ai SAT MINT OPT NANA AT OF OF STEPTOE COTES OS WS EASTERN PSE SE TEE RE AE SST TSENG EY WOT U RIS RRSP SI aOTSTET = clientele: deadchisittie. noceslcthaianhe Acihbndliachiapdiienensdaseaibbihdadineninaoiniie nohecoadenenl er a ee oe ng Ste Sac: Sens San aces ARIE a aS ARSE Rae: Tad SOE ees GPO | Site gag ee BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS BY - FLORENCE 2. MERRIAM NEW YORK CLEVELAND CHICAGO Che Chautauqua JPress 598.2. ~~ \ aA a W\o YT, ear \ 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 7 ‘ Se Ee OT ey he . ee: 4 = b ~ 7 — * . hy, 7 e ca 4 | aa > Br i a : . n . F x t s 4 .. ee e F - 4 - = om a fy i / ) B: = - z io ee = : : | i f “4 oe : op fe . a , S Ml 2 Lae = ~~, a sa 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. SSW y Ss a) sty2h I \ ay Ne ¥. hy \\ me ATS \\ vi {Want Wash \ ~ S Nite Ay 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. | lh ? | | 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.” t 7 if 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.”