 271; golden, 21,
164; golden-crowned wagtail, 21,
42, 86, 124, 136; mourning, 85;
Nashville, 98, 266; pine-creeping,
166, 228, 237, 289; prairie, 165;
summer yellow-bird, 21, 164;
worm-eating, 152; yellow red-
poll, 234; yellow-rumped, 21, 42,
43, 86, 269.

Waxwing, 26, 50, 126, 269.

Whippoorwill, 183, 298.

Woodcock, 27, 222.

Woodpecker, downy, 25; golden-
winged, 25, 121, 232; red-bellied,
152; red-headed, 150, 205; yel-
low-bellied, 8, 26, 271.

Wren, great Carolina, 152; winter,

88, 146, 225, 256, 272.

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