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BIRDS
THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS
BY
-
FLORENCE 2. MERRIAM
NEW YORK CLEVELAND CHICAGO
Che Chautauqua JPress
598.2.
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Copyright, 1889,
By FLORENCE A. MERRIAM.
All rights reserved.
This edition of ‘‘ Birds Through an Opera-Glass ”’
is issued for The Chautauqua Press by Houghton,
Mifflin & Co., publishers of the work.
By Traneter
INU Y Me ‘Qe
The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company.
INTRODUCTION ~
WHEREVER there are people there are birds,
so it makes comparatively little difference where
you live, if you are only in earnest about getting
acquainted with your feathered neighbors. Even
in a Chicago back yard fifty-seven kinds of birds
have been seen in a year, and in a yard in Port-
land, Connecticut, ninety-one species have been
recorded. ‘Twenty-six kinds are known to nest
in the city of Washington, and in the parks and
cemeteries of San Francisco in winter I have
found twenty-two kinds, while seventy-six are
recorded for Prospect Park, Brooklyn, and a hun-
dred and forty-two for Central Park, New York.
There are especial advantages. in beginning to
study birds in the cities, for by going to the mu-
- seums you can compare the bird skins with the
birds you have seen in the field. And, moreover,
you can get an idea of the grouping of the differ-
ent families which will help you materially in
placing the live bird when you meet him at home.
If you do not live in the city, as I have said
elsewhere, “ shrubby.village dooryards, the trees
of village streets, and orchards, roadside fences,
1V INTRODUCTION
overgrown pastures, and the borders of brooks
and rivers are among the best places to look for
birds.”’}
When going to watch birds, “* provided with
opera-glass and note-book, and dressed in incon-
spicuous colors, proceed to some good birdy place,
—the bushy bank of a stream or an old juniper
pasture, — and sit down in the undergrowth or
against a concealing tree-trunk, with your back
to the sun, to look and listen in silence. You
will be able to trace most songs to their singers
by finding which tree the song comes from, and
then watching for movement, as birds are rarely
motionless long at a time when singing. It will
be a help if, besides writing a careful descrip-
tion of both bird and song, you draw a rough
diagram of the bird’s markings, and put down
the actual notes of his song as nearly ag may be.
‘If you have time for only a walk through the
woods, go as quietly as possible and stop often, lis-
tening to catch the notes which your footsteps have
drowned. Timid birds may often be attracted
by answering their calls, for it is very reassuring
to be addressed in one’s native tongue.” ?
Birds’ habits differ in different localities, and
as this book was written in the East, many birds
are spoken of as common which Western readers
will find rare or wanting; but nearly the same
1 Birds of Village and Field.
2 Maynard’s Birds of Washington. Introduction by F. A. M.
INTRODUCTION Vv
families of birds are found in all parts of the
United States, so that, if not able to name your
bird exactly, at least you will be able to tell who
his relatives are.
Boys who are interested in watching the coming
of the birds from the south in spring, and their
return from: the north in the fall, can get blank
migration schedules by applying to the Biological
Survey, Department of Agriculture, Washing-
ton, D. C.; and teachers and others who want
material for bird work can get, free on applica-
tion, the publications of the Biological Survey,
which show how the food of birds affects the
farm and garden. Much additional information
can be obtained from the secretaries of the State
Audubon Societies, and their official organ, “ Bird-
Lore.”
Photography is coming to hold an important
place in nature work, as its notes cannot be ques-
tioned, and the student who goes afield armed
with opera-glass and camera will not only add
more to our knowledge than he who goes armed
with a gun, but will gain for himself a fund of
enthusiasm and a lasting store of pleasant mem-
ories. For more than all the statistics is the
sanity and serenity of spirit that comes when we
step aside from the turmoil of the world to hold
quiet converse with Nature.
FLORENCE A. MERRIAM.
WasuinerTon, D. C., May 11, 1899.
~
XV.
XVI.
XVII.
AVIII.
XIX.
XX.
XXI.
XXII.
XXIII.
XXIV.
CONTENTS.
————
. The Robin . ; F 4 3 if
. The Crow . . ‘
. The Bluebird
. The Chimney Swift; Chimes “Swallow ”
. Catbird
. Keel-Tailed Binckpind: are Blackbird: Boies
Grackle .
. Bobolink; Reed- Bird: Rice-Bird ‘ : ‘
. Ruffed Grouse; Partridge
. Ruby-Throated Eons : :
- Meadow-Lark . ; : °
. Black-Capped Chickadee ; ‘epmotse:
. Cuckoo; Rain Crow .
. Yellow Hammer; Flicker
. Baltimore Oriole; Fire-Bird ; Golden Relea: ‘Haase
Nest
Barn Swallow
Belted Kingfisher :
Chip-Bird or Chippy ; HairBind: Chipping Sian.
row; Social Sparrow . : ‘
Song Sparrow ..
Blue Jay
Yellow-Bird ; Redsecn Gelaenehe Thistle-Bird
Pheebe
King-Bird ; Bee Martin : -
Wood Pewee. ; : ; ‘ F ;
Least Flycatcher . : : : : : -
XXV. Red-Winged Blackbird . :
XXXVI.
Hairy Woodpecker ee Selig | serene
vili CONTENTS.
XXVII. Downy Woodpecker . 99
XXVIII. White-Bellied Nuthatch ; Devine Head ; 0
XXIX. Cowbird . 105
XXX. White-Throated Siahecgy 109
XXXI. Cedar-Bird; Waxwing ? ’ : 112
XXXII. Chewink; Towhee . . , : og
XXXII. Indigo-Bird : : ‘ ; 119
XXXIV. Purple Finch . : 3 : : ? 122
XXXYV. Red-Eyed Vireo . ‘ : ; : 124
XXXVI. Yellow-Throated Vireo 129
XXXVII. Warbling Vireo . ; 131
XXXVIII. Oven-Bird ; (ilies Cuncee Pheu 132
XXXIX. Junco; Slate-Colored Snowbird . 138
XL. Kinglets . 140
XLI. Snow Bunting ; aguas : 144
XLII. Scarlet Tanager : ; : : - 146
XLII. Brown Thrasher . ; , : : : 150
XLIV. Rose-Breasted Grosbeak . : ; ; . 158
XLV. Whippoorwill : : ent hg
XLVI. Winter Wren . : ; ‘ : ap
XLVII. Red-Headed Widnes : ; sire 159
XLVIII. Yellow-Bellied Sapsucker 160
XLIX. Great-Crested Flycatcher 163
L. Bank Swallow; Sand Martin . 165
LI. Cave Swallow; Cliff Swallow 166
LII. Crossbills , 166
LUI. Night-Hawk; Bull Bees 169
LIY. Grass Finch; Vesper saa ‘eae Wisgel
Bunting . ‘ ? : 171
LV. Tree Sparrow ye
LVI. White-Crowned om 173
LVII. Field Sparrow; Bush Sparrow 174
LVIII. Fox Sparrow . 2 f 175
LIX. Brown Creeper 176
WARBLERS.
LX. Summer Yellow-Bird; Golden Warbler; Yel-
low Warbler. ‘ 179
LXI. Redstart 180
155 4%
CONTENTS. 1X
LXII. Black and White Creeping Warbler _.. . 184
LXIII. Blackburnian Warbler; Hemlock Warbler;
Orange-Throated Warbler : PY Bitar 186
LXIV. Black-Throated Blue Warbler Pome ese Ae)
‘LXY. Yellow Rumped Warbler; Myrtle Warbler 189
LXVI. Chestnut-Sided Warbler . ; : : 3/490
LXVII. Maryland Yellow-Throat; Black Masked
j Ground Warbler : ‘ ‘ a 191
LXVIII. Thrushes . ‘ ‘ 3) 2938
LXIX. Wilson’s Thrush ; Woswy: ; Towny Tirosh: 198
LXX. Hermit Thrush d : : - » 202
APPENDIX.
Pigeon-Holes for the Perching Birds mentioned in this
eek - . - Ae tce va Ale
General Family ta aatesitien of Birds Treated : o, 20S
Arbitrary Classifications of Birds Described . : ° 211
Books for Reference . : : : : . 220
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BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
WE are so in the habit of focusing our spy-
glasses on our human neighbors that it seems an
easy matter to label them and their affairs, but
when it comes to birds, — alas! not only are there
legions of kinds, but, to our bewildered fancy,
they look and sing and act exactly alike. Yet
though our task seems hopeless at the outset, be-
fore we recognize the conjurer a new world of in-
terest and beauty has opened before us.
The best way is the simplest. Begin with the
commonest birds, and train your ears and eyes by
pigeon-holing every bird you see and every song
you hear. Classify roughly at first, — the finer
distinctions will easily be made later. Suppose,
for instance, you are in the fields on a spring
morning. Standing still a moment, you hear
what sounds like a confusion of songs. You think
you can never tell one from another, but by listen-
ing carefully you at once notice a difference. Some
are true songs, with a definite melody, — and tune,
if one may use that word, — like the song of several
of the sparrows, with three high notes and a run
yy ae ee ee oop
2 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
down the scale. Others are only monotonous
trills, always the same two notes, varying only in
length and intensity, such as that of the chipping
bird, who makes one’s ears fairly ache as he sits
in the sun and trills to himself, like a complacent
prima donna. Then there is always plenty of gos- —
siping going on, chippering and chattering that
does not rise to the dignity of song, though it adds
to the general jumble of sounds; but this should
be ignored at first, and only the loud songs lis-
tened for. When the trill and the elaborate song
are once contrasted, other distinctions are easily
made. ‘The ear then catches the quality of songs.
On the right the plaintive note of the meadow-
lark is heard, while out of the grass at the left
comes the rollicking song of the bobolink.
Having begun sorting sounds, you naturally
group sights, and so find yourself parceling out
the birds by size and color. As the robin is a
well-known bird, he serves as a convenient unit
of measure — an ornithological foot. If you call
anything from a humming-bird to a robin small,
and from a robin to a crow large, you have a
practical division line, of use in getting your
bearings. And the moment you give heed to col-
ors, the birds will no longer look alike. To sim-
plify matters, the bluebird, the oriole with his
orange and black coat, the scarlet tanager with
his flaming plumage, and all the other bright birds
can be classed together; while the sparrows, fly-
“8
BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS. 3
catchers, thrushes, and vireos may be thought of
as the dull birds. !
When the crudest part of the work is done, and
your eye and ear naturally seize differences of size,
color, and sound, the interesting part begins. You
soon learn to associate the birds with fixed local-
ities, and once knowing their favorite haunts,
quickly find other clues to their ways of life.
By going among the birds, watching them
closely, comparing them carefully, and writing
down, while in the field, all the characteristics of
every new bird seen, — its locality, size, color, de-
tails of marking, song, food, flight, eggs, nest,
and habits, — you will come easily and naturally
to know the birds that are living about you. The
first law of field work is exact observation, but
not only are you more likely to observe accurately
if what you see is put in black and white, but
you will find it much easier to identify the birds
from your notes than from memory.
With these hints in mind, go to look for your
friends. Carry a pocket note-book, and above all,
take an opera or field glass with you. Its rapid
adjustment may be troublesome at first, but it
should be the “inseparable article” of a careful
observer. If you begin work in spring, don’t
start out before seven o’clock, because the confu-
sion of the matins is discouraging — there is too
much to see and hear. But go as soon as possi-
ble after breakfast, for the birds grow quiet and
4 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
fly to the woods for their nooning earlier and
earlier as the weather gets warmer.
You will not have to go far to find your first
bird.
a
THE ROBIN.
NExtT to the crow, the robin is probably our best
known bird; but as a few of his city friends have
never had the good fortune to meet him, and as he
is to be our “ unit of measure,” it behooves us to
consider him well. He is, as every one knows, a
domestic bird, with a marked bias for society.
Everything about him bespeaks the self-respecting
American citizen. He thinks it no liberty to dine
in your front yard, or build his house in a crotch of
your piazza, with the help of the string you have
inadvertently left within reach. Accordingly, he
fares well, and keeps fat on cherries and straw-
berries if the supply of fish-worms runs low. Mr.
Robin has one nervous mannerism — he jerks his
tail briskly when excited. But he is not always
looking for food as the woodpeckers appear to be,
nor flitting about with nervous restlessness like the
warblers, and has, on the whole, a calm, dignified
air. With time to meditate when he chooses, like
other sturdy, well-fed people, his reflections usually
take a cheerful turn; and when he lapses into a
poetical mood, as he often does at sunrise and
THE ROBIN. 5
sunset, sitting on a branch in the softened light
and whispering a little song to himself, his senti-
ment is the wholesome every-day sort, with none
of the sadness or longing of his cousins, the
thrushes, but full of contented appreciation of the
beautiful world he lives in. |
Unlike some of his human friends, his content
does not check his activity. He is full of buoyant
life. He may always be heard piping up above
the rest of the daybreak chorus, and I have seen
him sit on top of a stub in a storm when it seemed
as if the harder it rained the louder and more ju-
bilantly he sang. He has plenty of pluck and
industry, too, for every season he dutifully accepts
the burden of seeing three or four broods of bird
children through all the dangers of cats, hawks,
6 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
and first flights; keeping successive nestfuls of
gaping mouths supplied with worms all the sum-
mer through.
His red breast is a myth and belongs to his
English namesake ; and it must be owned that
his is a homely reddish brown that looks red only
when the sunlight falls on it. His wife’s breast
is even less red than his — in fact, she looks as if
the rain had washed off most of her color. But,
perhaps, had they been beautiful they would have
been vain, and then, alas for the robins we know
and love now. When the children make their
debut, they are more strikingly homely than their
parents ; possibly because we have known the old
birds until, like some of our dearest friends, their
plainness has become beautiful to us. In any case,
the eminently speckled young gentlemen that come
out with their new tight-fitting suits and awkward
ways do not meet their father’s share of favor. —
Perhaps the nest they come from accounts for
their lack of polish. It is compact and strong,
built to last, and to keep out the rain; but with
no thought of beauty. In building their houses
the robins do not follow our plan, but begin with
the frame and work in. When the twigs and
weed stems are securely placed they put on the
plaster —a thick layer of mud that the bird
moulds with her breast till it is as hard and
smooth as a plaster cast. And inside of all, for
cleanliness and comfort, they lay a soft lining of
THE ROBIN. re
dried grass. This is the typical nest, but of course,
there are marked variations from it. Usually it
is firmly fixed in the crotch of a branch or close
to the body of the tree where its weight can be
supported.
But who does not know instances. of oddly
placed nests outside of trees? The ‘“ American
Naturalist” records one “on the top of a long
pole, which stood without support in an open barn-
yard,’ and Audubon notes one within a few feet
of a blacksmith’s anvil. A number of interesting
sites have come within my notice. Among them
are: the top of a blind; an eave trough; a shingle
that projected over the inner edge of an open shed;
and, most singular of all, one inside a milk-house,
set precariously on the rim of a barrel that lay on
its side, just above the heads of the men who not
only appeared both night and morning with alarm-
ingly big milk pails, but made din enough in ply-
ing a rattling creaky pump handle to have sent
any ordinary bird bolting through the window.
Robins usually nest comparatively high, though
Audubon tells of a nest found on a bare rock on
the ground, and this summer I found one in the
crotch of a small tree only two and a half feet
from the earth. It was near a hen yard, so per-
haps Madam Robin was following the fashion by
laying her eggs near the ground. In any case,
she was on visiting terms with the hen-roost, for,
singularly enough, there were feathers plastered
8 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
about the adobe wall, though none inside. Per-
haps the weather was too warm for a feather bed !
—or was this frivolous lady bird thinking so
much of fashion and adornment she could spare
no time on homely comfort ?
Longfellow says :
‘*'There are no birds in last year’s nest,’’
but on a brace in an old cow shed I know of, there
is a robin’s nest that has been used for several
years.
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until you see them in their homes — you will dis-
cover why he is called “ high-hold,” “ high-holder,”
and “high-hole” — that is, if the nest he has
made is one of the high ones. Sometimes yellow
hammers build very low. However this may be,
the entrance to the nest is a large round hole, cut
out of the wood of the tree, as the pile of chips
on the ground attests. Inside, the hole is very
YELLOW HAMMER. 51
deep and the white eggs are laid on the chips at
the bottom. The usual number of eggs is six.
A. gentleman tells me a curious case of miscal-
culation on the part of a yellow hammer that built
in an old apple-tree near his house. He says the
old birds kept bringing food to the nest so long
that he thought something must be wrong, and
went to investigate. ‘The nest was just within his
reach, and he found that, as he had supposed, the
birds were more than large enough to fly. In fact
they were so large they could not get out of the
mouth of the nest, and were actually imprisoned
there! The gentleman got an axe and cut out
the opening for them, and the next morning the
brood had flown.
Knowing the habits of the yellow hammer, you
wonder why there is no name to credit him with
the work he does for us in eating the boring ants
that eviscerate our noblest trees ; and you are still
more surprised to find no name to stamp him a
field and ground woodpecker, because his devo-
tion to ant-hills and other ground preserves is one
of the characteristics that distinguish him from
the other woodpeckers. Possibly the name “ wood-
pecker lark” may refer to his custom of hunting
in the fields.
52 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
XIV.
BALTIMORE ORIOLE; FIRE-BIRD ; GOLDEN ROBIN 5
HANG-NEST.
WILSsoNn notices the interesting fact that our
oriole was named by Linnzus in honor of Lord
Baltimore, whose colors were black and orange.
He is shorter than the robin, and compared
with that plump alderman is slenderly and deli-
cately built —much more in the form of the
blackbirds. His back is black instead of grayish-
brown, and his breast orange instead of dull red-
dish. In habit, he contrasts still more strongly
with the robin. Who ever saw Sir Baltimore
watching for fish-worms in the grass, or taking
possession of a crotch in the piazza ?— and, on
the other hand, who ever saw a robin hold his din-
ner under his claw and peck it to pieces as the
orioles and their cousins the blackbirds do? The
oriole is comparatively shy, and has a nervous,
excitable temperament, while the robin is not only
social but phlegmatic. Then the call of the fire-
bird is shriller, and pitched on a higher key;
while his love song is an elaborate poem in mel-
ody, compared with the blunt courtship of robin
redbreast — just watch this graceful suitor some
morning as he bows and scrapes before his lady-
love to the rhythm of his exquisitely modulated
sone. Now running high and loud with joyful
rs
BALTIMORE ORIOLE. 53
exultant love, then curving into a low, soft ca-
dence, vibrating with caressing tenderness, it
finally rounds off with broken notes of entreaty so
full of courtly devotion and submission, yet, withal,
so musical and earnest with tender love, that you
feel sure his suit can never be denied.
When the oriole comes to build his nest and
you compare his work with that of the robin, you
feel that you have an artistic Queen Anne beside
arude mud hovel. The term hang-nest is strictly
applicable. The birds are skillful weavers and
build long, delicate, pocket-shaped nests that look
as if made of gray moss. These they hang from
the end of a branch, as if thinking of the first
line of the old nursery rhyme, —
‘f When the wind blows the cradle will rock,
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,’’ —
and, indeed, the cradles are built by such clever
workmen that the bough must needs break to give
them a fall. The nest looks as if it barely touched
the twigs from which it hangs, but when you ex-
amine it you may find that the gray fibres have
woven the wood in so securely that the nest would
have to be torn in pieces before it could be loos-
ened from the twigs. What is the nest made of ?
It shines as if woven with threads of gray silk,
but it must be field silk from the stems of plants.
And the horse hairs? Mr. Burroughs tells of one
oriole who went bravely into the back part of a
horse stable for its hair lining. Sometimes a bit
54 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
of twine or gay worsted thrown on the grass is
gladly accepted, and Nuttall once saw an oriole
carry off a piece of lampwick ten or twelve feet
long.
In Northampton I witnessed an interesting case
which proved that skill.in nest making as well
as other crafts comes by hard-earned experience,
and, consequently, that manual training should
be intreduced into all bird schools! A pair of
young and inexperienced orioles fell in love and
set out, with the assurance of most brides and
grooms, to build a home for themselves. They suc-
ceeded admirably in the selection of their build-
ing site, but then the trouble began. The premise
that all young lovers are weavers or architects
sometimes leads to dire syllogistic conclusions.
Was it the pressing business of the honeymoon
that interfered with the weaving, or was it be-
cause this young couple had not yet learned how
to pull together that their threads got in a snarl
and their gray pocket was all awry? Whatever
the reason, the cradle was altogether too short to
rock well, and was skewed up in such a fashion
that some of the baby birds would have been sure
of a smothering. Like Grimm’s clever Elsie the
birds foresaw all these dangers, and actually left
the completed nest to be tossed by the wind while
they went off to try again in another place. It
is believed to be unusual for two young birds to
pair together.
BARN SWALLOW. 55
a's
BARN SWALLOW.
THE barn swallow is the handsomest and best
known of the swallows. It is lustrous steel blue
above, and has a partial collar of the same be-
tween the deep chocolate of the chin and throat
and the pale chestnut of the breast.
What a contrast to the ugly so-called “ chimney
swallow”! And not in coloring only. Compare
its long forked tail with the short, square, bristly
tail of the swift. And then watch its flight —
the coursing of a Pegasus beside the trotting of a
racer! The swift has wonderful wing power, but
no grace. It flies as if under wager, and when
hunting, its path might be marked off by angles,
for it zigzags like a bat. But the barn swallow’s
course is all curves. It has the freest flight of
any bird I have ever seen. It seems absolutely
without effort or constraint.
The swallows are so agile they often dart down
as you drive along the road, and circle around
and around you, managing dexterously to keep
just ahead of the horses. At other times they
run and circle away over the fields and through
the sky, and at sunset often haunt our rivers or
lakes, skimming low over the surface and some-
times dipping down for a drink as they go.
At rest, they sit side by side on the ridge-pole
SS eee ee
56 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
of a barn or on a telegraph wire, where they look
hike rows of little mutes. It is funny enough to
see them light on a wire. Fluttering over it for
a moment before settling down, they sway back
and forth till you are sure they must fall off.
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The roads afford them much occupation. When
not making statistics about the passers-by, or col-
lecting mud for their nests, they take dust baths
in the road. They usually build inside barns or
covered bridges, lining their nests with feathers,
but a case is recorded of a nest under the eaves of
a house, which was made entirely of “ rootlets and
grass,” though thickly lined with downy chicken
feathers. Mr. Burroughs tells of a barn nest
‘saddled in the loop of a rope that was pendant
from a peg in the peak.”
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BELTED KINGFISHER. 5T
Of the notes of the barn swallow Mr. Bicknell
says: “*An almost universal misconception re-
gards the swallows as a tribe of songless birds.
But the barn swallow has as true claims to song
as many species of long-established recognition as
song birds. Its song is a low, chattering trill...
often terminating with a clear liquid note with an
accent as of interrogation, not unlike one of the
notes of the canary. This song is wholly distinct
from the quick, double-syllabled note which so
constantly escapes the bird during flight.”
XVI.
BELTED KINGFISHER.
THE robin lives on neighborly terms in our
dooryard, the swift secretes himself in our chim-
neys, the humming-bird hovers in our gardens,
the barn swallow circles around our barns, the
eatbird talks to himself in our orchards, the oriole
hangs his “ hammock” from our elms, the bobo-
link holds gay possession of our fields till the
mower comes to dispute his claim, and the yellow
hammer appoints himself inspector general of our
ant-hills, fence-posts, and tree trunks; but the
kingfisher cares nothing for us or our habitations.
He goes off by himself into the heart of the wil-
derness, not to crouch among the brown leaves on
the ground like the partridge, but to fly high and
58 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
far over river and lake, calling loudly to the
echoes as he goes.
He is the most marked of the trillers, having a
loud, rapid call that Wilson compares to a watch-
man’s rattle, and that, as Mr. Burroughs ingen-
=A//)
iously suggests, reminds you of an alarm clock. He
usually gives it when on the wing, and if on hear-
ing him you look up in time, you will see a large,
ungainly slate-blue bird, with an odd flight — his
short tail making him out of proportion so that his
wings seem too far back. As he flies over, you
note his big, heavily-crested head, his dark collar,
| ml
BELTED KINGFISHER. 59
and his glistening white throat. If he lights on
a dead stub by the water, and you can see the
compact, oily plumage that is adapted for cold
plunges, you will think him handsome in spite of
his topheaviness. He sits like the catbird, and
watches the fish come toward the surface. But
before they know what has happened they are
wriggling in his bill. After catching a fish he
quickly carries it back to his perch, to be devoured
at his leisure.
The kingfisher shows us a new style of nest,
though it might seem that there had been variety
enough before. ‘There was the “adobe house ”
of the robin, the coarse bundle of sticks gathered
by the crow, the exquisite lichen-covered cup of
the humming-bird, the loose, clumsy-looking nests
of the catbird and cuckoo, the frame house rented
by the bluebird, the tiny wall pocket glued to the
chimney by the swift, the grass houses of the bob-
olink and meadow-lark, the mud bowl] of the barn
swallow, the airy gray pocket of the oriole, and
the snug wooden retreats of the chickadee and
yellow hammer. But here is something stranger
than any of them —a burrow in the earth, that
might well be the hole of some shy animal rather
than the home of a bird. It is usually dug in
the banks of rivers or streams.
As the kingfisher spends most of his time on
the wing, his feet are small and weak, different
enough from the powerful feet and claws of the
60 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
blackbirds and orioles. What a woodsman the
kingfisher must be! Do the hemlock’s longest
branches tip to the east? Does the lichen grow
on the north side of the trees? Ask him for his
compass. He needs no trail. Follow him and he
will teach you the secrets of the forest. For here
lies the witchcraft of our new world halcyon,
rather than in the charming of sailors’ lives, or in
the stilling of the sea.
VIL
CHIP-BIRD OR CHIPPY; HAIR-BIRD; CHIPPING
SPARROW ; SOCIAL SPARROW.
WE have already had “chimney swallows” that
were not swallows, crow blackbirds that were not
crows, partridges that were grouse, and kingfishers
that dug holes in the ground, besides bluebirds
and humming-birds and robins and chickadees and
catbirds and cuckoos, all crowded together; and
now we are coming to that vexatious family, the
sparrows. How can any one be expected to re-
member such a medley long enough to know the
birds out of doors? I never really knew them
until I pigeon-holed them, and I believe that 1s
the best way. But how shall we go to work ?
Ornithologists separate our birds into seventeen
orders, and divide these into numerous families
and genera and species. We should have to turn
&
‘!
CHIPPY. 61
pension-office clerks to get pigeon-holes enough for
them! But twelve of the seventeen we shall leave
entirely alone, —the divers, all kinds of swim-
mers, waders, herons, cranes, parrots, and others
that most of us never see outside of museums. Of
the five orders left, four are quickly disposed of.
The partridge will be our only representative of
the “gallinaceous birds,” the cuckoos and king-
fishers of the order of *‘ cuckoos, ete.,’’ the wood-
peckers of the ‘‘ woodpeckers, etc.,” and the swift,
humming-bird, night-hawk, and whippoorwill of
the “ goatsuckers, swifts, etc.”
There are so few of these, and they are so scat-
tered, that 1t does not seem worth while to give up
part of our pigeon-holes to them, so we will put
them away in a drawer by themselves, and keep
our pigeon-holes free for the one order left, — the
highest of all, —that of the “ perching birds.” It
has twenty-one families, but we need only four-
teen holes because there are seven families that
we shall not take up. So our best way is to paste
the label “perching birds” over our fourteen
holes, and then, while remembering that we have
left out seven families, number each hole and put
in the birds as they come in their natural order of
development from low to high.
The crow goes in No. 2 by himself at present.
The bobolink, meadow-lark, crow blackbird, and
oriole all go into No. 3, because they belong to the
family of “‘ blackbirds, orioles, etc.,” although they
62 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
represent different branches, or genera. Chippy
goes into No. 4 to wait for the other “finches,
sparrows, etc.,” the barn swallow will go into No.
6, which belongs to “the swallows,” the catbird
into No. 10, the chickadee into No. 12, and the
robin and bluebird into No. 14, — the last hole, —
as they belong to the most highly developed fam-
ily of all the birds, that of the “ thrushes, blue-
birds, ete.”
This simplifies matters. The chimney swift
belongs to an ‘entirely different order from the
swallows, —a much lower one, — and so was put
in the drawer, together with the kingfisher, whose
feet are weak and who nests in the ground. Now
all the “ perching birds” we have had fall readily
into place. The crow is by himself in No. 2, as
the blackbirds in No. 8 differ from him in having
wives smaller than themselves, and in anatomical
and technical peculiarities that are the foundation
of all the divisions we have.
But here is chippy in No. 4; let us see how he
is related to the other birds. First, what does he
look like? Although one of those “little gray
birds” that vex the spirit of the tyro, he is well
known as the smallest and most friendly of our
sparrows. All the sparrows are small, dull colored
birds, none of them being much more than half as
large as arobin. But he is marked by a reddish-
brown cap, edged by a delicate white line over eye
and cheek. His back is streaked with grayish-
CHIPPY. 63
brown and black, his wings are crossed by narrow
whitish bars, and underneath he is a pure light
ash color. |
Notice the bill chippy has to crack seeds with.
It is the short, thick, conical bill of the family,
and contrasts not only with the long slender bills
of the worm-eating robin and bluebird in No.
14, but with those of the oriole, crow blackbird,
and meadow-lark in No. 3. The bobolink shows
the nearness of No. 3 and 4 in his partly conical
bill, and also in flight, though, by coloring, he is
more closely related to the crow in No. 2. It is
hardly necessary to suggest the differences that
separate chippy from the chimney swift, the ruffed
grouse, the humming-bird, the cuckoo, and the
ant-eating yellow hammer.
Of our common sparrows chippy alone has no
real song, but he trills away monotonously, —
by the hour, you are tempted to think, — with
cheerful perseverance that would grace a better
cause. He is called “ hair-bird”’ because he lines
his nest with horse or cow hair, and when you
think of the close observation and industry it takes
to find this hair you will recognize not only the
power of inherited habit but the fitness of the
name hair-bird.
Last summer a chipping sparrow built in a jas-
mine bush in the crotch of a neighbor’s piazza.
When the little mother was startled by intruders
she would dart into the bush, crouch down, flatten
64 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
her head, and try to make herself invisible, but
she had too many frights and at last abandoned
her nest. Ina grape-vine on top of a trellis in
the garden in front of the cottage another chippy
had built. She seemed to be fearless, never stir-
ring even when we stood at the foot of the trellis
and stared at her.
I found several nests in Norway spruces. One
was near a farm-house. It was ona bough hidden
so skillfully under an evergreen twig that I had
much ado to find it, and there was barely room for
even the small mother bird to get up to it. Butthe
four little dark blue eggs wreathed with purplish
dots around the larger ends, as they lay clustered
on their mat of brown rootlets, made a sight to
repay a longer hunt. With all her care the poor
mother was not able to conceal her little ones. A
hungry chipmunk discovered them, and was shot
by the farmer when it was swallowing the last one
of the four.
In summer the chipping birds haunt the piazza,
coming almost to our feet for crumbs. Last season
two broods were brought by their mothers, and it
was diverting to watch them. The mothers drove
each other about in a scandalous fashion, and, what
was worse, would not feed each other’s children,
but turned their backs in the most hard-hearted
way even when the hungry youngsters ran up in
front of them and stood with wide open bills teas-
ing for food. As the babies grew older I suspect
CHIPPY. 65
_ their mothers poisoned their minds, too, for as
nearly as I could make out a coldness grew up be-
tween the families of infants.
The old chipping birds are very intelligent.
The turn of the head and the quick glance from
the eye show that their familiar bravery is due to
no thoughtless confidence, but 1s based on keen
observation and bird wit.
_ The young birds seem more trustful and are
dear fluffy little creatures. When they get to be
as big as their mothers and know perfectly well
how to feed themselves, the lazy babies will often
stand helplessly right in the middle of a handful
of crumbs, and chirr at their mother till she picks
the crumbs up and drops them in their bills.
One: day I found a young chippy sitting on the
picket of a fence. His mother soon flew up onto
the picket next to him with his dinner in her bill
and leaned over trying to reach it across. It was
a comical proceeding, the baby fluttering his
wings, opening his mouth, crying out and bobbing
toward his mother while she stretched across till
— well, both birds came near a tumble before
they gave it up.
Chipping birds are always about, in the garden,
on the lawn, and around the house. The back
door with its boundless possibilities in the crumb
line attracts them strongly. At one house, for
several years, a number of them came to the back
yard every day when the chickens were fed. They
66 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
sat on the fence till the first rush and scramble
were over, and then flew down among the hens to
get their dinner.
XVIII.
SONG SPARROW.
THE song sparrow, of course, goes into the same
pigeon-hole as chippy— No. 4, “ finches, spar-
rows, etc.,”” — showing the same sparrow traits in
coloring, size, bill, and flight; and the same con-
trasts with the crow in No. 2, the “ blackbirds,
orioles, etc.,” in No. 3, the “ swallows” in No. 6,
and the robin and bluebird among the “thrushes,
bluebirds, ete.,” of No. 14. But with all this, our
little friend has a marked individuality, and dif-
fers from his small cousin chippy in temper and
charm. I may be prejudiced, but while I admire
chippy for his bravery and intelligence I do not
find him as winsome as this simple little bird with
his homely cheeriness.
In the spring the song sparrow comes North a
few days after the robin, and although the chill
from the snow banks gives him a sore throat that
makes his voice husky, you may hear him singing
as brightly as if he had come back on purpose to
bring spring to the poor snow-bound farmers.
Even his chirp — of rich contralto quality com-
pared with the thin chip of his cousin — has a
SONG SPARROW. 67
genuine happy ring that raises one’s spirits ; and
when he throws up his head and sings the sweet
song that gives him his name, you feel sure the
world is worth living in.
The song sparrow’s brown coat has little beauty,
but his dark breastpin, surrounded by brown
streaks, sets off his light gray waistcoat to advan-
tage; and the brown topknot that he raises when
interested gives him a winning air of sympathetic
attention. |
The song sparrows are not about the house as
much as the chippies, and last summer they began
coming for crumbs a week later in the nesting
season than their ubiquitous cousins. ‘Then it
was amusing to see the business-like way in which
they hopped about, their tails perked up and
their wings close to their sides. There was one
that walked like a blackbird, and when he ran it
seemed a waste of energy — he had so much more
to do than if he had hopped !
The usual note of the song sparrow is a rich
“ tschip,” as Thoreau gives it; but when nesting it
has an odd thin chip that sounds so like the note
of a young bird that it deceived me into hunting
_ through the bushes when the old bird who was
really making it was in plain sight. The spar-
row’ song is the first set song likely to attract
your attention when listening to the birds near
the house, and as Thoreau says, is “ more honest-
sounding than most.” The song consists of one
68 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
high note repeated three times, and a rapid run
down the scale and back; but it varies greatly
with individuals, and almost every writer renders
it differently.
In choosing the site for its nest, the song spar-
row adapts itself to circumstances with the grace
of a true philosopher. At one time content with
making a rude mat of straw at the bottom of a
roadside brush heap, at another it builds in a
willow, using the woolly catkins to soften the bed ;
and frequently it nests right on the ground, when
the farmers call it the “ ground sparrow.” But
the prettiest site of any I have ever known was
in a sweetbriar bush on the edge of the garden.
Here the little mother could be lulled into her
noon-day nap by the droning of the bumble-bees
buzzing about the garden; or, if she chose, watch
the fluttering butterflies and quivering humming-
birds hovering over the bright flowers. Every
breath of air brought her the perfume of the briar
leaves, and when the pink buds unfolded she could
tell off the days of her brooding by the petals. that
fluttered to the ground.
BLOE JAY. 69
XIX.
BLUE JAY.
Tue blue jay comes with a dash and a flourish.
As Thoreau says, he “ blows the trumpet of win-
ter.”. Unlike the chickadee, whose prevailing |
tints match the winter sky, and whose gentle day-
day-day chimes with the softly falling snows, the
blue jay would wake the world up. His “ clario-
net” peals over the villages asleep in the snow-
drifts as if it would rouse even the smoke that
drowses over their white roofs. He brings the
vigor and color of winter. He would send the
shivering stay-at-homes jingling merrily over the
fields, and start the children coasting down the
hills. Wake-up, wake-up, come-out, come-out he
ealls, and blows a blast to show what winter is
good for. |
And so he flashes about, and screams and scolds
till we crawl to the window to look at him. Ha!
what a handsome bird! He has found the break-
fast hung on the tree for him and clings to it
pecking away with the appetite of a Greenlander.
Not a hint of winter in his coloring! Note his
purplish back as he bends over, the exquisite
cobalt blue, touched off with black and white on
his wings, and the black barring on the tightly
closed tail he is bracing himself by. How distin-
guished his dark necklace and handsome blue
70 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
crest make him look! There! he is off again,
and before we think where he is going we hear
the echo of his rousing phe-phay, phe-phay from
the depths of the woods.
In many places the jays are common winter
residents, pitching their tents with the hens and
barnyard animals and comporting themselves with
familiar assurance. But in this region they are
irregular guests. Sometimes they are here for a
few days in the fall, or visit us when the hawks
vs. if
BLUE JAY. 71
return in spring, teasing the young observer by
imitating the cry of the redtailed hawk. But if
the fancy takes them they spend the winter with
us, showing comparatively little of the timidity
they feel in some localities.
Last fall a party of jays stayed here for some
time, but when I was congratulating myself on
having them for the winter, they left, and did not
return till the middle of January. Then one
morning one of them appeared suddenly on a tree
in front of the window. He seemed to have been
there before, for he flew straight down to the corn
boxes by the dining-room. The gray squirrels
had nibbled out the sweetest part of the kernels,
and he acted dissatisfied with what was left, drop-
ping several pieces after he had picked them up.
But at last he swallowed a few kernels and then
took three or four in his bill at once and flew up
in a maple. He must have deposited some of
them in a crotch at the body of the tree, for after
he had broken one in two under his claw — strik-
ing it with “ sledge-hammer blows” — he went back
to the crotch, picked up something, flew back on
the branch, and went through the process over
again. The second time he flew down to the corn
boxes he did the same thing — ate two or three
kernels, and then filled his bill full and flew off
— this time out of sight. Since then I have often
seen him carry his corn off in the same way, giv-
ing his head a little toss to throw the kernels back
72 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
in his bill as he was loading up. Wilson ealls
attention to the fact that by this habit of carrying
off kernels and seeds, the jay becomes an impor-
tant tree-planting agent.
What a good business man the blue jay would
make! All his motions are like the unique load-
ing up performance — time-saving, decided, di-
rect. Once during the first morning after his re-
turn he flew down to the boxes from the tree over
them and came so straight he looked as if falling
through the airy He pecked at the bark of the
trees as indifferently as he had examined the corn
the squirrels had nibbled, but I thought he drank
with some gusto. He seemed to be catching the
rain drops that were running down the sides of
the trees and filling the crevices of the bark.
After he had flown off and the gray squirrels
were comfortably settled at breakfast, he came
dashing back round the corner in such a hurry
he almost struck the squirrel on the lower corn
box. The first thing I saw was a confusion of
blue feathers and gray fur, and then a blue jay
flying off to the evergreen, and a gray squirrel
shaking his tail excitedly and starting from one
side of the box to the other trying to collect his
wits. By this time the blue jay had recovered
from his surprise, and seeing that it was only a
squirrel, hopped about in the spruce as full of
business as if the collision had been planned. Not
so with the poor squirrel! He sprang up on the
BLUE JAY. 73
highest box, stretching straight up on his hind
legs, with fore paws pressed against his breast
and ears erect, his heart beating his sides and his
tail hanging down shamefacedly as he looked
anxiously toward the spruce where the blue jay
had gone. Gradually the fear on his face changed
to a comical look of bewilderment. Could that
bird flying about as if nothing had happened be
what struck him, or had he gone to sleep over his
corn and had a bad dream? He settled down on
his haunches with an expression of inane confu-
sion, and finally turned back into his corn box, a
sorry contrast to the clear-headed blue jay.
This was the first morning the jays came, and
we were greatly entertained watching the develop-
ment of affairs. There were only three birds
that were regular patrons of the corn barrel res-
taurant, while there were thirteen gray squirrels,
and when the squirrels got over their first sur-
prise they seemed to consider the jays an insig-
nificant minority. There were no claw-to-bill
tussles, for when a jay was eating on a corn box
by the side of the tree, and a squirrel ran down
the trunk right above him, and gave a jump that
promised to land him on the jay’s head, the bird
would quietly fly off. But such meekness was no
sign of discomfiture. The jays came back as often
as they were driven away. If the squirrels ob-
jected to their eating on a corner of the box with
them, the jays would hop down on the snow and
74 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
pick up the corn the squirrels had scattered there.
They were so persistent, and at the same time so
dignified and peaceable, that the squirrels could
not hold out against them; and though for a time
the birds took advantage of the squirrels’ laziness
and got a good breakfast mornings before the
sleepy fur coats appeared, two or three weeks of
10°—20° below zero silenced the squirrel’s last
prior-claims argument and the jays were allowed
to eat undisturbed from the same boxes with
them.
But it is not only the squirrels that the blue
jays dine with, for one day last winter the little
three-year-old came running out of the dining-
room in great excitement, crying, “ Oh, grandpa!
come quick! There are three partridges, and one
of them is a blue jay!” Indeed, the other day
the blue jays quite took possession of the corn
barrels that are the special property of the part-
ridges. The barrels stand under the branches of
a Norway spruce on either side of a snow-shoe
path that runs from the house, and though the
jays were self-invited guests, I could not help ad-
miring the picture they made, they flying about
and sitting on the barrels, the dark green of the
boughs bringing out the handsome blue of their
coats.
But the spot where I have found the blue jays
most at home is in the dense coniferous forests of
the Adirondacks. I shall never forget seeing a
BLUE JAY. > 1S
flock of them on Black Mountain. From the top
of the mountain the wilderness looked like a sea
of forest-clad hills, with an occasional reef out-
lined by surf, for the largest lakes seemed like
tracery in the vast expanse of forest. The im-
pressive stillness was broken only by the rare
cries of a pair of hawks that circled over the
mountain ; for the most part they soared, silent as
the wilderness below them. Coming down into
the forest primeval, where the majestic hemlocks
towered straight toward the sky, and their mas-
sive knotted roots bound down the granite bowl-
ders that showed on the mountain side—there we
found the blue jays in their home. A flock of
them lived together, feeding on wild berries and
beechnuts, sporting among the ferns and mosses,
and drinking from the brook that babbled along
near the trail. What a home our handsome birds
had chosen! But the memory of the spot is
dreary. Unmoved by the beauty of the scene, to
which the blue jays gave color and life; unawed
by the benedicite of the hemlocks ; betraying the
trust of the friendly birds, the boy of the party
crept into their very home and shot down one
after another of the family as they stood resistless
before him. To-day the pitiful lament of the
brave old birds haunts me, for, forgetting to fear
for themselves, those that were left flew about in
wild distress, and their cries of almost human
suffering reached us long after we had left the
desecrated spot.
76 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
XX.
YELLOW-BIRD ; AMERICAN GOLDFINCH ; THISTLE-
BIRD.
THRow yourself down among the buttercups
and daisies some cloudless summer day and look
up at the sky till its wondrous blueness thrills
through you as an ecstacy. Then catch your
breath and listen, while out of the air comes a
clear fluid note of rapture. Ah! there is the
little goldfinch — a bit of the sun’s own gold —
sauntering through the air, rising and falling to
—~@ on
the rhythm of his own ? | f v ? This way and
dee-ree dee-ee-ree.
that he flits, at each call fluttering his wings and
then letting himself float down on the air. Spring
up from the meadow and follow him till down
from the blue sky he comes to alight airily on a
pink thistle-top. Then as he bends over and
daintily plucks out the tiny seeds that would soon
have been ballooning through the air, you can ad-
mire the glossy black cap, wings, and tail that
touch off his slender gold form.
Who would ever take this fairy-like beauty for
a cousin of our plain chippy and song sparrow ?
And yet — his bill and size and family traits
are the same. Pigeon-hole No. 4 was marked
“finches, sparrows, etc.,” and he is one of the
YELLOW -BIRD. rw
finches. He seems rear enough like the sparrows
too, when you think how unlike he is to the black-
birds and orioles of No. 3, or the swallows of No.
6, the catbird of No. 10, and the robin or blue-
bird of No. 14. 7
Even the chickadee from No. 12 is a strong
contrast to him. His slender frame fits him for
Z mpyyy ga Ze
7 Yypy, X.
iW, Pye
Ws Wy lt: Mey ¥
flying through the air, while the chickadee’s
plump, fluffy figure is suited to flitting about tree-
trunks and branches. Early in the spring the
chickadee goes to the woods, and, using his pointed
bill as a pick-axe, picks out a nest hole in the side
of a stump or tree trunk. But the goldfinch
waits until July, and then, going to the nearest
orchard, chooses a plum or apple-tree crotch and
sets about making a basket to fit it. He peels
78 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
the bark from some slender weed for the outside,
and pilfers a thistle-top or the silk storeroom of
some other plant for a lining.
An old nest the children brought me last fall
had a veritable feather-bed of down in it, on top
of the usual silky lining, and it stuffed the cup so
full there seemed hardly room enough for the
egos. It looked as if two or three whole thistle-
tops had been put in and matted down.
Last year a pair of goldfinches built in a plum-
tree by the side of a carriage drive, so low that
on tiptoe I could reach into the nest to count over
the eggs from day today. And what dainty light
blue shells they had. Just as if bits of blue sky
had fallen into the nest! The mother-bird must
have guessed my delight in her treasures, for she
would sit quietly on a treea few feet away with
an air that said quite plainly, “ Are n’t they dear
little eggs? You can look at them just as long
as you like. Ill wait here till you get through!”
As the goldfinches nest so much later than
most birds, the young are barely out before the
warblers and other of the birds begin migrating.
I have seen the little ones teasing their father for
food late in September. One day I saw one fed
on the head of a big sunflower.
I am afraid Mr. Goldfinch is not a good dis-
ciplinarian, for his babies follow him around flut-
tering their wings, opening their mouths, and
crying tweet-ee, tweet-ee, tweet-ee, tweet-ee, with
f
YELLOW -BIRD. 19
an insistence that suggests lax family government.
Some one should provide him with a bundle of
timothy stalks! And yet who would have our
fairy use the rod? Just listen to him some day
as he flies away from his nest, singing over to him-
self in tones of exquisite love and tenderness
his sweet bay-bee, bay-ee-bee, and you will feel
that the little father has a secret better than any
known to the birch.
Our goldfinch is not a musician when it comes
to his long song. That is a canary jumble of
notes whose greatest charm is its light-hearted-
ness. But though he is not as finished a songster
as the canary, during the summer he is much
prettier, for then his yellow suit is richly trimmed
with black markings. In September however he
loses his beauty, and until the next April or May,
when his perilous travels are over for the season,
looks much like his plain little wife. His black
trimmings are gone, and he has become flaxen-
brown above and whitish-brown below, — quite
commonplace.
In connection with this protective change in
plumage the “ Naturalist” gives an interesting in-
stance of protective habit, in which the wise birds
disguised themselves by the help of their bright
summer coats. A flock of them were dining on
top of the stalks of yellow mullein that covered
the slope of the embankment by which the ob-
server and his party passed. He says: “The
80 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
mulleins were ranged in stiff files, like soldiers in
yellow uniforms, and each bird as we passed re-
mained motionless, looking like a continuation of
the spike, of which one might easily be deceived
into thinking it part and parcel. As soon as we
had passed by, the birds were again busy, flitting
from plant to plant, feeding on the seeds and
enjoying themselves.”
What a difference it makes in our thought of
winter to know that our little goldfinch will never
find it too cold to visit us. Being a vegetarian, his
storehouse is always well filled, for if the snow
covers the seeds he would gather from the brown
weed tops, he goes to the alders in the swamp:
and if they fail him he is sure to find plenty in the
seeds of the hemlock, the spruce, and the larch.
XXI.
PHBE.
Cxassinc the crow-blackbird, bobolink, and
oriole together in No. 3 by their striking colors,
and distinguishing the sparrows in No. 4 by their
striped backs, the common flycatchers, who belong
in our first pigeon-hole, No. 1, stand out as un-
striped, dull, dark grayish birds, with light breasts.
Mr. Burroughs describes them as “ sharp-shoul-
dered, big-headed, short-legged, of no particular
color, of little elegance of flight or movement.”
PHBE. Si
Knowing that the vocal organs of the flycatch-
ers are undeveloped, you are not surprised by the
contrast they present to the sweet-voiced sparrows
and finches, the talkative catbird, and the bobo-
link, who is always bubbling over with song, nor
do you wonder at the abrupt call of the phebe.
Although it resembles a jerking repetition of
phe-be, phe-be, it is not precisely what the word
would indicate. The first part of the call is com-
paratively clear, but the second is a longer rasping
note, with a heavily trilled r, making the whole
more like pho-ree, pho-ree.
When the birds first begin coming north you
hear this note. When you have traced it to its
source, — and it is an excellent habit to see every
bird whose notes attract your attention, — the dull
olive gray coat and the whitish vest, with its
tinge of pale yellow, are soon forgotten in watch-
ing the odd ways of the bird.
Somewhat longer than a song sparrow, — two
thirds as large as a robin, — he is strikingly unlike
the cheery, busy sparrow, or, in fact, like any of
the birds we have had. There he sits on a branch,
in an attitude that would shock the neat songsters.
His wings droop at his sides, and his tail hangs
straight down in the most negligent fashion. He
seems the personification of listlessness; but, —
focus your glass on him, — his wings are vibrating,
and his tail jerks nervously at intervals. Suddenly
he starts into the air, snaps his bill loudly over an
ee i eee Te
‘ i whe othe a
82 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
unsuspecting insect he has been lying in wait for,
and before you breathe settles back on the branch
with a spasmodic jerk of the tail.
And now, as he sits looking for another victim,
you have a good chance to note, through your
glass, the peculiarities of the bill that gave such
a resounding ‘“click.”’ Birds’ bills are their tools,
— the oriole’s is long and pointed for weaving,
the chickadee’s short and strong to serve as a
pickaxe; but when the nest does not call for a
tool of its own the bill conforms to the food habits
of the bird, —as the white man’s needs are met
by knife and fork, and the Chinaman’s by chop-
sticks. So the bills of the robin and bluebird,
you remember, are long, thin, and slender, — well
fitted for a worm diet, — while the sparrows, who
live mostly on seeds, have the short, stout, cone-
shaped finch bill. In the same way flycatchers’
bills are specially adapted for their use, that of
catching the insects upon which they live. At
the base there are long stiff bristles, and the upper
half of the bill hooks over the lower so securely at
the end that when an insect is once entrapped it
has small chance of escape.
The pheebe is fond of building in a crotch of
the piazza, on the beams of old sheds, and under
bridges, apparently indifferent to the dust and
noise of its position; but away from the immediate
haunts of man it usually nests in caves or rocky
ledges, and sometimes takes possession of the up-
KINGBIRD. 83
turned roots of a fallen tree. I well remember
finding a cave nest when we were children. We
let ourselves down into the cave by a crevice in
the lime rock, and after groping our way among
the loose stones that made the floor, and —as our
anxious fathers insisted —the roof of the cave,
crawling along low passages, wedging between
narrow walls, and hunting for stepping stones
across the dark pools that reflected the glimmer
of our candles, we suddenly came into a flood of
daylight, —a crack in the rocks wide enough to
make a dangerous pitfall for the horses and cows
that grazed overhead, but chosen by the phcebes
as the safest possible nook for rearing a brood of
baby birds. Down the sides of this shaft the rain
trickled, keeping the moss green and giving the
tiny ferns strength to cling to the crannies of the
rock. Ona ledge just in reach of the tallest of
us the wise pair of birds had built their nest, care-
less of the dark cavern below, and happy among
the moss and ferns.
XXII.
KINGBIRD; BEE MARTIN.
THE kingbird is noticeably smaller than the
robin, but is larger and more compactly built than
most of the flycatchers. The sobriety of his plain
blackish coat and white vest are relieved by a
colored patch that may sometimes be espied under
84 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
his crest, and also by a white tip to his tail, which,
when spread in flight, has the effect of a white
crescent. He has a peculiar flight, holding his
head up and using his wings in a labored way as
it he were swimming. When looking for his din-
ner he often flutters obliquely into the air, display-
ing his shining white breast and fan-shaped tail
to the best advantage.
All the disagreeable qualities of the flycatchers
seem to centre in this bird. His note is a harsh,
scolding twitter. His crown proclaims him king,
not by right, but by might, — such a bickering
pugilist, such a domineering autocrat he is. The
crow’s life becomes a plague when this tormentor
gives chase; and the smaller birds find themselves
driven at the point of the bill from the fences they
had considered public highways.
But whatever may be the exact limit of his
quarrelsomeness it stops short at home; old king-
birds are certainly tender guardians of their
young. I once watched a pair in search of food.
They flew down to the haycocks in the meadow
near the orchard, sat there reconnoitring for a
moment, and then jumped into the grass to snap
up the insect they had discovered. Flying back
to the young they flirted their wings and tails as
they dropped the morsel into the gaping red
throats, and in an instant were off again for a
hunt in the air, or in another tree. And so they
kept hard at work, looking everywhere till the
WOOD PEWEE. . 85
voracious appetites of their infants were satisfied.
DeKay says of the kingbird’s diet: “He feeds
on berries and seeds, beetles, canker-worms, and
insects of every description. By this, and by his
inveterate hostility to rapacious birds, he more
than compensates for the few domestic bees with
which.he varies his repast.” To this DeKay adds
the interesting statement: “ Like the hawks and
owls, he ejects from his mouth, in the shape of
large pellets, all the indigestible parts of insects
and berries.”
20-4008
WOOD PEWEE.
IN size, coloring, and habit you will hardly dis-
tinguish the wood pewee from the pheebe, al-
though the former is somewhat smaller. These
two birds stand apart from all the others we have
had. The chimney swift and barn swallow also
live on insects, but measure the difference in their
methods of hunting. The swift zigzags through
the air, picking up his dinner as he goes; the
swallow skims the rivers, and circles over the
meadows, and through the sky, without so much
as an ungraceful turn of the wing to suggest that
he is dining. But the phebe and the wood pe-
wee lie in wait for their victims. They cunningly
assume indifference until the unwary gauzy-wing
floats within range, then spring on it, snap it up,
and fall back to wait for another unfortunate.
86 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
And when not hunting, how silent and motion-
less they sit, the phebe on the ridgepole of a
barn, the wood pewee on a twig in the flickering
sunlight and shade of the green woods; neither
of them uttering more than an occasional note,
and scarcely stirrmg unless to look over their
shoulders. |
Though the phoebe and wood pewee look so
much alike, in reality they are as much at odds
as a farmer and a poet. Unlike the nest of the
phoebe, the wood pewee’s is essentially woodsy
and distinctive. It is an exquisite little structure,
saddled on to a lichen-covered limb. Made of fine
roots and delicate stems of grass and seed pods,
it is covered with bits of lichen or moss glued on
with saliva, so that like the humming-bird’s nest it
seems to be a knob on the branch. It is a shallow
little nest, and the four richly crowned creamy
eggs, though tiny enough in themselves, leave
little room for the body of the brooding mother.
in temper the phebe is so prosaic that we nat-
urally connect it with the beams of barns and
cow sheds ; while the wood pewee, associated with
the cool depths of the forest, is fitted to inspire
poets, and to stir the deepest chords of human
nature with its plaintive, far-reaching voice.
It has moods for all of ours. Its faint, lisping
PP
pe-ee
LEAST FLYCATCHER. 87
suggests all the happiness of domestic love and
peace. At one moment its minor
aa
come to me
with the liquidity of a“ U” of sound ‘ gs
is fraught with all the pathos and yearning of a
desolated human heart. At another, its tender,
motherly oe og p=
dear-ie dear-ie dear
with which it lulls its little ones, is as soothing
to the perplexed and burdened soul as the soft
breathing of the wind through the pine needles,
or the caressing ripple of the sunset-gilded waves
of a mountain lake.
XXIV.
LEAST FLYCATCHER.
Ir you have been in the country, or even in
one of our smaller towns during the spring and
summer, you may have noticed the reiteration of
an abrupt call of two notes — che-beck! che-beck!
coming from the apple-trees and undergrowth. If
you have traced it you have discovered a small
gray bird, in coat and habit a miniature of the
phoebe and wood pewee, jerking not only his tail
but his whole body with his emphatic call.
This small bird seems a piquant satire on the
88 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
days of tournament and joust, when knights
started out with leveled lances to give battle to
every one they met. He is a fearless little war-
rior, snapping his bill ominously as he charges,
full tilt, at his enemy. :
Last summer on passing a thicket I heard this —
snapping, together with loud calls of che-beck’,
and stopped to see what was happening. There,
in a low willow, I found a family of young sun-
ning themselves while their mother brought them
their dinner. It*seemed a most peaceable scene,
but a picket fence ran along just back of the wil-
low, and I soon discovered that this was the tilt
yard. Whenever a song sparrow or pewee hap-
pened to light there and stretch its wings for a
sun bath, the fierce little mother would suddenly
appear, dart at the unoffending bird, and fairly
throw him off the fence with her abrupt onset.
After unseating her enemy she would fly off as
fast as she had come, career about in the air till
she had snapped up a fly or miller, dart back,
thrust it into one of the open mouths with a jab
that threatened to decapitate the little one, and
seemed to mean, “‘ There, take it quick if you ’ve
got to have it,” and with a flirt of the tail and
wings, before I had time for a second look, would
be off in hot pursuit of another insect.
I wanted to see if she would be afraid of me,
and so crept up by the fence, almost under the
baby birds. Two of them sat there side by side,
RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD. 89
in the most affectionate manner, nestling down on
the branch with their soft white feathers fluffed
out prettily. They did not mind me, and closed
their eyes as if the warm sunlight made them
sleepy. All of a sudden their mother flew up to
one of them with a fly, but was so startled on see-
ing me that instead of giving it to him she sprang
up on top of his head and was off like a flash,
almost tumbling him off the branch, and leaving
him very much scared and bewildered. As soon
as her nerves recovered from the shock she came
back again and went on with her work as if I had
not been there. The father seemed to be as rest-
less and pugnacious as the mother, and, if appear-
ances were to be trusted, was quarreling with his
neighbors in a tree near by, while his wife guarded
the picket and fed her young.
XXV.
RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD.
THE large flocks of blackbirds seen coming
north in the spring are confusing at first, but by
careful observation you will soon be able to dis-
‘eriminate between them. Sometimes the crow
blackbird and the red-wing fly together, but they
more commonly go in separate flocks. At a dis-
tance, the flight of the two is perhaps the most
distinctive feature — the “ keel-tail”’ steering ap-
90 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
paratus of the crow blackbird marking him any-
where. Then, though they both belong in the
same pigeon-hole, the keel-tailed is a half larger,
and the red-wing a trifle smaller than the robin.
Known more familiarly, the red-wing lacks the
noisy obtrusiveness of his awkward cousin, and
usually prefers the field to the dooryard.
Though as I write the roads are being broken
through the drifted snow by plough and kettle, as
I turn over the crumpled leaves of the small note-
book I have carried on so many tramps, the first
faint, penciled notes I find on the red-wing take
me back into May, and, in fancy, we are again
starting down the hill to the swampy meadows
where
‘* The red-wing flutes his o-ka-lee.’’
Did you ever see a meadow full of cowslips ?
Here is the true field of the cloth of gold. It
looks as if father Sun had crumbled up sunbeams
and scattered the bits over the meadow! As you
sink into the soft wet ground, every few steps
bring you to a luxuriant clump of the tender
green plants lit up by flower cups of glistening
gold. Each bunch seems more beautiful than the
last, and, like a child, | would carry the whole
field full of flowers home in my arms! ‘This sun-
garden is the red-wing’s playground. As we stroll
along, he flies over our heads calling out o-ka-lee,
and then, with outstretched wings, soars slowly
down to the ground, where he sits and wags his
tail as fast as a catbird.
RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD. 91
As Thoreau says, his red wing marks him as
effectually as a soldier’s epaulets. This scarlet
shoulder cap is so striking against the bird’s black
coat that the careless observer does not notice its
border of brownish yellow, even when it shades
into white, as it does in some of the western
species. With Madam Blackbird the contrast 1s
not so great, for she is not as pure black as her
husband, having brownish streaks that, even at a
distance, give her a duller look; and then her
epaulets are more salmon than scarlet. Still the
effect is pleasing, and it is only a matter of taste
if we do not admire her as much as her spouse.
I was unable to go to the meadows during the
nesting season, and the next notes I find in my
book were taken in the middle of June. Then
the young were hidden in the grass, and the old
birds followed us from spot to spot, screaming
loudly as they circled near us, or hovered low over
our heads. Perhaps their cries were to warn
their children, for, although there were three of
us, and we examined carefully all the places where
they showed the most concern, we succeeded in
scaring up only one rusty-coated youngster.
Two weeks later, in the warm days of July,
the red-wings seemed to have left the meadows for
the trees that skirted the alder swamp, and fam-
ilies of old and young were sitting with their
cousin grackles in the willows and on the rail
fence, while some flew up as I walked through an
92 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
opening in the swamp where the cat-tails stood
guard, and the long-banded rushes soughed like
wind in a forest.
XXVI.
HAIRY WOODPECKER.
THE habits of the woodpecker family are more
distinctive, perhaps, than those of any group of
the birds we have been considering, and the most
superficial observer cannot fail to recognize its
members.
Woodpeckers — the very name proclaims them
unique. The robin drags his fish-worm from its
hiding place in the sod, and carols his happiness
to every sunrise and sunset; the sparrow eats
erumbs in the dooryard and builds his nest ina
sweetbriar; the thrushes turn over the brown
leaves for food and chant their matins among the
moss and ferns of the shadowy forest; the gold-
finch balances himself on the pink thistle or yel-
low mullein top, while he makes them “ pay toll”
for his visit, and then saunters through the air in
the abandonment of blue skies and sunshine ; the
red-wing flutes his o-ka-lee over cat-tails and cow-
slips; the bobolink, forgetting everything else,
rollicks amid butterecups and daisies; but the
woodpecker finds his larder under the hard bark
of the trees, and, oblivious to sunrise and sunset,
HAIRY WOODPECKER. 93
flowering marsh and laughing meadow, clings
close to the side of a stub, as if the very sun him-
self moved around a tree trunk ! :
But who knows how much these grave mono-
maniacs have discovered that lies a sealed book
to all the world besides? Why should we scorn
them? They are philosophers! They have the se-
cret of happiness. Any bird could be joyous with
plenty of blue sky and sunshine, and the poets,
from Chaucer to Wordsworth, have relaxed their
brows at the sight of a daisy ; but what does the
happy goldfinch know of the wonders of tree
trunks, and what poet could find inspiration in a
dead stub on a bleak November day? Jack Frost
sends both thrush and goldfinch flying south, and
04 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
the poets shut their study doors in his face, draw-
ing their arm-chairs up to the hearth while they
rail at November. But the wise woodpecker
clings to the side of a tree and fluffing his feathers
about his toes makes the woods reverberate with
his cheery song, — for it is a song, and bears an
important part in nature’s orchestra. Its rhyth-
mical rat tap, tap, tap, tap, not only beats time
for the chickadees and nuthatches, but is a reveille
that sets all the bre ave winter blood tingling in our
veins.
There the hardy drummer stands beating on
the wood with all the enjoyment of a drum major.
How handsome he looks with the scarlet cap on
the back of his head, and what a fine show the
white central stripe makes against the glossy
black of his back!
Who can say how much he has learned from
the wood spirits? What does he care for rain or
blinding storm? He can never lose his way. No
woodsman need tell him how the hemlock branches
tip, or how to use a lichen compass.
Do you say the birds are gone, the leaves Thee
fallen, the bare branches rattle, rains have black-
ened the tree trunks? What does he care? All
this makes him rejoice! The merry chickadee
hears his shrill call above the moaning of the
wind and the rattling of the branches, for our
alchemist is turning to his lichen workshop.
The sealed book whose pictures are seen only
HAIRY WOODPECKER. 95
by children and wood fairies opens at his touch.
The black unshaded tree trunks turn into en-
chanted lichen palaces, rich with green and gold
of every tint. The “pert fairies and the dapper
elves” have left their magic circles in the grass,
and trip lightly around the soft green velvet moss
mounds so well suited for the throne of their
queen. Here they find the tiny moss spears Lowell
christened, “‘ Arthurian lances,” and quickly arm
themselves for deeds of fairy valor. Here, too, are
dainty silver goblets from which they can quaff
the crystal globes that drop one by one from the
dark moss high on the trees after rain. And
there — what wonders in fern tracery, silver fil-
gree and coral for the fairy Guinevere!
But hark! the children are coming — and off
the grave magician flies to watch their play from
behind a neighboring tree trunk. ‘There they
come, straight to his workshop, and laugh in glee
at the white chips he has scattered on the ground.
They are in league with the fairies, too, and
cast magic spells over all they see. First they spy
the upturned roots of a fallen tree. It is a moun-
tain! And up they clamber, to overlook their
little world. And that pool left by the fall rains.
Ha! It isalake! And away they go, to cross
it bravely on a bridge of quaking moss.
As they pass under the shadow of a giant hem-
lock and pick up the cones for playthings, they
catch sight of the pile of dark red sawdust at the
06 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
foot of the tree and stand open-mouthed while the
oldest child tells of a long ant procession she saw
there when each tiny worker came to the door to
drop its borings from its jaws. How big their
eyes get at the story! If the woodpecker could
only give his cousin the yellow hammer’s tragic
sequel to it!
But soon they have found a new delight. A
stem of basswood seeds whirls through the air to
their feet. They all scramble for it. What a
pity they have no string! The last stem they
found was a kite and a spinning air-top for a day’s
play. But this — never mind — there it goes up
in the air dancing and whirling like a gay young
fairy treading the mazes with the wind.
“ Just see this piece of moss! How pretty!”
And so they go through the woods, till the brown |
beech leaves shake with their laughter, and the
eray squirrels look out of their oriel tree trunk
windows to see who goes by, and the absorbed
magician — who can tell how much fun he steals
from his lofty observation post to make him con-
tent with his stub ! |
Why should he fly south when every day brings
him some secret of the woods, or some scene like
this that his philosopher’s stone can turn to happi-
ness ? Let us proclaim him the sage of the birds?
If he could speak! The children would gather
about him for tales of the woodsprites ; the stu-
dent of trees would learn facts and figures enough .
te le be le —_— —
HAIRY WOODPECKER. 97
to store a book; and the mechanic! Just watch
the dexterous bird as he works!
A master of his trade, he has various methods.
One day in September he flew past me with a
loud seream, and when I came up to him was
hard at excavating. His claws were fast in the
bark on the edge of the hole, and he seemed to be
half clinging to it, half lying against it. His stiff
tail quills helped to brace him against the tree,
and he drilled straight down, making the bark fly
with his rapid strokes. When the hole did not
clear itself with his blows, he would give a quick
scrape with his bill and drill away again. Sud-
denly he stopped, picked up something, and flew
up on a branch with it. He had found what he
was after. And what a relish it proved! I could
almost see him holding it on his tongue.
Another day in November he had to work
harder for his breakfast, and perhaps it was for-
tunate. The night before there had been a sharp
snowstorm from the north, so that in passing
through the woods all the trees and undergrowth
on the south of me were pure white, while on the
opposite side the gray trees with all their confu-
sion of branches, twigs, and noble trunks stood out
in bold relief. The snow that had fallen made it
rather cold standing still, and I would have been
glad to do part of Mr. Hairy’s work myself. But
he needed no help. He marched up the side of
the stub, tapping as he went, and when his bill
98 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
gave back the sound for which he had been listen-
ing, he began work without ado. This bark must
have been harder or thicker than the other, for
instead of boring straight through, he loosened it
by drilling, first from one side and then from the
other. When he could not get it off in this way,
he went above, and below, to try to start it, so
that, before he found his worm he had stripped
off pieces of bark several inches long and fully
two across. He was so much engrossed that I
came to the very foot of the stub without disturb-
ing him.
Indeed, woodpeckers are not at all shy here
but work as unconcernedly by the side of the
house as anywhere else. Once I was attracted by
the cries of a hairy, and creeping up discovered a
mother feeding her half-grown baby. She flew
off when she saw me, probably warning the little
fellow to keep still, for he stayed where she left
him for five or ten minutes as if pinioned to the
branch, crouching close, and hardly daring to stir
even his head. Then, as she did not come back,
and he saw no reason to be afraid of me, he flew
off independently to another limb, and marched
up the side arching his neck and bowing his head
as much as to say, “ Just see how well I walk!”
DOWNY WOODPECKER. 99
XXVIT.
DOWNY WOODPECKER.
THE downy looks so much like the hairy that it
would be easy to confound them if it were not for
the difference in size. The downy is fully two
inches shorter than the hairy. As you see him
on a tree at a distance, the white stripe on his
back is bounded by black, or as Thoreau expresses
it, ‘“‘ his cassock is open behind, showing his white
robe.” Above this stripe is a large check of black
and white, and below on a line with the tips of
his wings seems to be a fine black and white
check, while, if he is an adult male, a scarlet
patch on the back of his head sets off his black
and white dress.
Seen only a rod away, as I see him een the
window in winter, clinging to a tree, and picking
at the suet hung out for him, the white central
stripe of his back is marked off above by a black
line which goes across to meet the black of his
shoulders. From the middle of this and at right
angle to it, another black line goes straight up
towards his head, so carrying on the line of the
white stripe, and forming the dividing line of the
two white blocks. This, again, meets the point
of a black V, so broad as to be almost a straight
line. On this V lies the red patch of the back
of his head. Over his eye is a white line that ex-
100 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS.
tends back to meet the red patch. What ata
distance looked like fine checking at the base of
his wings proves to be white lining across the
black.
The downy comes about us here with the same
familiarity as the hairy, and it was only a few
weeks ago that the cook brought me one she
found imprisoned between the sashes of her win-
dow. He was scared, poor little fellow, and wrig-
gled excitedly, trying to force my hand open.
When I had taken a look at his pretty brown
eyes I carried him to the front door, and off he
flew to the nearest tree where he began pecking
at the bark as if nothing had happened.
XX VITT.
WHITE-BELLIED NUTHATCH ; DEVIL-DOWN HEAD.
CROSSBILLS, snow buntings, blue jays, pine
finches, pine grosbeaks, goldfinches, and some-
times other birds visit us here at irregular inter-
vals during the winter, but there are four little
friends that never desert us, no matter how long
the winter lasts. They form a novel quartette,
for the chickadee whistles the air, the nuthatch
sings his meagre alto through his nose, and the
two woodpeckers —the hairy and downy — beat
their drums as if determined to drown the other
parts. But they are a merry band, with all their
WHITE-BELLIED NUTHATCH. 101
oddities, and wander about giving concerts wher-
ever they go, till the woods are alive again, and
we forget that we have ever missed the summer
birds. ,
When the drums get too much absorbed in
their tree trunks, the alto and air go serenading
by themselves, and who knows what gossip they
indulge in about the grave magicians’ day dreams,
or how gayly they swear to stand by each other
and never be put down by these drums! They
are old chums, and work together as happily as
Mr. and Mrs. Spratt, the chickadee whistling his
merry chick-a-dee-dee, dee, dee as he clings to a
twig in the tree ¢op, and the nuthatch answering
back with a jolly little yank, yank, yank, as he
hangs, head down, on the side of a tree trunk.
What a comic figure he makes there !
Trying to get a view of you, he throws his head
back and stretches himself away from the tree till
you wonder he does not fall off. His black cap
and slate-blue coat are almost hidden, he raises
his white throat and breast up so high.
“ Devil-down-head ”’ he is called from this habit
of walking down the trees, since instead of walk-
ing straight down backwards, as the woodpeck-
ers do, he prefers to obey the old adage and
“follow his nose.”