| THE-RIVERSIDE: LIBRARY PORN So 2) $2 sintms-THROUGH ee x ANOPERR‘GLASS [o> sid - hia he aca ( yon! ve heii bees noth ME hy F LET GTA SAO ie a et ves Le i ey J , an a é ay Oecd Met Genin eh Sh 2 ys \ Op: Sony oe, fs : hy iy “ane ne og ee + ae ‘ : x ; ; - ms y eos ea i) hs ver | OMG Ky ee? } 7, 3 a et ‘ ¢ s » i 7 it i + ve oo A Toy in res ee 3 Whe Riverside Library for Poung People —_—o—— NuMBER $ eBiRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS By FLORENCE A. MERRIAM % (iat, ie Ul s eae i ——«CBIRDS a THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS / Was BY FLORENCE A. MERRIAM Che Rwersioe BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY Che Viverside Press. Cambridge 1898 Copyright, 1889, By FLORENCE A. MERRIAM. All rights reserved. nian Inseiz ‘upp JUL 22 1933 Were 5OT Nationa Musev The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company. PREFACE. Like Snug the joiner, in Midsummer Night’s Dream, I would explain to the ladies at the out- set that this little book is no real lion, and that they have nothing to fear. It is not an ornitho- logical treatise. It has not even the lion’s roar of technical terms and descriptions to warn them of raging dulness, but is “a very gentle beast. and of a good conscience.” It was my good fortune when in college to be able to study the perplexities of nearly forty young observers, and this book is virtually the result of what I learned of their wants and the best ways to supply them. Equipped with opera- glasses, we worked together in the woods and fields, and books were rarely consulted ; but when I was asked “ How are we to know the birds at home, where we have no one to help us?” I saw their need of books. But what could they use ? Few of those who want to know the birds have time or inclination to become ornithologists, or Vi PREFACE. even to master the vocabulary of ornithology which would enable them to use the expensive Keys and Manuals for identifying birds. This, then, is what I have tried to do: To furnish hints that will enable not only young observers but also laymen to know the common birds they see about them. Hints, I offer; nothing more. Many birds I leave unmentioned, because they have never chanced to come before my opera-glass; and often my own local experiences! are given in- stead of generalizations, because habits vary greatly in different sections, as in the case of the catbird, who shuns all habitations in Louisiana while he is a familiar village gossip in the north and east, and I would hold to my boast of a “ood conscience.” I tell the truth about what I have seen through my own Voigtlander und Sohn, —a most excellent make of glass, by the way,-—and leave earnest observers to see and learn more for themselves. Nevertheless, it is not merely those who can go 1 My notes were made either at Northampton, Massachusetts, or Locust Grove, New York. The latter place is in the Black River Valley, on the western border of the Adirondacks, and may always be understood, not only when the word “ here ”’ is used, but in all cases where no locality is specified. PREFACE. Vil to see for themselves I would tell of my walks ; it is above all the careworn indoor workers to whom I would bring a breath of the woods, pic- tures of sunlit fields, and a hint of the simple, childlike gladness, the peace and comfort that is offered us every day by these blessed winged mes- sengers of nature. Many of the articles herein contained were published in the Audubon Magazine in 1886. These have been revised and largely rewritten. The others now appear for the first time. The illustrations are from Baird, Brewer and Ridg- way’s History of North American Birds. For permission to use them I am indebted to Mr. Ridgway. Locust GrovE, New York, January, 1888. Bid th | Br | me Bi. oe a . “as y ts a oH y Bun ireat: Cit Oe lee iA} ie fae ' i rv Sy dich ail y ve pees? UnY, | : 7 : 4 ; } ' th ‘ m : ie 4 a a age he Yt hep yea . a ot | aS ae pn Dh bra Ly oe ae ie] a at * Bis ae ahs: ‘4 oa af AAR Le uP 5 : ¥ =. bell s rane. ae! asi ag rf ye Mf i, x oi ny 4 x Zi Hi a i § ¥ ‘ : A Po : j | } iy ‘a 4 ri t y, ; i} : | . OF run ir ; ’ Le! : Day to i) Aw nia 3 a iy b { é ; f nae un * : oe r a io i v j —— i ’ ’ Pat cm | vie) a ais n i. J = ~» iY . i a : i ee y os A i - ~ Va aie if 7 7 ae iy ? } a, ay my, fy nue Wat . A Vins ‘ i j » Lt .? 7 tA im a 4 HINTS TO OBSERVERS. WHEN you begin to study the birds in the fields and woods, to guard against scaring the wary, you should make yourself as much as possible a part of the landscape. Most birds are not afraid of man as a figure, but as an aggres- sive object. The observance of a few simple rules will help you to be unobtrusive. First. Avoid light or bright-colored clothing. A dull-col- ored jacket and an old leaf-colored hat that you can pull over the eyes or push back from the face as the light re- quires, will do excellent service if you do not wish a com- plete suit. Second. Walk slowly and noiselessly. Among the erisp rattling leaves of the woods, a bit of moss or an old log will often deaden your step at the critical moment. Third. Avoid all quick, jerky motions. How many birds I have scared away by raising my glass too suddenly! Fourth. Avoid all talking, or speak only in an undertone —a most obnoxious but important rule to young observers. Fifth. Tf the bird was singing, but stops on your ap- proach, stand still a moment and encourage him by answer- ing his call. If he gets interested he will often let you ereep up within opera-glass distance. Some of the most eharming snatches of friendly talk will come at such times. Sixth. Make a practice of stopping often and standing perfectly still. In that way you hear voices that would be lost if you were walking, and the birds come to the spot x HINTS TO OBSERVERS. without noticing you when they would fly away in advance if they were to see or hear you coming toward them. Seventh. Conceal yourself by leaning against a tree, or pulling a branch down in front of you. The best way of all is toselect a good place and sit there quietly for several hours, to see what will come. Then you get at the home life of the birds, not merely seeing them when they are on their guard. A low stump in a raspberry patch and a log in an alder swamp prove most profitable seats. In going to look for birds it is important to consider the time of day, and the weather. Birds usually follow the sun. In spring and fall you will find them in the fields and orchards early in the morning, but when the sun has warmed the south side of the woods they go there ; and in the afternoon they follow it across to the north side. Dur- ing heavy winds and storms you are most likely to find birds well under cover of the woods, no matter at what time of day; and then, often on the side opposite that from which the wind comes. For careful observation in general, three rules may be given. 1. In clear weather be sure to get between the sun and your bird. In the wrong light a scarlet tanager or a blue- bird will look as black as a crow. 2. Gaze. Let your eyes rest on the trees before you, and if a leaf stirs, or a twig sways, you will soon discover your bird. At a little distance, it is well to gaze through your glass. 3. Beware of the besetting sin of observers. Never jump at conclusions. Prove all your conjectures. CONTENTS. a Sead . The Robin - The Crow . . The Bluebird . The Chimney Swift ; Chimney Swallow” . Catbird : . Keel-Tailed enna boase Blickbind: Buea Grackle . . Bobolink; Reed- Bird; Rick. Bird . Ruffed Grouse; Partridge . Ruby-Throated Humming-Bird : “ . Meadow-Lark . . . . Black-Capped Ghivkadoe’ PiiGhodee. . Cuckoo; Rain Crow . : . Yellow Hammer; Flicker : . Baltimore Oriole ; Fire-Bird; Golden Robin: di Nest . Barn Swallow . Belted Kingfisher . Chip-Bird or Chippy; Hair- Bird; Gipine Spar row; Social Sparrow . XVIII. Song Sparrow XIX. Blue Jay XX. Yellow-Bird ; Ree Goldfinch ; Thistle- Bird XXI. Phebe XXII. King-Bird ; Bee Mert : : XXIII. Wood Pewee. : : : - XXIV. Least Flycatcher . : é - XXV. Red-Winged Blackbird . Hairy Woodpecker : A ° . X11 XXVII. XXVIII. XXIX. XXX. XXXI. XXXII. XXXII. XXXIV. XXXYV. XXXVI. XXXVII. XXX VIII. XXXIX. XL. XLI. XLII. XLII. XLIV. XLV. XLVI. XLVII. BSh VAL. XLIX. L. LI. LIT. LIT. LIV. LY. LVI Lyi LVIII. LIX. LX. LXI. CONTENTS. Downy Woodpecker 99 White-Bellied Nuthatch; Devil- Done Head ~, 100 Cowbird 105 White-Throated sue 109 Cedar-Bird ; Waxwing 112 Chewink; Towhee . ib Indigo-Bird 119 Purple Finch 122 Red-Eyed Vireo . 124 Yellow-Throated Vireo 129 Warbling Vireo . 131 Oven-Bird ; Gaideneeered Tieask) 182 Juneo; Slate-Colored Snowbird . 138 Kinglets . 140 Snow Bunting ; Saavik - 144 Scarlet Tanager 146 Brown Thrasher . 150 Rose-Breasted Grosbeak . 153 Whippoorwill : : 155 Winter Wren . ; ; : 155 Red-Headed Woodpesker 159 Yellow-Bellied Sapsucker 160 Great-Crested Flycatcher 163 Bank Swallow; Sand Martin . 165 Cave Swallow; Cliff Swallow 166 Crossbills 166 Night-Hawk; Bull eae 169 Grass Finch; Vesper ies : Bane Winged Bunting : : Til Tree Sparrow ; : 172 White-Crowned Same ; : : 2 AS Field Sparrow; Bush Sparrow 174 Fox Sparrow . 175 Brown Creeper . : ; : : : 176 WARBLERS. Summer Yellow-Bird; Golden Warbler; Yel- low Warbler. : : ; 179 Redstart 180 CONTENTS. xiii LXII. Black and White Creeping Warbler : . 184 LXIII. Blackburnian Warbler; Hemlock Warbler; Orange-Throated Warbler é C : 186 LXIV. Black-Throated Blue Warbler . ; 2. 18h LXV. Yellow Rumped Warbler; Myrtle Warbler 189 LXVI. Chestnut-Sided Warbler . 4 : : e 190 UXVII. Maryland Yellow-Throat; Black Masked Ground Warbler : 3 : . : 191 LXVIII. Thrushes. : og LXIX. Wilson’s Thrush ; Veer ; Tony Thrush . 198 LXX. Hermit Thrush - : - . 202 APPENDIX. Pigeon-Holes for the Perching Birds mentioned in this book . P : 2 : ; 206 General Family Chine of Bir ds Treated : - 208 Arbitrary Classifications of Birds Described . . 5 211 Books for Reference . ; : : : ; ; . 220 a Mie vi) Ni ee er | penis: bine vii i Ae van i bi a Re ve ate) K bal ; a H La? vk We ~ nt a th wo a . é 7 aU - hee lise a wre a ee My 3 Th ate * et | “3 fees a bie ee eon ety aris ti). a. ) 7 : i “th : q yi me ' ah 4 we ale . wg airy Un i Wh 4 P De aN ’ = j it i J, NRT ace ‘hie - J 7 ny ’ T Py Seay ay a!) i ie ait ; r ve j —< ay i) oy Pal qs - m i ™ me ae i 4 ; 7 atte as fi R i ‘ | il m4 A i ‘ x oy | irae i { © ive iw ie” =f ir i i NA # E, iT al i , 1 ie ; j : na 1 i } wv rig * : "i ri ey, | ee 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 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 eroup 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- 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. 1 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. Huis 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. 7 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. A layer of new material has been added to the old structure each time, so that it is now eight inches high and bids fair soon to rival the fourteen story flat houses of New York. A re- markable case is given in the “ Naturalist” of a robin that had no “ bump of locality,” and distri- buted its building material impartially over nearly thirty feet of the outer cornice of a house. You may look for robins almost anywhere, but they usually prefer dry open land, or the edge of woodland, being averse to the secluded life of their relatives, the thrushes, who build in the for- est. Those I find in the edge of the woods are much shyer than those living about the house, probably from the same reason that robins and others of our most friendly Eastern birds are wild and suspicious in the uninhabited districts of the West — or, who will say there are no recluses among birds as well as men ? The flight and song of the robin are character- istic. The flight is rapid, clear cut, and straight. THE ROBIN. 9 Unlike many birds, he moves as if he were going somewhere. His voice is a strong clear treble, loud and cheerful, but he is not a musician, and has no one set song. His commonest call has two parts, each of three notes run together ; the first with a rising, the last with a falling inflection, like, tril-la-ree, tril-la-rah ; tril-la-ree, tril-la-rah. But he has a number of calls, and you must be familiar with the peculiar treble quality of his note to avoid confusing it with others. Tn the fall, Lowell says, ‘¢ The sobered robin hunger-silent now, Seeks cedar-berries blue, his autumn cheer,”’ and this “ sobered”’ suggests a question. Why is it that as soon as robins form flocks, they become shy? Is it because they are more often shot at when migrating in large numbers; or because, as Mr. William Hubbeil Fisher suggests, they have left their homes, and so have lost confidence in the surroundings and people ? In some localities they live on cedar-berries in the fall, but here they are well -satisfied with mountain ash berries, wild cherries, and ungath- ered crab apples. Speaking of their food, what a pity that anglers cannot contract with them for a supply of bait! Woe betide the fish-worm that stirs the grass on the lawn within their hearing! How wise they look as they cock their heads on one side and stand, erect and motionless, peering down on the ground. And what a surprise it 10 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS. must be to the poor worm when they suddenly tip forward, give a few rapid hops, and diving into the grass drag him out of his retreat. Though they run from a chicken, robins will chase chip- munks and fight with red squirrels in defense of their nests or young. II. THE CROW. THE despised crow is one of our most interest- ing birds. His call is like the smell of the brown furrows in spring — life is more sound and whole- some for it. Though the crow has no song, what a variety of notes and tones he can boast! In vocabulary, he is a very Shakespeare among birds. Listening to a family of Frenchmen, though you do not know a word of French, you easily guess the temper and drift of their talk, and so it is in listening to crows — tone, inflection, gesture, all betray their secrets. One morning last October I caught, in this way, a spicy chapter in crow fam- ily discipline. I was standing in a meadow of rich aftermath lying between a stony pasture and a small piece of woods, when a young crow fiew over my head, cawing softly to himself. He flew straight west toward the pasture for several seconds, and then, as if an idea had come to him, turned his head Dg RE PTO a THE CROW. 11 and neck around in the intelligent crow fashion, circled back to the woods, lit, and cawed vocifer- ously to three other crows till they came over across the pasture. After making them all circle over my head, per- haps merely as a blind, he took them back to his perch where he wanted them to go beechnutting — or something else. Whatever it was, they evi- dently scorned his childishness, for they flew back to their tree across the field as fast as they had come. This put him in a pet, and he would not budge, but sat there sputtering like a spoiled child. To everything he said, whether in a com- plaining or teasing tone, the same gruff paternal caw came back from the pasture. “Come along!” it seemed to say. To this the refractory son would respond, “I won’t.” They kept it up for several minutes, but at last paternal authority conquered, and the big boy, making a wide detour, flew slowly and reluctantly back to his family. He lit ona low branch under them, and when the father gave a gruff “1 should think it was time you came,” he defiantly shook his tail and cleaned his bill. After a few moments he condescended to make a low half sullen, half subdued remark, but when the family all started off again he sat and scolded some time before he would follow them, and I suspect he compromised matters then only because he did not want to be left behind. The “intelligence of the crow” has become a 12 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS. platitude, but when we hear of his cracking clams by dropping them on a fence, coming to roost with the hens in cold weather, and — in the ease of a tame crow —opening a door by lighting on the latch, his originality is a surprise. A family near here had much merriment over the gambols of a pet crow named Jim. Whenever he saw the gar- dener passing to and fro between the house and garden, he would fly down from the trees, light on his hat, and ride back and forth. He liked to pick the bright blossoms, particularly pansies and scarlet geraniums, and would not only steal bright colored worsteds and ribbons, but tear all the yel- low covers from any novels he came across. When any one went to the vegetable garden he showed the most commendable eagerness to help with the work, being anxious to pick whatever was wanted —from raspberries and currants to the little cu- cumbers gathered for pickling. The sight of the big black puppy waddling along wagging high in air a long black tail in- congruously finished off with a tipping of white hairs was too much for Jim’s sobriety. Down he would dive, give a nip at the hairs, and be gravely seated on a branch just out of reach by the time Bruno had turned to snap at him. Let the puppy move on a step, and down the mischief would come again, and so the two would play — sometimes for more than half an hour at atime. Then again, the joke would take a more practical turn, for, in- THE CROW. 13 stead of flying overhead when Bruno looked back, Jim would steal the bone the puppy had been gnawing. The crow was happy as long as any one would play with him, and never tired of flying low over the ground with a string dangling from his bill for the children to run after. Another favorite play was to hold on to a string or small stick with his bill while some one lifted him up by it, as a baby is tossed by its arms. He would even hold on and let you “ swing him around your head.” He was never daunted, and when the toddling two-year. old would get too rough in her play and strike at him with her stick, he would either catch the hem of her pinafore and hold on till she ran away, or would try scaring her, rushing at her — his big black wings spread out and his bill wide open. One day his pluck was thoroughly tested. Hearing loud caws of distress coming from the lawn, the gardener rushed across and found Jim lying on his back, his claw tightly gripping the end of one of the wings of a large hawk, that, surprised and terrified by this turn of the tables was struggling frantically to get away. Jim held him as tight as a vise, and only loosened his grasp to give his enemy into the gardener’s hands. After letting go he submitted to the victor’s reward, let- ting his wounds be examined and his bravery ex- tolled while he was carried about — wearing a most consciously heroic air, it must be confessed — for due celebration of the victory. 14 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS. 1B EB THE BLUEBIRD. As you stroll through the meadows on a May morning, drinking in the spring air and sunshine, and delighting in the color of the dandelions and the big bunches of blue violets that dot the grass, a bird call comes quavering overhead that seems the voice of all country loveliness. Simple, sweet, and fresh as the spirit of the meadows, with a tinge of forest richness in the plaintive tru-al-ly that marks the rhythm of our bluebird’s undulat- ing flight, wherever the song is heard, from city street or bird-box, it must bring pictures of flower- ing fields, blue skies, and the freedom of the wandering summer winds. Look at the bluebird now as he goes over your head — note the cinnamon of his breast; and as he flies down and turns quickly to light on the fence post, see the cobalt-blue that flashes from his back. These colors are the poet’s signs that the bird’s sponsors are the “ earth and sky.” And the little creature has a wavering way of lifting its wings when perching, as if hesitating between earth and sky, that may well carry out the poet’s hint of his wild ethereal spirit. Notice the bluebird’s place in literature. The robin, with his cheerful soprano call, serves as the emblem of domestic peace and homely cheer; but THE BLUEBIRD. 15 the bluebird, with his plaintive contralto warble, stirs the imagination, and is used as the poetic symbol of spring. The temper of the bluebird makes him a fit subject for the poet’s encomiums. Mr. Burroughs goes so far as to say that “the expression of his indignation is nearly as musical as his song.” Lowell speaks of the bluebird as ‘* shifting his light load of song From post to post along the cheerless fence.”’ But although he is as restless and preoccupied here as elsewhere, lifting his wings tremulously as if in reality “shifting his load of song,” and long- ing to fly away, the bluebird sometimes comes down to the prose of life even here and actually hides his nest in the hole of a fence rail. When this is not his fancy he fits up an old woodpecker’s hole in a post, stub, or tree; or, if more social in his habits, builds in knot-holes in the sides of barns, or in bird-boxes arranged for his use. At Northampton I was shown a nest in an old stub by the side of the road, so shallow that the father and mother birds fed their young from the out- side, clinging to the sides of the hole and reaching in to drop the food into the open mouths below. Although the bluebird has such a model temper, it has not always a clear idea of the laws of meum and tuum, as was shown by a nest found directly on top of a poor swallow’s nest where there lay four fresh eggs! The nest is usually lined with 16 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS. dry grasses and similar materials. The eggs, from four to seven in number, are generally plain pale greenish blue, but occasionally white. Sitting on a fence at a little distance the young birds look almost black, but as they fly off you catch a tinge of blue on their wings and tails. Their mother is more like her husband, but, as with most lady birds, her tints are subdued — doubtless the result of “adaptation,” as bright colors on the back of the brooding mother would attract danger. We have two reasons for gratitude to the blue- bird. It comes home early in the spring, and is among the last to leave in the fall, its sweet note trembling on the air when the “ bare branches of the trees are rattling in the wind.” IV. CHIMNEY SWIFT; CHIMNEY “SWALLOW.” WartcH a chimney swift as he comes near you, rowing through the air first with one wing and then the other, or else cruising along with sails set. Look at him carefully and you will see that he is not a swallow, although he often goes by that name. He looks much more like a bat. His outlines are so clear cut and angular that he could be reduced, roughly, to two triangles, their com- mon base cutting his body vertically in halves. ae CHIMNEY SWIFT. 17 His tail is, of itself, an acute-angled triangle ter- IMinating merely in bristles; and his wings look as if made of skin stretched on a frame, bat fashion, instead of being of feathers. He twitters in a sharp chippering way as he flutters through the air and picks up flies, saying, as Mr. Burroughs puts it, “ chippy-chippy-chirio, not a man in Dario can catch a chippy-chippy- chirio.” And you are inclined to believe the boast — such zigzag darting, such circling and running! The men of Dario would need seven league wings to keep up with him, and then, after a lightning race, when just ready to throw their pinch of salt, with a sudden wheel the chippy- chirio would dart down a chimney and disappear from sight. And what a noise these swifts do make in the chimneys! If you ever had a room beside one of their lodging-houses you can testify to their “ noc- turnal habits during the nesting season.” Such chattering and jabbering, such rushing in and scrambling out! If you only could get your spy- glass inside the chimney! Their curious little nests are glued against the sides like tiny wall pockets; and there the swifts roost, or rather hang, clinging to the wall, side by side, like little sooty bats. Audubon says that before the young birds are strong enough to fly they clamber up to the mouths of the chimneys as the pitifully tri- umphant chimney-sweeps used to come up for a 18 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS. breath and wave their brooms in the air at their escape from the dangers below. Though never venturing near us the swifts come to live inside our houses. Like the robin they are citizens, but what a contrast ! Their feet are weak from disuse, and it is be- lieved that they never light anywhere except in a chimney or in a hollow tree, where they sometimes go at night and in bad weather. They gather the twigs they glue together for their nests while on the wing, and their ingenuity in doing it shows how averse they are to lighting. Audubon says: “The chimney swallows are seen in great numbers whirling around the tops of some decayed or dead tree, as if in pursuit of their insect prey. Their movements at this time are exceedingly rapid; they throw their body suddenly against the twig, grapple it with their feet, and by an instantaneous jerk snap it off short, and proceed with it to the place intended for the nest.” WV: CATBIRD. Hiaeu trees have an unsocial aspect, and so, as — Lowell says, “The catbird croons in the lilac- bush,” in the alders, in a prickly ash copse, a bar- berry-bush, or by the side of the garden. In Northampton one of his favorite haunts is an old CATBIRD. 19 orchard that slopes down to the edge of Mill River. Here he is welcomed every year by his college girl friends; and in the open seclusion of an apple-tree proceeds to build his nest and raise his little family, singing through it all with keen enjoyment of the warm sunshine and his own com- pany. To the tyro the catbird is at once the most in- teresting and most exasperating of birds. Like some people, he seems to give up his time to the pleasure of hearing himself talk. A first cousin of the mocking-bird — whom he resembles in per- son much more than in voice — perhaps the re- lationship accounts for his overweening confidence in his vocal powers. As a matter of fact his jerky utterance is so harsh that it has been aptly termed asthmatic. The catbird is unmistakably a Bohemian. He is exquisitely formed, and has a beautiful slate- gray coat, set off by his black head and tail. By nature he is peculiarly graceful, and when he chooses can pass for the most polished of the Philistine aristocracy. But he cares nothing for all this. With lazy self-indulgence he sits by the hour with relaxed muscles, and listlessly drooping wings and tail. If he were a man you feel con- fident that he would sit in shirt sleeves at home and go on the street without a collar. And his occupation? His cousin is an artist, but he —is he a wag as well as a caricaturist, or 20 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS. is he in sober earnest when he tries to mimic the inimitable Wilson’s thrush? If a wag he is a success, for he deceives the unguarded into believ- ing him a robin, a cat, and — “a bird new to science!” How he must chuckle over the enthu- siasm which hails his various notes and the bewil- derment and chagrin that come to the diligent observer who finally catches a glimpse of the gar- rulous mimic ! The catbird builds his nest as he does every- thing else. The loose mass of coarse twigs patched up with pieces of newspaper or anything he hap- pens to fancy, looks as if it would hardly bear his weight. He lines it, however, with fine bits of brown and black roots, and when the beautiful dark green eggs are laid in it, you feel sure that such an artistic looking bird must enjoy the con- trasting colors. Mi KEEL-TAILED BLACKBIRD; CROW BLACKBIRD; BRONZED GRACKLE. LowWELL gives this bird the first place in the calendar. He says : — “Fust come the blackbirds clatt’rin’ in tall trees, And settlin’ things in windy Congresses, — Queer politicians, though, for Ill be skinned If all on ’em don’t head against the wind.’’ In spite of all that may be brought up in Grand CROW BLACKBIRD. 21 Jury against these “queer politicians,’ who is there that could not confess to a thrill of pleasure when they appear about the house “ clatt’rin’ in tall trees”? As Mr. Burroughs has it: “The air is filled with cracking, splintering, spurting, semi-musical sounds, which are like pepper and salt to the ear.” There is a delicious reality to their notes. We feel now that spring is not a myth of the poets, after all, but that she has sent this black advance guard as a promise of wild flowers and May-day. Black, did I say? Nothing could be more mis- leading. Mr. Ridgway describes the body of the purple grackle as “ brassy olive or bronze,” his neck as “ steel-blue, violet, purple, or brassy ereen,’ and his wings and tail as “ purplish or violet-purplish.” He is one of the most brilliant of our bird beauties. Watch him as he ambles over the branches, and when the sunlight strikes him you will wonder who could have been so blind as to dub him blackbird. Call him, rather, the black opal ! He is a bird of many accomplishments. To begin with, he does not condescend to hop, like ordinary birds, but imitates the crow in his stately walk ; then he has a steering apparatus that the small boy might well study in coasting time. He ean turn his tail into a rudder. Watch him as he flies. While he is going straight ahead you do not notice anything unusual, but as soon as he 22 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS. turns or wants to alight you see his tail change from the horizontal to the vertical— into a rud- der. He is called keel-tailed on account of it. Moreover, he can pick beechnuts, catch cray- fish without getting nipped, and fish for minnows alongside of any ten-year-old. Last October I found him beech-nutting, but he made hard work of it. I suspect the cold snap — for there was snow on the ground — had stiffened his toes so that he was more awkward than usual. Poor fel- low, I felt sorry for him, it entailed such danger- ous gymnastics! But it was amusing to see him walk over the branches, stretch his neck to the point of dislocation, and then make such a deter- mined dive after the nut that he nearly lost his balance, and could only save himself by a desper- ate jerk of the tail. Even when he picked out a nut he had to put it under his claw and drill through the shell, pick-axe style, before he could get a morsel to eat. He evidently thought it rather serious sport, and flew down for some shriv- eled crab-apples as a second course. But an army of robins had possession of the apple-tree and two of them were detailed to drive him off, so he had to finish his breakfast up in the cold beech top. A long list of nesting sites might be given, in- cluding martin-houses, poplars, evergreens, holes in stubs, the sides of fish hawk’s nests, and church spires where the blackbirds’ “clatt’rin’”’ is CROW BLACKBIRD. 23 drowned by the tolling bells. Instances of their quarrels with robins and other birds would fill a volume, but the most interesting feud of which I have heard was enacted in the garden of the keen observer and botanist, Mrs. Helen M. Bagg, and its progress was watched by her unnoticed, as she looked out upon the participants from among the flowering shrubs and vines that sur- round her cottage. I quote her racy descrip- tion : — “ Karly one May two robins, with many mani- festations of happiness, set up house-keeping in a tree near the south end of my house.