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LABORATORY OF ORNITHOLOGY

CORNELL UNIVERSITY
2THACA, NEW YORK -

CORNELL
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

LABORATORY
OF ORNITHOLOGY
LIBRARY

Gift of

asa

SONG BIRDS AND WATER FOWL

BOOKS BY H. E. PARKHURST

SONG BIRDS AND WATERFOWL. illustrated by Louis
Agassiz Fuertes, 12mo, net, er ters oe oe ws $150

THE BIRDS' CALENDAR, With 24 Illustrations, I2mo,net, 1.50

Cornell University

Library

The original of this book is in
the Cornell University Library.

There are no known copyright restrictions in
the United States on the use of the text.

http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924090251442

BOBOLINKS

An intoxicated bobolink, madly singing in his wild career (p. 187).

SONG BIRDS AND
WATER FOWL

BY

H. E. PARKHURST

AUTHOR OF THE “‘ BIRDS’ CALENDAR”

‘*This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.”
Shakespearé

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
1897

ZIORIE

CopyRIGHT, 1897, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

TROW DIRECTORY
FRINTING AND BOOK BINDING COMPANY
NEW YORK

CONTENTS

A Bouquet of Song Birds .
Water Fowl .

A Bird’s-Eye View

Mistress Cuckoo

Sea Swallows

Birds’ Nests .

At the Water’s Edge .
Lake George

A Colony of Herons .

Earliest Signs of Spring .

119
‘132
» 153
. 205
. 235

- 254

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS*

Bobolinks . . . . . . . Frontispiece

Hooded Warblers. . . . . 1... “10
Water Thrush. . 2. 2. . . ww. 30
Herring Gulls. 2. 2. 2. 2. 2 ee . 56
Pied-billed Grebes . . . . . . . 68
American Avocets . . . . . . . 84
Sea Parrots (Tufted Puffins) . . . . 96
GuckOOS <j & 4 2 @ sw & —» 406
Sea Swallows (Terns) . . . . . . 122

Stormy Petrels . . . . . . . . 136

*The artist wishes to acknowledge his indebtedness
to the authorities of the American Museum for many
courtesies.

vii

List of Hlustrations

FACING
PAGE

Birds’ NéSiS:. 3 ago & @ “ee 44146
Shore Lark (Horned Lark) . . . . 168
Semipalmated Plovers . . . . . . 176
OSprey cas Se : . 192
Cliff Swallows. . . . 2. 2. 2... 214
Cedar-bitdS « « « «© & » » « » 224
Great Blue Heron . . . . . . -. 248

Meadow Lark. . . . .. . . . 276

vill

A Bouquet of Song Birds

“ Herkneth thise blisful briddes how they singe,
And see the fresshe floures how they springe:
Ful is myn hert of revel and solas.””

Chaucer.

A BOUQUET OF SONG BIRDS

INE of the most famous resorts of
land-birds in the Eastern States is
94 in the town of Englewood, N. J. ;
cle to be precise, West Englewood, a
small farming district at some distance from
Englewood itself. But let no one, meditating a
trip to this avian shrine, be misled, as I nearly
was, by an unscrupulous ticket-agent of the New
Jersey Northern Railroad, who tried to persuade
me that all of Englewood worth mentioning
was on Azs road—a statement fully two miles
wide of the truth, for West Englewood is on
the West Shore road. The circumstance that
makes this an attractive spot to the feathered
tribe is its variety of topography, and, con-
sequently, of vegetable and animal life; for,
within a small area, are comprised upland and
swamp, woods, shrubbery, and open land—
quite an epitome of nature—with such diversity
of growth as to allure the varied tastes of a wide
range of species. In contrast with the Ramble

3

Song Birds and Water Fowl

of Central Park in New York City, this spot,
though so accessible and provided with several
intersecting roads, is yet so wild and secluded
as to retain a large number of its migrant spring
visitors through the summer ; and thus affords
favorable opportunities for studying their more
interesting aspects of song and nidification.

About the middle of May one always finds
here not only a remarkable variety of species,
representative of all our land-birds, but an im-
mense number of specimens of all the various
sorts. Leaving the train at Hackensack, two
miles south of Englewood, and inquiring for
the road leading thither of a gentleman who
thought it preposterous that I should wish to
walk, when I could just as well have ridden—
thus betraying the fact that he was not a natu-
ralist—I at once found myself in the midst of a
company of clear-voiced field-sparrows. Simple
and artless as it is, nothing in the range of mu-
sic could have expressed more happily the spirit
of peace pervading the pastoral scene to which
I had come, with the harsh rattle of city pave-
ments as yet hardly out of my ears.

Pretention is as far from the heart of any
sparrow as the east is from the west; but, in
this respect, perhaps the bashful little field-spar-

4

A Bouquet of Song Birds

row beats them all; for he is the very embodi-
ment of modesty. Sometimes he mounts a lit-
tle way up a tree, and delivers his apologetic
little message ; but often he is too humble even
to do that, and will stand on the ground, throw
up his tiny red bill, and pour forth his mild and
sweet salute. The note of the field-sparrow is
like a pleasant word dropped in the morning,
that dissolves into a faint radiance for the en-
tire day. It would be incongruous to greet its
simple melody with boisterous praise; there are
some deeds for whose performance silence is
the best applause. The song of this bird is
much like that of the vesper-sparrow—three or
four detached notes followed by a rippling
sound, like the melodious drops of a broken
stream of water ; but not so loud, rich, and as-
sertive as in the vesper-sparrow. However, if
the softer-voiced field-sparrow lives and over-
comes his modesty, he will become quite as
pleasing a singer as his better known and more
confident brother—who, by the way, sings all
through the day, and not merely at evening, as
a well-known writer has mistakenly asserted.
While almost all sparrows prefer the more open
places.to the deeper woods, this is emphatically
true of field and vesper sparrows, that are par-

5

Song Birds and Water Fowl

ing off his irritation over some recent disagree-
able experience. But his temper sweetens as
the season advances, and in mid-summer he
breathes the serenity of his native wilds, where
waving trees and purling brooks are chanting
restful undertones to the clear, melodic phrases
of this noble singer. His call-note is but the
chrysalis of his song—at first soft and seldom
heard, but gradually becoming louder and more
frequent, until at length he breaks out into a rich
and finely modulated chant. On the other hand,
the very loudest and richest sound of the wood
thrush is his call-note, commonly repeated two or
three times, marvellously vigorous, sparkling and
delicious. Its fiery animation is really startling.
If his song were proportionally splendid, he
would almost rival the finest human voice; and
would certainly make every other bird-song
seem insipid. Before leaving the thrush family,
I must do that somewhat ostracized member,
the catbird—the black sheep of the family—the
justice to say that he was never more conspicu-
ously on his good behavior, in action and song,
than on this occasion. I cannot but recollect,
however, that these are his courtship days ; and
the sly scamp is shrewd enough to know that it
would be very impolitic and disastrous for him

8

A Bouquet of Song Birds

to be in a snarling mood, just at the time when
it particularly behooves him to be affable and
charming.

Entering the woods I found a perfect carni-
val in progress—trees and bushes flashing with
bright colors, and the air song-laden with a
delicate but universal chorus. One of the rare
species in our latitude is the beautiful ‘‘ hooded
warbler,’’ elegantly costumed in a black velvet
mantle over a golden bodice, unique and strik-
ing. These woods are about the most norther-
ly limit where one can find it in considerable
numbers. It is an exception to most of the
warblers in having a song as rich and charac-
teristic as its plumage. In fact, I heard two
entirely different melodies from this species,
which one could not suppose to belong to the
same bird. Whether he has any more arias in
his répertoire I cannot say. He thus scores a
double success, sure not only to please the
critics, but to win the approval of that large
portion of every concert-audience which is
more deeply stirred by the costume than the
song. He is also peculiar in his manner of
running about over tree-trunks, not hugging
the bark, like a brown creeper, but with legs
as straight as in the nuthatch.

9

Song Birds and Water Fowl

An interesting incident of the morning was a
long and intimate study of a species hitherto
quite unknown to me—the white-eyed vireo. It
is not often that one can come close enough to
a bird to see the whites of his eyes, even if he
has any whites, which commonly he has not ;
but this creature was apparently quite as curious
to study me, as I was to study him, and he
curtsied around me so elosely that I can aver
he is well named the ‘‘ white-eyed.’’ This is
perhaps the handsomest of all the vireos (of
which there are six hereabouts), bright olive-
green above, almost golden on the crown,
white on the breast, and yellow on the sides:
But his chief claim to admiration is his unique
and voluble song, a sort of vocal jumping-jack,
uttered with a peculiar dash, which I am at a loss
how to describe, for it is a musical ejaculation
that is really indescribable—so rich, piquant,
and spasmodically humorous, that the snappy
little creature brought me to his feet—figura-
tively speaking—on the spot. And to think
that, until recently, scientists have grouped this
handsome, innocent, melodious, and jovial
spirit, with that harsh-voiced, gloomy-coated,
sullen-hearted bandit, the butcher-bird! and
all because, forsooth, there happened to be

10

HOODED WARBLERS

One of the rare species, elegantly costumed in a black velvet mantle over a golden
bodice, unique and striking (p. 9).

A Bouquet of Song Birds

some resemblance in their dz//s. A pair of these
vireos lingered suspiciously about a certain
clump of shrubbery ; and, as they showed pre-
Mmonitory signs of getting their summer-house
ready, there was a prospect of renewing the
acquaintance later.

Deeper in the woods the red-eyed vireo was
warbling endlessly, and his clear, rich tone
seemed to have lost all trace of its usual petu-
lance; strongly reminding one of the ‘‘ white-
eyed.’? The Maryland yellow-throat first be-
trayed himself by his unmistakable waltzing
wee-chee-chee ; a sprightly triplet phrase which
is always a pleasant sound. He is commonly
deep in the thickets, and is not at all eager to
show his handsome face and figure. But the
knowledge of a bird’s song is almost a compen-
sation for the lack of his visible presence; and
his familiar message comes like the voice of a
friend in the dark.

The woods were full of the fluttering red-
starts, in their conspicuous attire of glossy
black and flaming red; and the ear can pick
him out almost as quickly as the eye, for hard-
ly any other singer has a voice so sharp and
spicy. Their house-keeping had already begun,
or at least their house-building ; for I detected

II

Song Birds and Water Fowl

a female that was arranging the frail foundation,
about twelve feet from the ground, in a horn-
beam tree. As soon as her sharp eyes discov-
ered that she was being watched, she darted off;
and, from the torrent of sharp notes I heard im-
mediately afterward, I felt that she was cursing
me to her mate, to the best of her ability, which
is by no means inconsiderable in such cases ; so,
with the uncomfortable feeling that I was very
much in the way, I withdrew. A few days later
I found that she had recovered her temper, and
completed the structure, a very neat and com-
pact apartment of delicate material, whose
existence was likely to remain a secret be-
tween us three.

An ornithologist must often inscribe an in-
terrogation mark upon his memory, sometimes
waiting a long time before he can erase it. In
this ramble I erased one of mine; for I heard
a song which I recognized as the same that I
heard two years before, when I vainly tried to
find its source. But on this occasion I found
it—like the poet who very irrationally shot an
arrow into the air—‘‘ in the heart of a friend,”’
and, in fact, in his mouth; for it was the
chewink chanting a little melody that I did not
know was in his répertoire. While uncertainty

12

A Bouquet of Song Birds

is always aggravating, the solution of a question
often comes in such a manner as to be worth a
long interrogation.

Throughout the woods, and especially along
the outer edge, slantingly perched on a limb,
or furtively flying from bush to bush, were
numerous drooping cuckoos, the black-billed
species, with noticeably red eyes. They are
not nesting yet. They wait until caterpillar
time, late in. June. They do not believe in
rearing a family until they see their way clear
to provide for it. In a cultivated field ad-
joining, that less woodsy bird, the Baltimore
oriole, was helping herself to building material
out of the rags and tatters of a last year’s scare-
crow, which had fulfilled its mission, if it ever
had any; and, near by, the pewee had begun
the plaintive utterance of its brief elegiac,
which, despite its sadness, somehow falls with
much the same grateful effect upon the ear as
upon the eye fall the cooling shadows of the
leaves, striking athwart the massive trunk of a
sunlit beech.

I was rather surprised, so late in the season,
to encounter frequently the white-breasted nut-
hatch, more of a winter emblem for this lati-
tude; not more musical, but considerably

13

Song Birds and Water Fowl

more noisy, than in winter. He was evidently
in a jocund mood that morning, for he some-
times reiterated his note so lustily and so many
times that it sounded exactly like a coarse but
hearty laugh resounding through the woods.
The an of the nuthatch, as ordinarily uttered,
is about the laziest and most nasal sound in
Nature—a perfunctory, expressionless tone, as
any parental heart will appreciate, on being
told it is like the sound he has so often heard
squeezed out of rubber dolls and kittens.

I also noted a thin sprinkling of that less
brilliant, but always looked - for warbler, the
‘¢ bay-breasted,’’ which is one of the most
transient of our spring visitors. Outside the
woods, another vireo, the yellow-throated, en-
livened the still air with his loud and peculiar
note.

A very delicate, but rather characterless,
creature, and quite abundant all about, is the
blue - winged yellow warbler, finely, but not
strongly, colored with rich yellow, olive-green,
and slaty blue. Of all the times I have seen
this tiny specimen I have never heard him
utter a single sound, which is peculiar; for,
since those having the least to say are usually
most garrulous, the various warblers, having

14

A Bouquet of Song Birds

Nothing of importance to remark, commonly
abound in small talk. The curiously colored,
chestnut-sided warbler was plentiful, with his
insipid but vibrant strain. The pert little
oven-bird was omnipresent—a delightful fellow
to look at as he struts about in his trim figure
and soft olive dress, but his inordinate loquac-
ity often mars the effect. He was hammering
the air incessantly with his familiar dissyllable
—at first amusing, then wearisome, and finally
maddening. His relative, the water thrush,
was less assertive, but more musical. The dis-
tinctiveness of all the warblers increases with
acquaintance. Nature tucks away a trace of
individuality into every possible corner. Un-
der the guise of uniformity, she is wonderfully
lavish of variety, and evidently abhors monot-
ony as much as she is reputed to abhor a vac-
uum.

Of course, in mass of brilliant color, the
scarlet tanager makes all our other birds pale.
Early in the morning he was singing a brief
phrase of three notes in a rich but hoarse voice,
and as lustily as his indolent nature would allow ;
but later he indulged in a genuine and really
pleasing warble, with a very different quality of
tone, not unlike a clear and loud-voiced warb-

15

Song Birds and Water Fowl

ling vireo. This bird, by his manner, re-
minds one of a bottle of some effervescent
liquid that has been uncorked so long that all
its native sparkle has escaped. He is too ex-
alted to be annoyed by the remark that his
listless air takes even the splendor out of his
gorgeous robes ; and, as for other fascinations,
almost any of the homelier birds are more con-
genial to my taste. A silent blue jay posed so
effectively in the clear sunlight that the lustre
of his costume would make one almost forget
his villainy, and, fortunately, he did not spoil
the charm by uttering a single sound. It isa
just retribution on this corrupt fowl that we
commonly associate with him only that horrible
scream that is so consonant with his nature.
Yet, like the catbird, he is a conspicuous in-
stance of wasted talents, of which he often gives
proof in a wide variety of clear and beautiful
whistles. Potentially he is a rich contralto,
his ‘organ ’’ is not surpassed by that of many
of our noted vocalists, and he only lacks that
without which the rarest voice is essentially a
failure, namely, musical temperament. The
busy and vigorous downy woodpecker was
loudly knocking for admittance into many a
tree, and the endless polyphony showed the

16

A Bouquet of Song Birds

presence of many other familiar species. A
single walk in this region in the flood-tide of
migration will sometimes reveal between fifty
and sixty varieties.

But these woods are not simply an ornitho-
logical retreat. They are, perhaps, not less at-
tractive to anyone who delights

‘To feed on flowers and weeds of glorious feature,”

of which Nature has here formed so rich an
arabesque. What particularly strikes the ob-
server is the luxuriance, as well as the variety,
of plant-life in this small area. Such glorious
masses of the commoner sorts one seldom sees :
enormous buttercups,

‘* Like nightes starres, thick powdred everywhere ;”

giant dandelions, almost dazzling by their
numbers and intensity of hue; large tracts
where one might suppose that the countless
flakes of a belated snow-storm had struck root
into the earth and melted their frozen forms
into anemones; and such violets! mammoth
clusters of rare and melting blue, exhaling an
ineffably soft atmosphere, a thousand times more
subtle than a blush, and lingering in the eye

17

Song Birds and Water Fowl

like an echo of sweet song upon the ear, or a
pleasing memory on the heart. These sound-
less tones of Nature, springing from the ground,
are quite as exquisite as those that stream
from all the merry throng that glance in air,
or hover in the overshadowing woods. What
still, sweet lives the flowers live; like rare,
pure souls that spread their own calm round
them as they journey through the world. Some
of our simplest blessings are in reality the best
of all; and Nature, as she voices herself here
and there in the unobtrusive flower or bird, of-
ten speaks a heart-language unheard in many
of her loftier utterances. A message is con-
fided to the ‘‘ oaten reed’’ that the full-voiced
organ never can declare. The carol of the
sweet and humble bluebird surely fills a niche
that must inevitably stand vacant in the im-
posing presence of the thrush’s grander song,
just as a beautiful humility shines in the lowly
violet that rivals the magnificence of the rose.
Many of our commonest songsters are like the
oaten reed, the pastoral, and violet, singing
their way into the inconspicuous crevasses of
life; the earlier waves in the sea’s incoming
tide, that fill the lower clefts along the shore.
In this same spot, too, one finds a magnifi-

18

A Bouquet of Song Birds

cent display of trees, showing to full advantage
in the thinly wooded swamp, along the wind-
ing roads; here and there, like Time’s sleep-
less sentinel, a splendid oak, and many a noble
beech, not so assertive as the oak, but far more
persuasive,

The dark oak-spirit is in the mood of
night, a companion for owls, and motionless
as passion’s calm. It seems to be in a chronic
state of defiance that gives a challenge to the
elements ; so that, more than any other tree,
an aged oak is its own living monument. It is
an interesting fact—and not a poet’s fancy—
recently established by governmental investi-
gation, that the oak is, of all species, the one
most frequently struck by lightning ; while the
beech, for some reason, has the least attraction
for that fluid. This less aggressive species
bears a mildly massive look upon its whitened
bark that blends very companionably with the
delicate verdure of its spring foliage.

Such a gracious and yet vigorous growth,
impressed with an almost human nobility, in-
spires a restful, tranquil mood beyond all else
in Nature, if one yields his mind to its per-
suasive mastery. And doubtless there is much
more refreshment and uplift in choosing some

19

Song Birds and Water Fowl

sequestered spot where one can quietly absorb
the atmosphere that fills the scenery, enjoying
only that which lies immediately in view, than
in roaming restlessly about, hour after hour, in
perpetual anxiety to catch a glimpse of every
possible detail, Yet one who has only infre-
quent opportunities of going where Nature
dwells will hardly be persuaded to adopt the
former course, however thoroughly convinced
that quality of experience always outweighs
quantity,

Emerging from the delightful din that had
accompanied all the morning’s walk, it was a
striking contrast to watch a pair of large hawks
that serenely ranged the spaces of the upper air,
making the silence more acute that reigned
outside the woods. My list of species found in
a single visit comprised the wood thrush, Wil-
son thrush, catbird, robin, golden-winged
woodpecker, crow, blue jay, Baltimore oriole,
chewink, water thrush, oven-bird, redstart,
hooded warbler, Maryland yellow-throat,
chestnut-sided warbler, blue-winged yellow
warbler, black-and-white creeper, black- poll
warbler, black-throated green warbler, black-
throated blue warbler, Canada warbler, the
white-eyed, the red-eyed, and the yellow-

20

A Bouquet of Song Birds

throated vireos, phoebe, pewee, nuthatch,
chickadee, song-sparrow, field and chipping
sparrows, chimney swallow, cuckoo, and hawk :
considering the place, not an unusual showing,
and others have found many more in a single
visit.

The encroachments of civilization are not
likely, certainly for a long time, to interfere
with this favored spot. For it is not only in
the hands of those who appreciate and are de-
termined to maintain its peculiar attraction,
but—which is its chief safe-guard—a large part
of the area is so extremely swampy as to give
a naturalist the exultant thought that it is past
all redemption for basely practical purposes,
Neither have I any fear that the slight publicity
given to the spot by this narrative will endan-
ger the interests of its feathered occupants ;
for the place is plentifully sprinkled with the
prohibition against shooting, one signboard
giving the threatening information, ‘‘ You are
liable to loose your gun on this property ! ’’—
and another, with an original display of gram-
mar and orthography, kindly advising the trav-
eller to ‘‘ Leave your guns home and save your-
self troble.’’

&

21

Song Birds and Water Fowl

One of the finest walks, for general effects,
in the vicinity of New York City, will be
found by taking the ferry from One-hundred-
and-twenty-fifth Street, across the Hudson to
Fort Lee, and following the path northward
along the shore of the river, to Englewood.
Close by, on the right, is the river’s broad
sweep, and within a few feet on the left hand
towers the lofty columnar mass of trap rock
that forms the famous Palisades—the glory of
the Hudson. The severity of this bold and
precipitous front is abundantly softened by the
refreshing foliage of a light growth of trees cov-
ering the less abrupt declivities—true to Nat-
ure’s instinct to soften every feature that is
harsh, and hide each evidence of ruin. The
view of this stupendous pile, thus seen from its
base, while more limited and less picturesque
than when viewed from the opposite shore, or
from the deck of a river steamer, is certainly
quite as imposing.

One’s thoughts of migration are commonly
limited to the long flights in air of the feath-
ered tribe, which is the most conspicuous ex-
hibition of a strange instinct in the animal
kingdom. But, as one passes along the Hud-
son in May, he is reminded, by the numerous

22

A Bouquet of Song Birds

rows of poles stretching half across the river,
and by seeing the fishermen here and there
grappling the nets attached to them, and
emptying the contents into the boats, that fish
as well as fowl are now on their way north-
ward, and that shad are making their long
submerged journey from the Gulf of Mexico
along the coast, and up all of the larger rivers.
This seems more incomprehensible than bird-
migration. Do the finny tribes have some in-
explicable cognition of their locality while be-
neath the waves; or do they have to stick
their heads out, now and then, in order to get
their bearings? What cheerless, solemn pro-
cessions are thus semi-annually pursuing their
hidden, winding way along the shore, for hun-
dreds of miles, unless a fish has a sense of so-
ciability, a means of converse, and sources of
hilarity which we do not dream of.

Sandpipers were scudding about on the
wing, or running among the moss-covered
rocks that fringe the semi-marine shore ; house
wrens sang by the way, and redstarts, vireos,
and wood thrushes were numerous; while a
flock of chimney swallows—fleet-winged mari-
ners upon the shoreless air—relieved the an-
gularity of the cliffs by continuously circling

23

Song Birds and Water Fowl

above them. A dainty touch of color was af-
forded in an apple-tree, where a little blue-
winged yellow warbler was feasting on the
blossoms, while far overhead an immense hawk
was sailing majestically —a juxtaposition of
two of the most diverse types and moods in
the feathered kingdom.

The impression of this walk should be sup-
plemented by making the return trip along the
upper edge of the Palisades, where at almost
any point one may look down a perfectly sheer
and dizzy depth of hundreds of feet, the very
edge of the rocky wall being mostly unwooded,
carpeted with grass, and illuminated with saxi-
frage, violets, wild columbine, and other flow-
ers. Here the traveller obtains one of the
finest views of this noble river, unsurpassed ex-
cept where it winds among bold promontories
in the vicinity of West Point, resembling a
long and narrow lake rather than a flowing
stream; as well it may, when we consider that
its entire descent, from Albany to its mouth,
one hundred and forty-five miles, is only five
feet. Water must be extremely solicitous to
find its level, when it will spy out so slight an
incline as less than half an inch to the mile.

Along the way were several scarlet tanagers

24

A Bouquet of Song Birds

—three or four in a single tree—a species that
is locally quite abundant on both sides of the
river at this point. The indigo bird, less glar-
ing, but hardly less intense in color, fluttered
along the path; and the hooded warbler was
flitting low from bush to bush, and incessantly
spreading his white-spotted tail. The black-
and-white creeper was everywhere—a deceptive
fellow in his variety of notes, until one has
learned his tricks. It would almost seem that
he is sportively mocking the listener, as one
hears his frequent change of tune. A pair of
complaining veerys—not so abundant here as
at West Englewood—an occasional Maryland
yellow-throat, oven-bird, chewink, the red-
eyed and the yellow-throated vireos, were the
species that chiefly beguiled the way—twenty-
six varieties of companionship in what some
might have called a lonesome, unentertaining
trip—to say nothing of the shy glances of in-
numerable violet eyes, the nodding flames of
columbine, bright skies, and a panoramic
scene along the river. Such views inform the
mind and mould the soul as well, and some-
times better than all books can do. To one
that has a heart for such a walk, there is no
solitude in Nature.

25

Song Birds and Water Fowl

I am quite sure that many people who, in a
general way, are sincerely interested in the
various attractive elements of Nature, are yet
disposed to feel that the amount of enthusiasm
evolved by naturalists in regard to their re-
spective specimens—and this particularly ap-
plies to flowers and birds—exceeds the bounds
of reason, and is a little unworthy of mature
and serious-minded individuals. In the super-
ficial view of the case, it must be confessed
that such an estimate of the value of these
sciences is not altogether erroneous. The fact
is, such people do not know—and often the
naturalist himself does not realize—precisely
what are the grounds of his enthusiasm. It is
forgotten that the admiration which one feels
for any work of Nature or of art springs much
more largely than is commonly supposed from
various accessories that play an unobtrusive but
essential part in every scene. Certainly no
bird student, however ardent his admiration
for his subject, will assert that his pleasure is
derived purely and simply from the bird itself.
Neither is the lively pleasure of the botanist
derived exclusively from flowers. Eliminate
every attendant enhancing circumstance, let
the flower or bird be seen in absolute isolation

26

A Bouquet of Song Birds

from every thought and object forming its set-
ting and perspective (if such a thing were pos-
sible), rooted or suspended in meaningless void
space, and its charm would often be immeasur-
ably diminished. A universal communism en-
chances the effect of one element of Nature by
another. Even the dank soil, and the refuse cf
decaying leaves that pollute the ground through-
out the woods in spring, through which the
earliest blossoms push themselves, give to the
hepatica a livelier purple, to the ‘‘spring beauty ”’
a daintier pink, to the anemone a purer white.
The gloomy skies and rasping atmosphere of
March add lustre to the robin’s breast and to
the bluebird’s back, and the roaring winds im-
part to them their most enchanting delicacy of
song. It issummer’s intolerable heat and glare
that create the heavenly shade and coolness of
the woodland path, and the refreshment of the
babbling brook. The waters are made glorious
at night by shattered and shivered rays that
dance upon the moonlight path across the lake,
and the paroxysm of a wintry storm without
creates a marvellous content within.

When one seeks the acquaintance of some
notable personage, he is often aiming, not sim-
ply at the advantage that will accrue from such

27

Song Birds and Water Fowl

a person’s own friendship, but also at the
entrance thereby to be gained into the society
in which he moves. In precisely the same way,
the genuine naturalist, in the prosecution of his
immediate science, is more or less consciously
influenced by the attractions of that varied and
delightful society to which the insect, bird, or
flower will always introduce him—the endlessly
diversified, but always restful and exhilarating,
scenes of Nature, the woodland walk, the influ-
ence of the quiet stream or lake, the contagion
of the ocean’s boundless energy, the inspiring
majesty of mountains, Nature’s silver sounds
and golden silences, the health that waits upon
such occupation, with all the minor glimpses
and suggestions of the beautiful of every sort
and hue continually flitting across one’s path,
and, pervading all, the glowing atmosphere
peculiar to all such research—these form a
coterie of friends in constant league with flowers
and birds, with which one quickly finds him-
self in closest fellowship, and which are quite
essential to the fullest charm of even the fairest
object in either of these eminent domains.
There is a lustre in the flower, that quickly
vanishes the instant we abstract it from its
native soil; the captive’s song has lost the color

28

A Bouquet of Song Birds

of its wildwood haunts; only the dew of morn-
ing sparkles on the grass, and the joyousness of
sunrise, or the solemn glory of the west,

‘“ Where the Day joins the past Eternity,”

becomes a rare effluence of gladness or of grav-
ity that radiates from every landscape view or
woodland melody, according as we see or hear
it at the springing or the dying hour of day.

&%

In contrast with the open, broad, imposing
view along the Hudson, is a rare bit of secluded
sylvan scenery, keyed, in musical phrase, in a
richer and more mellow scale, to be found ina
walk along the banks of the Bronx River,
traversing the reservation called Bronx Park, a
few miles out from New York City, and easily
accessible in various ways. ‘The river through
this region is of a sort to please an artist’s eye,
a scene of limpid loveliness, wandering through
a rocky gorge, embowered in fragrant and
melodious shade, with here a waterfall, there a
cascade, now babbling over shallows, and now
expanding into motionless and glassy basins, in
which the full inverted lengths of over-arching

29

Song Birds and Water Fowl

trees almost deceive the senses, and suggest the
vista of a subterranean Paradise—one of those
dainty scenes that make one sure the Lord loved
beauty when He made the world.

As this river has become a source of water-
supply for the city, the property along the
banks has been confiscated—we might say, in
the interest not only of health but of art; for
the acme of scenic effect is in the various aban-
doned buildings, made of stone, dismantled,
silent, and moss-grown; here a residence, there
‘a mill, discernible through the foliage, and in
some cases almost overhanging the rocky river-
inhabiting ravine—the nearest approximation
to time-worn ruins that is ever vouchsafed to us
in this glorious land of only yesterday. In the
interest of the picturesque, and of that instinct
of the human heart that finds the deepest charm
of landscape in its reminiscent aspect, and in
the ivy-trailing evidence of vanished life, which
can create the only utter silence in the soul—in
both these interests, it is to be hoped that the
rampant spirit of utility will never be allowed
to vulgarize these relics into quarries of brick
and stone.

Having heard the fame thereof from other
ornithologists, I visited the spot late in May,

30

WATER THRUSHES

The delicious warble of the wren, the vireo, the water thrush, may effectively have
the accompaniment of the babbling brook, or the cascade’s noisy plunge (p 56).

A Bouquet of Song Birds

and found it not so populous with birds, nor so
beautiful with flowers, but, in the general tem-
per of the scene, not less attractive than the
smaller and less diversified region in West
Englewood.

The pleasure and success of this visit were not
altogether derived from what I saw and heard,
but were partly due to the fact that my own
spirit was attuned to the prevailing mood of this
exultant month—I was ez rapport with dame
Nature, and could sing with the poet,

‘* The fields, the floods, the heavens, with one consent,
Did seem to laugh on me, and favor mine intent,”

and all things tipped the ‘‘ merry wink of in-
vitation.’’

I had hardly left the train when my ear
caught an augury of good fortune—the clear,
full whistle of the meadow lark, concealed
within the grass of an adjoining field. This
cannot truthfully be called a song; but, when
uttered with all the animation that is crowded
into May, it is one of the most encouraging
and inspiriting calls of Nature. Entering the
woods beyond, I found the trees alive with
various species of warblers, the Blackburnian
being the brightest of the train. This can

3r

Song Birds and Water Fowl

certainly never incur the curse pronounced
upon lukewarmness, for he looks simultane-
ously cold and hot, in the dead black and white
of the body, and the fiery orange of the head
and breast. The slender, neck-laced Canada
warbler was among the most abundant, and
singing his long and sprightly strain, of which,
however, he does not seem to have quite mas-
tered the rhythm. But the novelty of the day
was the yellow-breasted chat ; for I had never
had the good fortune, until this morning, to
hear the vocal antics of this oddity of genius,
this crooked stick in ornithology. I am sure
that Nature was in a merry, saucy mood
when she devised this fellow’s numerous eccen-
tricities. Externally, indeed, she took great
pains with him, for he looks quite fit to be a
ladies’ man, so unutterably immaculate and
elegant. But when she proceeded to fit him up
interiorly, she gave him vocalizing powers that
are decidedly on the slap-dash order ; and the
outcome is more incoherent and incongruous
than the medley of the catbird or the thrasher.
He whistles, and grunts, and bubbles so con-
fusedly, that the listener cannot but wonder
what droll vagary he will next perpetrate. His
accompanying gymnastics and wild careerings

32

A Bouquet of Song Birds

in the air are of a piece with his musical
buffoonery. But, prodigal as he is of all his
natural gifts, he does not betray a genuine,
earnest soul for music, like a thrush or finch ;
and utters his kaleidoscopic mé/ange in a rather
shallow, ad captandum fashion, If I mistake
him not, he is not a bad type of the profes-
sional humorist, who is at first extremely enter-
taining, but gives no thoroughly substantial
pleasure, and ere long becomes wearisome.

At a deserted ‘‘ mill privilege’’ the water
thrush and a pair of sandpipers had taken up
their abode, the red- winged blackbird an-
nounced himself in a swamp close by, the king-
bird rattled his ominous note as he chased his
insect-prey, and bank swallows circled over the
stream. ‘The olive-backed and the Wilson
thrushes were still shifting all the burden of
song upon the faithful wood thrush, the olive-
backed only deigning occasionally to snap out
a sharp note, while the Wilson’s more mellow,
but fretful, tone was heard everywhere.

On the edge of a clearing the impetuous
white -eyed vireo appeared to be domiciled.
The first time I heard his dashing strain, a
couple of weeks before, he was so captivating
by his peculiarly vigorous temperament that,

33

Song Birds and Water Fowl

in my haste, I declared him to be the hand-
somest of the family of vireos, an assertion
which, in my cooler judgment, I retract; for
the yellow - throated vireo must doubtless be
called the beauty, in this modestly dressy fam-
ily. The ‘‘ white-eyed ”’ is just like some peo-
ple, whose vivacity lights up with an actual
beauty features that are almost homely in re-
pose. With all the difference in modulation
of the voice, there is a peculiar rich and ring-
ing quality of tone common to all the vireos.
The red-eyed species is a valuable addition to
our woods, from the fact that his continuous
message forms so large a part of the entire vol-
ume of music throughout the day, and the
summer long. His native acid disposition,
however, is unmistakable in his call-notes, one
of which is very similar to the catbird’s snarl.
The great crested flycatcher, a rather soli-
tary bird by nature, and the largest of that
family that stands in scientific odium under the
technical name of Tyrannidae, was particu-
larly abundant. Admission to the woodland
choir has been denied to the entire flycatcher
family, on the ground that they have no voice
for music—a valid reason, certainly, for exclu-
sion, if the case be so with all this group.

34

A Bouquet of Song Birds

While I would not presume to reverse the
findings of the scientific court upon this point,
I am at least at liberty to say that, if the note
of this great crested member of the family be
not music, it is surely one of the best imita-
tions of music I have ever heard. He has no
formal song, indeed, only the reiteration of a
tone that is sometimes ‘‘ throaty,’’ and quite as
often clear ; and this is about as much as can be
said in praise of many of the much vaunted
‘* warblers;’’ but at least the tone is full, res-
onant, and sometimes extremely rich. I vent-
ure to say he knows more about music, now,
than the nuthatch or the oven - bird, whose
names stand in the chorus; and with a little
training he would beat most of the vireos.
This fellow gives one the impression of a merry
brigand—a sort of Robin Hood—his loud,
wild note ringing defiantly from the tops of the
trees, as if in conscious defiance of his popular
estimate.

At the other end of the line, in point of size,
stands the ‘least flycatcher,’’ which was doing
very vigorous work for such a mite, as he
perched within a few feet of me, and showed
enough energy in his tone for half a dozen
birds. Ifmanner of utterance be any criterion,

35

Song Birds and Water Fowt

there is a world of difference in disposition
between this snappy little specimen and his
disconsolate sister, the grief-stricken, Rachel-
tempered pewee. If, according to the ortho-
dox decision, the flycatchers be not strictly
admissible into a bouquet of songsters, they at
least find their mission in serving the purpose
of an effective spray of green leaves among a
floral group, to enhance in others what is lack-
ing in themselves. The song of the indigo-bird,
which was holding forth in more open land, can
hardly be called good or bad, as it now stands,
but could easily drift into either. It reveals the
identity of the singer, however, by a peculiarly
throaty note in the middle of the phrase.

In a grassy apple-orchard near by, a half-
hour’s entertainment was afforded by a tiny
songster, Mistress Wren-—that little brown
creature which is‘one of the neatest specimens
of concentrated happiness in feathers that ex-
ists—an endless cadenza. AsI saw her enter
a hole in an apple-tree with a bit of downy
substance in her bill, and soon after emerge,
minus the same, it was the strongest circum-
stantial evidence that she was putting the
finishing touches on her summer home, in the
snuggest and most picturesque of castles. But

36

A Bouquet of Song Birds

her work seemed really to be only play, for
she could not lay a single stick of timber in the
house without stopping and having a long song
about it, and was in a perpetual bubble of de-
light. A gentleman, passing by at the time,
had an evil word for the universally detested
English sparrows, as making life a burden to
these merriest of warblers in that neighbor-
hood ; which is a very great pity, for an ounce
of wren is worth a ton of sparrow.

And, by the way, that pair of wrens were
particularly happy in their choice, for a home,
of -that grassy field studded with apple-trees—
surroundings so cheerful, rustic, and congenial
with their nature. I say, pair of wrens, al-
though I saw only one during all my stay; for
there is something monstrous in the thought of
an old bachelor or an old maid wren building
a house for solitary use.

It seems strange that poets have so infrequent-
ly alluded to the apple-tree. All who are so
fortunate as to have been born in the country
—where everybody ought to be born—will cer-
tainly acknowledge that, of all trees, this is the
most typical of spring and fall. Anyone is to
be pitied, in whose memory of early years there
are no kindly thoughts connected with this

37

Song Birds and Water Fowl

rustic, homely feature of country life. The in-
vigorating, fragrant breath of May is in its
wealth of delicately odorous, snowy bloom, while
its abundant harvest of glowing fruit, mellowing
in the cool light of an October day, is sug-
gestive of all the most comfortable thoughts of
autumn. Its spirit is eminently sunshiny and
rural. What better place could one choose
beneath the sky wherein to doze, or read, or
Tuminate, than a grassy slope beneath the
shadow of an apple-tree? We cherish a sort of
moral respect, too, for a tree that chiefly aims
to be useful, without any pretensions to being
ornamental. For, in truth, this tree is not of
the kind that can shine in arboreal ‘‘society.”’
It cuts no fine and courtly figure, like the elm.
To use a word so attractive in its radical
sense, but slightly opprobrious in its applied
meaning, our dear old apple-tree is decidedly
‘‘countrified.’” The maple, the elm, and the
beech at once find themselves at home in the
city, as ‘to the manner born ;’’ but the apple-
tree, never! The very incongruous thought of
such a thing is a standing protest against its
transplantation ; and I am positive that the
tree itself would, figuratively speaking, vigor-
ously kick at the idea.

38

A Bouquet of Song Birds

Probably it is rather late in the day to seek
a fresh extenuation of an offence said to have
been committed in the oldest orchard known
to history. But I feel that our great fallen
progenitor—albeit he doubtless rose by falling
—had considerable excuse, if it was an apple-
tree around which he lingered, being so pre-
eminently ‘‘ pleasant to the sight and good for
food.’’ If it had been a forbidden plum or
pear, we might have all escaped. Had his
taste been otherwise, and he had limited his
walks to the maple avenues of Paradise, who
can measure its effect upon the world’s tragedy ?
But time works its revenges. After the lapse
of ages the tempting apple in its turn also fell,
and from its fall Sir Isaac Newton plucked the
formula of the universal law of gravitation.

The attractiveness of the apple-tree’s earlier
years is largely lost in its old age; its temper
becomes tart, and its figure scraggly. Possibly
we may see in this the faint and long-projected
shadow of that ‘primal eldest curse’’ pro-
nounced upon all the participants, at the con-
clusion of that fateful scene of yore. There is
arumor that the world’s moralizing began at
an apple-tree, and we may as well let it end
there. We shall get the most satisfaction out

39

Song Birds and Water Fowl

of this rustic specimen of arborescence, not by
looking back six thousand years, nor by looking
forward too far into its degenerating future, but
by simply enjoying what it has to offer of flower
. or fruit from day to day.

This bubbling wren, so joyously carolling
upon an apple-bough in a fair day in May,
will fittingly be the last in all this group of
songsters—a scene as simple as can be imag-
ined, and yet full of the three most salient
aspects of Nature’s spirit—restfulness, activity,
and joy—one of those many scenes in life
whose impress is as lasting as the occurrence
itself is transitory, and which will perhaps be
remembered long after the tiny creature is ex-
tinct that was the soul of it; possibly even
after the tree itself shall have reached a fruit-
less, sour old age, and been cut down.

40

Water Fowl

“ Mark how the feather’d tenants of the flood,
With grace of motion that might scarcely seem
Inferior to angelical, prolong
Their curious pastime!”

Wordsworth.

WATER FOWL

ss extended to that important, but
less accessible group of species, that chiefly
frequent the secluded watery places, the
marshes, larger rivers, lakes, and, most of all,
the margin of the sea. The general unfamili-
arity with this large section of our avifauna—
comprising a third of all the species found in
North America—and with which almost all
field ornithologists have a very limited acquaint-
ance, makes pertinent a few prefatory words in
regard to them.

It is certainly a shame for anyone, who calls
himself a systematic student in any branch of
natural science, to be content to leave quite
unexplored so large and attractive a division of
his subject as the water fowl constitute in orni-
thology. And, although the geographical re-
moteness, both of habitat and during migra-

43

Song Birds and Water Fowl

tion, of this clearly defined branch of the sub-
ject, will prevent, except in individual cases,
such extensive acquaintance as one may have
with land birds, yet the occasional species which
even the most casual observer, or the most un-
favorably situated student, will now and then
come across, or of which he will read, are
surely invested with a new interest by being
brought into systematic relation with the full
and magnificent scheme of the world’s avi-
fauna; while the general reader, whose knowl-
edge of the water fowl is about as great as that
of the land birds—seeing that he knows almost
nothing of either—will find the former quite
as entertaining, in many respects, as the lat-
ter.

Let me preface this general view of water
fowl by saying that, as compared with land
birds, they are just as distinctive in their traits
as in their habitat. Human nature is such
that the difficulty of getting a thing makes us
particularly desire to have it; so that it is not
one of the least attractive aspects of water fowl
that, whereas land birds, as a group, come to
us, we ourselves must, as a rule, go to the
water birds. Their haunts are not, even in
their migration, along the roadside, in fields

44

Water Fowl

and groves, but commonly remote from man’s
usual resorts. This circumstance will doubtless
preclude that degree of popularity which be-
longs to land birds; while, at the same time,
the mystery of their lives, and vagueness of
their personalities, which are due, in part, to
that self-same cause, will, to people of acertain
temperament, greatly enhance their charms.

Whoever presents the claims of water fowl
is likely to do it in the 7é/e of a special pleader,
who feels that the mind of the listener is de-
cidedly cold in regard to the subject in hand,
even if not absolutely antagonistic to his own
position. In view of this, I will not, at the
outset, seek to evade the depreciation of these
strange fowl that will certainly be felt when
their claims are first presented: being confident
that, when the two groups are placed upon an
impartial footing, much of the apparent inferi-
ority of water fowl will disappear; while their
various peculiar excellencies will in large meas-
ure offset the special and familiar claims of land
birds to our admiration.

Let me, then, forestall any unfavorable im-
pression in regard to our sea-friends by confess-
ing two or three of their demerits.

The majority of land birds seem more ap-

45

Song Birds and Water Fowl

proachable than water fowl ; not only by occu-
pying, in a literal sense, common ground with
ourselves, but by possessing a temperament
that, in many ways, better harmonizes with our
commonest feelings. However much there
may be in regard to them that we cannot un-
derstand, there is, if I may so express it, a pe-
culiar frankness in their lives, and, among
many of the species, such heartiness of song, as
easily inspires a fellow-feeling, even before we
come to have a definite sense of familiarity
with them. One’s first impression of the water
fowl, however, is not so favorable. They are
certainly less demonstrative and open-hearted,
and show a reserve that is likely to repel our
advances, even while it piques our curiosity.
As compared with our favorite songsters, their
wilder and apparently cold and passionless nat-
ure appears at a disadvantage. They live on
the confines of an unknown world, from which
they bring us scarcely any intelligible mes-
sage; and their lonely, bleak, and inhospitable
habitat seems aptly to typify their character.
Light-heartedness and warmth of feeling, so
characteristic of the robin, chickadee, and
finch, seem generally alien to these creatures ;
which, as a class, are songless, if not silent,

46

Water Fowl

serious and absorbed, often distinctly reminis-
cent, and even melancholy.

Yet melody and merriment are not the only
traits that make a bird commendable ; for there
are times when the oriole’s song of triumph
would be very incongruous with our own mood;
and, as is often found in individuals far higher
in the scale of. life, reserve is not synonymous
with apathy, and the most permanently attrac-
tive aspects are not always those that lie upon
the surface. And so, without the slightest fear
of invalidating their peculiar claims to admira-
tion, but with the conviction that the striking
difference of the two groups will only serve to
enlarge the scope of our enjoyment, we will
readily admit that water fowl in general are lack-
ing in the most conspicuous charms of our fa-
vorite land birds. We would hardly think of
making a pet of one of them, except, indeed, a
piping plover, a sandpiper, or a tern. For,
without the slightest trace of fierceness in their
temper — barring a few species — their mood
appears as wild and untamable as that of the
birds of prey. In a word, our interest in them
is quite unlike our interest in thrushes, warblers,
and the like. And we should be thankful for
this difference in their nature and effect upon

47

Song Birds and Water Fowl

us. Our variety of song birds fully satisfies the
mood that calls for creatures of their sort. Su-
perabundance always spoils the best effect. If
all were thrushes, where were the warblers? If
all were finches, where were the woodpeckers ?
And if all were chickadees and vireos, where
were the herons and the gulls? One will quick-
ly find that, in their own province, the water
species are unapproachable, in effectiveness, by
any of their fellow-creatures.

The crowning excellence of birds, undoubt-
edly, is their capacity for song. This gift
eclipses any other single claim to admiration.
Elegance of plumage, graceful form, and poetry
of motion—each of these must yield the palm
to the superiority of a melodious voice. It is
the soul of Nature speaking to the heart of man.
This it is that makes one of the most unpre-
possessing, in appearance, of all European
birds—the skylark—the idol of all poets, the °
beau idéal of its kind. This it is, chiefly, in
our own land, that gives its reputation to the
thrush, the purple finch, and~‘many another
species otherwise quite uxpfretentious. And
yet, although the chojeést quality of all, it is
by no means so dominant, in the aggregate
of one’s enjoy ent, as he might think. Even

48
se
“

ie

Water Fowl

in the best of songsters, accessories are needful
to enhance the charm—as, for example, in the
skylark, its ecstasy of motion; in the thrush, its
noble posture of repose. Besides, the singing
season only lasts about a quarter of the year;
and .yet how much delight the ornithologist
derives, from the end of summer till the follow-
ing spring, from the various characteristics of
the perfectly silent song birds, such as the win-
ter wren, the kinglet, snow-bird, crossbill,
white-throat, and goldfinch. How much pleas-
ure, too, one finds in the many migrant species
of this same class, that are with us a brief season
in the spring, but whose song is only to be
heard in their more northern homes. What an
amount of satisfaction is afforded even by the per-
fectly silent hermit thrush, whose exquisite form,
refinement of demeanor, and inimitably rich
modesty of plumage, are eclipsed only by the
very finest song. Moreover, in studying the
curious ways of all the woodpeckers, quite
likely it never occurs to the observer that his
pleasure is lessened because they never sing at
all; nor does one study with less interest, be-
cause they are so mute or unmusical at all times,
the cedar bird, the humming-bird, the swallow,
the flycatcher, and all of the birds of prey.

49

Song Birds and Water Fowl

Although they are mostly the plainer sorts, and,
except the chickadee, entirely songless, I think
the winter species, after all, as parables of hope,
light-heartedness, and trust, come more closely
home to us, with their quiet lessons of encour-
agement and reproof, than all the gayer and
more tuneful throng that are wafted hither on
spring’s glad wings, and luxuriate amid the
bloom and balmy airs of May and June.

The supposed inferiority of water fowl in re-
spect of plumage calls for a word of correction.
So far as the more brilliant effects are concerned,
it is true that there are few of the aquatic spe-
cies that can rival many of the showy tanagers,
finches, and warblers ; even as the sea itself is
colorless and sombre in comparison with all the
gorgeous floral products of the earth. But, on
the other hand, it can truthfully be said that,
as regards the various softer tints, which are
really the most prevalent among all species, the
beauty of the water fowl, in the aggregate, is
not inferior to that of their terrestrial kindred ;
that in effects of pure white, and in the rich
and striking combinations of black and white,
many of the water fowl are unequalled by their
allies on the land ; and that the very humblest of
the group are not more plainly dressed than are

50

Water Fowl

some of the sparrows and several other species
of land birds. Plumage, however, as well as
song, is very much overrated, as determining
our general estimate of any specimen. Even the
most ardent admirer of the brilliant group of
warblers will acknowledge the truth of this,
when he forms his final judgment of their relative
merits. Is there any warbler, after all, that is
much more satisfying than the coldly colored
‘¢black-throated blue ?’’ It is quite remark-
able, too, how much less the showy tints of any
species signify, when we see the living creature,
than when we look either at colored plates, or
at stuffed specimens. Their bearing and man-
ners, which are the truer index of their real
natures, overshadow the more superficial aspects,
as completely as in the case of any human being;
and not infrequently a trait, long unobserved,
and almost too subtle for verbal expression,
eventually becomes one of the most constant and
distinct points of individuality.

After this rather deprecating attitude in re-
gard to the claims of water fowl, let us proceed
to their more positive merits.

As compared with the land group, they pos-
sess a distinct advantage, as a source of interest
to the student, in the remarkable and signifi-

SI

Song Birds and Water Fowl

cant variety of physical types to be found
among them. It is true, there are some differ-
ences in form and figure among the various
land groups, and these differences become still
more evident upon prolonged acquaintance.
Yet the ‘‘ build” of all the land birds is vastly
more uniform than that of water birds, whose
variety of appearance, even to the most careless
observer, is very striking. We have strong
proof of this greater variety in type among
water birds in the fact, first, that while the
land birds of North America, comprising two-
thirds of the entire avifauna, are arranged in
six orders—which, in the main, conform to
the most conspicuous differences in figure—the
water birds, only half as numerous, are divided
into seven orders. But this expresses only a
small part of the truth. For, not only are the
six orders of land birds far more nearly uni-
form in figure than the seven orders of water
fowl, but the vast majority of all land birds
usually seen by the field ornithologist belong to
only two or three orders, wherein, too, the
differences of type are quite inconspicuous ;
while the greatest departure from the general
type is among a small number that are com-
paratively infrequent.

§2

Water Fowl

On the other hand, the commonest species
of water birds are much more equally distrib-
uted among all the orders, and the variety of
types therein is very extreme. This affords a
most interesting diversity. About nine-tenths
of all the land birds which the average student
will find are in the song group; which are
classified, to be sure, into about twenty fam-
ilies; yet the general type of all of them is so
uniform that the observer would hardly consider
it incongruous if they had been arranged in
two instead of twenty families. Thrushes,
finches, tanagers, waxwings, and blackbirds,
only differ in subordinate details ; and certain-
ly warblers, vireos, and flycatchers are com-
paratively uniform in general figure.

But notice the remarkable gradation, not in
size only, but especially in the fundamental
structural form of the various groups of water
fowl, as represented by the sandpiper, oyster-
catcher, woodcock, phalarope, avocet, rail,
curlew, heron, pelican, flamingo, swan, duck,
penguin, cormorant, snake-bird, loon, gull, guil-
lemot, puffin, grebe, petrel, albatross—a variety
of types consistent with their extreme diversity
of life, as wading, swimming, diving, and aérial
water fowl. When all the varieties of figure

53

Song Birds and Water Fowl

displayed in land birds, from the humming-bird
up to the eagle, have been taken into account,
interesting and significant as these variations
are, the resemblance of them all becomes
absolutely monotonous, in comparison with the
numerous and broadly distinctive forms of
water fowl. And this variety of form is their
least merit, as compared with the terrestrial
group.

In poetry of pose and motion, the advantage
is strongly with the water fowl, many of which
are in this respect quite unequalled by any of
the land species, except some of the birds of
prey. What could be more beautiful, for in-
stance, than a flock of terns, disporting with
consummate grace upon the wing in intricate
convolutions ; or the various gulls, winnowing
their languorous course on willowy wings ; or,
among the more aquatic species, the slow
majestic sailing of the stately swan? There is
nothing in all the earth so airy, graceful, thrill-
ing, as the sea-bird in its flight—the denizen of
two contiguous and opposing deeps. Or, again,
observe the dainty motions of the piping plover
running on the beach, or the heron’s lordly air
of solitude, when standing motionless. One’s
thoughts will run in quite a different channel,

54

Water Fowl

as he studies these varied and less familiar
forms of life, from that suggested by arboreal
birds, and his pleasure will be often quite as
keen. It can be more truly said of many of
this group that they are ‘‘ fowls of the air’’
than of almost all of the terrestrial sorts. Re-
turning from the vastness and illimitable expos-
ure of the seashore to the close and shady co-
vert of the woods, it seems sometimes as if the
song birds really only lived half out-of-doors.
But the most pleasing aspect of water fowl,
wherein the peculiar genius of their nature is
clearly displayed, is in the fact that, as com-
pared with all other species, they are so pre-
eminently picturesque, According to the canons
of strict beauty, many of the woodland species
are doubtless far superior; but in that subtle
quality that makes the most effective picture,
the water birds are certainly incomparable ;
and every painter, poet, and observer feels the
truth of this. They form a very essential part
of that fine atmosphere which is the climax of
the painter’s art—suggestiveness—and are the
most poetic link between humanity and Nature.
In most intimate connection with this thought
is the fact that the most attractive view of these
winged children of the sea is in their close asso-

55

Song Birds and Water Fowl

ciation with that glorious element from which
they seem to derive their birth, and a portion
of whose spirit they appear to fling upon the
winds. In such an atmosphere one cannot feel
their lack of melody. Indeed, it would seem
incongruous if sea fowl had been gifted with
the power of song. The mood that animates
the oriole and bobolink would ill befit the
solemn, lonely grandeur of the ocean’s restless
life, whose stormy billows are so furious and
defiant, while even his gentlest waves seem ter-
ribly in earnest, with the quiet grandeur of
suppressed omnipotence. The human heart,
when sensible of his majestic pulse, will strong-
ly throb in unison, but throb in silence. The
songs of earth are trivial and ephemeral against
the ocean’s massive and eternal undertones ; the
contrast grates upon the ear. And when, in
storm, he dashes his stupendous, thundering
waves against the shore, the spell-bound auditor
may well exclaim, ‘‘ Before the ocean’s august
presence, let all the earth keep silence! ’’

And yet the aqueous element—so it be /resh
water—is a very harmonious factor in that
ensemble of Nature wherein the melody is given
to the birds. The delicious warble of the wren,
the vireo, the water thrush, may effectively

56

SsTINS ONIWYSH

Water Fowl

have the accompaniment of the babbling brook,
or the cascade’s noisy plunge; the charm is
even heightened by the contrasting liquid
undertones. The song that floats across the
stream or lake acquires a richer, melting qual-
ity ; while the fair musician, embowered among
the trees of the secluded glen, will catch, as
surely as the listener, new inspiration from the
translucent pool beneath, in whose still depths
the fringing trees appear to live again. There
would be sad lack of harmony, however, were
the effusion of the wren,

“That crowds and hurries and precipitates,
With fast, thick warble, his delicious notes,”

to issue from the sandpiper on the stormy At-
lantic coast; or if the stately heron were to
mingle a sweet melody with the wild and end-
less anthem of the sea; or if the gulls, now
coursing vigorously to and fro in quest of food,
and again, in more restful flight, slowly wheel-
ing in ever receding circles until lost to view,
should break their sober silence with a song.
Beneath the despotism of the sea, the water
fowl can only wildly cry, or be entirely dumb.
Indeed, old ocean tolerates no rival of any
sort in his antique sovereignty. Even the

57

Song Birds and Water Fowl

continents themselves, like fabled Venus,
sprang from out the sea. We are very much
misled by appearances when we speak of the
firm land, and the inconstant deep. Like an
army, successively advancing and retreating,
has the solid earth been oscillating up and
down, now out of water, now submerged,
throughout the geologic ages—the very type of
instability. But, before the mountains were
brought forth, or ever a dawning continent
emerged above the waves to challenge the do-
minion of the sea, this hoariest of monarchs
reigned in matchless solitude, his shoreless bil-
lowy realm encompassing the globe. All in-
stability is of the land, the ocean is the only
changeless thing.

‘* Such as creation’s dawn beheld, thou rollest now.””

The continents, before such ‘chronicles of
untold ancientness,’’ are younger and more
fair ; and, as becomes their state, may revel in
bright colors and glad tones, in forest and gar-
den bloom, and the gay song of lark and night
ingale. But the ocean, old and gray, is serious-
minded, and its grave maturity is better
matched by creatures in a quieter attire, of less

58

Water Fowl

effusive tone and temperament, upon its sombre
shores. The everlasting hills may be symboli-
cal of limitless duration ; but the ceaseless,
eager throbbing of the sea’s immeasurable ex-
panse is certainly Nature’s grandest emblem of
eternal Ze. Water, salt or fresh, is a strangely
vital substance, half articulate, ever strug-
gling blindly upward into life and melody, a
corporeal sister of the evanescent wind. There
is no passion to be found in Nature like that of
the angry sea. The very essence of music’s
undertones is in the fluid thunder of the ocean’s
breakers, and in the roar of the majestic water-
fall; while the cascade and the brook beguile
the ear with their delicious melting chaos of
unrhythmic and uncadenced tumblings; ut-
terly devoid, it is true, of the technical quali-
ties of melody, yet the very incarnation of its
spirit.

Ornithology that drives one to the woods,
the fields, the shore—anywhere but to the
stuffed collection—is open sesamé to unlock
the door to many kindred forms of pleasure
and inquiry. Any ornithologist is very nar-
row-minded, who, in all his wanderings, finds
only birds. Around them, as a nucleus, will
crystallize a thousand objects of interest, for

59

Song Birds and Water Fowl

one who has a seeing eye and listening ear; -
and there is no finer text than they in all the
world to stick to or to wander from.

The student of Nature finds every grove and
the brink of every stream to be populated, not
as of yore with beauteous nymphs and alluring
hamadryads, but with a probably much more
instructive coterie, capable of transforming
every solitude into society, the cultivation of
whose acquaintance has been to me what
Coleridge declared that poetry had been to
him—‘‘its own exceeding great reward. It
has multiplied and refined my enjoyments: it
has endeared solitude: and it has given me the
habit of wishing to discover the Good and the
Beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me.”’

60

A Bird’s-Eye View

“A length of ocean and unbounded sky
Which scarce the sea fowl in a year o’erfly.””
Pope.

A BIRD’S-EYE VIEW

eee EFORE giving a systematic account
Hi} of the many and varied types of
#| water fowl that pass and repass our
fmt coast every spring and fall, let me
mention at random a few names, some familiar,
others strange, from among the number, whose
more intimate acquaintance will quickly awaken
a lively interest in this immense but mysterious
section of our avifauna.

Among the smallest and commonest is the
graceful little piping plover, no larger than a
sparrow, flitting fearlessly along the beach, ap-
propriately of a sandy-white color above, and
clear white beneath, which, in the ignorance
of strict scientific distinctions, may well have
been the inspiration of Celia Thaxter’s delicate
poem, ‘‘To a Sandpiper.’’ Another common
plover, the ‘‘kildeer,’’ is about as large as a
robin, and is named from the resemblance of
the sound to its short, wild, dissyllabic cry.
Besides being found on the coast, the ‘‘kildeer”’

63

Song Birds and Water Fowl

extends far inland and is to be seen along fresh
water-courses, like the spotted sandpiper.
The handsomest of the sort is the golden
plover, and one of the finest game birds. There
is one almost invariable rule in bird plumage,
of which the golden plover is an exception. If
the ordinary student of birds bethinks him-
self, he will probably be unable to recall a sin-
gle instance wherein the under side of a bird’s
body is of a darker color than the upper. A
few species are of a uniform tint throughout,
but where upper and under sides are different,
the latter, almost without exception, is notice-
ably lighter. Among song birds it is quite
common for the upper plumage to have various
rich shades, and the under to be white. The
golden plover is one of the rare exceptions in
this respect; and, in full plumage of the breed-
ing season, it presents a striking appearance in
its garb of speckled golden yellow above, and
pure black beneath. Like the plover, the best
of our other game birds are also in the group of
water fowl, such as woodcock and snipe, which
two, however, are only on the border of the
division.

As a class, water fowl are much more wary
than land birds, and one of the most difficult

64

A Bird’s-Eye View

to approach is a peculiar creature called the
‘* oyster-catcher,’’ about as long as a crow, in
plumage of black and white, with a character-
istic bill, which is quite long, red, and trun-
cated at the end of both mandibles. The bill
is a much more important organ toa bird than
is the mouth to any other animal, for it renders
almost all of the additional service of a hand.
The ‘‘ oyster-catcher ’’ illustrates this, using its
long, strong, and blunt bill as a <‘‘ jimmy ’’ to
pry open the shells of various bivalves, in order
to extract the meat. An allied species is the
little ‘‘ turnstone ’’ — also called calico - bird,
from its motley variegation of colors—but with
a very different form of bill, whose lower half
tapers to a sharp point, so that the whole re-
sembles a writing-pen, and is well adapted to
its purpose of turning over stones on the beach,
to find the various little animals lurking be-
neath.

An eccentric-looking specimen is the avocet,
remarkable for its very long blue legs and slender
body, and a bill that is just like a shoemaker’s
awl—long, sharp, and curved up. Wading
about in the shallows it finds food with this
instrument in the soft ground beneath ; but the
bird is also web-footed, and swims easily. In

65

Song Birds and Water Fowl

speaking of this most prominent feature of many
of the water fowl, I must not fail to mention
the most singular of all, the long-billed curlew,
or ‘‘sickle-bill,’’ with a bill sometimes eight
inches long, and curved downward, the reverse
of the avocet.

Sandpipers as a class have neutral colors, but
there is an occasional exception to this, as in
the red- backed sandpiper; while the red-
breasted, or ‘‘robin snipe,’’ is a large and
handsome species, a genuine water robin. Our
tiniest swimmer is the little phalarope, its body
not so large as that of the hermit thrush, and
one species is handsomely costumed in dark
wine-color, white and black.

The ‘‘sea-parrot’’ shows another distinct
type, and has a parrot-shaped bill, but is not so
ungainly as its namesake on land. This comes
down from the North in winter as far as Long
Island Sound. An allied species, called the
sea-dove, has plumage suggestive of our familiar
little snow-bird—dark-blue above and on breast,
passing abruptly into white beneath.

We have two prominent and interesting
groups of water birds among us, belonging, as
we shall see hereafter, to the ‘‘marsh group’’—
herons, which resort to wooded swamps, either

66

A Bird’s-Eye View

in large colonies or in pairs, and rails, found in
open, reedy swamps. Herons as a class are large
and aérial, while rails are much smaller and es-
sentially ground birds, rarely on the wing, and,
with their strangely attenuated bodies (which
have made them the proverbial type of ¢hinness)
easily gliding among the closely growing reeds
and rushes of the marsh. This class furnishes
one of the best game birds in the country—the
Carolina rail—extremely abundant in their fa-
vorite resorts during migration. From their
peculiar figure and character of habitat, rails
are often called mud-hens.

Of the herons, which serve only for beauty
and not for use, the most abundant in the East-
ern States are the night heron, the great blue,
and the green herons. The handsomest of the
class, the great white heron, is, unfortunately,
only arare straggler from the South, and its min-
iature fac-simile, the little white heron, is almost
as rare.

Along almost every stream can be seen the
curiously teetering, spotted sandpiper, whose
grotesque mannerisms make one wonder whether
he is suffering from hereditary uncouthness, or
expressing something inexplicable.

Here and there at a pond may be found the

67

Song Birds and Water Fowl

interesting pied-billed grebe, whose nest is one
of the curiosities of bird-architecture, its foun-
dations laid, not in a tree, nor on the ground,
but in shallow water, in the form of a heap of
matted material, which, as it emerges above the
liquid, is hollowed out and finished off with a
neatly rounded edge—almost a floating island-
home for the five or six chicks that soon appear.
The grebe’s facility for instantly darting under
water and remaining there a long time has given
to it the more expressive than elegant sodr?-
guet of ** Hell-diver.”’

But the largest and handsomest specimen
among diving birds is the common loon, or
great northern diver, breeding farther north,
but in winter found throughout the United
States. This is of a rich black color, with
numerous curious white spots, and partly
iridescent violet and green. I will add only
one more name to this catalogue—that of the
murre, one species of which comes down to
our latitude in winter. Multitudes of them
gather in their breeding-places on rocky isl-
ands, and they are called ‘‘egg-birds’’ for
the reason that the eggs are so abundant as to
be of great value, and are found lying thickly
together, with little or no pretence of a nest.

68

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A Bird’s-Eye View

These vast colonies are described as flying
about their island homes ‘‘in great files and
platoons, at regular hours in the morning and
evening, making a dark girdle of birds more
than a quarter of a mile broad, and thirty miles
long, whirling round and round the island, and
forcing upon the most casual observer a last-
ing impression.’’

Simultaneously with the arrival of thrush,
finch, and warbler in swamp and upland, occurs
the equally interesting passage of the host of
water birds along the coast of New Jersey,
north and south shores of Long Island, the
water-front of New England, with the numer-
ous adjoining islands. Sometimes at the ocean’s
edge, but oftener in the protected inlets, where
water is quieter, and food more abundant, one
may find, in spring and fall, representatives of
all the groups hereafter described, an assort-
ment far more diversified in their distinctive
types than can be found among land birds.
As a rapid review of this regular recurring
panorama, and as an aid in remembering the
more conspicuous differences of the various
groups of water fowl, I purpose to give a bird’s-

69

Song Birds and Water Fowl

eye view of the scene, by a classification which,
though not based upon the minute criteria of
science, is more serviceable to the field orni-
thologist, who observes the life-habits, rather
than the anatomical structure, of his specimens.

No one method of classifying objects, be
they animal, vegetable, or mineral, can be so
comprehensive as to present all their features.
The nature, especially of the higher classes of
creation, is so many-sided, that no one system
of grouping can possibly summarize all the
interesting facts. Human beings can be grouped
in many ways, each method emphasizing its
peculiar aspect of the race. Some of the most
fundamental traits of a man’s character are at
once revealed by knowing his nationality ; but
the daily current of his life is better understood
by knowing his profession, as a physician, or a
merchant, or an artist. The former view pre-
sents his more hereditary nature, and the latter
his equally individual but more accidental char-
acter. The current classification of birds, be-
ing based on heredity, as shown by anatomical
structure, is like the former method of knowing
a man’s nature; but, however profound, it
omits many of the distinctive aspects of bird-
life, and particularly: some that are of most

7o

A Bird’s-Eye View

interest to the general student. Any other
classification than that which now monopolizes
the term ‘‘scientific,’’ is also valid, just to the
degree of its significance; precisely as the
recent and popular arrangement of flowers
according to color utterly ignores the structural
method, and may be called extremely super-
ficial ; still it is legitimate, interesting, and, to
a large class of botanists, exceedingly helpful.
All the methods of classification in the natural
sciences being as yet tentative, it ill becomes
the advocate of any system to arrogate exclu-
sive validity to his own method. In the
science of birds there are other affinities than
those of flesh and blood, and other unities than
those of mandibles, toes, and feathers. To the
average observer, I am sure, the affiliations of
the various thrushes is more interestingly be-
trayed by their prevailing ‘ thrush-like tone,”’
than by all of their bony resemblances; and
the most characteristic trait of all flycatchers is
a more apparent, if a less profound, bond, than
minutiz of organism.

The classification I propose is a device to
aid the memory, rather than one that hinges on
the subtleties of consanguinity. It is what the
chemist might call a working formula, for those

71

Song Birds and Water Fowl

who have no time nor taste for the profoundly
scientific. This grouping is primarily intended
for water fowl, as being the class for which, in
the general ignorance of the public concerning
them, an easy and evident system is desirable,
rather than for the more familiar land birds.
And the most rigid scientist can find little
ground for positive objection to this scheme,
since the groups thus formed are almost identi-
cal with those established on anatomical prin-
ciples, while the succession of groups largely
follows the order of sequence in scientific
works.

My principle of arrangement is that of sfe-
cial habitat, which is a peculiarly reasonable
one to adopt, in view of the greatly divergent
natures of water fowl. To give symmetry to

* the scheme, and thoroughly to illustrate what
“may be called the circle of habitat—a super-
: ficial, yet natural, way of looking at the bird-

kingdom—lI have also briefly grouped the land

! birds in the same manner. In reply to the
: possible objection that the divisions thus made

are not absolutely distinct, but that the species
bordering each group show to some extent the
characteristic features of adjacent groups—to
this it is only needful to say that precisely the

72

A Bird’s-Eye View

same confession is made by the best authorities
concerning the current anatomical groups.

In devising this scheme for water fowl, my
best assurance of the propriety of presenting it
to others is the fact that it has been so service-
able to myself in affording the easiest and most
interesting method of bringing a great variety
of species, many of them quite inaccessible to
personal study, into distinct, lively, and com-
prehensive review.

According to the scheme, I present the land
birds in three main groups—aéria/, arboreal,
and ¢errestrial; and the water fowl in six
groups—marsh, shore, swimming, diving, swim-
ming-aérial, and aériaf. This forms a com-
plete circle of habitat that is at once apparent
from the following chart. As applied to the
water birds, the scheme may be expressed in a
word, by saying that it is based on the princi-
ple of their gradual approach to, and departure
Srom, the water.

In the great majority of birds, their passage
on the wing is only a means to an end; that is,
flight is a practical matter, chiefly a transit, in
order to get somewhere. Amid all their activ-
ities, and almost incessant motion throughout
the day, this fact is clearly evident. But there

73

Song Birds and Water Fowl

are a few species of land birds that find flight
an end in itself; that pre-eminently live upon
the wing; that sail, and circle, or indulge in
the most dashing circumvolutions, hour after
hour, without alighting, and evidently prompt-
ed by no impulse except the thrill of altitude,
and the ecstasy of motion. Such birds may
nest, and at times perch, in trees; they may
even be found occasionally on the ground; but
this is for some needful, special purpose ; their
wings are the truest symbol of their nature, and
their home, the broad and unobstructed sky.
The few species in this group are not the most
familiar nor the most welcome of their kind ;
but, in this lofty sense of wild abandonment
and super-earthliness, they are the most exalted
of all birds, showing an intensity of tempera-
ment unequalled, in its way, by any other
creature. These constitute what is most
essentially an aéria/ group, comprising the
grandest and most fugacious of terrestrial fowl,
of which the most glorious is the eagle—that

‘*_wingéd and cloud-cleaving minister,
Whose happy flight is highest into heaven,”

and whose crowning altitude is his best claim
to being called the king of birds. Modelled

74

A Bird’s-Eye View

after the same nature are the hawks, the largest
of which hardly stand second to the eagle, but
whose essentially injurious nature (as it is mis-
takenly judged) has made mankind almost
oblivious of their finer and grander aspect.
Diverse in many ways from the foregoing, and
yet closely allied in aérial temperament, are the
familiar swifts and swallows, sportively expend-
ing on the wing their exhaustless stock of en-
ergy, a constant symbol in the sky of joy and
silent laughter. In all the animal kingdom I
know of nothing that portrays a wilder rapture
—not even excepting the heartiest outpour of a
jubilant songster—than the voiceless transport
of a large flock of swallows in the autumn, as
they mingle, young and old, preparatory to
their departure for the South—the former in
the freshness of their new and untried life, the
latter, as if celebrating their release from the
cares of summer—in the eager, perplexing
mazes of exuberant flight ; a prolonged exhil-
aration, a feathered rhapsody; which, while it
wearies them not, leaves the beholder almost
breathless. Such a scene, common though it
be, is in the highest degree inspiriting ; and
the contemplation of the collective species of
this group is intimately associated with some of

75

Song Birds and Water Fowl

our loftiest thoughts. Well might Celia Thaxter
say of the swallow,

‘A spark of the gladness of God thou art!”

Next below the aérial group is the one that
comprises the mass of all our singing birds,
among which are a very few, like the goldfinch,
the bobolink, and the blue-gray gnatcatcher,
that show some affinity with their songless con-
fréres of the upper air, in the luxury of wanton,
aimless chase. The song birds and kindred
families, being commonly found among the
trees, where they chiefly nest and sing, and
rarely soaring above them for any prolonged
excursion, may properly be called the arboreal
group. This contains the most musical, as well
as the majority of the most beautiful in form
and plumage of all the race; and yet our fuller
appreciation of them is not a little due to the
closer approximation of their habitat to our
own daily life. By insensible gradations through
woodpeckers, nuthatches, etc., that are less vol-
itant, and more closely adherent to trees; owls,
parrots, and whippoorwills, that are still more
sedentary ; and meadow larks and sea-side
finches, that are conspicuously ground birds,
we descend to what may be called the terrestrial

76

A Bird’s-Eye View

group, found largely upon the surface of the
earth, where they commonly nest, and having
a flight that is short and low—a group compris-
ing many of the game birds, such as pheasants,
and quail or ‘‘bob-white,’’ the domestic
fowls, etc. TIll-defined as are the boundaries of
these groups, indeed, with perhaps no bound-
ary at all, a bird’s-eye view makes clearly evi-
dent the distinction on which this method of
arrangement is based.

The affiliations of all in these three groups—
comprising two-thirds of all our birds in North
America—are distinctly with the land; and
yet among them are not a few premonitions of
the remaining third, the water fowl. Contrary
to the usual laws of optics, some objects become
more distinct as we recede from them; and
this is true of the boundary-line of land and
water birds. Each class invades the territory
of the other. King-fishers and water-wagtails
are scarcely less addicted to the ponds and shal-
lows than sandpipers. Woodcock and snipe
seem only like the presentiment of water fowl,
herons have many of the habits of crows, and
the upland plover is not far from the kingdom
of «perchers.’’ Probably Nature had no thought
of a fixed gulf between these two great divisions.

77

Song Birds and Water Fowl

Thus at the bottom of the circle we find them
insensibly merged, and the same is true at the
top. In this latter case, we find a needful cor-
rection of a natural supposition, from reading
the usual tabular list of birds in scientific works,
that the last of the water fowl are of all the
class least like the land birds ; whereas we find
a gradual approximation toward the character-
istics of the aérial terrestrial division, and ex-
pressed by the popular names of some aérial
water species, such as ‘‘sea-pigeon,’’ ‘‘sea-swal-
low,’’ ‘‘sea-dove,’’ etc. The converging lines
of the two distinct natures are finely gathered
into one in the ‘‘sea eagles’’ of Africa, the
East Indies, and elsewhere, the grandest of that
kingly race being perhaps the enormous sea
eagle of Kamtchatka.

In the somewhat arbitrary adoption of a
boundary-line between these two great classes,
we may as well agree with the scientist, who
gives to our gamey friend ‘‘ bob-white’’ the
credit or disgrace of bringing up the rear in the
long terrestrial procession. Crossing that im-
aginary line, which to the ornithologist is as
true a fiction as are the equator and arctic cir-
cles to the geographer, we now pass over to the
more numerous and more clearly defined groups

78

A Bird’s-Eye View

of water fowl. It is my purpose to touch only
lightly upon the broad extent of this division,
by instancing a few representatives of the sev-
eral groups.

Marsh Group.—Scientific works place first in
order the shore birds, Zzmzcolae, but, in ar-
ranging the groups according to habitat, it is
better to put first those species that appear
most akin to land birds, that live farthest in-
land and are least aquatic ; so far terrestrial, in-
deed, that some of them nest in trees; yet, in
some ways that can be defined, and in others
that cannot, having distinctively the atmos-
phere and temper of water fowl. From their
usual resort I would call these collectively the
marsh group; which among others, includes
the longest, leanest, and most picturesque of
the water fowl—herons, ibises, cranes, and
storks, whose poetic popularity is abundantly
attested both in picture and in verse. The
habits of these principal families are very simi-
lar to those of the great blue heron and of the
night heron, as described in another chapter.
Living generally in almost impassable swamps
and marshes, usually silent, and some of them
comparatively seldom on the wing, one who
would see most of these species, except in mi-

79

Song Birds and Water Fowl

gration, must commonly make long and toil-
some explorations in order to find them. In
this group, however, are included some of the
handsomest, both in form and color, of all
water fowl.

The ibis is chiefly found in the Southern
States, the two principal species being the
glossy and the white ibis, each about two feet
long. The former is of a rich purplish chest-
nut color, and its evolutions on the wing, like
those of the white ibis, are particularly beauti-
ful. Both species congregate in vast numbers
in their favorite haunts, the glossy ibis nesting
on the ground, and the white one in trees.
Audubon counted forty-seven nests of the latter
species in a single tree, and his entire account
of its habits is very entertaining. It goes in
flocks to the ocean for food, like the night her-
on, timing its journey, which is sometimes
more than forty miles, by the tides. Its motion
through the air is by alternate flappings and
sailings, and they evince a sense of rhythm in
the fact that the whole flock imitates the leader
in the alternation of these motions.

The ingenuity of many animals rivals the
power of human reason, and the white ibis
well illustrates this fact. One of its favorite

80

A Bird’s-Eye View

articles of diet is the cray-fish, which often
burrows from three to four feet into the mud,
the material thrown out lying around the bur-
row in the form of a mound. The device of
the ibis to get hold of the animal is as simple
as it is clever. It merely breaks up the mound
of mud into little pieces, and throws them into
the hole, and then moves back a step to await
the consequences. ‘The cray-fish at once sets
to work to clear out the hole, and as soon as
he reaches the surface with the obstruction, the
watchful ibis snaps him up.

The wood ibis, properly a stork, which feeds
on fish, frogs, young alligators and water
snakes, is equally clever in procuring a variety
of diet in the easiest possible manner; for,
going into shallow water where fish abound, it
treads around until the water has become
muddy, which brings the fish to the top. The
stork, striking them sharply with its bill, kills
them and leaves them floating at the surface
for bait. In ten or fifteen minutes the various
reptiles in the neighborhood are allured to the
spot, whereupon the stork helps himself to
whatever he likes. This is also chiefly a South-
ern bird, only rarely coming as far North as
New England. Like the night heron, it lives

_ 8x

Song Birds and Water Fowl

in large colonies, but nests on the ground.
Storks are among the largest of all our birds,
standing nearly four feet high.

One of the noblest figures in the group is the
whooping crane, fully as high as the stork, and
almost entirely white, but one of the wariest of
all species, and extremely difficult of approach.
This, too, is a Southern bird, and is seldom
seen in the Northern States. The heron family
alone spreads over the northern part of the
country, and without much difficulty the night
heron, the great blue—occasionally the little
blue—and the green herons may be found
either in migration or in their summer homes.

Coming one step nearer the water we find
the

Shore Group—This is an exceedingly in-
teresting division, the largest of all the groups,
numbering about seventy species, and very
accurately described as to habitat by the name
of shore group, since they all live, with very
few exceptions, near the water’s edge, find their
food on the shore, or by wading in shallows,
and include only a very few species that are
swimming birds. As a class they are character-
ized by long bills and long legs, the former for
probing the ground for food, the latter for

82

SEA EAGLE

UPLAND PLOVER

The birds named in the outer circle are merely representative of the
groups of the muer circle.

A Bird’s-Eye View

wading. The group is a varied one as regards
size and plumage, averaging much smaller than
any other group, containing all the most deli-
cate species and some that are brightly colored.
It contains also the species that one is most
likely to find, as some of them frequent almost
all rivers, while others are to be seen along the
coast of the Eastern States through the summer.
The group comprises several large families,
which I will only mention briefly.

Plovers are among the best known, averag-
ing about the size of a thrush, the smallest
being the piping plover, with quite a musical
note, while the handsomest is the ‘‘ crested lap-
wing,’’ which Tennyson refers to, a common
bird in Europe, but belonging to the North
American fauna only by virtue of having been
seen in Greenland. The golden, kildeer, and
mountain plovers are also familiar and attrac-
tive species, the last-named being an exception
to the class in living entirely away from water.
The turnstone, stilt, and avocet, which have al-
ready been described, belong to the shore
group. Another section of it are the sand-
pipers, a numerous and generally plainly colored
family ; as a rule quite small, the ‘least sand-
piper’’ being the most diminutive of all our

83

Song Birds and Water Fowl

water fowl, and no larger than a sparrow or
warbler. Some of them are fresh-water birds,
and can be seen along nearly every stream. In
this group, too, are the phalaropes, which are
swimmers ; and a flock of these minute creatures,
not so large as a robin, disporting in the water,
affords a novel and beautiful picture. In the
shore group, also, are curlews, and those com-
monest of game birds, woodcock and snipe.
As a class, these various sorts nest on the
ground, the structure being adequate for all
practical purposes, but not at all ornamental.
Going out upon the water we come to the
Swimming Group.—This contains the most
familiar ofall the aquatic division—ducks, geese,
and swans, whose temperament makes them
peculiarly adaptable to domestication. Almost
forty distinct species of ducks belong to our
avifauna—an imposing flotilla—and, as a class,
they are the most handsomely decorated of any
water group. Among land birds, Nature has
been most prodigal of color in the ‘‘ warblers,’’
and, for more than one reason, ducks might be
called aquatic warblers. Strange to say, yel-
low, which is such a common color in the land
division, is almost totally absent from water
birds. Excepting the golden plover and one

84

AMERICAN AVOCETS

Water fowl live on the confines of an unknown world, from which they bring us
scarcely any intelligible message (p. 46).

A Bird’s-Eye View

or two others inconspicuously marked, I do
not recall a single instance of it. The wood
duck, harlequin, and various teals are among
the handsomest. In migration, ducks com-
monly spend the day on the water quite far out
from shore, but at night come to land along
some inlet, where they can be best approached
in the early morning before they fly.

For the field ornithologist perhaps no other
family of American birds has so evident a clas-
sification, which I will briefly state.

From their habits and habitat they fall into
three distinct groups, zz., river ducks, sea
ducks, and fishing ducks or mergansers.

River ducks, as the name implies, chiefly
frequent fresh-water streams and lakes, and
principally subsist upon aquatic herbage, with
very little animal food. As a consequence,
this group, which naturally includes all the
smaller and more delicate kinds, such as teals
and widgeons, together with the domesticated
sorts, afford fine eating. The breeding range
of this group, consistently with their greater
delicacy, is more southerly than that of sea
ducks, and many of them breed extensively
throughout the United States.

Sea ducks are mostly found along the coast,

85

Song Birds and Water Fowl

and subsist largely upon animal food which
they find in the water. The nature of their
diet makes their flesh rank and usually unpal-
atable, although the ‘‘ canvas-back’’ is a not-
able exception. These rarely breed as far south
as the United States, but commonly far north,
one of the largest and handsomest, the king
eider, being circumpolar. Sea ducks differ
from river ducks in having larger feet and
broader webs, enabling them to swim and
dive more easily. I will mention one curious
and significant distinction between the two
groups, although it touches upon the anatomi-
cal side of the subject. In all sea ducks the
hind toe is bordered by a narrow band or lobe,
which is never the case in river ducks. This
increases the area of the webbed foot, and the
relation of this fact to the different degrees of
propulsive power possessed by the two groups,
which in turn so largely determines their habi-
tat and diet, and thus their serviceableness to
man, justifies an allusion to what might other-
wise be called a dry, scientific fact. The field
ornithologist ignores nothing in the physique
of a bird that has an evident relation to the
special habits of the species; but the intricate
details of an insignificant bone in the body that

86

A Bird’s-Eye View

he has never seen, and never expects to see, and
that has no more connection with the life-
history of the bird than has the transit of Ve-
nus—these microscopic, polysyllabic, and in-
comprehensible data he willingly relegates to
the enthusiast in skeletons.

These two groups comprise all but three of
our species of ducks, and these form the third
or merganser group, found both in salt and
fresh water, but living largely upon fish, for
the capture of which they can swim under
water. While these are fine-looking birds, es-
pecially the ‘‘hooded’’ merganser, their fish
diet makes them even more unsavory than sea
ducks.

One pleasure of studying water fowl, that is
seldom enjoyed when watching land birds, is
due to the large numbers in which almost every
species congregates, and the peculiar animation
that springs from multitudes. As compared
with other birds, the water fowl are very silent,
it is true; and, from this fact, they get the
reputation, among thoughtless people, of being
cold-blooded and undemonstrative. But one
finds the social instinct emphasized among them
quite as strongly as among the other species ;
and they illustrate the fact that individuals less

87

Song Birds and Water Fowl

loquacious, gushing, and demonstrative than
their neighbors, cannot, on that account, be
said to have less strength of sentiment and
affection.

Standing apart, in most singular contrast to
these species, but scientifically in the same
order, is the flamingo of Florida, one of the
most brilliant of all water fowl—intense scarlet
from top to toe, except a few black feathers in
the wing—extremely attenuated, standing four
feet high, and often on the wing—a sort of air-
line connection between the marsh and the swim-
ming groups. Scientists must have smiled when
they voted to group the dumpy duck with this
tall and spindling creature, which stands in the
same relation to the remainder of the group as
a church-steeple to a cottage. Audubon once
made a trip to Florida chiefly to study these
gorgeous specimens. His view of a flock in
the air, sailing with broadly spreading wings,
must have been as unique as it was beautiful, as
of a group of crimson clouds dappling the sky
at sunset. And, by the way, one must have
the greatest admiration for the arduous and in-
defatigable researches of this wonderful natural-
ist. The extremities into which he was some-
times brought, in his long wanderings through

88

A Bird’s-Eye View

wild regions, called for truly heroic treatment.
Thus, in camping out, he says it repeatedly
happened, after he had cooked his meat, and
not having any salt, that he used gunpowder
for seasoning ! :

The scientific excuse for putting the lofty
flamingo into the lowly company of ducks, etc.,
is in the fact that this towering bird has, in
common with them, what probably no other
birds at present possess—two rows of small
projections along the inner edges of the bill,
apparently the lingering remains of a dental
apparatus once enjoyed by this class of beings.
For the reader must know that, in olden times,
birds had our own troublesome convenience of
teeth, the evidence of which is found in skele-
tons of the Cretacean epoch.

The families thus far named in the ‘‘ swim-
ming group,’’ especially swans, are but slightly
aérial; but we now reach the most peculiar type
of all, the penguin, ‘‘the flightless sea bird,’’
with almost rudimentary wings, quite like the
flippers of a cetacean, without quills, but mov-
ing freely at the shoulder-joint, so that they
serve as paddles in the water, where they are
usually worked alternately, in rotatory motion.
This singular creature, of which there are sev-

89

Song Birds and Water Fowl

eral species, is not found in our avifauna, be-
ing confined to the coast of the Southern Ocean.

Going not only on, but beneath the water,
we find the

Diving Group.—Some species have a re-
markable facility for remaining under water a
long time, and of swimming rapidly and a long
distance while submerged, either by using
simply their webbed feet, or, in some cases, by
the additional use of the wings. This ability
serves the double purpose of capturing their
prey, and of escaping from danger. One
family of the swimming group—the mergansers
—has this faculty to some degree, but it is
most conspicuous in those families that are
distinctively called <‘divers.’’ These include
the great northern loon, which is able to swim
many fathoms deep in water. Grebes are
another family, a sort of diminutive loon, and
still another are sea-parrots, already referred to.
One by one, species become extinct, without
any known cause, and the most notable instance
of this in recent years is that of the great auk,
another species of diver, which is supposed to
have disappeared about forty years ago. The
few skins and eggs of this bird that remain
command a fabulous price, one skin, and a poor

go

A Bird’s-Eye View

one, having been sold in Europe for 200.
With these divers may also be classed three
families of very large and heavy birds — gan-
nets, pelicans, and cormorants. The first two
of them would be very clumsy in water, were
it not for the notable fact that Nature has
supplied them with numerous interior air-
chambers — ‘‘ water - tight compartments ’?’ —
which enable them to swim very lightly. One
noticeable peculiarity of those in this group
that are most distinctively divers, is the fact
that they stand very erect on land, the legs be-
ing placed so far behind that a horizontal posi-
tion is impossible. Indeed, some species when
on land use the tail as the third foot of a tripod
for supporting themselves. Doubtless propul-
sion under water is facilitated by having the
feet well behind, instead of under the middle
of the body. The birds of this group very
consistently are among the least aerial of all our
water fowl, although on occasion they can fly
swiftly. On the border of this group, and
leading into the next and more aérial division,
is one that, while equally adept in sub-aque-
ous practices, has a more airy form — that
remarkable bird in Florida, called the anhinga,
snake-bird, or ‘‘Grecian Lady.’’ ‘This is a

gI

Song Birds and Water Fowl

more inland species, living along rivers, lakes,
and bayous, rather than by salt water, and is
the chief fresh-water diver. Disappearing al-
most without a ripple, it comes up again many
hundred yards distant ; and, when fleeing from
danger, it often swims along with only its head
and long neck above water, presenting the ap-
pearance of a snake. Its long bill, small head,
serpentine neck, and very slender body give it
a very snaky look even upon land ; and, with
its graceful form and handsome plumage, it is as
beautiful as it is singular. Yet, although some-
times indulging in prolonged and lofty soaring
on the wing, it spends more than half of its
time by day in the water. Through this transi-
tion species we come to the

Swimming-aérial Group.—We are now dis-
tinctly on and above the water, and here we find
as the most important, gulls and terns, which
have elsewhere been fully described, easily
aquatic and gracefully aerial. In this division,
too, is a genuine marine bird of prey—the
jager (hunter)—which obtains its food by rob-
bing the booty captured by small gulls and
terns. By one further ascent we come to the

Aérial Group, consisting of the most purely
oceanic birds, ‘‘ rarely landing except to breed,

g2

A Bird’s-Eye View

and unsurpassed in power of flight,’’ able to
swim, but, with one exception, never diving.
The birds of this group have, in general, the
peculiarity of producing a single egg, instead
of several, and it is quite common for both
sexes to incubate, which is rare in land birds.

As king of this group stands the albatross, a
magnificent specimen of enormous frame, three
feet long and with a spread of seven feet. He
is found at large on the Pacific Ocean as well
as off our own coast, a marvellous specimen of
strength, energy, and imposing grace.

As diminutive as the albatross is mighty is the
dainty petrel, whose spacious mansion of wide
emptiness has the ocean for a billowy floor, the
sky’s blue concave for a vaulted roof, and for
companions only winds and waves. There is a
sort of grandeur in such gigantic loneliness. In
this group also is the giant fulmar, hardly in-
ferior to the albatross, in hue like a leaden
cloud, and, in distinction from ‘‘ Mother Carey’s
Chickens’’ (the petrels), called by sailors
«Mother Carey’s Geese.’’ ‘Two other species
no less aérial are the graceful tropic bird, and
that remarkable specimen, the frigate or man-
of-war bird, slender as a tern, and, on ac-
count of its long-tail feathers, having a total

93

Song Birds and Water Fowl

length of three and a half feet, found hundreds
of miles out to sea, and said by Audubon to be
the swiftest of all birds in the world. I can-
not more appropriately close this résumé of
water fowl than by quoting from this enthusi-
astic writer a fine description of this strange
and beautiful species. ‘‘When the morning
light gladdens the face of Nature, and while
the warblers are yet waiting in silence the first
rays of the sun, whose appearance they will
hail with joy, the frigate bird on extended
pinions sails from his roosting place. Toward
the vast deep he moves, rising apace, and, be-
fore any other bird, views the bright orb
emerge from the waters. Pure is the azure of
the heavens, and rich the deep green of the
smooth sea below; and now the glad bird
shakes his pinions, and far up into the air, far
beyond the reach of man’s unaided eye, he
soars in his quiet but rapid flight. There he
floats in the pure air, but thither can fancy
alone follow him. But now I see him again,
with half-closed wings, gently falling tow-
ard the sea. He pauses awhile, and again
dives through the air. Thrice, four times, has
he gradually approached the surface of the
ocean. Now he shakes his pinions, then sweeps

94

A Bird’s-Eye View

away, shooting to this side and that, in search
of prey.”’

This is a graphic picture of the peculiar at-
mosphere of water fowl. In such a scene, all
the finest song birds the earth can offer will
vanish from one’s thoughts in the sense of
glorious wildness, freedom, and buoyancy of
spirits displayed by these noble and graceful
creatures, that are so fitting an accompaniment
to the sounding solitude and sombre majesty of
ocean scenery. Reflecting in their various tem-
peraments the alternating moods of the marine
divinity, they are the genii of the deep, ocean’s
glances in the upper air. The giant black-
backed gull, rapacious and tyrannical, the eagle
of all water fowl, matches the ocean’s fiercest
energy. The frigate bird, petrel, and albatross,
forever ranging over its illimitable expanse, be-
token well its interminable restlessness. The
milder sorts of gulls, and terns, snow-white and
pearly winged, reflect its crested waves, when,
kindled by a summer’s wind, the liquid plain is
flecked with silver caps; while the dainty float-
ing phalaropes, with the nimble-footed plover
and sandpiper that frequent the shore, image the
laughing ripples on the beach, when the majestic
ocean spirit throbs in vast serenity. Byron’s

95

Song Birds and Water Fowl

famous apostrophe in ‘‘ Childe Harold’’ is the
unsurpassed expression of one who has felt the
magnetism of the sea, resistless in its rage, pro-
found in its repose, and through all ages tire-
less as the very mind of Him who formed it.

96

-—--——

Pirectes Bae

SEA PARROTS (Puffins)

It would seem incongruous if sea fowl had been gifted with the power of song The
mood that animates the oriole and bobolink would ill befit the solemn, lonely grandeur

of the ocean's restless life (p. 50).

Mistress Cuckoo

“You, mistress, all this coil is ‘long of you!”
Shakespeare.

“OQ Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird,
Or but a wandering Voice?”
Wordsworth.

MISTRESS CUCKOO

HE cuckoo is a household name with
‘ J multitudes who, nevertheless, are
E! : not only totally ignorant of its
= appearance and habits, but who
know its peculiar sound—‘‘ twin notes insepa-
rably paired ’’——only by their world-wide and
accurate imitation. To such it has a singular
unreality ; while for those, too, who have act-
ual acquaintance with this ‘‘ wandering Voice,’’
it calls forth avery different sentiment from
that which any other bird awakens.
Comparatively rare and silent, and very se-
clusive, its very tone gives it a shadowy atmos-
phere, and its personality is that of something
distant, incorporeal. In contrast with our
cheerful, clear-toned songsters, that come promi-
nently into view, the cuckoo is a pensive spirit,
lurking among the trees, and at long intervals
uttering its singular cry, now harsh and mean-
ingless, now musical and melancholy, a tone

99

Song Birds and Water Fowl

as passionless as if it were cold moonlight’s in-
carnation. Its darkened, downward inflected
notes spring from the solitude like a purple
bending flower from out the earth—an audible
inflorescence of the woodland silence. To the
general eye its name is, so to speak, not carved
in deep and clear-cut granite characters, but is
like an antique inscription, richly overgrown
and half obliterated by the poetic moss of
mystery.

Of all the birds common to this region, the
cuckoo bears, perhaps, the strongest impress
of graceful femininity. Doubtless this is due
in part to its delicate attire of soft ‘‘ quaker
brown’’ above and white beneath; but it is
quite as much induced by the dainty gentleness
of its ways, both in motion and repose, and by
an indefinable reserve that seems quite different
from ordinary timidity. Its long and slender
drooping form, betokening a pliant nature,
emphasizes the same impression. Its figure
and demeanor are suggestive of the wild
pigeon—a feathered symbol of tranquillity and
meekness. We at once feel the propriety of
saying Sir Robin and Master Oriole, for they
both display masculine vigor in all their grace-
ful conduct; and, with the same sense of con-

100

Mistress Cuckoo

gruity, we may address this shy and tender
ornament as Mistress Cuckoo.

Although this bird peculiarly befits a poetic
mood, it is curious to observe in what different
humor the poets allude to it on different oc-
casions. To Spenser it is at one time

‘“The Merry Cuckoo, messenger of Spring,”
whose

““trumpet shrill hath thrice already sounded.”

At another time, in a very disparaging tone,
he says:

** The Cuckoo, when the Mavis sings,
Begins his witlesse note apace to clatter.”

Shakespeare is equally contradictory in com-
mendation and depreciation of its notes. The
difference may be accounted for by the con-
trast of its harsh and disagreeable cry, as heard
sometimes, and its smooth and distinctly in-
toned effect at other times. On Wordsworth
it sometimes has a mystical and sombre effect,
as being

‘‘No bird, but an invisible thing,
A voice, a mystery !”

Io!

Song Birds and Water Fowl

and at other times he speaks of its joyous
spring-time mood, with an ardor that is quite
in contrast with his usually quiet and conserva-
tive utterance. These varied impressions re-
sult in part from the variations of the bird
itself, and in part from the changing light and
atmosphere in which a poet looks at everything.
There are certain peculiarities in this bird that
deserve attention.

Some people are so symmetrical in their nat-
ures that the skilful psychologist, from a sin-
gle element, might reconstruct the entire frame-
work of their character; just as Agassiz, from
a single bone, restored the entire skeleton of a
certain geologic reptile. Such may be the most
valuable members of society, but they are not
the most interesting specimens for psychological
analysis. But when one’s own nature is at war
with itself, when an individual like the cuckoo,
modest, graceful, retiring, and evidently of a
poetic melancholy temperament, is found to be
an artful thief and a cold-blooded murderess,
and so wanting in natural affection as to aban-
don her own offspring—while we should hardly
like to admit this character to our own house,
we should certainly be eager to scrutinize such
a strange anomaly.

102

Mistress Cuckoo

The cuckoo is thus abnormal above all our
other birds, and excites peculiar interest for
that reason; and while we have no right to
condone her faults, there are some extenuating
circumstances for the behavior of Mistress
Cuckoo which should be taken into account.

The first fault of the cuckoo to be mentioned
is, that it often eats the eggs of other birds.
Crows, jays, and catbirds are in ill-repute for
doing the same thing. The eagle, however,
whose offence is more heinous, as he often preys
upon adult creatures of more value, fares better
at our hands, and is considered a rather noble
villain. Great offences are at a premium. It
is less disgraceful to be an embezzler than a
sneak-thief.

We all know that a large proportion of ani-
mals sustain life wholly or in part by devouring
their fellow-creatures. A flycatcher will sit
almost by the hour on the end of a twig, watch-
ing his chance, and every sally he makes means
the death of a luckless gnat, moth, or butterfly;
and we never think of criticising its propriety.
We say it is necessary for food and for the de-
struction of injurious insects. But the bird’s
only motive is to gratify appetite, and he is not
at all praiseworthy for doing unconsciously what

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Song Birds and Water Fowl

happens to be of service to us. We should
judge all his conduct according as it is normal
or abnormal to his nature. But precisely what
is normal to a mere animal is not always easy
to determine. To accuse any animal of crime
is contrary to reason; and yet we virtually do
so in saying, for example, that a horse, or a
dog, or a cow is vicious. An ugly specimen of
a domesticated animal does not seem to be in
its normal state; it appears to show depravity
of something very like a moral nature. Many
an animal is crafty, that is, devilishly intelli-
gent ; and we often inflict punishment, osten-
sibly only to restrain it by fear from doing the
vicious or crafty deed again, but with a lurking
feeling that the animal is really guilty.

No one criticises a bird for capturing insects;
but when it comes to its eating another bird’s
eggs, we draw the line. Is it a reasonable line?
Somehow it seems more against nature for an
animal to violate the interest of creatures of its
own kind than to destroy lower forms of life.
Is such a distinction rational? If so, since
mammals stand higher in the scale of life than
birds, ought we to have indignant feelings
toward a cat that has captured a robin or
bluebird? If it were only a butcher-bird, no

104

Mistress Cuckoo

one would say anything, because we don’t hap-
pen to like butcher-birds. As a matter of fact,
our judgments of these things are all warped by
personal feelings. Doubtless the only tenable
ground is that, from a bird’s point of view, all
that he wants and can get is legitimate prey.
Yet, despite all logic, we shall continue to
believe that such conduct in any bird is some-
how against Nature, and rascally; and we
can never feel that modesty and theft, gen-
tleness and murder, are consistent elements of
character.

The other serious charge against the cuckoo
is quite as criminal as the first, but, upon ex-
amination, admits of a far better excuse.

A bird’s parental instincts are one of the
most beautiful aspects of its nature, and estab-
lish a closer bond of sympathy in mankind
than any other characteristic. But, when we
find the cuckoo coolly depositing one egg in
one nest, and another egg in another nest, of
other birds, thus shirking all the maternal re-
sponsibilities and felicities, it seems a more fla-
grant exhibition of heartlessness than sapping
the potential life out of inanimate eggs, and as
unnatural as even the destruction of the young
of other species. But the ground of such ab-

105

Song Birds and Water Fowl

normal conduct is in a structural peculiarity
found in none other of our familiar birds.

If Nature ever devised a scheme that should
bewilder her own creatures, we may be sure
she did it in the present instance ; for the poor
cuckoos find themselves in a dilemma that baf-
fles instinct itself. Other birds lay their full
complement of eggs, usually about five, on so
many successive days, and immediately pro-
ceed to incubate. But with the cuckoos, by
some natural derangement of the oviparous
apparatus, several days often elapse between
successive depositions. Ifshe knew how many
eggs to expect she would probably postpone
sitting. In that case, however, those first laid
might possibly become stale. But her arith-
metic is at fault, or else she is confused by the
delay, and, after laying one or two, and finding
that none follow, she does the best she knows
how and begins to sit. Later another egg is
deposited, then another, and possibly a third,
at intervals of several days. As a result, the
eggs begin to hatch at corresponding intervals.
The mother is now in a quandary. If she re-
mains on the nest to finish all the hatching, she
will perhaps starve the first arrivals. If she
goes off to get food for her first-born, she will

106

CUCKOO

The poor cuckoos find themselves in a dilemma that baffles instinct itself (p. 106).

Mistress Cuckoo

possibly chill the life out of their prospective
brothers and sisters. In such extremity she
may well vote family life a failure. Do what
she will, it may cause some of the brood to
perish ; and even if she succeeds in making the
two ends meet, she is all the time in a desper-
ate anxiety. As the historian would say, this
is no fancy sketch. Nests are sometimes found
with birdlings in different stages of develop-
ment, and eggs still unhatched.

Placed in such a predicament, who can blame
Mistress Cuckoo for retaliating on Nature, as
it were, and offsetting one abnormality by
another? Still, the American species are not
commonly deterred from maintaining the house-
hold, and they cherish their offspring with the
same affection that other birds display. But
we can hardly wonder if, with the memory of
previous disastrous experience, they now and
then seek a happy issue out of all their troubles
by passing over an egg or two to the charitable
offices of another bird.

Moreover, as regards the fault of eating eggs
in others’ nests, the discredit of American
cuckoos is quite out of proportion to their
offence. It is chiefly the prevalence of the un-
natural habit in European species that has, as

107

Song Birds and Water Fowl

Mr. Elliott Coues expresses it, ‘‘set a stigma
upon the family name.’’ It is an instance, not
infrequent, where one may suffer for the sins of
his contemporaneous relatives quite as much as
for the sins of his ancestors. Undoubtedly, a
bad physical odor spreads no faster than a good
one; the scent of the skunk cabbage radiates
no more rapidly than that of the rose. But, in
the moral world, it sometimes seems as if the
law of dispersion were founded on variable
dynamics, that the odor of an evil deed could
diffuse itself more quickly than a virtuous per-
fume. Scandal rides post-haste, and a breath
of suspicion has more energy of radiation than
a perfect gale of compliment. Certainly, in the
feathered tribe, the merits of the European
species do not seem to reach this country with
the facility of their occasional mal-odorous traits.

In the matter of architecture, too, while our
own cuckoos are as yet very indifferent build-
ers, they are distinctly in advance of the Eu-
ropean varieties, which simply build no nest
at all, but habitually leave their eggs in the
nests of other species. Their impulses, in this
country, are plainly for higher things; and if
a being is to be judged not so much by what
he is as by what he aims to be, our sympathies

108

Mistress Cuckoo

will go out toward this degenerate but grace-
ful and aspiring creature quite as strongly as
toward the ninety-and-nine just species that
need no repentance.

&

The conflicting opinions of good authorities
as to whether the cuckoos’ notes are musical,
suggest an interesting inquiry, which I would
not presume definitely to settle, but concern-
ing which a few facts are quite evident—this
question, namely, by what criterion shall
we determine which of Nature’s sounds are
musical ?

A universal and invincible definition is often
a will-o’-the-wisp, that leads many a seeker
through a long and fruitless search. Nature’s
music can be discussed scientifically or popu-
larly. A technical definition of music is easy
enough; it is the agreeable combination of
tones, according to accepted laws of melody,
harmony, and rhythm. But the popular sense
of music is difficult, if not impossible, to bring
within any such precise verbal expression. A
scientific definition sometimes hits the mark as
accurately for the head, as it shoots wide of it
for the heart. Hence the dictionary is some-

109

Song Birds and Water Fowl

times the poorest place in the world to go to,
to learn the meaning ofa word. We often speak
disparagingly of popular notions of things, be-
cause of their notoriously scientific inaccuracy,
forgetting that the popular sense of a fact often
involves an element of truth that is persistently
ignored by science, and yet is quite as important
as any aspect of the matter that science recog-
nizes. In fact, the popular estimate is likely to
be more vital than the scientific, since science is
-inclined to be anatomical. The popular mind
comes close to the popular heart, while science
glories in standing aloof from all sentiment.
Weighed in purely scientific balances, sentiment
is lighter than vanity. Science looks at an ob-
ject in nature analytically, in its isolation ; sen-
timent regards it comprehensively, in the lights
and shadows cast upon it by surrounding ob-
jects. Therefore the most untutored lover of
nature is a far higher authority as to the music
of nature than the profoundest professor of
acoustics, or the most consummate technical
musician. Possibly sentiment is more super-
ficial than science; but, at any rate, it often
discerns what is quite unknown to science ;
and, to those that scorn the shallowness of a
merely sentimental view of things it is com-

IIo"

Mistress Cuckoo

petent to retort, that the cream of many a
matter lies on the top.

Wherever a sentiment of the beautiful is con-
veyed in sound, the poet’s ear discovers music,
whether that sound be intrinsically and at all
times musical, or only accidentally so, by virt-
ue of reactionary influence from surrounding
scenes, or association of ideas. Nature’s music
is a subjective as well as an objective matter ;
and, therefore, what is musical for one may not
be so for another. Again, what is actually
hideous at close range, like the hoot of an owl,
the scream of a crow or jay, or even the squawk
of a duck, may need only distance and appro-
priate setting to be tempered into a delightful
impression that is essentially musical. A re-
verberation of thunder, which has been well
called Nature’s diapason, is, in scientific sense,
utterly unmusical; but, in an equally true
poetic sense, its nature is precisely that of the
grandest oratorio, as an audible expression of
sublimity. Yet even here we must distinguish
between the inherent capacity of thunder to
impress us, and its indebtedness to adventitious
circumstances for nearly all its power over the
mind. If the same reverberation were pro-
duced at the level of the earth, and by me-

Int

Song Birds and Water Fowl

chanical means, it would at once sink to the
level of offensive noise. Thunder’s power to
stir the sentiment is chiefly through its asso-
ciation with lightning, elevation, cloud, and
storm. With such association it is musical ;
without it, it is not. The sentiment of sound is
thus very often only an echo from accessories.
The success of any of Nature’s sounds, like
the success of a remark, lies in its appositeness.
Science would extract no music from the buz—
zing of a bumble-bee; but when, in the calm
and brightness of a country day, a number of
them are hovering about a fragrant syringa-bush,
what, if not music, is that drowsy hum that is
wafted through the air, without time or tune,
uncadenced and unrhythmical? The tones of
Nature take their color from surrounding ob-
jects. In asense we may say that visible beauty
thus becomes audibly transformed, and floats
into the ear. The very merriment of wedding-
bells is in the song of lark and oriole, in the joy-
ous atmosphere of June ; and all the melancholy
of a funeral march is gathered into a single gust
of a November sighing wind. Zemperament is
the soul’s eagerness, and hat is the soul of song,
be the quality of voice what it may. Through-
out Nature’s gamut of sounds, there is none

112

Mistress Cuckoo

more unmelodious and rasping than the chick-
adee’s note; yet it stirs the heart as quickly as
a thrush or finch. Something worth more than
music has made it musical. Nature’s audible
effects, thus slightly tinged or deeply saturated
with sentiment, are so innumerable, by day and
night, in every season of the year, that we may
well ask whether the attentive listener will not,
in the aggregate, derive more of music’s very
essence from Nature than from Art. With an
ambition for nothing short of omniscience, yet,
in thoughts upon these things, I would far rather
be the poet than the philosopher, since beauty
is more than truth to my soul—nay, rather, we
should say, beauty zs very truth, fashioned in
fairest form, instinct with spirit’s force, robed
in soft color, and flushed with keen vitality. For
surely it cannot be called vague transcendental-
ism nor odious pantheism to say that the Divine
Soul lives in the insect, flower, and crystal, in
wave and cloud, in storm and sunshine, as He
does not in algebraic equation or in geometric
theorern.

&

The universal familiarity with the cuckoo’s
notes finds its reason, not in their greater beauty,

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Song Birds and Water Fowl

as compared with other songs, but in their per-
fect ease of imitation, in which they are unri-
valled. This is dueto their having what the
scientist calls the basal element of all musical
sound—fixed intonation, definite pitch, pro-
duced by extreme rapidity and equidistance of
successive sound - waves—that basal element
that runs through the entire gamut of musical
tone, from its grossest to its most spiritual mani-
festation, from the depths of a buzz-saw to the
heights of a Jenny Lind.

The difficulty, usually amounting to an im-
possibility, of reproducing bird-songs is partly
due to great intricacy or confusion of rhythm,
as in any genuine warble, like that of the
warbling vireo and wren ; partly due, also, to
that surprising and inimitable change of tone-
color that passes suddenly over the successive
phrases of many a song, and even over the sev-
eral notes of the same phrase ; as in the case of
the wood thrush, one of whose phrases seems
like a flood of golden light, and the next like a
stream of sparkling water ; but perhaps the great-
est difficulty of all, in reproducing a song, is in
the almost incessant conversational slide of the
voice—a sort of slippery pitch—instead of the
definiteness of strictly musical tones, and in the

114

Mistress Cuckoo

almost total lack of precise intervals of the scale,
without which no song can be imitated, or ex-
pressed in black and white.

The cuckoo stands almost alone in the dis-
tinct intonation of his pair of notes; and their
consequent ease of imitation, both in this re-
spect, and as regards tone-color, not only has
given the bird a world-wide reputation, but was
the cause of its selection to represent Nature’s
songsters in that fairy piece of tonal scenery so
artfully devised by Beethoven, in one of the
movements of the Pastoral Symphony, wherein
the ear absorbs what commonly the eye alone
can feed upon.

Quite as important as tone-color, in deter-
mining the character of a song, are rhythm, and
inflection, or modulation, of the voice. This is
shown in that delicious but decidedly character-
less outpour of the goldfinch which is surpassingly
sweet-toned, but incoherent and expressionless,
from the total absence of any rhythmical swing
and marked inflection. On the other hand, the
song of the Baltimore oriole displays a definite
and vigorously masculine character, in the em-
phatically martial accent of one of his phrases ;
and, in the midst of that inextricable maze of
volubility known as the purple finch’s song, one

115

Song Birds and Water Fowl

hears a whirlwind of notes suddenly crystallizing
into a dancing phrase, followed by a luminous
whirr of sound that baffles all attempts at clear
description. This tripping phrase is the nu-
cleus, the transparent gem, in the vocal setting
of this famous singer’s ecstasy, like a sparkling
diamond in the forefront of a kingly crown.
The warbling vireo, with no such climactic
point of rhythmic simplicity, has just the mel-
lifluous and aimless exuberance of an innocent
damsel of sixteen ; leaving upon the listener no
other distinct impression than that of a saccha-
rine and slightly insipid pleasure.

Among all the ‘‘warblers’’ (who, however,
never warble), and whose musical efforts are com-
monly very brief and rather pointless, there is one
notable exception, as regards decisive rhythm
and inflection, in the beautiful ‘* black-throated
green,’’ who evidently has a very distinct im-
pression of what he is about to say before he
begins to sing. The intonation is remarkably
pure, the tones have a broad range in thescale,
and the szng is very marked. In general, I
pity the innocence of those who reduce bird
melodies to human musical notation, in the ex-
pectation that they will convey any correct
idea; but such a course is warranted in the

116

Mistress Cuckoo

present instance; and I submit the following
composition (not a long one, but at least hav-
ing beginning, middle, and end, which is more
than can be said of many a more pretentious
effort of human authors) as the precise song by
which, every spring, I recognize the return of
this brilliant and gay musician, even before I
catch a glimpse of him:

1 Vivace.
Foz Tt r z. T a ee On —
Se ee ee ee
Cy? ian La = E a ime EI
ry) 3 3

The temperament of the song—if it may be
called so—often depends quite as much upon
the modulation of voice as upon any other feat-
ure. This is seen in the above-cited melody
of the ‘‘black-throated green,’’ where the brill-
jant tone and rhythmical swing are so strongly
reinforced by the vigorous major progressions,
which, in their very nature, are so declarative
of clear and strong delight, with an effect as
of a fresh October breeze blowing in the face.
In the cuckoo’s phrase it is the reverse—in-
flected downward, with an effect that is retro-
spective, even if not sad. There are shadows
caught from the deep foliage within which it
lurks, in that simple chant. As an example

117

Song Birds and Water Fowl

wherein the sentiment seems all contained in
an incomparably simple upward slide of about
a ‘‘minor third,’’ there is nothing more strik-
ing or familiar than the pewee’s elegy of tears,
that everywhere delightfully saddens the silence
of the woods. It is the very acme of simplicity
and gentle plaintiveness; and, while the grim
scientist forbids us to call it asong, he must
be to the last degree obtuse who does not feel
therein the most pathetic sentiment of sound.
To the careless listener there seem to be but
narrow limits to the possible variation of effects
from all the woodland choir: but, to the re-
sponsive mind, there is endless diversity in all
this poetry of tone that so delightfully re-echoes
and intensifies the changeful moods of Nature ;
whose endless scenery appeals so deeply to
man’s heart just because it is the timely and
delicate expression of many a deep, vague
thought that never comes to human utterance.

118

Sea Swallows

“Whence come ye, so wild and so fleet,
For sandals of lightning are on your feet,
And your wings are soft and swift as thought,
And your eyes are as love which is veiled not?”
Shelley.

SEA SWALLOWS

T the extreme southeastern end of
| Massachusetts, where the main land,
| as if partially dissolved by the
peieemes ocean, crumbles off into numerous
islands, are several favorite resorts of the sea
swallow or tern, a rather small and particular-
ly beautiful and graceful species of water fowl,
closely allied with the gulls, and among the
most aérial of sea birds. Probably the spot
where they congregate in largest numbers is
Muskegat, a low and desolate island about five
miles northwest of Nantucket. A few years
ago they became almost exterminated from this
resort by the depredations of numerous parties
that sailed thither in quest of the delicate plum-
age or of the eggs of these birds. But, through
the public-spirited efforts of Mr. Mackay, an
ornithologist living at Nantucket, these harm-
less and attractive creatures are now sheltered
beneath the wing of the law, and have so far
recovered from the effects of past havoc, that

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Song Birds and Water Fowl

they are now almost as abundant as of old.
Next to Muskegat, in point of numbers, is
probably Penekese, an island made famous
some years ago by its school of natural history;
which, since the death of its eminent leader,
Agassiz, has been transferred, at least in part,
to Wood’s Holl, while the abandoned buildings
erected for it, and standing empty for many
years, were not long ago accidentally burned.

About the middle of June I made a trip to
this now almost deserted island for a brief study
of the sea swallow. Leaving New York at night
on a Fall River steamer, I arrived at Fall River
early the next morning. Thence a short rail-
road ride brought me to the good old town of
New Bedford, where I engaged a small yacht
to take me to Penekese. It was a bright, cool
morning, and the sail down the Acushnet River,
and out into Buzzard’s Bay in a jaunty little
craft, with a fine breeze and a jolly skipper, was
the most delightful release from the limitations
of dry city life that can be imagined.

This island is the smallest but one of a group
of five, lying to the west of Martha’s Vineyard,
and has an area of hardly a hundred acres.
But it is by far the most fertile of all the group,
being almost entirely covered with grass, and

122

SEA SWALLOWS

As eager and buoyant as the sparkling, dancing waves that roll beneath their feet
throughout the summer (p. 135).

Sea Swallows

affording excellent pasturage. After Penekese
fell from its high estate of being a place for
raising scientists, they put it to the next best
use and went to raising sheep, of which about
two hundred are scattered all over the island.
The keeper says this number is too large, and
that, to realize all the latent possibilities of a
sheep, there ought to be only one to the acre.

Next to the dignity of owning and handling
a sail-boat yourself, is the lordliness of being
the sole passenger and manager ex-officio. The
direct run to Penekese was fourteen miles; but
it was so prolonged by head-winds, and finally
by no wind at all, that I did not reach land
until about the middle of the afternoon, and
after a long risk of being stranded in the har-
bor, through the skipper’s ignorance of the
buoys.

There is but a single dwelling on the island,
occupied by a single man, who proved, how-
ever, to be no small part of the island’s attrac-
tiveness, and an interesting specimen of nature
in the rough—a tall and vigorous old man,
slightly bent, with grizzled beard and sunken
cheek, sharp, kindly eyes, and a thin mist of
white hair encircling the bald summit of his
head, like a ring of vapor round a barren

123

Song Birds and Water Fowl

mountain top, an ancient mariner left strand-
ed on the beach, courtly in thought, if not in
bearing—such was my cook and waiter, host
and hero; a regular hermit in his life and
tastes, as genial and hearty as sailors commonly
are, and not half as profane; although I felt
that he had a smouldering, hot vocabulary of
impiety kept in reserve for emergencies, even
without a single exhibition of it. As I was
very desirous of passing the night on the island,
which was possible only with his permission,
and at his house, and being a perfect stranger
to him, I asked, with considerable trepidation,
whether such a thing would be possible. To
my surprise, he assented cordially; and when
I asked him his price for supper, lodging, and
breakfast, he replied, with a simplicity and
unworldliness that I have looked for in vain
in New York City: ‘‘Oh, pay what you please,
and if my aocommodations are not worth any-
thing, then don’t pay anything.’’ As he made
his own fires, did all the cooking, and washed
all the dishes, this answer amounted to a good
deal more than merely a polite bit of euphony ;
and his hospitality did not slumber for an in-
stant throughout my stay. With many asser-
tions of inability to serve my needs acceptably,

124

Sea Swallows

he spread what was certainly an elegant repast
for supper. Breakfast was still more elaborate,
so that one might almost have thought he was
the chef of some fashionable hotel in disguise—
excellent coffee, splendid hot rolls (he named
the ‘‘ baking powder’’ he had used for twenty
years, and declared it couldn’t be beaten, and,
judging from his biscuit, I thought so, too),
beans, terns’ eggs—and two kinds of cake!
Attractive as were all the outward aspects of the
house, high on a bluff overlooking the ocean,
with its broad veranda, amid silver-leaf pop-
lars, and birds, sheep and chickens flocking
about, the coziest spot was the ‘‘ throne-room ”’
of my generous host—the low-studded kitchen,
with barrels in one corner, an old lounge in an-
other, pails of water in the sink, shining lamps
on the narrow shelf, and a polished stove giving
out a comfortable warmth, while the presiding
genius often interrupted his dish-washing and
other duties of state with high argument of
philosophy and theology.

Probably the rarest delicacy in the world is
a dish of peacocks’ tongues. It is doubtful
whether fine feathers make fine tongues; even
if they do, economic considerations prevent
my hoping ever to enjoy that luxury. Perhaps

125

Song Birds and Water Fowl

my nearest approach to it was in a plate of
these beautiful terns’ eggs, offered me a few
moments after my arrival. They are quite
small, the yolk of a bright salmon color, and
richer than hens’ eggs. Some think they havea
little gamey flavor, but I found only the merest
suggestion of it. The eggs of wild fowl have
always seemed a hallowed thing, and the idea
of actually eating them at first struck me as
being almost sacrilegious. They are highly
prized by many, and, previous to the ‘close
season ’’ each year, are collected in great num-
bers from Penekese and sold in the streets of
New Bedford.

With this literal foretaste of the object of my
search, I then left my host to find the birds
themselves. Crossing the island to the south
or ocean side, and approaching the shore, im-
mense swarms of terns were to be seen rising
from the water’s edge; which, in their circling
and continuous flight, showed themselves to
be a sort of silvery prototype of our familiar
dusky land swallows, although considerably
larger, being about fifteen inches in length, and
coursing through the air with the same bound-
less and exultant ease. With a pearly blue
mantle upon the back and wings, pure white

126

Sea Swallows

or nearly so beneath, and the tail lustrous
white, the top of the head and the hind neck
a glossy black, the lengthened bill and legs a
bright, pinkish red, the long, slender wings as
willowy as the gulls’, they formed a picture as
beautiful as it was lively and dashing. A flock
and flurry of birds like this, with their surging
mass of vitality and grace, afford a pleasure
never found in a single specimen; and yet, in
such a multitude, the sense of individuality is
lost, and the observer comes closer to its nat-
ure when he watches a single individual, than
when he follows the motions of a large con-
course. Throughout almost my entire circuit
of the island, they formed a bright and flying
cloud above my head. Being rather conserva-
tive in my estimate, I said there were hundreds
and perhaps thousands of them. That this was
not arash conclusion seems evident from the
fact that the skipper declared there were a mil-
lion; and, on appealing to my hermit host for
his opinion, he gravely said, ‘‘ forty million.’’

While this canopy of swiftly interweaving
birds was spread above my head, I was also over-
arched by the maze of their continuous and
peculiar little cries, which I will not make the
birds nor myself ridiculous by trying to imi-

127

Song Birds and Water Fowl

tate. It was not precisely musical, yet far
from unmusical: a wild, vague, restless sound,
somewhat in the mood of the complaining
wind that sighs through a dark passage; soft,
melancholy notes, the over-tones that fittingly
accompany the moaning of the sea. At the
middle of the prolonged sound it is, as a
rule, suddenly inflected downward in a mourn-
ful cadence that is ‘‘ sadly pleasing ’’; and when
not so inflected the simple note quite resembles
the soft cree of the red-winged blackbird. But
their voice is not always hung with crape ;
there is a hidden, snappy temper in their soul,
and sometimes they utter a sharp, rasping, vig-
orous note that ill comports with their mild-
ness. One writer compares it to the sound
produced by forcibly tearing a piece of strong
cotton cloth. At first, I thought that their
general commotion and continuous lamentation
were due to their anxiety at my approaching
their nests; but when I sat down and remained
perfectly quiet for half an hour, there was no
pause in their incessant flight and murmuring,
so I inferred it had no reference to me.

One peculiarity of this bird is, that it is
continually varying the form of its tail when
flying. Sometimes it is no wider than a single

128

Sea Swallows

feather, running to a point ; again, it is in the
form of two separated parallel lines ; when still
more spread it is distinctly forked, like the
barn swallow’s; and when they hover for
several seconds over a spot, the tail is spread
to its full width, and becomes triangular.
Graceful and easy on the wing, rather than
majestic, like the heron—except for the occa-
sional grotesque effect of scratching the head
with one claw while flying, which is done so
daintily that it only looks exquisitely vulgar—
elegant in figure, as seen in repose when scat-
tered on the rocks, their most beautiful appear-
ance, after all, is undoubtedly at the moment
of alighting; when, instead of immediately
closing their long wings, they suddenly raise
them high in the air, and almost touch back to
back, like a butterfly, holding them thus for an
instant, and then slowly closing them. This is
the most striking and buoyant attitude in which
to mount a stuffed specimen, but I have never
seen it attempted. It seems as if their very
nature spurned the earth the moment that
they touched it. The lightness, grace and gen-
tleness of their character flash out in this mo-
mentary act.

It is impossible to avoid finding their nests,

129

Song Birds and Water Fowl

for the terns do not aim at concealment: they
appear, rather, to court publicity. Along the
seashore, in the line of seaweed above high
tide, in any clear space back among the rocks,
especially in the stunted herbage and along the
narrow sheep-paths, one will find these primi-
tive affairs, hardly to be graced with the name
of nest. They are thus scattered over a large
part of the island; and, unless one takes heed
to his ways, he is liable to tread on them. I
saw one nest in which two eggs had been
crushed by the foot of man or sheep, and bare-
ly missed doing the same myself. The recep-
tacle of the eggs is a slight depression in the
ground, on which they occasionally arrange
considerable dried grass; but usually a few
wisps of hay are thought quite sufficient, and
sometimes even this barest lining is dispensed
with, and the eggs are committed to the cold
earth. Indeed, the very depression in the ground
may be lacking; for, in one instance, when I
had taken the egg in my hand, Lefct© WS oss
where to replace it, so defigi.s at a MU est
in every vestige of matey} the ahis is
the very opposite, oe tind artistic
productions of n ™ ae pies, and is

‘ye Jaborious 4
commonly adducec

¢ land +-iment to prove
~u
1 ey

Sea Swallows

the lower grade of intelligence of birds that are
so careless or apparently clumsy in their archi-
tecture. As we shall see in a later chapter,
perhaps this is so, and perhaps it isn’t. Among
land birds, ornithologists place thrushes at the
top of the list, in the scale of development ;
yet their nests are very clumsy, compared with
the workmanship of some of the inferior fami-
lies of songsters, as well as of some that are
below the range of any of the song birds, like
phcebes and humming-birds. May be nests
are something like handwriting; sometimes
you think you can read character from it; and
sometimes you find you can’t.

At the time of my visit the eggs were being
laid, but none were yet hatched. The nests con-
tained from one to four, with a little variation
in size, but generally about an inch and a half
long. Audubon says there are never more than
three eggs in a set, but I found one nest, and
only one, with four. The markings are brown
and brownish-black splashes all over the surface,
and the ground tint varies from dirty brown to
almost lilac. Asaclass they are not as pretty as
the majority of eggs; but possibly their dingy
color conduces to their safety by blending with
the dull surroundings. My friend on the island

131

Song Birds and Water Fowl

said that, in several years that he had lived
there, he had never yet detected a bird on its
nest. Their labors of incubation seem to be nil,
and the sun’s rays in mid-summer are said to be
motherly enough for all practical purposes. The
wild-fowl vigor is thus manifest already in the
egg, but probably the birds sit on them in the
night. The shell is very thin and fragile, as the
skipper found when one broke in his pocket.

It is far more difficult to learn the range of
water fowl than of land birds; but it is evident
that gulls are northern representatives of a type
of water bird that finds its southern exponent in
the smaller and more delicate terns. The gen-
eral habits and appearance of gulls and terns are
much alike, and science calls them closely rela-
ted ; but the former come down to us from the
north in winter ; the latter come up to us from
the south in summer.

Of the thirteen species of terns that we call
ours by reason of being seen at least occasional-
ly along the coast, only four summer in our lati-
tude. They are the arctic, roseate, Wilson (or
sea swallow), and ‘‘least’’ terns. Their re-
sorts in our neighborhood are chiefly the islands
at the northeast end of Long Island, and those
lying near Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket.

132

Sea Swallows

These four species begin to arrive from the south
in the latter part of May, apparently already
mated, but with flirtations and jealousies enough
to make things lively. Soon afterward, by the
middle of June, they have scattered to their va-
rious breeding grounds. While the Wilson and
roseate species ordinarily build a rude nest, the
arctic tern simply deposits its eggs on the bare
sand. After the incubation season is over, those
that are scattered on the various islands gather
in larger groups, and in September are found
in great numbers on the coast and inlets all
about Nantucket. Their particular location at
this season depends in part upon the movements:
of the blue-fish, inasmuch as they feed largely
upon the smaller fishes by which blue-fish are
attracted ; and fishermen are even said to rely
to some extent upon the presence of terns to in-
dicate where a school of blue-fish may be looked
for. Lingering about their summer homes un-
til fall, or, in pleasant weather, passing farther
out to sea, they begin to leave for the south
by the middle of October, and have all disap-
peared by the last of the month, when their
northern representatives, the gulls, with other
hardy aquatic fowl, begin to arrive for the
winter.

133

Song Birds and Water Fowl

Terns will at times plunge entirely under
water, and even swim submerged a short dis-
tance in pursuit of prey. In such occupation
they sometimes display the very keenest spirit
of mirth ; for one of them, bearing aloft a capt-
ured fish, will drop it, when it is seized, before
reaching the water, by another that sportively
repeats the act, and so the graceful, airy game
goes on. The most beautiful of all the species
is the roseate tern, whose other features resemble
the ‘‘ Wilson ’’ or sea swallow, but having alsoa
rosy tint on the under side that glows in fine con-
trast with its otherwise pure white and pearly
plumage. The roseate tern is somewhat abun-
dant at Muskegat, but I looked in vain for any
at Penekese. The rosy tint is, however, very
ephemeral, either disappearing utterly after the
bird dies, and even sometimes before the body
iscold, or else changing to a lifeless salmon
color.

‘I necessarily lost a little of my reverence for
the eggs from having eaten them, and because, in
point of beauty, they are no match for the birds
themselves ; and I accordingly carried away a
few as asouvenir of a most enjoyable excursion.
I doubt very much whether the sad and lonely
cry of the sea swallows be a fair index of their

134

Sea Swallows

usual feelings. Probably their temperament is
as sunny as the bright skies in which they
calmly sail or speed their dizzy course the live-
long day ; as eager and buoyant as the spark-
ling, dancing waves that roll beneath their feet
throughout the summer.

The return trip was enlivened by a pair of
stormy petrels—‘‘ Mother Carey’s chickens ’’—
flitting hither and thither, quite in butterfly
fashion, near the boat, or skimming the ocean’s
wavy pavement in eager search of palatable
morsels. The species I saw was one of the
smallest—about the size of a sparrow—but pre-
senting a rather large appearance by its great
extent of wings. When hovering near the
water it is not so easily discovered, as it is dusky,
almost black, throughout, save a conspicuous
spot of white upon the back. The petrels are
among the most oceanic birds, found hundreds
of miles out to sea, and probably never going on
shore except to nest. They are supposed to
appear as the harbinger, or else in the wake, of
astorm. The nest is made in holes in the
ground, sometimes beneath the surface of the
beach, under some large rock, and sometimes
on the side of lofty cliffs, when it is a long hori-
zontal excavation like that of the bank swallows,

135

Song Birds and Water Fowl

and contains but a single egg. Although so
essentially aérial, they are web-footed, and in
calm weather will often half fly and half spring
over the surface of the water. Hardly any bird
is less intimately known than the ever-roaming
petrel; and, as we look upon this vanishing and
ever-distant living mystery, with its minute and
dusky form, white spotted, dashing tirelessly
above the sea, it is an exquisite symbol of the
dark waves, crested with white, that are ever
sweeping on, age after age, in restless flight.

136

STORMY PETRELS

Whose spacious mansion of wide emptiness has the ocean for a billowy floor, the sky's
blue concave for a vaulted roof, and for companions orly winds and waves (p. 93).

Birds’ Nests.

“T love to view these things with curious eyes, and
moralize.’’ Southey

BIRDS’ NESTS

SHE knowledge of all other aspects of
J bird-life, combined, gives no such
| feeling of intimate acquaintance and
eB peculiar interest as is gained by fol-
lowing even the most familiar species, like the
robin or sparrow, through the short period of
nesting ; and this probably for the reason that
this brief annual experience in their lives calls
into action the most subtle, personal, and charm-
ing qualities of their nature.

A bird, like a human being, is best known,
after all, in the intimacies of its own home.
Here it finds a warmer response from our own
nature than even in the glow and ecstacy of its
most delicious song. Here it is most nearly
human, and affords most marked analogies of
human wisdom, patience, solicitude and af-
fection. And yet it is in the intricate and
almost inaccessible details of their short fam-
ily life that we still have most to learn con-
cerning birds—a fund of problems giving infi-

139

Song Birds and Water Fowl

nite zest to every annual return of this, their
period of exceeding joy, the time of their
greatest hope, activity, and realization of their
life.

Nest and eggs are the two distinct factors in
nidification, the interest in which is too apt to
be monopolized by the eggs. The minute size,
the elegant form so unique and graceful, the
beautifully varied coloring, and, above all, the
mysterious life-potency of an egg, invest it with
the deeper interest that is reasonably felt for the
gem, rather than for the casket that contains
it. In many ways it is certainly the more im-
portant of the two; yet, in one respect—in the
evidence of individuality, conscious exertion,
and intelligence of the creature that fabricates
it—the nest is a far more interesting and sug-
gestive study. Moreover, the collecting of eggs
involves in some cases an abstraction of just so
much possible and valuable life from the fields
and woods; although, if it be not too late in
the season, Nature commonly recoups her losses
by producing an additional clutch. But, even
so, the collector, unless he be a hardened natur-
alist, has a mean and uncomfortable feeling of
having done violence to the innocent creatures ;
so that such spoliation is to be strongly depre-

140

Birds’ Nests

cated, except when done from genuinely sclen-
tific motives.

On the other hand, after the nest has been
vacated, it has served its full purpose, and, if
removed at once, its often perfect condition ren-
ders it permanently illustrative of the peculiari-
ties and skill of that particular species. Such
a collection of nests will doubtless foster a livelier
interest in this branch of natural history, and
impress the acquired facts more permanently
upon the mind, than any other phase of the
subject. An attractive writer, Mr. Ernest In-
gersoll, has referred in so interesting a manner
to the relative claims upon our attention of nest
and eggs, that his words are well worth quoting:
‘¢ Whether or not it is worth while to collect
nests—for there are many persons who never do
so—is, it seems to me, only a question of room
in the cabinet. As a scientific study, there is
far more advantage to be obtained from aseries
of nests than from a series of eggs. The nest is
something with which the will and energies of
the bird are concerned. It expresses the char-
acter of the workman, and gives us a glimpse of
the bird’s mind and power to understand and
adapt itself to changed conditions of life. Over
the shape and ornamentation of an egg the bird

141

Song Birds and Water Fowl

has no control, being no more able to govern
the matter than it can the growth of its beak.
There is as much difference to me, in the inter-
est inspired, between the nest and the egg of a
bird, as between its brain and its skull—using
the word ‘brain’ to mean the seat of intel-
lect. Don’t neglect the nests, then. In them,
more than anywhere else, lies the key to the
mind and thoughts of a bird—the spirit that
inhabits that beautiful frame, and bubbles out
of that golden mouth. Nests are beautiful,
too. What can surpass the delicacy of the
humming-bird’s home, glued to the surface of
a mossy branch, or nestling in the warped
point of a pendent leaf; the vireo’s silken
hammock; the oriole’s gracefully swaying
purse; the blackbird’s model basket in the
flags; the snug little caves of the marsh
wrens; the hermitage huts of the shy wag-
tails and ground warblers; the stout fortresses
of the sociable swallows! Moreover, there is
much that is highly interesting which remains
to be learned about nests, and which can only
be known by paying close attention to these
artistic masterpieces of animal art. Many points
remain to be cleared up. Variation shows in-
dividual opinion or taste among the builders as

142

©

Birds’ Nests

to the suitability of this or that sort of timber
or furniture for their dwellings, and observa-
tions upon it thus increase our acquaintance
with the scope of ideas and habits characteristic
of each species of bird.’’

A nest is ordinarily in perfect condition only
for a few days after its completion. The incu-
bation of the mother bird, the pressure of the
chicks, as they develop, and the weight of the
old birds perching on the edge, all tend to
flatten and otherwise distort its original and
ideal shape, especially in the more delicate
sorts. Yet, oftentimes, it is not thus impaired
to an appreciable extent; and, in case it is,
a slow and careful inward pressure of the
upper part will usually restore it almost to
its normal form. But, if not taken before it
is abandoned by the birds, it should be se-
cured as quickly as possible thereafter; since,
from exposure to the weather, it soon begins
to disintegrate. Nor is the study of the nest of
any species complete when a single specimen
has been obtained, and its characteristics have
been learned ; for even the same species will
sometimes show curious differences ; as, for ex-
ample—to mention two of the most familiar in-
stances—the barn swallow, with its two distinct

143

Song Birds and Water Fowl

forms of nests, and the robin, whose structure,
usually containing three distinct walls, occa—
sionally has only two, when the inner lining is
omitted ; this latter deviation being perhaps due
to the greater indifference sometimes shown in
constructing the second nest of the season.

An extensive observation of nests, in all their
diversity of form, material, and location, re-
veals numberless differences which we are not
as yet competent to explain. Yet it is not all
a mystery; for we can easily see that the most
essential differences, both in construction and
location, are determined by three prime consid-
erations—safety, durability, and convenience.
I have no desire to withhold from these wise
and entertaining creatures a single iota of mer-
ited praise ; but I see little reason to suppose
that distinct artistic sense is a moving impulse
in even the most beautiful and elaborate of their
constructions ; while, on the other hand, I am
inclined to believe that the more clumsy exam-
ples of architecture, hardly worthy of the name
of nests, prevalent among the'water fowl, are no
convincing proof of a corresponding inherent
incapacity of those species. As a rule, water
fowl nest on the ground, and in the most primi-
tive fashion ; land birds, for the most part, build

144

Birds’ Nests

above the ground, and show conspicuous skill
andingenuity. This broad distinction between
the nests of the two groups is commonly, and,
as I imagine, erroneously, accepted as significant
of their relative intelligence.

The numerous dangers to which land birds
are exposed make successful nidification a rath-
er difficult art. And perhaps nowhere else in
nature shall we find a better illustration of the
trite proverb that necessity is the mother of in-
vention. Some of these dangers are obviously
avoided by building above the ground, and in
the seclusion of foliage. But, at best, the fork-
ing branches of a bush or tree are a rather
perilous support for such frail tenements ; and,
exposed besides to wind and rain, such a loca-
tion is doubly treacherous. The nest must
therefore be both firmly knit together, and
bound sufficiently strongly to its foundation.
But, although these precautions afford ample
security against the elements, they are no safe-
guard against the watchful eyes of numerous
foes that would find a delectable morsel in the
eggs or the yourg. ‘This danger prompts the
selection, not only of neutral colors throughout,
but also, sometimes, of such delicate material
as moss and lichens for the exterior, to make it

145

Song Birds and Water Fowl

blend with its surroundings; a precaution
which, quite unconsciously to the builder, pro-
duces one of the most pleasing effects of rustic
art. As an instance where still greater difficul-
ty in meeting the requirements of the case is
matched by increased skill, we may cite the
nest of the Baltimore oriole. Whatever motive
may have induced this bird to adopt its elegant,
pensile form of a nest, its situation at the tip-
end of a slender, swaying branch, is manifestly
conducive to the utmost security from all sorts
of foes ; and this was not improbably the main
consideration in deciding its location. Yet, on
the other hand, when so placed, the nest is
peculiarly unstable in its exposure to wind and
rain, and demands much greater skill in its
weaving and attachment to the branch; which
makes this nest one of the most remarkable and
beautiful structures of its kind.

While safety and durability thus apparently
determine the general character and situa-
tion of the land birds’ nests, it also evidently
suits their convenience to place them about in
the plane of their average flight. The ground
seems as inappropriate a place for a hawk’s or
crow’s nest as the summit of a tall tree for the
abode of a low-flying sparrow or a ground war-

146

“(zEz ‘d) sadoy ysaq s,pslq & yo asnseaiy JAY} YIM ‘aunpoapiyoie SMI JO S}1q Sd104D

Puig YarQ S1iS3N .Saula oa, pake-pay
aqaud yimg Aauwiyd

Birds’ Nests

bler. With no positive difficulty, perhaps, in
building at any height whatever, we should
certainly expect every species to conform, in
this respect, to its instinctive altitude. In this
matter of location, it may also be observed that
few if any of our species of trees have a system
of branching that is more favorable for nest-
support than the apple-tree ; and no other kinds,
moreover, are so plentiful around most of our
country houses; which explains, I believe,
better than any sentimental theory of fondness
for human society, the frequency of nests
around our homes. Nor do I suppose that
the changed habits of barn, cliff, and white-
breasted swallows, and of phcebes, in placing
their nests on beams, or under eaves, or in arti-
ficial bird-houses, instead of fastening them to
sand-banks and rocks, as formerly, indicate
anything more than a bit of pardonable laziness
on their part, and a desire for a drier or firmer
support than Nature furnishes. In the case of
phcebes, the moss and lichens that still super-
fluously decorate their abodes, when under the
edge of a piazza, are a survival of their former
precaution, when they fastened them to rocks
and branches.

Passing now from land to water birds, we

147

Song Birds and Water Fowl

find a difference in instinct, that does not nec-
essarily indicate a constitutional inferiority, as
architects; but one that exactly conforms to
the difference of circumstances; wherein mere
safety, requisite durability, and convenience are
just as much the determining thought as among
the land birds.

In the remote and desolate regions to which,
for the most part, water fowl resort, they are
largely, and often entirely, exempt from the
depredations of various enemies that so con-
stantly endanger the abodes of land birds; and
they have little cause for anxiety and conceal-
ment, when man and beast seldom invade their
territory. Moreover, the unwooded sea-coast,
to which so many of them resort, affords no
opportunity for building above the ground;
and either one or the other of these circum-
stances affords sufficient reason for their com-
monly nesting directly on the ground, with little
or no pretence of secrecy ; sometimes, indeed,
so openly and closely together, that the chance
explorer is likely to step upon the eggs, as in
the case of terns on the Atlantic coast, and of
murres in Alaska. But no such elaborate con-
struction as is required in trees is needed on
solid ground, where the merest outline of a nest

148

Birds’ Nests

is quite sufficient to keep the eggs together, and
where the vigorous nature of the chicks de-
mands no luxurious lining. Under such cir-
cumstances the various ingenious devices of
land birds would be entirely superfluous. It
seems to me that this radical difference of situa-
tion is a more reasonable explanation than any
supposed natural incapacity of water fowl, for
the inferiority of their nests. From the tern
to the oriole is a long leap, in respect of archi-
tectural accomplishments; but, if the oriole
were transferred to the barren and desolate sea-
coast, he would find little need and still less
opportunity for his ‘‘high art;’’ whereas the
tern, if domiciled amid the oriole’s natural sur-
roundings, would doubtless be equal to the oc-
casion, and reveal no one knows how much
latent ability.

Very significant testimony as to the reason
why some birds nest in trees, and others on the
ground, is afforded by a gentleman who lived
on an island near the Bay of Fundy, which
was a resort of herring gulls. Like water
fowl in general, the various gulls nest on the
ground. But Audubon, when he visited this
island, was surprised to find many of them nest-
ing in fir-trees, sometimes more than forty feet

149

Song Birds and Water Fowl

from the ground; and, in explanation, the
owner of the island told him that, ‘‘When I first
came here, many years ago, they all built their
nests on the moss and in open ground ; but as
my sons and the fishermen collected most of
their eggs for winter use, and sadly annoyed
the poor things, the old ones gradually began
to put their nests on the trees in the thickest
parts of the woods, while the youngest birds
still havesome on the ground.’’ On some ad-
joining islands, to which fishermen and eggers
had free access, Audubon afterward found
that the gulls were nesting entirely in trees.
The ground was first chosen, as being amply
sufficient in this remote region; but when cir-
cumstances made this location dangerous, they
resorted to the trees; which seems to summar-
ize the whole problem.

Since writing the foregoing, I have found a
rather strong corroboration of the argument, in
the record of a naturalist concerning a peculiar
nest of the red-winged blackbird, which he had
discovered. The nest of this bird is commonly
on the ground, or in low bushes, and, as the
books describe it, is ‘‘rather bulky, and not
at all artistic.’ But the writer states that he
had found one that was ‘‘ placed on a slender

150

Birds’ Nests

sapling, fourteen feet high, that swayed with
the slightest breeze. The nest was constructed
after the manner of our Baltimore oriole, pret-
tily woven of the bleached sea-weed called eel-
grass. So well constructed was this nest that,
had it not been for the female sitting on it, I
should have taken it for a nest of the oriole.”’
In other words, this so-called clumsy builder
felt constrained, for some reason, to nest in a
very perilous situation, where its usual style of
structure would be entirely inadequate. It im-
mediately rose to the occasion, utilized its la-
tent talent, and vied with our most artistic spe-
cies in the beauty and durability of its edifice.
This certainly argues that the actual product
of any species is no certain measure of its abil-
ity, and makes the supposition reasonable that
even water fowl, if compelled by circum-
stances, would prove as skilful as any of the
land species.

151

At the Water’s Edge

“ Childe Harold wends through many a pleasant place,
Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase,
And marvel men should quit their easy chair,
The toilsome way, and long, long league to trace.”
Byron.

AT THE WATER’S EDGE

ag © look for water fowl in mid-winter,
DW in this latitude, is quite likely to be
Seem a veritable wild-goose chase, not-
ahd withstanding the fact that several
species regularly appear in our neighborhood
at that season. All the coast of New Jersey,
Long Island, and New England is a resort of
all species that find the winter climate of the
Northern States‘congenial. But having, at
this season, no local attachments and home
ties, as in the breeding period, they are con-
tinually roaming hither and thither along the
edge of the sea, apparently governed by no
impulse save to find their requisite daily food.
Even in the case of the land birds, which are
certainly less flighty than their aquatic neigh-
bors, it is quite a matter of chance whether in
winter they will be found in a given region at
a particular time. Much more then must the
naturalist be prepared to have his researches
crowned with disappointment, when he at-

155

Song Birds and Water Fowl

tempts to find the more fugacious water fowl,
which are constantly on the wing—here to-day,
and to-morrow perhaps fifty miles away.

But, go where one will along the coast or
larger rivers in winter, he will not be long in
discovering the almost omnipresent gulls, win-
ter’s cold and snowy emblem; particularly,
that most abundant species in this region, the
herring gull. In point of numbers and general
prevalence this species predominates over all
the others, at least hereabouts, as much as
English sparrows over all the other winter birds
on land. Herring gulls—named from their
diet—are almost always on the wing, always
eating, and never satisfied. But their feast,
although perpetual, is not elaborate; for, at
least in their summer home, they rarely get be-
yond the fish course. As this, however, con-
stitutes the fuel for maintaining almost endless
motion, it is hardly to be wondered at that
they should be voracious.

Those who have only seen these birds upon
the wing would not be able to judge of their
appearance in repose, which is graceful and
aérial, rather than aquatic. I know of no
better comparison than an enormous pigeon,
two feet long, but web-footed.

156

At the Water’s Edge

Gulls are well called in the books ‘long-
winged swimmers;’’ at times floating or
gracefully paddling upon the water, but much
oftener seen in the air, slowly coursing upon their
very long and pliant wings. Most of the spe-
cies are quite large, and they are chiefly coast
birds, although a very few of them extend also
far into the interior of the continent. There
are in all, in North America, twenty species, a
dozen of them found on the Atlantic coast,
and the remainder on the Pacific. They are
for the most part arctic birds; that is to say,
they commonly breed very far to the north ;
so far, indeed, that several of them are called
circumpolar. At the approach of cold weather
most of the species wander southward along the
coast; some not even.so far south as to the
United States; others to New England and
the Middle Atlantic States, and a very few to
Florida. Possibly their coming south in winter
is not so much due to their being ‘frozen out ’’
from arctic regions, as to the fact that food is
more abundant in warmer waters. Our herring
gull breeds between New England and Lab-
rador, while another and much smaller species,
commonly found along our coast, even in sum-
mer, and called the ‘laughing gull,’’ from

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Song Birds and Water Fowl

its peculiar note, breeds no farther north than
Maine. This latter species goes quite far south
in winter, and is not seen in this region again
until spring. A special rendezvous of herring
gulls in winter is at the mouths of our larger
rivers, like the Hudson, which are always
utilized for seaports, and whose shipping affords
variety and abundance of food.

In plumage there is a strong family resem-
blance in all the species, yet with distinct marks
-of difference. On the under side all of them
are pure white, except two, which have a slight-
ly rosy tint. On the back and wings most of
them are, like the herring gull, overspread
with a beautiful pearly-blue mantle, as delicate
a tint as is ever worn by the daintiest little
warbler. The herring gull—which is the one
commonly seen far out at sea by transatlantic
travellers, and following the ship with all the
devotion of hunger—is easily distinguished
from others that are very similar, by the dis-
tinct black on the tips of the longest wing-
feathers, covering a very small area, it is true,
but wonderfully conspicuous even at a long dis-
tance, as the bird wheels about and inclines
the body. Occasionally one sees, in a flock, a
specimen that is quite dark throughout, a sort

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At the Water’s Edge

of grayish brown. Any thus colored are im-
mature birds of the first year. But in all the
large flocks I have seen in winter, the dark
specimens are so exceptional, that I infer that,
being younger and less hardy, they migrate
farther south in winter.

Two magnificent great fellows, the largest of
the family, are the glaucous gull, living far to
the north, with this same light-blue mantle,
and no black on the wing-tips; and its more
southern congener, the black-backed gull, cov-
ered with dark slate, like a pall, which accounts
for its gruesome epithet of ‘‘coffin-carrier.’’ It
is not infrequently to be seen hereabouts, and
is, with perhaps one exception, the most majes-
tic sea bird that we have. One of the most
beautiful species is the ivory gull, pure white,
and perhaps the largest aérial white specimen
in existence. Being a resident of the polar
regions, it can very seldom be seen, except by
those hardy and valiant scientists who periodi-
cally tempt Providence by making a trip in
quest of the mythical terminus of our terres-
trial axis. In Audubon’s interesting account
of his experience in Labrador insummer, where
he made a study of the herring gulls, he speaks
of their ingenuity in extracting mollusks from

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Song Birds and Water Fowl

the shell, although their staple food is herring.
To do this, they take up the shells into the air,
and drop them on the rocks to break them ;
and he adds, ‘‘ we saw one that had met with
avery hard mussel, take it up three times in
succession before it succeeded in breaking it ;
and I was much pleased to see the bird let it
fall each succeeding time from a greater height
than before.’’

Their choice of habitat in summer necessarily
precludes the general student from enjoying
many of the aspects of this very interesting fam-
ily. But, in their winter life among us, they
afford most pleasant entertainment for an hour
to anyone who finds a flock of them upon the
beach. The spectator can no more tire of
watching the graceful and gigantic scrolls that
they inscribe upon the air, or their languishing
passage over the sea, than he can weary of the
ocean’s ceaseless roll, whose deep incessant un-
dertones are an apt accompaniment for these
noble airy beings in their diverting and untir-
ing exhibitions; beings formed, as one might
imagine, from the waves’ foamy crests, mys-
teriously winged and vitalized—the offspring of
the sea, and mantled by the sky.

Possibly others may not derive any positive

160

At the Water’s Edge

enjoyment from species of birds which they
have never seen, and are never likely to see.
But, for my own part, it gives me no small satis-
faction to recall, as distinctly as I may, the ap-
pearance and habits of the many varieties that
lie quite beyond my own narrow field of obser-
vation ; to imagine, for instance, the beautiful
ivory gull, living among the icebergs of the arc-
tic zone, and, as it sails aloft, flooding its
snowy form in the same purple and rosy beams
of morning light that gleam in brilliant cold-
ness on the pinnacles of ice; one of the rare
ornaments of vitality that hover in that vast
and frozen silence ; and, again, to think of that
magnificent specimen of quite another sort, far
in the sunny south, the great white heron, trop-
ical and pensive. There is pleasure, too, as
well as aggravation, in the thought of numer-
ous species nearer home, which I have seldom
or never seen, nesting and singing their lives
away, year after year, in their favorite habitats
which I have not yet visited, but whom it is one
of my long ambitions one day to bring within
the circle of intimate acquaintance. A shadowy
sort of pleasure, some prosy or cynical person
may say. Well, it is at least positive, although
so unsubstantial; and I submit that it is some-

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Song Birds and Water Fowl

thing of an art, or of a gift, and exceedingly
good philosophy, to rejoice in the shadow until
the substance comes.

Along the water’s edge one quite as often sees
avery different sort of bird, jet black, like goats
over against the sheep in the oceanic pasture—
a vulgar terrestrial delegation, a pack of crows ;
which, however unlike sea fowl by nature,
may well be included in the list of winter coast-
birds, driven thither in part by the failure of
their other sources of supply. Probably they are
never to be seen in such large flocks as on the
sea-shore and in the adjoining forests during win-
ter. Europe, Asia, Africa, and North America
divide the honors equally of harboring this cos-
mopolitan fowl. Almost the only stirring inci-
dent that once relieved a long railroad ride
across a third part of Germany was the im-
mense flocks of crows plundering the grain-
fields bordering the track, and, rising like
thunder-clouds at our approach, making for
the woods, yelling like demons, only to re-
turn as soon as we had passed. I have never
seen them elsewhere in such vast numbers ; pos-
sibly, because they are more appreciated and
less persecuted there than in America. For
the world is slowly learning that there are two

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At the Water’s Edge

sides even to a crow. Wherever he is found,
he always shows at least that one virtuous
quality of constancy, in ever maintaining his
dual though contradictory character — wily,
mischievous, and beneficial, if not beneficent.
The range of his appetite is as boundless as
the range of his habitation, scouring the entire
ménu of nature’s almost interminable repast ;
being, as the temper suits him, carnivorous,
piscivorous, graniverous, frugivorous, insec-
tivorous; so that, when the time comes for an
old crow to lie down and die, he has all the sat-
isfaction that can be derived from the thought
that there is little, if anything, in the dietetic
line which he has not enjoyed. There is
always something heroic in extremes, even of
evil ; and so this lusty old sinner, so generally
detested, excites a sort of admiration in
spite of ourselves. He has the free and easy
way of one who has given himself up as past re-
demption, but resolved to get all the fun he can
out of life; ostracized from all good society,
yet showing a downright heartiness in deprav-
ity that reacts in his favor.

Ocean scenery has something of the same
effect on me that the blast of a trumpet has
upon an old dilapidated war-horse. which, after

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Song Birds and Water Fowl

the lapse of many years, spent in the peace-
ful labors of the farm, when once he hears that
old familiar martial strain, which recalls the
tumult of the battle, feels the old tingle in
his blood, becomes impetuous as of yore, and
dashes off in answer to the call. And certainly,
if one can be profoundly moved by the resist-
less power the ocean manifests upon a balmy
summer’s day, what an added sweep of majesty
he will find in winter, when the blackened,
white-tipped waves are hurled upon the frozen
beach, and break against the ice-girt rocks!
At such a time the savage monster looks fasci-
natingly merciless; and while it has the ser-
pent’s charm, repellent in its snaky winsome-
ness, it kindles all one’s admiration by its
spirit of immensity and unconquerableness—a
grandeur that is royal and sublime above all
other potencies in nature. Old ocean, envel-
oping the earth in prehistoric times, was a
magnificent premonition of the forthcoming
restless tide of human life, mankind’s broad
shadow, cast before, the formless spirit of hu-
manity in embryo. And, through all time, it
shows itself the boundless reflex of a mighty
soul in every phase and hue of its emotion, as
though the speechless depths of Nature’s heart
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At the Water’s Edge

were struggling for utterance. There is no
passion to be found in nature like the anger of
the stormy sea, when wildly dark, beneath a
blackening sky, it hurls its furious billows in
sublime assault against some towering and in-
vulnerable cliff, that stands upon the world’s
foundations in supreme repose, and spurns the
raging flood in silent and contemptuous disdain
—the most stupendous picture of nature’s an-
tagonistic forces, the finest symbol earth can
yield of the universal warfare between light and
darkness, good and evil. But anger is not its
ruling passion. Beneath a radiant sky, before
a freshening breeze, its rejoicing waves sweep
onward in a buoyant humor, dashing them-
selves against the rocks only in harmonious
encounter, with the reaction of a sparkling re-
bound, quickened into an exalted liveliness of
hue and motion, as if land and sea were two
great kindred souls experiencing the stimulus
of eager, exhilarating converse.

What endless graduation in the pulsations of
the deep, from the terrible sublimity of storm
to the majestic peace, approaching nearest
slumber, that broods at other times upon the
main; in all its wide diversities of character
presenting aspects multitudinous as are the

165

Song Birds and Water Fowl

moods of this wild human heart, and making it
a symbol ‘‘ worthy asoul that claims its kindred
with eternity.’’ What a little image of impend-
ing Fate one sees coiled in the recess of each
darkly curving wave-top, just before its edge
crumbles into foam. And, as its restless bil-
lows chase each other in a sort of frenzied
eagerness the livelong day, how finely its mood
has been imaged by the poet, who called it

‘*____the unpastured sea hungering for calm.”

In the midst of such a view—worth miles of
walk to enjoy—and whose intenser bleakness
almost warmed the stinging cold air, it was one
of nature’s quaint surprises to see the numerous
gulls serenely settle down and float upon the
waves, as comfortably as if the waters had been
feather-beds or warming-pans. When not upon
the wing, it is the almost constant inclination
of the gulls to keep in touch with the water,
floating about upon its surface, or motionless
on the shallows ; and I have seldom seen them
stand where the successive waves would not
play around their feet. At this point on the
coast, where numerous little rocks are rather
closely scattered near the beach, and half sub-
merged, the gulls occasionally make a very

166

At the Water’s Edge

pretty scene by standing, one upon each rock,
while the waves dash by them — ‘“ mounted
specimens,’’ in nature’s own inimitable fashion.
Amid such bleak scenery, I discovered, a few
rods back from the water, what I had never
seen before, although in such localities they
are by no means rare in winter—a large flock of
shore larks ; which, at this season, frequent the
borders of the ocean, particularly in stubble
fields, and showing as much affinity for the sea
as many water fowl, although toward spring
they are often found farther inland ; and, a few
weeks later, they all leave us for the more in-
viting wastes of Labrador.

The shore lark—also called horned lark, from
a short feathery tuft over each eye—is one of
our prettiest winter birds, about seven inches
long, brownish olive above, white beneath,
yellow on the throat, and with a conspicuous
black crescent on the breast. At a distance,
_larks resemble in plumage one species of plover,
but their manners are distinctly different. They
show timidity and confidence curiously min-
gled ; for, generally as you approach them, they
simply edge away from you, plainly saying that
familiarity shall go so far and no farther. They
are exceedingly nimble on foot, gliding about

167

Song Birds and Water Fowl

very much like mice, and apparently hiding
among the little irregularities of the ground.
Occasionally, when I came unexpectedly near,
the whole flock would whirl up a little distance
in the air, and, with a lively and musical chic-
a-chic-a-chic-a, fly to a remote spot, and resume
active lifeon the ground. At other times, as
if in a spasm of sudden joy, they would mount
to a great height, circle about with the swift-
ness and abandon of a bevy of swallows, and
then return, like a boomerang, almost to the
very spot from which they rose. They are
easily detected, as they run about over the hard
snow; but, on the bare ground, their color
blends so perfectly with that of the soil, that
it is extremely difficult to find them, unless
their occasional burst of tinkling notes reveals
them. Some weeks after my first visit, I found
the flock in the same field as before, which,
possibly, has been their base of supplies through
the winter.

The shore lark has a double claim upon our
interest, by reason of its own attractive person-
ality, and as being the only representative
among us of the famous lark family of Europe,
immortalized especially by the ecstatic motions
and gushing song of the field lark — Alauda

168

SHORE LARK

As if in a spasm of sudden joy, they would mount to a great height, circle about
with the swiftness and abandon of a bevy of swallows, and then return, like a
boomerang, almost to the very spot from which they rose (p. 168),

At the Water's Edge

arvensis—which has secured to the family name
an eminence in some respects superior even to
that of our own superb thrushes. The con-
tagion of its rapture has been caught by many
a famous poet—the fiery Shelley, the reposeful
Wordsworth, the genial, roguish and fatherly
old Chaucer. With the last, the lark was an
evident favorite ; and, although he did not in-
dulge in any such lengthy, formal, and elabo-
rate apostrophe to the exalted songster as will
at once occur to the reader of Wordsworth and
Shelley, his brief and frequent allusions, inci-
dental, affectionate, and spontaneous as they
are, betoken quite as deep and fervent admi-
ration. Every lover of this benignant and
intensely human poet—‘‘a genial day in an
English spring,’’ as a critic happily styles him
—will recall the passage in the ‘‘ Canterbury
Tales,’’ beginning

‘* And now the larke, messager of daye,
Saluéth in hir song the morwe graye;”

wherein he reverts, with the dainty touch of
the genuine poet, to his favorite theme—the
beautiful in nature.
Among many pleasing memories of German
life, I recall one with peculiar distinctness—a
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Song Birds and Water Fowl

certain June morning in Munich, when I went
through the Brandenburg gate, outside the city
limits, and explored the surrounding fields.
For the first time, I then enjoyed the unique
display of Chaucer’s lark, with its soaring flight
and rapturous song. It was quite common
thereabouts, and the morning was one to kindle
all its musical spirit. Mounting slowly, yet
airily, and with a rapid fluttering of wings, in
an absolutely perpendicular ascent, as if scaling
an invisible ladder, he began, when a short
distance from the ground, and accompanying
his upward motion, to pour forth a delicious
and continuous effervescence of delight, until
he reached so high a point that he became
only a throbbing vocal atom in the distant
blue; where, poised upon the very climax of
his ecstasy, ensphered in the irradiation of his
wild and glittering notes, he uttered his im-
passioned heart in such a thrilling lyric chant
as could not fail to hold the listener spell-
bound and amazed. ‘The best that poetry can
say of the lark has been expressed in Shelley’s
famous apostrophe, which, in its entirety, is the
most breathless and delicious of his minor
poems, a gem among the classics.

This famous vocalist is an instance, not ex-

170

At the Water’s Edge

ceptional, of a gifted soul within an unpre-
possessing exterior ; in fact, there are extremely
few species that are not more presentable. Our
own shore lark, which is also a denizen of
Europe, and there called the handsomest of the
family, is a much more attractive specimen.
Perhaps we have no plainer bird than the
sweet-voiced vesper sparrow, which the field lark
closely resembles ; being a triflelarger, of about
the same color on the back, and with similar
pure white outer tail-feathers. On the slender
basis of its having occasionally been found in
Greenland and in Bermuda, it is included in
the list of North American birds. But most of
the attempts, made hitherto, to introduce and
naturalize this remarkable species in our own
land, by which alone it can ever become a
prominent member of our avifauna, have been
unsuccessful.

In its summer home our own shore lark, so
silent when with us, is said to exhibit vocal
powers not unworthy of the family repute, and
to mount and sing upon the wing like the
European species; although, according to Au-
dubon, it does not begin to sing until its high-
est altitude is reached. But why does its heart
warm toward Labrador? Although that dis-

17I

Song Birds and Water Fowl

mal name is, to the popular mind, an emblem
of all that is desolate and forbidding, the or-
nithologist cannot fail, sometimes, to cast a
wistful glance in that frigid direction, where so
many of his favorite species are truly wasting
their sweetness on the desert air—the fox spar-
row, snow bunting, lark, redpoll linnet, pine
finch and crossbill; not to mention golden
plover and other dainty water fowl, the silent
members of the winged fraternity.
“«
a

The curvature of the earth in general is eight
inches to the mile. But, excepting on its north |
shore, Long Island is an exception, where the
terrestrial convexity cannot exceed one-thirty-
second of an inch to the mile, as any traveller
will be convinced who takes a trip from Brook-
lyn to Montauk Point. This unutterable flat-
ness, while destructive to all interior scenery, af-
fords ample compensation inthe glorious beaches
along the south shore, extending for miles in an
unbroken stretch, ornamented with the ocean’s
fringe of breakers—a scarf that binds together
sea and land, a cincture of live foam to girdle
all thecontinents. There is more savage grand-
eur and wildness, to stir the blood, on some
precipitous coast, where towers

172

At the Water’s Edge

—'‘‘A mighty rocke, ‘gainst which doe rave,
The roring billowes in their proud disdaine : ”
but the attractiveness of the sandy shore is of
quite another sort. Here one finds a milder
and more restful beauty on the broad and level
beach, where each retiring wave leaves, spread
before the eye, a momentary mirror of magnifi-
cent extent, wherein the clouds and sun by day,
and stars by night, age after age, are ever newly
imaged in the quicksilver flood; and where,
from spring to fall, the dainty nimble plovers,
running to and fro with each advancing and re-
treating wave, reflect their graceful forms and
motions on the glassy sands. During migration,
particularly, one finds various species of water
fowl along this beach, especially in the sand-
piper family ; and I here made the acquaintance
of that beautiful little coast-bird, the semi-
palmated plover, one of the two ring-necked
species that are the most abundant of the plover
kind.

Following the beach for a mile or more, I
discovered at first only numerous ducks, persist-
ently floating beyond the surf-line, and outside
the pale of specific distinguishableness, or occa-
sionally flying, in their characteristic manner,
in small squads, with rapid wing-beat, baggy

173

Song Birds and Water Fowl

bodies, and fearfully long, straight necks, as if
each one of them had swallowed a ram-rod;
while, farther on, were fully fifty gulls, which
now and then gathered in solemn convention
on a narrow sand-bar. Standing with their
heads all turned in one direction, a more quiet
and stupidly attentive audience one never saw ;
until, either from a subtle simultaneous impulse,
or at a signal from the leader of the meeting,
the whole assembly suddenly rose on the wing,
broke up into numerous committees, and posted
off in all directions.

Not far from this conclave I stumbled upon a
flock of plovers. Brownish above, white be-
neath, a distinct black ring around the lower
part of the neck, white onthe forehead, bounded
by black, about seven inches long, a running
gait, and a general watery look—these were the
external signs that certified the larger of the
ring-necked plovers, the smaller species being
the piping plover. To save time, I made im-
mediate advances toward intimacy ; but at first
they showed their decorous training by not al-
lowing me to come within deau-shot. At length,
however, timidity gave place to confidence, and,
in a very mute way, we finally became quite
sociable.

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At the Water’s Edge

The plover has an odd habit of frequently
bobbing his head, as if ina state of chronic
obeisance, or else of permanent acquiescence ;
and makes the observer feel that, although a
very silent creature, he is nevertheless doing a
great deal of hard thinking—as if continually
giving outward assent to his private conclusions.
Keeping as close to the water’s edge as possi-
ble, when a larger wave than usual rolled in, he
would instantly wheel about, and then how his
long, slender, bright-red legs would twinkle
away, six inches in advance of the shallow ripple
that chased him fast and far over the level sands.
Gliding in this manner across the glassy floor
that gave back a perfect inverted image of his
delicate figure, and even of his wiry limbs, keep-
ing time and step to his own retreat—this dis-
solving view was far more picturesque than any
scene of warblers or thrushes. And then, when
the wave reached its limit, how quickly he faced
about, and ducked his head to the great deep,
as if to say, ‘‘I salute you, hoary monster! you
didn’t catch me ¢hattime, did you?’’ The si-
lent, delicate plover, and the noisy, stupendous
ocean, thus brought face to face, as in battle
array, form the most delicious and suggestive
combination of minuteness and immensity that I

175

Song Birds and Water Fowl

have ever seen; and there is withal a sober
comicality in such an impromptu scene that can
never be forgotten.

But, although soconservative in behavior be-
fore an in-rolling wave, these creatures are not
at all timid, when sure of its depth; and they
wade fearlessly through the pools formed in the
depressions of the sand, even when almost deep
enough forswimming. I hope these little friends
of mine have some poetic sense of their sur-
roundings, in habitually lingering by the sea;
but appearances indicate that their impulse is
of a grosser sort, and that they are only after
the bodily refreshment thrown on the shore by
every tide.

A curious and interesting chapter could be
written on the intimate connection existing be-
tween facts apparently standing in no kind of
relationship, in the economy of nature. One
instance of the sort would be, the purposes,
more numerous and important than at first
appears, served by the oceanic tides; one of
them being that, by the endless circulation
of the water near the shore, vegetable and
animal growth is both promoted and thrown
upon the beach, thereby maintaining the life
of water fowl. Marine ornithology is thus

176

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SYAAO1d G3ALVATVdIWSS

At the Water’s Edge

brought into unexpected dependence upon the
moon.

A few days later, on the same beach, I had
the quite unusual opportunity of seeing an im-
mense migration-wave of gulls, passing close
by the shore. They were evidently not anx-
ious to make a short journey of it, otherwise
they would have cut across from Cape May to
Montauk Point, instead of skirting along the
entire coast of New Jersey and Long Island.

They did not form one solid group, in their
flight, as wild geese often do, but passed along,
sometimes in a continuous stream, at other
times in detached flocks in close succession,
varying in numbers from ten to forty, and oc-
casionally in such compact masses as to be
quite imposing. For the most part they flew
very close to the water, as when skimming
the surface for food; but one flock of about
seventy-five passed high overhead and descend-
ed to the water farther on. Being interested
to form an estimate of the entire number, I
counted one hundred and sixty that passed
in five minutes, and as the ‘‘ wave’’ lasted
with little interruption for nearly two hours
while I was watching it, and had apparently
begun before I arrived at the beach, it doubt-

177

Song Birds and Water Fowl

less numbered at least from two to three
thousand. The passage of such a host, by so
mysterious an impulse, is an exhibition of one
of the ‘‘ forces of nature’’ that one does not
often have the opportunity to witness. <A
bird’s-eye view of such a silent procession, fifty
miles in length, swiftly winding its way along
the sinuosities of the Atlantic coast, from the
Southern States to British America, would cer-
tainly be an interesting spectacle. Afterward,
a ‘‘wave’’ of ducks passed by, not as large in
the aggregate as that of the gulls; but the indi-
vidual flocks, numbering from fifty to over a
hundred each, were much larger and more pict-
uresque. While gulls are much more aérial, I
observed that the ducks flew very much higher
in migration.

Along the shore, too, were sandpipers. The
principal feature that distinguishes them from
plovers is the long bill, by which they can
not only obtain food in shallow water, but can
probe for it in sand or soil, like woodcock
and all long-billed species; which shows the
extreme sensitiveness of what appears to bea
mere dead, horny protuberance, and somewhat
analogous in its functions to the teeth of
other animals. I could not ‘‘specify’’ this

178

At the Water’s Edge

flock of sandpipers. Many of the species in
this family are as much alike as some of the
sparrows, and hardly admit of discrimination,
except by the aid of a little powder and shot.

Running about in the salt grass was a species
that occupies the debatable ground between
land and water birds—one of the sea-side spar-
rows, the sharp-tailed finch; in anatomy and
appearance a thorough land bird, and even in
the ‘‘song group; ’’ but with as much partiality
for water as some of the genuine water fowl,
and perhaps never found far from shore.

While beauty and, with few exceptions,
musical excellence are not conspicuous features
in sparrows, it is certainly interesting to note,
in this large class of closely related birds,
such a degree of individuality as is shown in
their different tastes in regard to habitat; some
preferring our temperate climate, and others go-
ing into the Arctic regions; some abiding in
the fields and the upland pasture, a few resort-
ing to the swamps, and still others found al-
most exclusively among the salt marshes along
the coast. Of this last-named sort are the sea-
side and the sharped-tailed finches, and the
savannah sparrow—in general appearance quite
alike, but with dissimilar head-markings, and

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Song Birds and Water Fowl

all of them nesting very unpretentiously in a
tussock of grass near the water’s edge. This
sharp-tailed finch is easily recognized by a
long and prominent bright-buff line over the
eye, and large, dark spots on a light breast.
Nothing complimentary can be said of any of
these water sparrows, in a musical way, as they
rank among the lowest, even of this humble
class.

Scientific names are often as meaningless or
misleading as they are unpronounceable; but
this is not so with the sea-side and sharp-tailed
finches. Their generic name, ammodramus—
running on the sands—aptly expresses their pre-
vailing habit, as their flight on the wing is in-
frequent, short, and low; and their specific
names, maritimus and caudacutus—which define
themselves to the rustiest Latin scholar—are
equally appropriate.

Whoever roams over sands and salt marshes is
familiar with the ‘fiddler crab,’’ of which I
found an immense colony near the finch—two or
three inches long, their shells prettily marked
with gray, brown, and a bluish purple centre,
They numbered thousands and tens of thou-
sands, and the entire army beat a hasty retreat,
as fast as their eight legs could carry them, at

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At the Water’s Edge

my approach; they even tumbled over each
other in their anxiety to get away. So dense
were they that the very ground seemed to be
slipping off, as they fled away, and their innu-
merable bodies rustled curiously through the salt
grass. While the males are armed with a formid-
able apparatus that looks like a pair of slender
ivory nippers about one inch long or more, for
seizing their prey, the females are provided with
only a very diminutive weapon of this sort;
depending, probably, upon their powers of per-
suasion for holding their victims; a peculiarity
not confined to crustaceans. My attention
was called to this swarm of crabs by seeing the
ground riddled with holes, as if punctured by a
cane, and about three inches deep; and, as I
followed them up, the crabs dropped into these
holes like pool-balls into a ‘‘ pocket.’? After
standing still a minute, I could see them pop-
ping their heads out all around me, and, if I
moved at all, drop back again. At Cape May
I afterward found acres of them, sunning them-
selves on the muddy flats, and along the inlets.
They are called ‘‘ fiddler crabs’’ from the awk-
ward way in which they hold their prehensile
apparatus high in the air as they run along ;
which, with their motion sideways, is about as
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Song Birds and Water Fowl

clumsy a complication of affairs as one ever
finds in nature.

In the salt marshes, sea-side sparrows were
singing—my first view and hearing of them.
Their strain is almost the lowest in the scale of
song, and yet it is distinctly a song, and not a
reiterated call note. One of them perched ona
low bush within a few feet of me, and indulged
for several minutes in his soft soliloquy, the
first part of the chant resembling the conk-a-rée
of a minute red-winged blackbird, and tipped
off with the snarl of a microscopic catbird.
There was certainly a genuine impulse of song
in his heart; and he seemed as happy in his
puny efforts as the most gifted of his race. All
about on the marshes the wild, vague note of
the sandpipers could be heard, whose discov-
ery, when they keep still in the grass, rivals the
needle-in-the-haymow problem. Having their
nests in this seclusion, they now and then pass
over in small parties to the ocean's edge to feed,
lodging in the marsh, and dining on the beach.

&

One of my excursions in search of water fowl
was nothing but a ‘‘ comedy of errors,’’ from
beginning to end. Early in June I took the

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At the Water’s Edge

train for Sayville, a town on the south shore of
Long Island. This was only a means toanend,
the end being a swamp in one of the chain of
islands that forms the outer boundary of Great
South Bay, which at this point is about six
miles wide. The island in question is a de-
serted swamp and sand-bar during nine months
of the year, and quite populous the other three,
as itis then occupied by a branch of the Chau-
tauqua Circle, from which it gets the name of
Chautauqua Landing. In the swamp that covers
a part of the island Ihad been told that the lit-
tle white heron, one of the rarest and most del-
icate birds that come from the South, had been
found nesting the previous year, and I made the
trip expressly for the purpose of finding it.

On reaching the shore I found that the small
steamer that during the summer plies between
the main land and the island was not yet in
commission, and if I was to cross the Bay it
must be by some slower conveyance, and by
private contract. Accordingly I chartered a
small yacht, with a young skipper and _ his still
more juvenile friend to manage it—or fer, to
be nautical. The run across the Bay was very
fine, until the inexperienced skipper, attempt-
ing to make a short cut, on approaching the

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Song Birds and Water Fowl

farther shore, and not having posted himself
for that year as to the arrangement of the ever-
shifting sandbars, made us reach ground be-
fore we got to land, so that we came to a dead
standstill, ‘‘ docked in sand.’’ We stuck fast
until the brilliant thought struck the two boys
to lighten the boat by jumping overboard ; but
they were too young to weigh much, and the
boat didn’t budge an inch. Then they pushed
and pried, and threw the ballast into the bow,
and sent me after it, so that finally we slid off,
and in two minutes were gently perching on
another bar, whereupon all hands except my-
self went overboard again. My hesitation to
do the same was not because I was afraid of
water, but I had already paid my passage, and
proposed to go over dry-shod, if it took all
night. I learned a good lesson, however, in
submarine topography, bumping around on the
various sand-bars for an hour or two; but at
last by some accident we drifted into the chan-
nel, and came to shore.

The first impression on reaching land was
ominous and disheartening. The mere absence
of civilization makes no solitude for me; but
here everything was helter-skelter, half savage
and half civilized, neither nature nor art. A

184

At the Water’s Edge

motley collection of cheap, tasteless houses, worse
than factory dwellings, each propped on its
own arid sand-heap, not one of them facing
any conceivable point of the compass, and no‘
two standing at any calculable angle with each
other, but all looking as if they might have
been carried across the Bay from the main land
by a tornado, and dropped on this general
dumping ground; various small restaurants
bearing the questionable inscription—‘‘ Chau-
tauqua Bottling Company,’’ with a few long,
low buildings straggling off in odd directions—
this dismal and heterogeneous aggregation of
architecture, crowned with an east wind and
drizzling clouds, made me more lonesome than
if there had been no sign of human life with-
in a hundred miles.

Escaping from the scene as soon as possible,
I wandered over to the beach on the south side.
The desolate, sandy stretches were buttered
thick—as if to make them more palatable—with
dense, low masses of bright yellow flowers, a
marine vegetation much resembling mossy stone-
crop. It was a marvel how any plant could
extract enough moisture from parched sand .to
break forth into such a rich display of bloom.
Where the ground began to rise, beyond the

185

Song Birds and Water Fowl

centre of the island, as one approaches the cliffs
fronting the ocean, I found an equal profusion
of some leguminous plant whose abundant red,
white and purple blossoms would pass, at a dis-
tance, for sweet peas. From the base of the
cliff the beach sloped for two or three hundred
feet down to the water, and for miles east and
west this broad expanse was without a sign of
animation, save a pair of king-birds fluttering
about. I then attempted to reach the opposite
shore of the narrow island, but was soon con-
fronted by an impenetrable mass of the densest
prickly undergrowth and sullen pines. The
original curse of thorns certainly struck this par-
ticular point of the earth’s surface with tremen-
dous force. Land birds were numerous—the
Maryland yellow-throat, looking painfully out
of place, the sharp-tailed finch and song spar-
row, with red-winged blackbirds galore, but no
water fowl except one sandpiper and a single
green heron, that saw me the instant I saw him,
and vanished into the bushes. Not a glimpse
could I get of the little white heron, on whose
account aloneI had made the trip. Ihadintended
to spend the night on the island, and continue
the exploration on the following day; but the
effect of all my surroundings caused a desperate
186

At the Water’s Edge

feeling to creep over me that I must get away
from the hideous place at once. The thought of
remaining there over night grew strangely intol-
erable. To see in my dreams, as I certainly
should have done, those empty, ghastly, malev-
olent human habitations staring down upon me
all night out of their unblinking, clammy win-
dow-eyes would have given me forty night-
mares.

I now bent all my energies to find a boat-
man to take me back; and when I suc-
ceeded, and he assured me I could get across in
time for the last train, I felt unbounded relief.
Supposing that he knew where the railroad sta-
tion was, I loitered along, after reaching the
main land, enjoying a rich and sudden change of
scene. The sun, just setting amid heavy and
brilliant clouds, shone over an immense and lux-
uriant meadow, with numerous blackbirds hov-
ering over it, and uttering their whistling cry,
swallows darting about, and an intoxicated bob-
olink madly singing in his wild career; while
in the distance the picturesque roofs of houses
loomed among the foliage, and gave to the scene
the repose of evening fora background. It came
after the day’s fatigue like the snatch of a pleas-
ant dream. At least a gilded edge, I thought, ,

187

Song Birds and Water Fowl

to the day’s blank page. But the end was not
yet. Sauntering along, I asked the first person
I met how far it was to the station, thinking it
might be a five minutes’ walk. My lower jaw
dropped in amazement when he replied, ‘‘ Four
miles !’’—with fifty-one minutes to do it in,
after a hard day’s tramp, and by an unfamiliar
and circuitous route. He unconsciously rubbed
in the agony by adding that, if I had come ten
minutes sooner, I might have ridden all the way.
It was the last train ; I felt as if I were escaping
from a plague-stricken district, and, by an im-
promptu system of rapid transit, I reached the
station, with two minutes to spare. This was in
the town of Islip, of which I had only a glimpse,
but it sufficed to take away much of the bad
taste of the day. With the verdure of an Eng-
lish landscape, dotted with comfortable colonial
houses, this town is the type of many along the
South Shore... But with all my zeal for water
fowl, I doubt whether a whole flock of little
white herons would tempt me to repeat my ex-
perience at Chautauqua Landing.

&

Do butterflies ever migrate? If they do,
there was certainly a ‘‘ wave’’ of them at Cape
188

At the Water’s Edge

May, early in October. It was no involuntary
passage, such as might be produced by a vio-
lent wind, for the air was absolutely calm ; and
the flight of such a multitude indicated a pre-
concerted plan for a prolonged transit. Walk-
ing along the beach early in the morning, I was
aware of numerous butterflies passing me, long
before I gave them any definite thought, except
that I had never seen so many before. But at
length they forced themselves upon my distinct
attention, and I was persuaded there was ‘‘some-
thing in the air.’’ Beginning to watch them
carefully, I quickly discovered that they were
passing along the beach in a regular stream ;
not in their usual zigzag course, but in a very
direct line, sometimes in small groups, some-
times singly, but in almost uninterrupted suc-
cession. Some were near the ground, and
others at various heights as far as a hundred
feet in the air, but not a single one was going
in an opposite direction from the others, and
only one alighted, but only for an instant. I
watched the fluttering, but rapidly moving cur-
rent for nearly half an hour, and when I left
them there were still many stragglers in the
procession. The entire number, as far as I
could judge, were of one species. Although at
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Song Birds and Water Fowl

this particular point their direction was from
east to west, they were pursuing such a course
as migrants at this season would adopt in mov-
ing southward along the coast.

Near the light-house I saw my first osprey,
or fish hawk (I call him mine, by that divine
license that gives to every naturalist a sense of
owning everything that comes within his view).
On the blasted relic of a tree, as dead as though
drowned in the Flood and standing ever since,
in which was a huge, coarse nest that may have
been his, he was breakfasting on his usual diet.
He seemed loath to be disturbed at his repast,
and allowed me to approach him nearer than
he would otherwise have done; but at last, fear-
ful that there might be powder behind my eyes,
he seized the fish in his talons, and, with a
majestic flight that fully concealed his fear,
sailed away. This splendid hawk is recogniz-
able among other species both by its great
size—being two feet long, with an immense
spread of wing—and by the fact that the head
and neck are largely white, as is the entire
under side of the body. The tree, nest and
bird were a most harmonious picture, and pleas-
ing to any one who likes a dash of cold severity
in scenery now and then. I am almost ashamed

190

At the Water’s Edge

to confess that, after watching some grand old
barbarian bird of prey like this—a typical can-
nibal-chief in feathers—there zs something ex-
cessively diminutive and slightly tame in a
civilized little song bird. I sometimes think I
modulate too easily into the mood of my sur-
roundings. This chameleon trick has a disad-
vantage as well as advantage.

The osprey is quite abundant around the
numerous creeks to the north of Cape May,
where two or three could be seen at a time,
circling suspiciously over the water, and occa-
sionally making a fatal dash upon some finny
resident beneath, and not hesitating to plunge
entirely under water for the capture of their
prey. But sometimes this operation proves fatal
to both parties; for, when he attacks a fish he
is unable to lift out of the water, and does not
succeed in letting go his hold immediately, the
fish drags him under, and it proves a double
tragedy. In several instances the dead body
of a large fish, with the osprey still clinging
to it, has been washed upon the beach. For
some reason, fish hawks feel particularly amiable
toward crow blackbirds, which they allow to
nest in the cavities of their own huge struct-
ures; in one case four grackles’ nests having

Ig!

Song Birds and Water Fowl

been found in the interstices of an osprey’s
nest. Another peculiarity of these hawks is that
in the fall they often repair and strengthen
their nests, in evident anticipation of the
severe weather at hand. These successive ad-
ditions of material sometimes result in a per-
fectly enormous building, as in the case of one
found at Plumb Island, Conn., that was seven
feet high, and from six to eight feet across.

om

Our familiar ‘flicker,’’ or golden-winged
woodpecker, is esteemed a great luxury by Jer-
sey hunters; and their method of decoying
them is peculiar. I noticed, here and there,
in the scrubby woodland, a very long dead
branch projecting slantingly upward from near
the top of a tree, looking half artificial, half
natural—a clever device for the accommodation
of flickers, which, in migration, pass over this
region in great numbers and in fat condition.
Arriving in the night, they find these conspic-
uous perches very alluring for resting places,
and are shot in the early morning. They roost
so close together that sometimes several will be
brought down at one discharge. There is so
much rivalry among hunters in capturing this

192

OSPREY

A grand old barbarian bird of prey —a typical cannibal-chief in feathers (p. 19!)

At the Water’s Edge

game, and some of the perches are so much
more attractive than others, that a gunner will -
sometimes sleep all night under a tree, in order '
to pre-empt the claim in the morning.

Besides finding Cape May favorable for
studying the various hawks, which are particu-
larly abundant hereabouts—one man telling me
that he had shot fifty-six the day before, just
for practice !—I had an opportunity of observ-
ing one of the most repulsive species in the
feathered kingdom—the turkey buzzard. We
might say of it, as was once remarked in regard
to a certain person’s conduct, ‘‘it is worse than
sinful, it is vulgar.’’ And, as I saw these un-
gainly creatures moping about on the beach,
with unkempt plumage, tall but crouching fig-
ures, round-shouldered, with snaky necks, and
slinking, glittering eyes, coarse-visaged and
stupid, and with a nauseous appetite, the sight
struck me as the very quintessence of vulgarity.
They are perfectly harmless, however, never
capturing live animals, and serve a valuable, if
disgusting, purpose, in converting into their
own tissue carrion of every sort, for which
we should be grateful that they have the
taste.

Yet, as we are enjoined to give even the

193

Song Birds and Water Fowl

devil his due, so the buzzards can be heartily
commended in one aspect of their life; for
there is something immensely impressive in the
sight of a large flock of these huge black creat-
ures, with a spread of six feet as they fly, slowly
gliding on motionless wing, high in the air, in
magnificent circles, and at the same time the
whole flock advancing. Tipping the body now
this way and now that, they are borne aloft
and along like enormous kites, and will cover
immense distances—one writer says, two or
three miles—without a single wing-beat. The
eagles’ flight is grander; but one sees the
eagle only alone or in pairs; and, in this re-
spect, the view of a cloud of buzzards is more
imposing. They seemed to be gathering at
their accustomed rendezvous on a neighboring
shore, where I counted sixty, with many more
in the air, and slowly settling.

There is something phenomenal in their pow-
er of smell, as they are able to detect carrion
several miles away. We not infrequently hear
people lament that their own senses are not as
keen as those of the lower animals. But we
know not what is good for us. Coleridge’s per-
ception of over seventy distinct odors in Col-
ogne, besides the one that has made the town

194

At the Water’s Edge

famous, suggests the annoyance incident to over-
sensitive sensibilities.

&

Not a water fowl, but commonly found near
the coast, or on the shore of our larger lakes
and streams, is the bald eagle. There is no
other creature that awakens just the sentiment
that is aroused by this, our grandest bird of
prey. This class of birds, in every aspect of
their life, is isolated from all others. From
their personality, habits, and habitat, they ap-
peal to a certain poetic feeling which, with-
out gauging its comparative excellence, is re-
markably distinct from that inspired by any
other class of animals. Setting aside the owls
—nocturnal birds of prey—which are half un-
canny, half ridiculous, the very names of eagle,
vulture, condor, hawk, and kite, excite a feel-
ing that is curiously compounded of immense
admiration and deep contempt. They are like
some monstrous and destructive energy in nat-
ure, from which we instinctively recoil, but to
which, at the same time, we are instinctively
drawn ; as incapable of being loved as icebergs,
storms, or volcanoes; but with an aspect of sub-
limity, in varying degree, quite unapproachable

195

Song Birds and Water Fowl

by any other species of the race. They admir-
ably picture forth the heroic side of villainy ;
they are the Attilas, the Neros, the Borgias
of bird-history. Neither refined, nor, in the
usual sense, beautiful, they strikingly possess
the very commanding attribute of rugged and
pronounced personality; and this rare quality
is always a strong rival of both beauty and
goodness for the admiration of mankind. Even
the more ignoble vulture, kite, and buzzard,
the very type of carrion scavengers though they
be, are not entirely powerless to elicit a certain
quality of lofty approbation ; while hawks and
eagles, by a life as taciturn and solitary, and
by a certain nobility of form, combined with
those impressive evolutions in the air which
cannot fail to elevate the mind, are qualified to
stimulate the thoughts of the observer to an in-
tense degree. The distant and the silent are
alike in always being strangely fascinating to
the human mind ; and these qualities are com-
bined in the birds of prey. The imagination
plays most untiringly around the vague and
enigmatical.

As I stood by the Hudson River, watching
a large flock of wild ducks, called buffle-heads,
that frequent all our larger streams in the win-

196

At the Water’s Edge

ter season, suddenly a bald eagle came upon the
scene. He was soon joined by another, even
larger than himself ; and, in broad evolutions,
now high, now low, at times the merest specks
in the blue distance, and then with majestic
dash quite close at hand, they swung from side
to side of the noble river, and far beyond its
edge. Their motive power, in their gigantic
circuits, seemed to be merely the force of their
imperial will, so slight was their exertion in
comparison with the energy in evident reserve.
Occasionally they moved their wings with state-
ly beat, but otherwise pursued their passage
broadly floating in sublime repose. Mingling
amicably with numerous gulls, this lordly
stranger still seemed distant from them, even
when most near, so profoundly different was he,
both in spirit and appearance.

“* Around him some mysterious circle thrown
Repell’d approach, and showed him still alone.”

Apparently it was only acase of kingly exercise
that morning—sportive, yet intensely dignified
—for I did not see either of the pair gather any
food from the river, which they closely ap-
proached at times; nor did they cause any con-
sternation among the ducks, and a hungry eagle

197

Song Birds and Water Fowl

has a good relish for a duck. At first I was
uncertain of the species, for bald and golden
eagles have much the same general appearance
at a distance ; but when one, in particular, of
these two specimens came into close range, I
could see the pure white tail and neck, which
are characteristic features of the bald eagle’s
plumage. His companion was quite dark
throughout—I judged, the heir apparent, the
prince in his first year.

The beholder sometimes almost feels a touch
of terror in this bird’s vindictivesilence; and
an eagle’s scream, a ragged fracture of barbaric
sound, is probably the most discordant note
that ever pierces the empyrean. And who
would have it otherwise? Not every state of
heart can be translated into song. Whoever
knows the butcher-bird will say that its coarse,
defiant cry is the only adequate expression of
itssavage nature. Individuality is the most in-
teresting aspect of every object in creation ;
and this is possessed by the songless species as
fully as by any bird of melody. One may study
a villain as eagerly as he would a saint; and
sometimes the villain has the best of it, in power
of sustaining the interest. A vice is as prolific
a text for thought as a virtue; and the orni-

198

At the Water’s Edge

thologist may have as much desire, although
of quite another sort, to see an eagle or a hawk,
as a rose-breasted grosbeak or a thrush.

It is a curious fact in regard to birds of prey,
as distinguished from the generality of the race,
that the female is commonly larger than the
male; and also interesting to note that an
eagle in its second year is larger than ever after-
ward. Ihave never heard its subsequent shrink-
age accounted for. ‘The difficulties and occa-
sional uncertainties of bird-classification are
well illustrated by this bald eagle, whose plum-
age is so different in the various stages of its
growth as to have misled even Audubon into
supposing a young specimen he found to be a
distinct species. Apparently familiar only with
the mature plumage of the bird, he congratu-
lated himself immensely on the supposed dis-
covery; which, in admiration of his adopted
country's father, he named ‘‘ the bird of Wash-
ington.’’ There are, however, only two dis-
tinct species in the entire country—the bald
and the golden eagles. In its second year the
bald eagle is much lighter in color, and not
until the third year does it attain its perma-
nent coloring—head, fore-neck, and tail pure.
white, the rest of the body dark brown.

199

Song Birds and Water Fowl

The adoption of the eagle as our national
emblem has been strongly condemned, on the
ground that no animal so fierce and rapacious
is worthy of such exalted symbolism ; and Ben-
jamin Franklin expressed his disapproval of the
choice in very vigorous language. It is to be
remarked, however, that no parable is obliged to
‘go on all fours,’’ and I know not why more
should be expected of emblems than of para-
bles. The eagle is as truly the king of birds, in
its most striking aspects, as the lion is the king
of beasts; and, as the mother-country had ap-
propriated the latter as an emblem, it was
quite natural that her aspiring children should
aim higher, and adopt the loftiest symbol they
could find. Ethically considered, both of these
creatures are, perhaps, as far as possible from
adequately typifying a nation’s greatest glory ;
but they are certainly pre-eminently qualified, as
compared with all other creatures of their class,
to symbolize that strength, immensity, sublim-
ity, and sovereignty which, in the minds of men,
are predominant features of a magnificent na-
tional life.

Another and more forcible objection against
giving this honorable distinction to the bald
eagle in particular is not so easy to be met;

200

At the Water’s Edge

viz., that he often displays both a lazy and
a tyrannical disposition ; inasmuch as he will
quietly sit upon a tree, and watch the osprey
capture its fish, whereupon the eagle dashes
down upon him, and compels him to relinquish
his booty, which is then seized and borne off
by our glorious emblem. For this ignoble
trick there is no adequate apology to offer. It
is a clear case of unpardonable despotism. If
we wait, however, for some creature to arise
that shall be beyond all criticism as a mere
animal type of our country, we shall have to
get along without any symbol. Unquestiona-
bly, as between the bald and the golden eagles,
the former is the worthier on the score of
beauty ; and his adoption, to be emblazoned
on our national escutcheon, was probably a
compromise, such as the world often makes,
between character and good looks.

We must notice one more attack upon the
worthiness of this emblematic bird. His brav-
ery has been impugned, on the ground that he
is sometimes put to flight by the contemptible
little king-bird (Tyrannus tyrannus), which is
a good deal smaller than a robin. This argu-
ment looks very plausible, but in reality it is the
weakest of all. The enormous galleons which

201

Song Birds and Water Fowl

composed the Spanish Armada could never be
called cowardly because they were no match
for the little English corvettes in dexterity of
naval evolution. It was their very superiority
in point of size that made them an easy prey
to their diminutive but more lively enemies.
An insignificant horse-fly will goad the very
noblest of four-footed creatures to madness and
flight; and, in precisely the same manner, the
very hugeness of the eagle makes him vulnera-
ble to the nimble assaults upon his back of a
minute and vicious enemy. If any one thinks
it would be more praiseworthy for the august
bird to stand still, and let his microscopic foe
assail him at will, it can only be replied, if to
flee in such case is cowardly, to stand still is
both cowardly and imbecile.

Just a word ought to be said in regard to
that ill-sounding name, ‘ birds of prey.’’ In
a single aspect it is accurately descriptive of a
large division of the feathered kingdom; but
otherwise it is a most unfair reflection upon the
group, which are thus permanently reviled for
following out their instincts, and sustaining life,
it is true, by the destruction of their fellow-
creatures, yet by a method imposed by nature,
perfectly legitimate and blameless. I know of

202

At the Water’s Edge

no nonchalance more exquisite than that with
which a man will stamp with obloquy another’s
conduct that is precisely the reproduction of his
own. And when one speaks in disapproving
terms about bloodthirsty beasts and birds, let
him occasionally call to mind the countless cat-
tle on a thousand hills, destined for the sham-
bles to satisfy man’s own carnivorous appetite.
Only he who from principle is a vegetarian can,
without making himself ridiculous, cast a slur
upon a bird’s use of fresh meat. Instead of
wasting our disdain upon the lower animals of
prey, it would certainly be used to much better
purpose by turning it upon that barbarity of
our fellow-beings who call themselves perfectly
respectable, although they will go, year after
year, to the woods, and fields, and beaches, and
slaughter scores and hundreds of innocent and
beautiful creatures, not on the plea of any need
whatever, but to experience the luxury of kill-
ing, wherein the satisfaction gained is precisely
measured by the amount of life destroyed.
Between the brutality of the fiercest beast or
bird, and that of the average hunter, let the
impartial critic choose.

203

Lake George

“The desert, forest, cavern, breaker’s foam,

Were unto him companionship; they spake

A mutual language, clearer than the tome

Of his land’s tongue, which he would oft forsake

For Nature’s pages glassed by sunbeams on the lake,”
Byron.

LAKE GEORGE

MAKE scenery is mild, rather than
| heroic; in a word, with all due re-
spect to lake and poet, Wordsworth-

emus) jan; and one can hardly imagine
any nature of Byron’s dash and vigor and truly
oceanic mood contentedly and permanently re-
posing in the placid prospect of soft inland
waters. Yet life’s cadences sometimes require
just such restful influences as pervade the atmos-
phere of mountain-girt Lake George, whose
majesty of repose is the best punctuation for a
period of activity. Indeed, if one would know
the rare sublimity of nature’s calm, he can per-
haps feel it nowhere more fully than at the pur-
pling hour of a clear summer’s eve, when float-
ing on the middle of this famouslake. As by
magic influence, the waves subside until the last
faint ripple drops off into slumber ; deepening
twilight fills the cool and windless air; the
mountains, softly dark, rear their massive forms
with unwonted grace and dignity above the
207

Song Birds and Water Fowl

water’s glassy plain, magnificent embodiments
of profoundest peace; the pale stars, one by one,
begin to glisten in their mild serenity; and si-
lence, like a heavenly mantle spread by hands
invisible, wraps all the scene in the prolonged
repose of dreamless night.

However beautiful a spot may be, it always
gains an added charm, a sort of personality, by
historic association—the subtlest element of at-
tractiveness, which kindles nobler sentiments
than merely sensuous landscape beauty ever can
inspire. In such historic interest few spots in
all our country are richer than Lake George. Its
banks and waters silently commemorate many
a striking scene in the Revolutionary War.
As an anonymous writer has well expressed it,
‘¢ The imaginative mind can easily reanimate the
Lake with the splendid armies of Abercrombie,
Amherst, and Montcalm, numbering from nine
to sixteen thousand men each, and sailing in
boats and bateaux, marshalled in beautiful array,
with all the pomp and circumstance of war.
How peaceful it appears to-day, at the head of
the Lake, around the ruins of Fort George, and
the grass-grown site of Fort William Henry.
Yet here, through long and bloody wars, the
Cross of St. George waved defiance to the

208

Lake George

Lilies of France. Here forts and palisades
went up, opposing trenches were dug, and
mines sprung. But now all sign of bloodshed
and strife has passed away, and the hapless vic-
tims are forever at rest.’’ Beneath the waters,
too, at different points, the relics of those warring
times can still be seen—the sunken wrecks of
many a transport ship and gun-boat, the very
uncertainty of whose precise history only serves
to deepen the impression, as one looks down
through the peculiarly clear water upon the
buried hulks quietly reposing for almost a hun-
dred and fifty years.

Civilization consists largely in the multipli-
cation of our wants; and the numerous small re-
sorts scattered along these shores can be heartily
recommended to anyone wishing to shuffle off,
for a season, this artificial commodity or em-
barrassment. A few weeks’ residence in such
a region is more convincing than all verbal
argument, that man really wants but little here
below. It is an instinct in our nature to de-
sire to do whatever is being done around us ;
and probably this accounts for the fact that,
after being here a little while, amid forests,
grass, fruits, and grains, one awakes to the fact
that he has himself also begun to vegetate.

209

Song Birds and Water Fowl

This is not a disparagement of country life, but
one of its chief commendations. For, to se-
cure the healthy equipoise of human existence,
this lower vegetative element of our nature
cannot be ignored. Nothing is better for the
soul than periodically to go where, for awhile,
one can be ‘‘of the earth, earthy;’’ and Lake
George can be commended as a delightful and
economical spot in which to make the experi-
ment.

But the foregoing is only the lower, earth-
ward side of rustication in such a region as this.
On the borders of this ever-changeful lake, that
gives a quick and fleeting transcript of all the
varying moods of earth and sky, and in this
noble amphitheatre of everlasting hills, whose
loftiness, solidity, and dignified repose are an
unobtrusive, and yet grave, rebuke to all the
transient, petty, fretful views and aims of the
immortal beings crawling at their base; with
numerous running brooks along the mountain
sides, breaking, but not marring, the country
silence, congenial substitutes for books, the
pleasantest sort of summer reading—in such
surroundings one may find ample diet for imag-
ination, and the choicest wine of inspiration,
to promote the growth of his higher powers,

210

Lake George

and to help him realize the only legitimate aim
of all vacation—a sound mind in a sound body.

As everyone knows, in a small village, ‘‘ex-
empt from public haunt,’’ and especially when
several miles distant from a railroad, the only
thrilling and perennial episode in life is the
daily arrival of the mail. And this little fact
fully shows what extremely adaptable creatures
we all are. It is said that no other animal is
able to endure such extremes of heat and cold
as man, and certainly no other is able to sur-
vive, as he can, the shock of alternate excite-
ment and monotony, which are the soul’s heat
and cold. And how great is man’s ingenuity
to invent excitement where none exists! Ina
little summer-resort one still enjoys something
like the exhilaration of grand opera, as he sees
the approaching coach down the road. And
when it actually rolls up to the door he almost
feels the thrill of a theatrical climax.

In daily excursions to and from the post-
office I passed the village school-house, with its
brood of hardly a dozen pupils; and I soon
discovered that beneath the eaves a flock of
cliff swallows were building their homes—a sort
of collegiate annex, which is so much in vogue
nowadays. They had just begun the erection

, 2i1

Song Birds and Water Fowl

of their peculiar structures, and their lack of
timidity gave good opportunity to watch the
process. This nest differs from that of all our
other birds in having its walls composed en-
tirely of mud, which the bird moulds into little
pellets, fastening them together with its own
saliva; and thus the entire nest, which is very
thick and heavy, is supported only by adhesion
to the wall against which it is built. The
architectural taste of these swallows involves a
peculiar difficulty and danger, for the nest must
always be placed where it will be protected
from the rain by an overarching projection ;
otherwise, from the added weight of moisture,
and its disintegrating effect, it would suddenly
collapse in a storm. The rounded form of the
pellets gives the exterior of the nest a peculiar
corrugated appearance, but the inner surface is
perfectly smooth. From its situation it results
that the cavity is like a pocket, bending out
horizontally at the top to afford egress. After
the birds had worked diligently several days, I
found, one morning, that some of the nests had
fallen to the ground. But, without wasting
precious time in vain regrets, they began at
once to repair the loss. Everything went
smoothly until the nests were almost completed,
212

Lake George

when there was another collapse. This seemed
a little suspicious. Yet surely there was no
conscienceless contractor in ¢hzs case, for the
swallows were building their own houses; and,
moreover, in this little rural paradise, it was
hard to believe that any human being would be
wantonly destructive. But, upon inquiry, I
was told it was probably the doings of a young
rascal in the neighborhood, who perpetrated
all the small villanies that are possible in a
diminutive village. I found where he lived,
and appealed, not to his heart, which might
be an unknown quantity, but to his pocket.
Whereupon he agreed, for a stipulated sum,
not to molest the nests until the young were
hatched. He assured me, however, that the
nests had sometimes fallen of their own accord ;
and there was a little reason to suppose that
this might have been the case in the present
instance. For, when the nests were begun,
the ground was extremely dry, and perhaps
the birds’ saliva was insufficient to moisten
and agglutinate the material. At all events,
whether ‘due to the boy’s reformation, or to
the rain that followed, there was no further
trouble.

One morning, in passing a muddy place in

213

Song Birds and Water Fowl

the road, I found it to be the source of their
building material, quite a flock being engaged in
collecting it. Alighting at the spot, they in-
stantly raised their long and slender wings high
over their backs, like the tern at the moment
when it touches the ground; and, with the tail
half erect, like a wren’s, they maintained this
peculiar attitude, with a continual tremulous
motion of the wings, while they walked around,
picking up bits of mud here and there, and
compacting them into a single mass. Stand-
ing where I was unobserved, I saw them come
again and again, and invariably they assumed
and kept this position so long as they were
collecting the material. Sometimes they re-
mained standing by the spot for a moment after
alighting, with wings entirely closed, but they
were raised to a perpendicular as soon as they
began work. The action was as novel as it
was graceful, a pose well worthy of a picture,
except that, from its rarity, it would common-
ly be pronounced unnatural. Barn swallows,
which one finds everywhere, and distinguish-
able from all other swallows by the forked tail,
also make their nests mostly of mud, but with
some dried grass intermixed, which makes it
more adhesive; and these are often attached to

214

cont dae te B By

CLIFF SWALLOWS

The action was as novel as it was graceful, a pose well worthy of a picture (p. 214).

Lake George

the roof and rafters in the same manner as is
the cliffswallow’s nest. Occasionally, however,
they avoid all anxiety as to whether adhesion or
gravitation will prevail, by placing a circular
nest directly on a beam; but I think this is
tather exceptional. The nests of these two
species differ more conspicuously in the interior
than in the walls; for that of the cliff swal-
low has but the scantiest lining of dried grass,
with a few insignificant feathers. But barn
swallows are either extremely doting parents,
or else their. young are very delicate; for I
have never seen so luxurious nests as those I
collected this summer, with double linings ;
the outer, of soft grass neatly woven, and the
inner, a mass of downiest feathers filling the
cavity almost to the very brim, and kept in
place by being deftly bound to the outer walls
with horse-hairs.

A peculiar aspect of a bird’s nature is its
sensitiveness to the smallest change of climate.
No human being, I am sure, is competent to
detect the difference of latitude between this
region and a spot fifty or a hundred miles
farther south. But these creatures are endowed
with sharper senses than ourselves. As a result,
a two or three hours’ car-ride from Albany

215

Song Birds and Water Fowl

brings one where he finds several noticeable
differences in the avifauna.

One feels more of a sense of proprietorship
in birds that come about his own hired door
than in those he finds in public woods. Yet I
felt that they were not on my rented premises
by sufferance, but by virtue of a prior lease,
which made them tenants of all the world at
their own sweet will. Of about fifty species
that are quite abundantly represented here-
abouts, a large number were daily visitants in
the orchard, and devoted their -particular at-
tention to a large mulberry-tree, whose ripened
fruit hung among the branches like black rasp-
berries, which it somewhat resembles in flavor
also, but of which I hardly had a taste, so bold
and ravenous were the orioles, catbirds, robins,
and various smaller species that were on hand
to pick the fruit as fast as it ripened.

There is no other bird that has just the wavy,
graceful, and buoyant motion of the downy
woodpecker. A brisk, and perhaps business-
like, cheerfulness is the characteristic mood of
this species; and, while not ranked as a songster,
its strong, rich note is quite consonant with its
feelings. The term ‘tone color,’’ which is a
favorite one with musicians, expresses a truth

216

Lake George

which one intuitively feels, without perhaps
being able scientifically to explain. A man,
blind from his birth, was once asked to give his
idea of the sunrise. He replied that it seemed
to him it must be like the sound of a trumpet.
A bolder, more poetic, and in a sense accurate,
comparison of sight and sound could hardly be
imagined. Even those dry and literal people,
who would scorn the analogy under other cir-
cumstances, will hardly disapprove of this pa-
thetic, yet masterly, attempt to define, in terms
of his own experience, what one had never seen.
And, although without the excuse of blindness
for being fanciful, there always seems to me to
be a sort of crimson quality in the dark rich
tone of the downy woodpecker, different from
the call-note of any other species, and match-
ing the ornamental head-piece displayed by the
male.

The Wilson thrush, or veery, is one of the
most abundant species in this region, and can be
heard occasionally throughout the day, in all
the woods, but becomes more melodious at dusk,
and prolongs its song later into the evening
than almost any other bird. The robin and
the thrushes belong to the same family ; but the
former is more plebeian and companionable, the

217

Song Birds and Water Fowl

latter more distant and harmlessly aristocratic ;
somewhat more refined in their nature, too,
which both justifies and even compels a certain
measure of reserve. The robin is the bird for
every day ; the thrush for state occasions. To
me, the veery is one of the most tantalizing of
all birds—as disobliging in his performances as
a spoiled pvima donna. Potentially he may be
equal to the wood thrush, but practically he is
quite inferior. It may be too severe a criticism
to call him half-hearted in his art, but a little
absent-minded he certainly seems to be, with
that soliloquizing, so¢fo voce sort of strain which
is the foretaste of what never comes; like the
cardinal grosbeak’s preamble. It would be a
great mistake if all our songsters were as vocif-
erous as the whippoorwill, as ecstatic as the
wren, or as gushing as the goldfinch. Occa-
sional reserve and melancholy form a cool, dark
background that enhances all the warmer,
brighter tints in nature’s symphony. One la-
menting pewee is an incomparable blessing to
all other songsters in the neighborhood. And
yet, in listening to the Wilson thrush, one must
feel that he would like to spur him on a little,
just to test his full capacity for once, and see
what he might do under the impulse of a really
218

Lake George

enthusiastic thrill. He is one of the very few
species in whose case I fear that, when they
come to judgment, they will ignominiously
draw forth a few fresh, unused napkins, neatly
wrapping up some latent talents.

It is a peculiarity of this thrush that his tone,
which near at hand sounds faint and veiled,
seems to be magnified by distance. It is also
noticeable what a carrying, and almost re-en-
forcing, power there is in water; and it is one
of the finest of musical effects, as one rows on
the lake, a little way from shore, to hear, in the
quietness of sea and sky, that distant rich and
rippling triplet phrase so characteristic and
seemingly touched with the lake’s own placid
atmosphere, giving the scene a vital beauty and
a vocal climax that escape the painter’s art. A
liquid, thrushy quality of tone has peculiar
affinity with such a scene.

An unusual sight in mid-summer is the her-
ring-gull—essentially a maritime bird of the far
north, and only wintering in the States. Yet
now and then he is to be found at the larger in-
land waters during the breeding season, a pair
having evidently concluded to summer at Lake
George. It doubtless requires some individual-
ity of bird character, being so gregarious as

219

Song Birds and Water Fowl

gulls are, thus to break away from all their fel.
lows, and live in such seclusion; and I rather
admire the spirit of any biped, feathered or not,
that does not follow the crowd, nor tie up to
another’s faith, but has his distinct taste, which
he is not afraid to express and live up to.
Sitting on the piazza one morning, a pair of
cedar-birds flew by several times, at short inter-
vals, in a very eager and suspicious manner. It
must be king’s business, I thought, to require
such haste. I noticed that they kept flying into
an apple-tree in the yard; and, knowing their
uppermost thought at this particular season—
early in July—I was not surprised to find that
they were very busy over a long string that was
caught in the branches. It was so entangled
in the twigs that it looked at first like the
foundation of a nest; yet, without pretending
to understand the fine points of nest architect-
ure, I should have known that this was no suit-
able spot for the cedar bird to build in. The
next morning one of the birds came again, and
labored long and frantically over that string,
at last taking hold of the very end and giving
it a strong pull, and a final vicious twitch,
and then darting away. I was now in doubt
whether they were trying to wind it about the

220

Lake George

branches still more, or to loosen it, so as to take
itaway. To test the matter, I hung two other
strings close by. The next morning I saw that
they were gone, while the original one seemed
to have been untouched. This showed that
they were building elsewhere, and had been
trying, for two days, to secure this tempting
material. As Providence helps those who help
themselves, I loosened it and cut itin two, and
soon both pieces were carried off. Following
the bird to a small apple-tree on the other side
of the house, I soon found the framework of the
nest, saddled in a crotch of the branches about
six feet from the ground ; and, among the dried
grass and roots, they had interwoven what they
must have considered a very mysterious supply
of building material. Although I have used the
plural number, it was probably the female that
was allowed to do most of the work, and who
deserved most of the credit, after her lord had
sanctioned the location of the nest.

Feeling asupervisory interest in their domestic
affairs, and thinking they would be grateful for
a supply of suitable material for interior decora-
tions, I then hung up three pieces of soft yarn,
red, black, and white, to see what their taste
might be, and knowing that, at any rate, bright

22I

Song Birds and Water Fowl

colors would amuse the babies. My lady friend
quickly took the white yarn, with which she
adorned the upper edge of the cradle, but
ignored the other pieces ; either having enough
already, or being too wary to be ensnared by
their strong colors, which usually in such cases
are wisely avoided. The nest was finished on
the twelfth of July, and the first egg was laid
on the fourteenth, four others following on the
four succeeding days; quite pretty specimens,
thickly blotched with dark spots on a ground
of pale lilac. Among domestic fowls it is quite
_ uncommon for eggs to be laid after mid-day; but
the third, fourth, and fifth of this set were laid,
respectively, at about four, five, and six o’clock
in the afternoon. Incubation began immedi-
ately ; and in just thirteen and one-half days I
saw the five chicks fully hatched, closely packed
together, all breathing rapidly, and one gaping
furiously. It is quite likely that they had
already been hatched a full day when I first saw
them; but itis very difficult to ascertain the
exact period of incubation, for the reason that
the mother-bird remains on the nest quite con-
stantly for the first few days after hatching, es-
pecially if the air is cool, as it was at this time.
Their tiny forms swelled so rapidly that in

222

Lake George

about five days they nearly filled the nest, and I
almost feared there was a miscalculation on the
part of the architect.

It is wonderful how rapidly berries, bugs, etc.,
are converted into avian tissue. Yet in this
rapid growth there is a striking resemblance to
the quick vernation of the vegetable kingdom
in spring. For as, inthe latter case, the foli-
age is, as it were, fed from material already
stored up in the plant in the preceding autumn,
so the chick, by the process of regurgitation
that seems to be more or less common in fowls,
finds a reservoir of partially digested food in
the stomach of the parent bird, which can be
at once assimilated ; and thus the chick resem-
bles the bud that suddenly expands by simply
appropriating nature’s store of prepared vegeta-
ble tissue. It seems as if this were nature’s de-
vice for lessening the dangers of nidification,
by hastening the growth of the chick, and mak-
ing it as quickly as possible self-protecting.

On the morning of the thirteenth day one
vigorous and ambitious youngster crept out on
to a branch; but the responsibilities of life
looked too onerous, and he crept back again.
On the next day three of them bade farewell
to their birthplace, and perched on different

223

Song Birds and Water Fowl

parts of the tree. The remaining two, evident-
ly smaller and weaker, remained in the nest two
days longer ; and for several days I saw one
and another of the brood, or heard their faint
chirps among the trees of the orchard, by which
they signalled to the mother-bird, that now had
her hands full in flying hither and thither to
feed them. When the chicks had all left their
narrow quarters I followed my beaten track to
the apple-tree for the last time, and took away
the nest for a memento. It is not an elaborate
affair, although neatly woven, and composed of
straw, dried grass, slender twigs of evergreen,
and several strings which I had furnished ; while
the lining is of soft lint, apparently from a car-
pet, and my white yarn.

At this late season, too, the air seemed full
of goldfinches; for the young were just begin-
ning to try their wings and voices. Cedar birds
and goldfinches have this peculiarity in com-
mon, that they are the latest of all our birds to
rear their young, almost all other species hav-
ing their second or even third brood quite as
early as these have their first. I am ignorant
of the cause of so great delay ; but it is reason-
able to suppose that the supply of suitable food
for the young largely determines the time of

224

CEDAR BIRDS

Lake George

rearing them, of which we apparently have an
example in the cuckoo. Delicacy of organiza-
tion, which would seem one of the most natural
causes for a delay until the heat of July, cannot
explain it in these cases, since both goldfinches
and cedar birds are sufficiently hardy to remain
with us all winter.

&

Lake George is said to be famous for pick-
erel fishing. Certainly it was not impoverished
by any abstractions of mine; and I served a
faithful two weeks’ apprenticeship in trying to
allure, with a ‘‘spoon-hook,’’ those tasty creat-
ures. I asked advice as to the best method
from all the noted fishermen in the neighbor-
hood, whom I found to be, in one respect,
very much like music-teachers—each one knew
his art better than all the rest. By actual count
I was told of four different ways of trolling.
Of course I followed them all consecutively ;
and, as a reward of my labor, I found myself
for once in the same boat with the holy Apos-
tles, who toiled all the night, and caught noth-
ing. Evidently the pickerel were above (or
below) being fed with a spoon, or else were in
league with the permanent residents as against

225

Song Birds and Water Fowl

the summer boarder. In my mortification and
disgust I could only maintain my self-respect
by adopting the views of an English writer, and
dub the angling art as ‘‘ the cruelest, the cold-
est, and the stupidest of pretended sports.’’ I
have a mean suspicion that the one who penned
this noble opinion had been gluing his eyes
on a ‘‘bob’’ so long, without a nibble, that
he waxed furious, and swore he would have
nothing more to do with fish-lines.

&

Just as many a person retains a trace of his
childhood’s fear of the dark, so a large portion
of mankind appear to shrink from autumn, as if
there were something frightful about it; so
that, in consequence, even the sights and sounds
peculiar to that season become exceedingly un-
welcome to them. Possibly such people are in
the majority, and in that case they must not be
called peculiar, while that stigma is left attach-
ing to the fortunate minority who give a hearty
welcome to the nightfall and to the waning
year. Apart from the inevitable and powerful
association of times and seasons, I am positive
there is no sound in all of nature’s gamut
more absolutely free from mournfulness and

226

Lake George

premonition than the cricket’s chirp; indeed,
Dickens has given it a classic place among the
symbols of contentment and gladness. Yet
many seem ‘‘ adrad of it as of the deth,’’ and
when they hear the first cricket of the season,
even though it be in the sunniest day of June,
it blights them like a shadow, and sends a cold
chill through their spirits; so that, in conse-
quence, I judge that this harmless and appar-
ently happy creature is one of the best hated
specimens in entomology. Nevertheless, to
those who enjoy its sound, as well as to those
who dislike it, it certainly has a wizard’s power
to call up visions of colder days and lengthen-
ing nights, crowded both with memories and
forebodings, scenes of harvest, sunset clouds,
silence and dead leaves, and, stretching dimly
through the mists that linger round the closing
year, the clammy fingers of November. That
first faint chirp, that comes like a cold knock
at the mind’s door, is a vacant, bloodless sound ;
but in its fulness of suggestion, it is one of the
most powerful and eloquent of nature’s tones.
Another sound, not associated with autumn,
but with evening twilight, and similarly odious
to many, is the cry of the whippoorwill—hard:
ly to be regarded as a songster, yet vigorous,
227

Song Birds and Water Fowl

hearty, and cheerful—to me the jovial bird of
night, and yet considerably abused by all but
poets and sentimentalists. If only it were
usually heard amid daylight scenes, it would
certainly rank among the brightest and most
joyous sounds in nature; but it is an instance
where extraneous circumstances have such power
to make or mar the effect. This region is a per-
fect nest of whippoorwills, the woods on every
side resounding with their cry ; chiefly about
eight o’clock in the evening, and as a postlude
to the Wilson thrushes; but whenever I wake in
the night, I seldom fail to hear its call, as bright
as moonlight, cheery as the dawn; and its last
note in the early morning is a prelude for the
robin’s opening song.

This is the only bird in which I have ever
heard the effect of a decided accelerando, which
gives to the prolonged reiteration of the cry a
very animated effect. Itssilent, shadowy figure,
roaming about in the gloaming, might make it
seem a bird of ill-omen to some, a dark an-
tithesis of all that we count most bright and
hopeful in bird-life—mysterious, vague, and in-
auspicious. Yet, for all its ghastly flittings at
twilight and midnight, motley coloring, awk-
ward form, and inexpressible mouth, I believe

228

Lake George

the whippoorwill is really as innocent and light-
hearted as any wren or purple finch.

A novel experience with a pair of phoebes,
this summer, put me into possession of a beauti-
ful nest and a full set of eggs, without robbery,
and without the bird’s abandonment of the nest.
On the piazza of a neighboring house several
pairs of birds were nesting; and my humble
stores of learning were appealed to, for deter-
mining the species. As the uninitiated observ-
er’s method of describing a bird is marvellously
vague, and commonly leaves the ornithologist
quite as much in the dark as ever—as in the
case of an enthusiastic student who told me of
an unfamiliar bird he saw, with a doudle fatl,
by which I afterward inferred he meant a forked
tail—I could only say that the indefinite data
furnished would cover a multitude of species,
and be equally applicable to swallows, catbirds,
and other small varieties of dark complexion.
This only illustrates how indistinct one’s per-
ception of an object usually is, until he has
learned the art of clear discernment. Visiting
the house, I found, on the beam under the
piazza eaves, three nests of the same kind, at in-
tervals of about three feet from each other, and
proving to be phoebes’s nests. One contained

229

Song Birds and Water Fowl

chicks, in the second were three eggs, and in
the third two eggs, which, however, were not
so purely white as phoebes’s eggs usually are. I
was quite nonplussed, as the nests and eggs all
appeared fresh, and it seemed incredible that
three pairs of phoebes, which are not gregarious,
like swallows, should nest so close together, Not
to obtrude myself too abruptly upon their fam-
ily affairs, I waited to see what a couple of days
might bring forth, since a full set of phoebes’s
eggs consists of four or five. As the number
did not increase, I half concluded there had
been a tragedy in the case, and that a pair of
cats belonging in the house could unfold a tale
if they chose. But just then I discovered that
the nest containing young also had in it three
unhatched eggs. This seemed to solve the
mystery, and to exonerate the cats ; for it was
good evidence that the one pair of phoebes were
at the bottom of the whole business, and were
now indulging in their third brood, and that
the other nests and eggs were the relics of the
first and second broods, only a part of the eggs
having hatched in each case. Being the last of
July it was just the time for the third brood,
which they sometimes have, the first coming in
May, and the second in June.

230

Lake George

It was to be expected that at least some of
the eggs would contain partly developed chicks,
which would make it difficult or impossible to
obtain a full set. But, on taking the five eggs
from the vacant nests, I found, to my great sur-
prise, in blowing them, that they all were sim-
ply addled, so that they gave me no difficulty.
Also my fear that the shells were permanently
discolored proved groundless ; for I found that
the dark tint came from the yolk showing
through the thin, transparent shell; and, as the
contents were gradually expelled, the shell re-
sumed its normal color. In the great majority
of eggs, the shells are sprinkled with dark spots,
but those of the phoebe are commonly immacu-
late. Ithus secured a perfect and beautifully
constructed nest, and, by combining the leavings
of two nests, a full set of eggs. The nest is more
artistic than that of many of the song birds,
which are said tostand higher in the scale of
intelligence, for poor phoebe is only a songless
flycatcher. Its broad foundation of mud and
small sticks was overlaid with mosses, that were
still green when I took it, and the cavity was
delicately lined with thread-like strips of inner
bark of a tree and horse-hair. There are few
nests more elegant than a fine specimen ofa

231

Song Birds and Water Fowl

phoebe’s, with its thick, strong walls, whose
sloping sides are picturesquely stuccoed with
moss and lichen, and the finely moulded, deep
receptacle holding the five white globules, pure
as alabaster—a choice bit of rustic architecture,
with its treasure of a bird’s best hopes. So much
fascination, indeed, can one find in these end-
lessly varied specimens of frail texture and con-
summate art, when gathered for himself, that it
is safe to assert, that whoever has collected half
a dozen of even the commonest sorts, will find
himself ticketed for the whole journey through
the nest-country, so far as time and circum-
stances will allow.
Sad °

The mountains round about Lake George are
not always the emblem of imperturbable seren-
ity. Nature’s destructive forces, that are here
commonly smothered into a deceptive calm,
now and then break loose with surprising vio-
lence. I have never experienced nor heard of
anything so weird, in the way of a thunder-
storm, as the display that occurred here one
night. A thunder-storm, @ /a mode, may be very
grand, but it is a trifle conventional. On this
occasion we were not treated to the usual inter-
mittent flashes, like electrifying glances of Nat-

232

Lake George

ure’s glittering eye, followed by a startling crash.
Such was not the method of this tempest’s mad-
ness. Early in the evening, the distant, silent
glow in several quarters of the heavens gave
premonition of the scene to come. As the
night advanced, and the storm squadrons gath-
ered in ever-narrowing circles, the flashes be-
came at length extremely numerous, but as yet
without even an ominous rumble to break the
silence; which I can only explain by the fact
that the electrical discharges were almost ex-
clusively from cloud to cloud, so that the thun-
der was reflected away from the earth. At
about ten o’clock the storm had swept directly
overhead, incessant flashes filled the sky, and,
while in ordinary storms it is a reign of dark-
ness, broken by occasional blinding light, the
night was now continuously luminous, inter-
rupted by instant flashes of darkness. The en-
tire landscape—mountains, lake, and islands—
came clearly into view beneath a steady glare
that surpassed the brightest moonlight, and, for
a quarter of an hour, one needed no artificial
light even to read the time upon a watch,
And now, amid torrents of rain,

‘* broke
The thunder like a whole sea overhead——”

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Song Birds and Water Fowl

a strange, dirge-like accompaniment, not unlike
the solemn resonance of a cathedral bell, whose
echoes float in wild and wailing majesty upon
thewind. There was no terrific crash, followed
by a distant, disappearing roar that melts at
last to silence. The multitudinous reverber-
ations of incessant thunderings were all merged
into one long, loud, ever-present, and abso-
lutely unvaried tone, like a deep organ-bass
sustaining its sublime monotony, with neither
swell nor subsidence—a resistless tidal wave of
sound. For a brief time such an effect
might not be impressive; but, as the moments
passed, that persistent, restrained, and yet gi-
gantic voice grew awful and overpowering. It
was like the Apocalyptic ‘‘sound of many
waters.’’ For fully twenty minutes this heaven-
filling tone remained unchanged, then gradu-
ally grew fainter, until it died away—a noble,
strange accompaniment to the most impressive
night-scene I have ever looked upon. A moun-
tainous region is the chosen home of tempest
and lightning, but the natives declared that this
surpassed any exhibition of the kind they had
ever had at Lake George. ;

234

A Colony of Herons

“From each tree
The feather’d people look down to peep on me.”
Dryden.

A COLONY OF HERONS

PRET us now betake ourselves to a
We scene quite different from anything
in the preceding chapters ; where we
find no brilliant colors, melodious
graces, and fine flowers; but where, in a lonely
swamp, black spirits and white, blue spirits
and gray, hold high and barbarous carnival,
and travel twenty-four miles a day for their
meals. Although, in comparison with our
most familiar land-birds, the majority of water
fowl are very noiseless—whose song is only in
the melody of silent, winged motion—the read-
er may be assured that the transition from
the foregoing list of fluent and accomplished
songsters to the night herons will by no means
be a passage into ‘‘ the silent land.”’

The heron family, comprising five species
known to this region, illustrate a peculiarity
often found in human households, wherein one
member has a humor for solitude, while another
is quite devoted to the world. The night heron

237

Song Birds and Water Fowl

differs from all his kindred in being very much
of asociety bird; that is, he is commonly very
gregarious, which is the animal name for soci-
ability. The members of almost every bird
species are, to be sure, banded together, more
or less, during the migrations of spring and fall,
and throughout the winter ; but, as the breed-
ing season approaches, the land-birds pair off,
and generally nest quite independently of each
other. The water fowl, however, as a class,
live in large communities throughout the year far
more than the land species, and the night herons
are a very conspicuous instance of this neigh-
borly spirit. But it is unfortunate that this
commendable trait is not conducive to their
best reputation. Some people shine best in
society ; but society life seems to have de-
veloped the more objectionable characteristics
in heron nature, particularly the disposition for
gossip and bickering; so that the ‘‘ qua-bird’’
shows off best when seen solitary, or in pairs ;
when he becomes meditative and melancholy,
and seems something rare and almost spiritual.

Early in June I visited a large community
of night herons, located in the town of Ros-
lyn, on the northwest end of Long Island.
This is one of the corners of the island that

238

A Colony of Herons

helps to redeem the landscape reputation of
this generally unimpressive waste of sand and
flatness. There is a breeziness of its own, quite
independent of any currents of air, in the
rugged scenery of this northwest shore—numer-
ous bays deeply indenting the coast, vigorous
hills and pleasing valleys, with a luxuriant
growth of forests and herbage that show a veg-
etable ambition painfully wanting on the arid
plains of the southern and eastern portions of
this immense Connecticut breakwater. In this
town of Roslyn lived for many years William
Cullen Bryant, the legacy of whose name is a
proud thing for Roslyn. The devotion of the
Roslynites to the memory of Bryant has been
doubly lasting and sincere, without doubt, for
the reason that the poet proved himself a bene-
factor as well as an ornament, by his donation
to the town of a substantial library.

A few years ago this flock of herons lived
several miles distant from their present quar-
ters ; but the people living in the neighborhood
were so annoyed by their disagreeable clamor,
that they drove them away, whereupon they
betook themselves to this remote and wooded
swamp, covering an area of ten or twelve acres.
Yet even in this out-of-the-way place they were

239

Song Birds and Water Fowl

not left in peace ; for certain pestilent fellows,
thinking them excellent objects for target prac-
tice, came thither, and destroyed large num-
bers from time to time, one person boasting
of having shot three hundred. As such a large
quantity could be of no possible use to anyone,
and as the swamp was often so impassable from
water that many of them could only have been
reached with great difficulty after being shot, it
resulted that scores and perhaps hundreds of
the poor victims were left to die a lingering
death on the ground. A local ornithologist,
Mr. L. H. West, indignant at this barbarity,
induced the proprietor of the swamp to pro-
hibit any further shooting; and Mr. West, who
lives near by, is a dangerous individual for any
would-be depredator to encounter. The out-
look is, therefore, very promising that they
will suffer no more molestation. It is perfectly
easy to understand the excitement of shooting
asmall and agile bird when on the wing, for it
is the best evidence of skill in marksmanship.
But there is about as much exhilaration in kill-
ing a large heron, perching quietly in a tree,
as there would be in going into a pasture and
shooting down a cow. The inclination to such
butchery, and to the wholesale destruction of

240

A Colony of Herons

smaller game, both inland and on the coast,
comes, I believe, from pure and unadulterated
depravity, the seeds of which the world seems
to be everywhere full of.

This bird, which on some occasions presents
a very noble and poetic aspect, is two feet long,
and, when flying, shows a breadth of almost four
feet, from tip to tip of the wings, rivalling the
majestic size of the largest hawks. Although
he is called the “‘ black-crowned,”’ it israther a
dark glossy green upon the top of the head and
covering a portion of the back, while the re-
mainder of the upper side is a soft bluish gray,
with a lilac tint. The under side, and the two
or three very long and slender plumes, reach-
ing from the hind-head down over the back,
are a lilac-tinted white. More prominent bits
of color are found in the large black bill, the
red eyes, and the long yellow legs dangling
backward as he flies. The immature speci-
mens, which are numerous in the fall, have a
very different plumage of motley brown, and
quite resemble the rather ignoble bittern.

It is not at all to be wondered at that those
whose hearts are not aglow with ornithology
should seek to rid themselves of such clamorous
neighbors as the night herons are; for, in

24

Song Birds and Water Fowl

truth, the vociferous crow is a nightingale in
comparison ; and even a flock of enraged geese
is not to be mentioned in the same day,
as regards the gift of diabolical cacophony.
Wilson, who says all he can in commenda-
tion of every bird, confesses that the noise of
these ‘‘qua-birds’’ —also irreverently called
‘“squawks ’’—is like that of two or three hun-
dred Indians choking each other; and I have
heard even more uncomplimentary comparisons,
but I spare the reader and the bird. When
living in isolated pairs, they are comparatively
silent, their slow and easy flight is almost as
graceful as that of the gulls, and they certainly
constitute a very charming addition to the
scenery of lake and stream.

This community, numbering several hun-
dred, was, at the time I visited it, in all stages
of domesticity; some building nests, some
laying eggs, some hatching, and in a few
cases the young were already well developed.
The nests are located near the tops of the trees,
forty to sixty feet from the ground, and one
tree often contains several nests. Nothing but
the want of scaling irons prevented my climb-
ing up and getting into touch with these castles
in the air. As I passed along under the trees,

242

A Colony of Herons

the crackling of dead twigs under my feet put
all the flock in an uproar; and their broad
shadows, as they beat a retreat over the tops of
the trees, produced a singular effect. But after
I had remained quiet a few minutes, they all
trooped back again, although many of them
remembered I was there; for they turned their
large red eyes full upon me in a suspicious and
reproachful manner that was rather comical.
One is apt to show a lack of discernment by
speaking contemptuously of their rude and
bulky nests. Ornamental they certainly are
not, being composed of coarse sticks laid to-
gether in the form of a loose platform some-
what depressed inthecentre. But, considering
the material used, I think they are marvellously
well built, and show an ingenuity hardly in-
ferior to that of the much-praised song birds.
Certainly it would puzzle any human hands to
arrange an unpromising heap of stiff twigs so
compactly that it would not be loosened by the
winds, or the swaying of the trees, and so dur-
able as safely to hold from four to six eggs, the
young when hatched, and the weight of the
mother-bird. On the whole, I think it would
be quite as easy a problem for a human being
to undertake to construct the more attractive

243

Song Birds and Water Fowl

nest of a finch or warbler, woven as it is out of
pliable material, than to make the bulky edifice
of the heron hang together for a few weeks.
The bird itself knows it will not do to test the
endurance of its work too severely, and, in
approaching the nest on the wing, it takes the
precaution of alighting on a branch close by,
and then stepping into the nest. The texture
is so coarse that one can sometimes even see
the heads of the birdlings through the lattice-
work of stout branches, and the shrill squeaks of
the youngsters can be discerned amid the gen-
eral commotion.

During the day the herons procure food for
their little ones, and what might be called a
light lunch for themselves, from the two or three
small ponds in the vicinity, containing fish and
frogs; and there are some in the air most of the
time, passing to and fro between the ponds and
theswamp. But their grand ‘“‘spread’’ for the
day comes at the fashionable hour of dark ; and
toward sundown large flocks begin to fly across
the west end of Long Island to the south shore,
twelve miles distant, where they can find larger
and more abundant game, their loud cries giv-
ing evidence of their movements throughout the
night, from which they doubtless get the name

244

A Colony of Herons

of ‘“‘night’’ heron. The long distance they
thus travel daily to the coast is evidently a mat-
ter of small moment for their great wings.
Their preference is strongly for the south shore,
although the distance to the north shore is only
six miles, which probably does not afford so
plentiful a supply of food. Besides fish and
frogs they have side dishes of shrimps, tadpoles,
water lizards, crustacea, etc.

As the same nest occasionally contains fresh
and partly incubated eggs, as well as chicks fully
hatched, it looks as though the proprietors
sometimes sublet a corner in the room, or as if
some of the herons had the effrontery to camp
down in their neighbors’ home without an in-
vitation, as relatives will sometimes do. This
so mixes up the domestic arrangements, that it
is no wonder that serious misunderstandings
arise between families, when they do not hesitate
to express their minds with utmost freedom.
For a few minutes perfect quiet will reign
throughout the swamp, when some such private
squabble in a single nest will start a wave of
irascibility that spreads like vocal wildfire
throughout the whole camp.

There is another similar community of herons
at the eastern end of Long Island, and numer-

245

Song Birds and Water Fowl

ous colonies are scattered throughout New Eng-
land and other States; yet the seclusion of their
resorts makes them as unfamiliar to the general
public as are the rarest of the so-called land-
birds.

&

The much larger and handsomer ‘‘ great blue
heron’? is usually asolitary bird, and much more
of a rarity. On reaching Lake George I learned
that this species was sometimes to be seen in the
swamps across the lake. As the ‘ great blue’’
was one of my ornithological ambitions, the in-
formation was extremely welcome. After two
or three preliminary rows on the lake, for mus-
cular development, I started out one morning
to find the prize. The round trip was about ten
miles—country folks have o idea of distances,
and this is the average of many wildly contra-
dictory estimates—and my broad and heavy
boat was warranted not to capsize in any storm.
I wandered through the waters of the swamp,
among water-lilies—of four species — bright
skies above, and hundreds of red-winged black-
birds around, with numerous other sorts that, at
another time, would have been quite entertain-
ing enough, by themselves, for a pleasant excur-

246

A Colony of Herons

sion. But my heart was set on the heron that
did not materialize, and the expedition was a
failure.

But the heron must be found, and a few weeks
later I started again. A three-mile row diag-
onally across the lake brings one to Dunham’s
Bay, and thence my course lay along a creek
the most peculiar I ever saw, winding in literal-
ly serpentine folds for two miles, and rivalling
the famed Meander for crookedness, For the
last half mile the weeds almost choked the shal-
low channel; and, as I laboriously approached
the head of the creek, with only a flock of ducks
to enliven the tedious journey, I felt that my
patience was almost expended. At last, just as
I was on the point of turning back in disgust, I
saw a huge shadow pass over the ground before
me, and, turning around, I discovered the ob-
ject of my search, rising into the air, circling
about, and finally alighting in atree. The thrill
of a new discovery, following long and arduous
effort, is one of those brief experiences of any-
one who reconnoitres among the nooks of Nat-
ure, that amply repay a long discouragement.

The usual resorts of this heron, in summer,
are commonly so inaccessible, that one will
rarely, if ever, have an opportunity of observ-

247

Song Birds and Water Fowl

ing its habits as minutely as those of other birds.
The effect of such a huge creature (standing
about four feet high), when on the wing, is very
singular. Without the impressive manner—one
might almost say, Aauteur—of the eagle, it has
a filling presence that is very striking. Flying
is the eagle’s vocation, but only an avocation of
this heron. The lonesome marsh seemed only
more silent and lonely after a view of this its
presiding genius, hovering about in its wild,
mute, and suspicious manner, then floating off
half moodily where it could maintain, more un-
observed, its noiseless, melancholy reign over its
solitary domain. On my way up the creek I
asked a man whom I found couching in the
grass for ducks, in regard to herons. He re-
plied, without the least animation, that he saw
three or four of them that morning; but one
meant more to me than three or four to him.
It could be seen at a glance that he had no “‘ eyes
in his heart’’ for that stately and picturesque
creature ; he had, poor soul, only a capacity for
ducks.

In a close view of the ‘‘ great blue,’’ when
flying, there is something rather comical in its
budget of angles—long dangling legs, out-
stretched serpentine neck, thin body and broad

248

”

GREAT BLUE HERON

Then floating off half moodily where it could maintain, more unobserved, its noiseless,
melancholy reign over its solitary domain (p. 248).

A Colony of Herons

canopy of wings—that makes even an admirer
feel a bit derisive. But as he showed himself
time and again afterward, coursing high and
grandly over the lake, the angularity was all
subdued to broad and flowing outlines, and he
seemed a touch of sailing sky that crowned the
picture worthily.

249

Earliest Signs of Spring

“ The trumpet of a prophecy ! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?”
Shelley.

EARLIEST SIGNS OF SPRING

iARDLY has the strength of the old
% year failed when the energies of

a the new year are found to be in
eeeess motion. It is never Nature’s way
for the new to make a clean break with the
old; and the future is not more thickly strewn
with reminders of the past, than is the past
with premonitions of the future. Sporadic
signs of life may be detected under snow-drifts.
I have heard bluebirds singing on the seventh
of January in New Jersey, and an occasional
owl, too cold-blooded to know when it is cold,
builds his nest almost under the very shadow
of the Old Year.

There are certain emphatic spring tokens
that in due season flood the earth, and compel
the attention of even the most thoughtless ob-
server—the peculiar warmth of dripping clouds,
the spongy, pregnant earth, the thrill that
darts along each tinted beam of light, the fra-
grance of sweet promise in each breath we

253

Song Birds and Water Fowl

draw. But not less pleasing to an eager
naturalist are many other lurking signs, out of
the broad highway of the year’s advance,
which are worthy of brief mention.

It is often in February when, in panoply of
ice and storm, the climax of winter’s reign
seems to come, and his domination is ap-
parently most absolute. Yet at this very in-
stant of imagined supremacy, his power is
already on the wane. By the middle of this
short but rigorous month, spring sends her fleet-
winged messenger before her face, and the
year’s dark age is coming to an end. Inan
unwonted way the sunlight now begins to make
itself conspicuous, both by such a peculiar,
general effulgence of the atmosphere as was not
observable before, and by the fact that when
one walks abroad he finds the sun is tumbling
into his eyes in a most peculiar fashion, now
pouring his beams directly over the eye-lid’s
edge, in a blinding way, and again lurking
roguishly around the corner of the eye, as if
the rays of light were bent on playing hide-
and-seek among the lashes. It is true that
spring and winter meet in open battle only on
the field of March. But even some weeks be-
fore, in this peculiar play of sunlight, one can

254

Earliest Signs of Spring

detect, as it were, the insidious blandishments
and diplomatic wiles of artful spring—grim
winter’s fair antagonist—who afterward so gal-
lantly puts all his batteries to flight with her
inexhaustible artillery of smiles. Winter, like
a burly giant, relies for his supremacy on
bluster and open violence. Spring’s victories
are won by woman’s skill in dainty strata-
gem.

There are some individuals that always find
the earliest indications of plant and animal
life, in their region, with each returning
spring. They have plucked the anemone, and
heard the bluebird (which is like the rainbow,
a gently uttered promise that there shall be
no more winter), many days before the dis-
covery is vouchsafed to others; and they take
immense satisfaction in the fact that Nature’s
secrets have been whispered to them first. The
success of such people is due partly to good
fortune; but I will not enviously rob them of
all credit; it is due still more to a deathless
ambition for such pre-eminence. If they made
the first discovery, and were unable to publish
it abroad, it would probably be, in the poet's
phraseology, like fire shut up in their bones.
While I am equally glad to welcome these

255

Song Birds and Water Fowl

various returning friends, botanical and orni-
thological, I am not so desperately ambitious
of priority in greeting them as is many
another naturalist, and can bear with equa-
nimity the accusation that my affections are
sluggish. It is a delightful circumstance that
each one, for himself, turns the leaves in
the great annual book of Nature; and, to
all intents and purposes, my first bluebird is
the first of all the year, even though my
neighbor may have seen the same two weeks
before.

There is a factitious value in these first speci-
mens, something like the factitious value of
‘‘first editions’’ of books. The discovery of
the one, like the possession of the other, is
certainly very enjoyable to those who can in-
dulge in the luxury, but not to be compared
with the far more solid satisfaction of intimate
acquaintance, be it with bird or book. It
seems sometimes as if the sharp-eyed birds
were fully aware of this emulative trait in
human nature, and were making merry at our
expense; at one time, by appearing before
they were even looked for, and at another time
by aggravatingly delaying their arrival. For,
however uniform their advent in general, there

256

Earliest Signs of Spring

is occasionally great irregularity as regards
their return to particular localities.

&

One that walks much abroad in woods and
by-ways finds a mute but endless sociability in
trees. They seem really more companionable,
because more self-revelatory, in winter and
early spring than in summer, when their dis-
tinctiveness of character, as shown in their va-
rious types of growth, is so largely concealed
by their foliage. But their leafless forms stand
out against the winter sky in a rugged honesty
of openness, defiant of criticism, and remind-
ing one of that stern old monarch among men,
a sort of destroying angel in English history—
Oliver Cromwell—who exclaimed to an artist
painting his picture, ‘‘ Paint measI am; if you
leave out the scars and wrinkles I will not pay
you a shilling!’’ In their summer dress, trees
show themselves, as it were, under the polish of
society manners, which easily becomes the var-
nish of deceit. Even the oak, which bravely
manages to carry his brusqueness so victoriously
through the summer, is, notwithstanding,
greatly mellowed by the luxurious ways of the
softer season; and it is only in winter that he

257

Song Birds and Water Fowl

comes to his true self, when one can see how
he cuts the sky with his exhaustive catalogue
of belligerent angles. It is only in winter that
we get down to a tree’s inner nature. And
how beautifully the lace-like tracery of the
white birch then reposes on the sky-blue back-
ground ; and what an undertone of strength is
evident in the stately elm, which is almost lost
sight of beneath its pliant, engaging manners
during the leafy season. It is only the ever-
greens that are exasperatingly self-contained, im-
mobile, in winter and summer alike, either from
absolute stagnation of soul, or from the perfect
self-restraint of an iron will, that would die
rather than show itself impressionable; almost
oblivious of the very winds, that mourn, in-
deed, most dolefully among their branches,
while the trees themselves are stolidly imper-
vious to smiles or tears.

The most significant view of the lower forms
of creation is thatin which we see the adumbra-
tion of the higher. Mrs. Browning has said,

‘* A tree’s mere firewood unless humanized ;”

and the adjectives so often applied to many of the

objects of Nature—humble violet, lordly pine,

angry sea, etc.—striking deeper than their own
258

Earliest Signs of Spring

intrinsic character, show the satisfaction in find-
ing in the external world a mirror of humanity.

In their winter aspect some trees, like pop-
lars, cypresses, and cedars, vividly betray a
single life-purpose in their growth. Others are
more versatile; diffuse, and yet symmetrical, har-
monious, and unified; still others plainly show
they have no definite design, and are content to
sprawl in every direction, aimless and loose-
jointed; while, in many trees, the very bark is
tell-tale of a rigid or compliant spirit lodged
within. But, by the last of March, many of
these strong, gaunt forms begin to have a live,
expectant look, as seen in the budding drops of
red with which the maples are already sprayed,
and in the long, brown catkins, swinging in
the breeze, of many of the amentaceous species.

No omen of spring is more anticipated by
the naturalist than the clear call of the song-
sparrow; and few contrasts are stronger in
Nature than when, amid the silence of a breath-
less snowstorm in March, this hilarious and
irreverent creature interrupts the frozen bene-
diction of expiring winter. I have read of a
bird student — evidently a young one— who
boasted he had learned ‘‘the nine songs of the
song-spatrow.’’ Witha little more experience

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Song Birds and Water Fowl

he will call it ninety and nine, and later still,
seventy times seven, for throughout the year no
two song-sparrows sound just alike. So char-
acteristic and instantly recognizable as this
bird’s vocalization is, it is remarkable how free
it is from stereotyped form. Few other songs
sound quite so impulsive and unpremeditated.
Its message is like the anecdote of a versatile sto-
ry-teller, who puts on new fringes every time he
tells it, so that the listener never knows just what
to expect. Yet with all the diversity of form,
the clear sunshine of its tone and its irrepress-
ible enthusiasm are the essential qualities that are
never lacking, from March until November.
One of the peculiar pledges of the coming
season is in the delicate tints of dawn upon a
cloudless morning, that not only burnish the
skies and glow throughout the air, but stream
through all the earth—clinging to the trees, and
getting entangled in the thickets, adorning the
willows with bright yellow, purpling the briers,
suffusing the red osier with an intense crimson,
embrowning the branches of the white birch, and
giving a bronzed metallic glint to other birches.
Whoever reconnoitres in early March must
chiefly be content with possibilities; in April
he can hunt for certainties. But the last ten

260

Earliest Signs of Spring

days of March, between the vernal equinox and
April, seem like spring’s vestibule. During
this time one hardly heeds the unkempt look
of all natural scenery, in his eagerness to catch
the wakeful signals of the general reanimation.
No sound is more suggestive, in this season,
than that of the frogs, that are sounding the
long, monotonous pitch for Nature’s tuning-up.
At a small pool, in one of my resorts, I first
heard a solitary one—an early riser—who was
probably calling to his hibernating brethren
still lingering beneath the water; and, at a
larger pond within the woods, a dozen fellows,
wide awake, were sprawling at the surface of the
water, protruding only their bright, staring eyes
and roomy mouths, while in an unrhythmical
medley they chanted a natural ‘‘ground bass’’
to the shrill piping of their fair soprano sisters,
the tree-toads, that had climbed a few feet above
the water—and how hard it always is to find
them— invariably stopping in the midst of the
song when one approaches. The tree-toad’s
note is one of the most stirring episodes of
March, so consonant with Nature’s ringing call
to life, quite as cheery as the song-sparrow it-
self, and, as well, full of the memories of sum-
mer’s eventide in quiet woods.
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Song Birds and Water Fowl

The maltese pussy-willows, too, are out; and,
in the peculiar generous-heartedness of the sea-
son, one must needs give a kindly greeting even
to theskunk cabbage—a low-lived relative of
several gorgeous specimens in the Arum fam-
ily—which, at all events, sets a worthy exam-
ple of promptness to many a more agreeable
individual. The public puts a substantial pre-
mium, however, upon the earliest signs of
spring; and it was not long after I discovered
my first specimen, that I found the blossoms of
this vile weed for sale, on the streets of New
York, at ten cents each! Moreover, throughout
the entire year, there is not to be found a live-
lier, richer color, anywhere, than the intense
emerald green of the moss that is already so
luxuriant on all the rocks, each little patch a
mimic forest for a bevy of infinitesimal fairies.
Unless we are ‘‘ specialists ’’ we seldom stop to
discover what a wealth of creative skill and
beauty is concentrated in many such a common
object. Between the microscopic, on the one
side, that we trample under foot, and the tele-
scopic, on the other side, that lies, unrealized,
above our heads, what a relatively small portion
of creation comes within our ordinary range of
vision or of thought.

262

Earliest Signs of Spring

Nature never displayed a more unobtrusive
yet profound contrast of the transient and eter-
nal in plant-life, than in placing side by side,
on trees and rocks, in all the woods and fields,
this brilliant and ephemeral moss—a hectic flush
upon adying root—and the scarious, passion-
less lichen, cadaverous, yet having in itself al-
most the strength of endless life—a life, as one
naturalist expresses it, ‘‘ which bears in itself no
cause of death, and is only to be ended by exter-
nal injuries, or by the alteration of climatic and
atmospheric conditions.’’ Whoever recognizes
this nature of the lichen beneath its humble,
frigid exterior, must feel a genuine and peculiar
respect for it, as the very tissue of heroism, the
type of grim and inexhaustible tenacity of pur-
pose. Deriving its nutriment from the moisture
and floating particles of mineral substance in the
atmosphere, it can withstand almost the severest
changes of climate, and is nearly impervious to
the extremes of cold and heat, of flood and
drought. Ithas an unparalleled capacity for
dormancy ; and, when its surroundings are so
insufferable as absolutely to prevent its further
development, it simply goes to sleep, and waits
for better times to come. Profoundly philosoph-
ical! It is correspondingly slow in coming to

263

Song Birds and Water Fowl

maturity, one writer citing the case of a lichen,
in every way favorably situated for growth,
which, after forty-five years, had some of its
organs still undeveloped; and there is good
reason to believe that the longest lived species
maintain their vitality many hundreds and even
thousands of years, attaining an age that exceeds
that of the very oldest trees—the cedars of Leb-
anon and the sequoias of California. Surely
there is sublime simplicity in the thought of
this unquenchable and lonely spark of life sur-
viving, undisturbed by all vicissitudes, upon
some bleak and barren mountain-top, from a
period that antedates the Ceesars.

&

Besides the conventional early birds of the
new year—the song-sparrow, bluebird, red-
winged blackbird, phoebe, robin, grackle—
which have come to remain with us all sum-
mer, this blustering month is enlivened by
the first of the so-called migrants—birds of
passage — which make a brief stop, and then
speed away to their more northern homes. Our
earliest migrant, that comes as a sort of silver lin-
ing to the clouds of March, is the beautiful fox-
sparrow, the handsomest and most gifted of his

264

Earliest Signs of Spring

humble family. He not only puts in an ap-
pearance several weeks before the other migrants,
but is almost gone again before the main part of
the host begins to arrive; enjoying the monop-
oly of our admiration for the large and varied
migrant group, not at all chary of his wild, sweet
strains while he is with us, and gladdening every
locality to which he comes with his vivacity,
friendliness, and melodious talents. When he
leaves us he becomes a messenger of light and
life to the cheerless tracts of Labrador.

One of the earliest arrivals among our summer
species, of which I found a small flock in the
woods, is a very pretty little blackbird—speak-
ing only of the male, for his lady is a dreadful-
looking creature—called the cow-bird, much
smaller than a robin, iridescent black through-
out, except the rich brown head and neck.
When we say it is polygamous and without nat-
ural affection—building no nest, but leaving its
eggs in the nests of other species, like European
cuckoos—we need hardly add it is the most cu-
rious anomaly in avian character that we have.
It curiously illustrates the fact that ‘< blood tells,’”’
for the young cow-birds, on leaving the nest,
abandon their foster-parents, that have been to
them all that parents can be, and consort with

265

Song Birds and Water Fowl

their own kind. They are not ranked as sing-
ers, and usually splutter as badly as grackles;
but a pair of notes one will sometimes hear from
them are as rich as a starling’s, to which they are
distantly related.

If one can get near enough to a large flock of
red-winged blackbirds chattering in a tree in
spring, he will hear an effect I have never seen
mentioned; beneath the loud and _ incessant
medley of coarser notes, he will distinctly de-
tect an almost continuous soft undertone of a
very musical jangle, as of distant sleigh-bells—
a reminiscence very apropos.

It is interesting to notice how we find, an-
nually, a copy in small of that supposed order
of procedure which arranged the programme
throughout the original creative year. The
lowest order of plant-life is the algz or sea-
weeds, which are represented very early in
spring, or in the latter part of winter, by thick
masses of confervee—the slimy, green substance
so luxuriant in every stagnant pond and pool.
Above the alge, in the scale of organization,
are the mosses that, with equal promptness,
richly deck the rocks, protruding roots, and
trunks of trees. Still higher in the line are the
two distinct groups of the monocotyledonous

266

Earliest Signs of Spring

and dicotyledonous vegetation; the former
much the simpler, and far more quickly and
abundantly responding to the warmth of spring
than the latter. This former group—the en-
dogenous—contains the grass, that hardly waits
for the snow to melt before it shoots up its fresh
green blades; also the snow-drop, crocus, and
trillium, with the various liliaceous forms of life
conspicuously sprouting along the water-courses,
like the blue-flags and the ‘‘ laughing daffodils.’’
The second and higher group—the exogens—
is thus early represented, with slight exception,
only by the inferior amentaceous trees and
shrubs, that anticipate by several weeks the
more highly organized varieties.

We sometimes say that Nature makes excep-
tions to her laws; but there is good reason
to doubt whether she ever jumps the track of
her own established principles. Exceptions are
but the unsightly gaps, from our point of view,
in a plan too vast for us as yet to comprehend.
And thus, in this matter of vegetable progres-
sion, our plan does not quite harmonize with
hers; and so wecomplacently say that she now
and then goes off in a tangent. At all events
she allows, sometimes, the various types of life
to overlap each other, so that a lower species of

267

Song Birds and Water Fowl

a higher group will often antedate a higher spe-
cies of a lower group. Thus the intricate
“‘composite’’ class, that finds a recognition of
its structural elaboration in its marked ascend-
ency in fall, and standing at the very opposite
end of the scale from the supremely simple alge
—this highest group is, notwithstanding, early
in the field, in the form of the ubiquitous dan-
delion ; which, on the first spring days sounds
the miniature trumpet-note that heralds the
coming of that vast kindred host in the latter
part of summer and through autumn.

How quickly, too, insect-life becomes reani-
mate. Even in winter a very sun-exposed and
wind-protected spot is populous with some of
the lower orders of this class, enjoying the un-
timely warmth, only to find themselves dead or
dormant after a few genial hours; while, al-,
most at the very summit of this same class, the
sportive butterfly is dancing about before spring
has fairly opened. I found one large and beau-
tiful specimen—the vanessa antiopa, or mourn-
ing-cloak butterfly, to be precise—seeming to
gather buoyancy from the most cheerless sur-
roundings in the latter part of March. At this
colorless season it was very conspicuous and at-
tractive, being almost three inches across, of a

268

Earliest Signs of Spring

rich, dark-brown color, with the wings broadly
banded with yellow, and finely spotted with
blue. It is one of the commonest species later
in the year; but the books do not speak of its
appearing before April, so that this was an un-
usually ‘‘ early bird,’’ and to be called valiant
or venturesome, according to our own mood.
Its early appearance is due to the fact that, like
a few other species, it hibernates in protected
corners and hiding-places, instead of dying in
the previous year, as the majority of species do,
soon after depositing their eggs.

Wonderful as is the wing of the butterfly, in
variety and intensity of its delicate hues, still
more wonderful is the unique method that
Nature has employed to produce its ornamenta-
tion. For, under the microscope, the surface
of the wing is seen to be the verisimilitude, in
miniature, of a tiled roof; the tiles, in this
case, being minute colorless scales overlapping
each other, and by whose interference with the
rays of light along their edges, the various colors
are produced, precisely as in mother-of-pearl.
Nature is masterly, indeed, in producing the
tints of the rose, the lily, and the countless
other forms of inflorescence and of foliage.
Yet in all these instances she works, so to

269

Song Birds and Water Fowl

speak, upon the level of the human painter, by
using material dyes which, in the form of chlo-
rophyll and other coloring matter, are laid be-
neath the epidermis. But when she embel-
lishes the wing of this gay creature, a brilliant
fancy seizes her ; and, with one of those sud-
den revelations of consummate ease, before un-
dreamed, with which at will she dashes off the
most stupendous stroke of genius, as if the very
universe were a plaything in her hands, she dips
her magic brush, not into the rarest pigments
of earthly texture, but into that most subtle
fountain of all color—the pure prismatic rays
of light streaming direct from heaven.

Perhaps no judgment of mankind is more un-
just and superficial than that which exalts the
bee into a paragon of most praiseworthy dili-
gence, while it degrades the butterfly into an
odious emblem of frivolity and indolence. Al-
most the earliest taste of poetry which the in-
fant mind enjoys—or suffers—is an indirect in-
junction, in ‘‘common metre,’’ to admire and
emulate this painfully industrious Aymenopta ;
and this early impression is doubtless the foun-
dation of its universal and impregnable reputa-
tion. It is not at all difficult, however, to show
that the life and habits of the calumniated but-

270

Earliest Signs of Spring

terfly are fully as commendable as are those of
the bee; and one of the highest authorities
upon the subject arrived at conclusions that are
certainly very damaging to the bee’s reputation
for good judgment in accumulating so much
more property than either he or his posterity
will ever use. The famous wise man of old
pondered long and deeply upon the question
of gathering together superfluous riches, when
it is quite uncertain whether it is to be
a wise man or a fool that will enjoy them.
And while he has nothing to say against a
reasonable provision for one’s old age, and
for the needs of his children, he does declare,
emphatically, that when one has heaped up
riches, so that he wants nothing for his soul,
and yet has no ‘‘ power to eat thereof, but
a stranger eateth it, this is vanity and an evil
disease.’’

On the other hand, in favor of the butterfly,
that basks in the sunshine, and flits from flower
to flower during its brief life, content with sat-
isfying immediate needs, the same authority de-
clares that ‘‘ It is good and comely for one to
eat and to drink, and to enjoy the good of all
his labor that he taketh under the sun all the
days of his life; for itis his portion.’’ And

271

Song Birds and Water Fowl

another writer has voiced the same sentiment
in more modern phrase, when he said,

‘* From mead to mead with gentle wing to stray,
From flower to flower on balmy gales to fly,
Is all she has to do beneath the radiant sky.”

Observe the different obligations of these two
insects. Bees survive the winter, and need to
lay up a moderate store for the unfruitful days
to come; yet even this does not call for their
excessive hoarding of treasure. But how per-
fectly ridiculous for a butterfly, that commonly
dies soon after depositing its eggs, or, if it lives
through the winter, merely hibernates, and
whose acquisitions could be of no possible avail
to its descendants, which, like itself, are but
the creatures of a summer’s day—how absurd
for this ephemeral being to make itself a drudge,
toil early and late, and eat the bread of sorrow.

We are commonly very much prejudiced in
favor of any creature whose habits directly con-
duce to our own interests. If honey happened
to be sour and unpalatable, instead of delicious,
with what contempt should we probably regard
the bee’s miserly disposition. We should then
use him to point a very severe moral, instead of
adorning a very handsome tale. Solomon, who

272

Earliest Signs of Spring

was no mean entomologist, as well as moral
scientist, and probably as well acquainted with
the nature of this insect as we are, referred the
sluggard to the ant for his best model. Why
improvidence and idleness, as we contemptu-
ously call it, should be so reprehensible in but-
terflies, and quite permissible and even praise-
worthy in birds, is difficult of explanation ;
unless it be that the latter are shielded under
scriptural endorsement.

The butterfly may not be a model of inces-
sant toil; leave to the bee the dubious praise of
restless industry. But a nobler mission than
being a type of drudgery is accorded to our
brilliant, careless, happy friend; namely, that
it should symbolize what is the deepest hope of
allmankind. The most earnest question that
has come down to us from the twilight of hu-
man history, and has re-echoed from every cen-
tury since, is the inquiry, ‘‘ If a man die, shall
he live again?’’ As Coleridge has said,

‘* The butterfly the ancient Grecians made

The soul’s fair emblem, and its only name—
But of the soul, escaped the slavish trade
Of mortal life !”

Let it then be the light but glorious task of

this frail beauty to preach the truth of immor-

273

Song Birds and Water Fowl

tality beyond the sad and arduous limitations
of our earthly life. Let him be the delicate re-
minder, not of earthly accumulations, but of
lofty anticipations, which are not less powerful
than material comforts, to mitigate the miseries
of life.

&

Late in March I discovered a rarity for this
latitude—a pair of crested titmice, allied to the
chickadee, and similar in habits, but larger.
Its crest gives it a jaunty air, but otherwise it
is plainly dressed, of a leaden hue throughout,
except chestnut sides. They first attracted my
attention by a peculiar hoarse sound, but soon
broke into a song whose snappy vigor and in-
flection is very much like that of the white-eyed
vireo.

Besides those earliest species of birds that
announce themselves so conspicuously in song,
or by their friendly approach to human habita-
tion, there are a few others, which, although
not uncommon, are less abundant, and gener-
ally require more research to be discovered.
One of these is the meadow lark; no connec-
tion of the shore lark, but belonging to the
starling family, a group that, so far as the

274

Earliest Signs of Spring

mame goes, trades on the reputation of that
trans-Atlantic genius, the European starling.
The American group of the same name,
numbering twenty-seven species, among them
the oriole, the bobolink, meadow lark, red-
winged blackbird, and grackle, although not
blest with any name of genius, includes two
superior and favorite vocalists— the Balti-
more oriole and the bobolink, whereas many
of the species do not deserve to be called
singers.

The meadow larks have a penchant for open
fields, where they are to be found, in smaller or
larger flocks, all day long; but they are inor-
dinately shy, and commonly take to the wing
the instant they are approached. Their clearly
whistled song of three or four notes, which
seems peculiarly suggestive of the freshness and
openness of spring, often betrays their invisible
presence in the grass or grain field; and at
other times they may be seen walking about
over the ground, which is also their usual
place of nesting. When on the wing, their
identification is easy, both from the large
amount of white on the outer tail - feathers,
and from two peculiarities of flight, viz., the
particularly straight course they take, and the

275

Song Birds and Water Fowl

very rapid and intermittent fluttering of the
wings. In most species the line of flight is
more or less irregular and curvilinear; but
meadow larks adopt a very evident ‘‘ bee-
line.’? Their rapid motion of wings is also
quite unusual; for, in general, the larger
the bird the slower the wing-beat; but, in
this case, it is as rapid as in the warbler
or sparrow. The sandpiper’s flight reminds
one very much of the meadow lark’s; but,
among land-birds, the latter’s motion is quite
unique.

It is much to be hoped that the efforts made,
in different parts of the country, to introduce
its congener, the European starling, may prove
successful, as it would be one of the greatest
acquisitions in woodland vocalism that we
could possibly have. A society of Germans
living near Portland, Ore., have recently, at
an expense of over sixteen hundred dollars,
imported a large number of birds, representing
the most important European species ; and all,
with one or two exceptions, seem to have be-
come acclimated to that region. A small flock
of starlings made their winter quarters last
year in Central Park, New York, and probably
summer in the vicinity. The performances of

276

MEADOW LARK

{ts clearly whistled song of three or four notes seems peculiarly suggestive
of the freshness and openness of spring (p. 275).

Earliest Signs of Spring

these birds at sundown, and just before sunrise,
remind one somewhat of the intoxicated hilar-
ity of the bobolink; and, in its native land,
the starling is a favorite caged bird. One
German naturalist, who confesses, very truly,
that the natural song of a bird, however simple,
is commonly far superior to any artificial per-
formance, says that the starling is an exception
to the rule, and that his talent for imitating
every melody and tone-color is marvellous;
but he adds that it is dangerous to let him
hear the squeaking of a door, the snarling of a
file, or the rasping of a saw, which he is sure
to pick up and introduce among his more
melodious effects; which shows that, while he
knows the perfect technique of his art, he is
like some other so-called artists, in having
missed the very soul of it.

The fascination of all natural research is
largely in the striking contrasts and uncertain-
ties always incident thereto. One never knows
beforehand just where he will catch the snow-
bird’s modest but delightful tintinnabulation,
or hear the chickadee’s contagious gayety ring-
ing through the air. I am utterly weary of
caged birds: in part, because the very spot
from which their next song is to come is pre-

277

Song Birds and Water Fowl

determined. They are allowed no spontaneity
of place:

‘*Nor is that sprightly wildness in their notes,
Which, clear and vigorous, warbles from the beech :”

nor can such a prisoner, hanging in a room,
with a kalsomined sky, be enhanced by the ef-
fective contrast of its various kindred, or by
the foil of surrounding Nature, nor pleasantly
diversify its own melody by the alternate swell
and ebb of varying distance. It becomes a
genuine song only when poured forth as the
sparkling climax of its wildest freedom.

But let one walk abroad, in this transition
period, through sombre lanes and fields, or
along a country road, and he will listen to a
story that, however old, is ever new. Froma
stone wall or bush, close by, he will hear, un-
doubtedly, the strong, vivacious strain of the
song-spatrow, which, more than any other bird,
seems to feel the responsibility as well as joy of
announcing spring’s arrival. A little farther
on, a telegraph wire transmits a novel message
in the contented self-communings and mellow
meditations of a guileless bluebird, the emblem
of gentleness in every motion of its soul and
body.

278

Earliest Signs of Spring °

Continuing his ramble, our traveller will next
hear, perhaps, the sputtering and spilling at the
mouth of an excited gathering of purple
grackles, from the summit of a clump of trees—
an ill-trained rabble of March trumpeters, pro-
ducing a hubbub, spicy and not unpleasing ata
distance; but close at hand abounding in such
idle gossip, spiteful criticism, and sour morality,
as would do credit to a flourishing country tea-
party of old ladies. The goldfinch, downy
woodpecker, red- winged blackbird, meadow
lark, flicker, purple finch, phoebe, cow-bird,
and field-sparrow, will quite likely add some
rich and varied grains of sound to all the
morning’s medley; possibly even the wild
screams of the hawks should be attributed to a
helpless ambition to be musical; and before
the walk is ended he will surely hear that
carol, familiar, and yet never growing old, and
crowning all—the clear-toned, satisfying, and
uplifting warble of a joyous robin.

The restfulness and stimulus of Nature,
which every attentive observer experiences in
out-door life, consists as largely in the easy and
unpremeditated alternation, and ever-fresh set-
ting of such familiar objects, as in their intrin-
sic excellence. These earliest spring - sounds,

279

Song Birds and Water Fowl

so far from becoming trite by annual recur-
rence, are rather cumulative in their effect,
through the lapse of years; weaving themselves
into our memories, and recalling many a pleas-
ant, long-forgotten scene of yore.

280

INDEX

INDEX

ALBATROSS, 93.

Anemone, 17.

Animals, normal conduct of,
104.

Apple-tree, the, 37.

Auk, Great, go.

Avocet, 65.

BEE, the, 270.
Beech, the, 19.
Bird-songs, difficulties of re-
producing, 114.
instances of characteristic,
115.
Birds, in West Englewood,
3, 20.
of prey, 195, 202.
popular classification of, 71,
73.
songless, 198.
Blackbird, Red- winged, 33,
266,
nest of, 150.
Bluebird, 18, 278.
Bobolink, 187.
Bronx Park, scene in, 29.
Buttercup, 17.
Butterflies, migration of, 188.

Butterfly, 268, 271.
symbolism of, 273.
Butterfly’s wing, coloring of,
269.
Buzzard, Turkey, 193.

CATBIRD, 8, 20.
Cedar-bird, 220.
Chat, Yellow-breasted, 32.
Chaucer, 168.
Chautauqua Landing, excur-
sion to, 182.
Chewink, 12, 20, 25.
Chickadee, 21.
Circle of habitat, as principle
of bird-classification, 72.
Cormorants, 9I.
Cow-bird, 265.
Crane, Whooping, 82.
Cricket, 226,
Crow, Common, 20, 162.
Cuckoo, Black-billed, 13, 21.
Cuckoos, 99.
American, compared with
European, 107, 108.
anomalous character
102,
charges against, 103, I05.

of,

283

Index

Cuckoos, excuse for, 106,
notes of, 113, II5.
variously regarded by

poets, Iol.

Curlew, Long-billed,, 66.

DANDELION, I7.
Ducks, 84.
Buffle-head, 196.
Fishing, 87.
River, 85.
Sea, 85.
migration of, 178.

EAGLE, 74.

Bald, 195, 197, 199.
as national emblem, 200.

FIDDLER CRAB, I80,
Finch, Sea-side, 182.
Sharp-tailed, 179.
Fish, migration of, 22.
Flamingo, 88.
Flicker, 192.
Flycatcher, Great Crested,
34.
Least, 35.
Frigate Bird, 93.
Frogs, 261.
Fulmar, Giant, 93.

GANNET, gI.
Goldfinch, 224.

Grackle, Purple, 279.
Grebe, Pied-billed, 68.
Gull, Black-backed, 159.

Gull, Glaucous, 159.
Herring, 156, 158, 159, 21G
Ivory, 159.

Laughing, 157.

Gulls, 160, 166.

migration of, 177.

HAWK, 20, 21, 24, 75, 279.
Heron, Great Blue, 67, 246.
Great White, 67.
Green, 67, 186,
Little White, 67.
Night, 67, 237.
Herons, 66.
Hudson River, along the, 22,
24.

Izis, Glossy, 80.
White, 80.
Wood, 81.

Indigo-bird, 25, 36.

JAGER, 92.
Jay, Blue, 16, 20.

KING-BIRD, 33.

LAKE GEORGE, fishing in,
225.
scenery of, 207.
thunder-storm at, 232.
Land and Water birds, com-
pared, 44.
boundary between, 77.
Land-birds, aérial group of,
74

284

Index

Land-birds, arboreal group
of, 76.
terrestrial group of, 76.
Lark, Field (European), 168.
Meadow, 31, 274.
Shore (Horned), 167, 171.
Lichen, 263.
Loon, Common, 68.

MARYLAND YELLOW-
THROAT, II, 20, 25,
Murre, 68.
Music, of nature, 109.
popular definition of, 111.
technical definition of, 109.

NATURAL RESEARCH, what
enhances interest in, 26,
277.

Nest-building, principles that
govern, 144.

Nests, 140.

of land-birds, 145.
of water fowl, 147.
why in trees, 149.

Nidification, 139.

Nuthatch, White-breasted,
13, 21.

OAK, the, Ig.

Ocean, the, 57, 163.

Order ofdevelopment in
spring, 266.

Oriole, Baltimore, 13, 20.

Ornithology, marine, relation
of moon to, 176,

Osprey (Fish Hawk), 190,
Oven-bird, 15, 20, 25.
Oyster-catcher, 65.

PELICAN, OI.
Penekese Island, 122.
Penguin, 89.
Petrel, 93.
stormy, 135.
Pewee, 13, 21.
Phalarope, 66, 84.
Phoebe, 21, 229.
Plover, Golden, 64.
Kildeer, 63.
Piping, 63.
Semi-palmated, 173.
Plovers, 83.

RAILS, 67.
Redstart, 11, 20.
Robin, 20, 143, 279.

SANDPIPER, SPOTTED, 67.
Sandpipers, 23, 33, 83, 178.
Scientific definition, inade-
quacy of, 109.
Sea Parrot, 66.
Sea Swallow, 121, 134.
Skunk cabbage, 262.
Snake-bird, 91.
Sparrow, Chipping, 6, 21.
Field, 4, 21.
Fox, 264.
Song, 21, 259, 278.
Vesper, 5.
Spring, advent of, 253.

285

Index

Starlings, 274, 276.
Swallow, Barn, nest of, 214.
Chimney, 21.
Cliff, nest of, 211.
Swallows, 75.

TANAGER, SCARLET, I5, 24.
Tern, 121, 126.
Arctic, 132.
Least, 132.
Roseate, 132, 134.
Wilson (Common), 132.
allied to gull, 132. ’
finest view of, I29.
habits of the, 133.
nest of the, I29.
notes of the, 127.
resorts of the, 132.
Tern's-eggs, 126, 131.
Thrush, Hermit, 7.
Olive-backed, 33.
Water, 15, 20, 33.
Wilson, 7, 20, 25, 33, 217.
Wood, 6, 8, 20, 33.
Titmouse, Crested, 274.
Trees, individuality of, 257.
Turnstone, 65.

VEERY, 7, 20, 25, 33, 217.
Violet, 17, 18.
Vireo, Red-eyed, 11, 20, 25,
34-
White-eyed, Io, 20, 33.
Yellow-throated, 14, 20, 25.

WARBLER, BAY-BREASTED,
14.
Black -and- White Creep-
ing, 20, 25.
Blackburnian, 31.
Black-poll, 20. _
Black-throated Blue, 20.
Black-throated Green, 20.
Blue-winged Yellow, 14,
20, 24.
Canadian, 20, 32.
Chestnut-sided, 15, 20.
Hooded, 9, 20, 25.
Water Fowl, aérial group of,
g2.
diving group of, go.
finest aspects of, 54, 55.
in winter, 155.
incongruity of song in, 56.
marsh group of, 79.
more gregarious than land-
birds, 87.
plumage of, 50.
shore group of, 82.
swimming group of, 84.
swimming-aérial group of,
92.
symbolism of various, 95.
variety of physical types in,
52.
Whippoorwill, 227.
Woodpecker, Downy,
216.
Golden-winged, 20, 192.
Wren, House, 23, 36, 40.

16,

286

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