* a J ‘ . s . iy . ) bes: , e i - . : y, - , 5 - a4 f ; ‘ a - ; ‘ ' ‘ 6. * %, BeteGeiei,- +i Oot def eh ete fodmse ab. ciel? ' iMgep tare Vf, ‘ bce 4S dali teu, F oa he, OL Oe Meggett, » er Dal<', a = ‘oP 99RRFy, * Ren: of sth’ s%o tote "a he Raper dh pia @ “« * ” i $024 of svtet 94 . “ ‘ oe 4 siet vs “ao vitae + ate G8 oo 4 tai & IS: ine bi stgeee rr eS 2 1 Rew y + | pelted ye sere © £0 Fe Petia sur 9B svi owal fh etpin oer peel tery. Sah peters y , rte pan A he el, Stele yessne gen COPYRIGHT DEPOSI GPO an A‘e Bacal Lert z 4 J sean aemeemntintete et ee a A NATURALISTS RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. a BY CHARLES. .C. ABBOTT. NEW YORK: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 1, 3, AND 5 BOND STREET. 1884. ; + h ee ; 7 : e we j ; ; ee Rin Mee 2 r 4 F ; ‘SAuY ce Me es - si ae i yee. age ; Py, ; aps i‘ » 4 x i 4 = ’ o : = ee . 183 et i . AS 201 . 209 ; 214 . 218 s 226 ; 237 4. CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXVIII.—A Sournerty Rain . XXIX.—SuHort Stupies or TURTLES XXX.—Uz Gaunt’s TaLK aBout TURTLES XXXIJI.—SnHort StupiEs oF SNAKES XXXII.—Uz Gaunv’s SNAKE-StTorY XXXIII.—Snort Strupirs oF BATRACHIANS XXXIV.—Briser Notes on FISHES ‘ XXXV.—Brier Nores on FISHES (CONTINUED) XXXVI.—Brizr Notes on FIsHes (CONCLUDED) XXXVII.—Tracrs oF VOICES IN FISHES APPENDIX INDEX. 5 9 PAGE . 242 . 250 . 276 . 282 . 807 . 312 . 351 . 872 . 402 . 433 . 447 . 481 A WORD AT THE START, IN LIEU OF A PREFACE. Wuen [ happen out for a stroll, the difficulty that besets me is not what to seek—for to ramble without an object is an abomination—but what to choose of the end- less variety of objects worthy of attention. I do not like to determine this after I have started, but prefer saying to myself, “I will watch the birds to-day,” or, “I will hunt up the meadow-mice.” To do this, at once gives an additional interest to a contemplated ramble; and, in all my experience, I have never yet failed to find some trace, at least, of that object to observe which I took the walk. Avoid the highways when you take a walk. Even if well shaded, they are abandoned now to the pestiferous English sparrows; and if you are really intent on a good tramp of a few miles, do not turn aside for a stretch of swamp. If you have any fear of wet feet, be properly shod before starting. It too often happens that the sights best worth seeing come to you when in a bit of wet meadow. The swamp-sparrows, that are such sweet songsters ; the marsh-wrens and the king-rails and soras will not come to the dry ground at the edge of the mead- 6 A WORD AT THE START. ow and sing and show themselves for your benefit. If you want to enjoy them, you must go to their haunts; - and once there, if you are really fond of birds, you will never regret it. There are neglected, tangled, briery nooks in every neigbborhood that will repay frequent visits. There some of the best bird-music is to be heard. In an old field I know of, too barren to be worth cultivat- ing, and unpleasantly strong with the odors of Jamestown weed, there is every summer a whole colony of Carolina wrens, and their songs are not excelled by any of our birds, except certain thrushes and the rose-breasted gros- beak. In this same field, too, I am sure of finding scores of garter-snakes, and the pretty creatures add a charm to the place. finally, nowhere else are there so many gorgeously-colored dragon-flies as about this same neg- lected, weed- grown field. By very many, walks are — thought to be enjoyable only in what is commonly called pleasant weather. What constitutes a pleasant day, as distinguished from an unpleasant one, is not very clear. If I have seen something new, that day is pleasant, how- ever the thermometer registers or the winds blow. Surely, too, after a month of sunny days, a steady, pouring rain is delicious, not to look at merely, but to be about in it. It is charm enough to tempt one out to see how the birds and mice and squirrels, and the snakes, frogs, and insects pass their time when it rains. The cunning you will see displayed by them will compensate for the soak- ing you may get. If the weather be cold, walk fast and see fast, and, if you have well-trained eyes, no feeling of cold will annoy you; unless, indeed, you are needlessly bundled up, and do nothing but wonder where the thermometer ranges. A good rule for one who walks in winter is, to forget that there are such things as thermometers, and never to A WORD AT THE START. x look at one when leaving the door-step. Perhaps it is snowing. Well, the very creatures that the observant walker loves to see can not more readily dodge the snow- storm than he can; and is it not a sufficient incentive to learn what the birds and mammals are about when snowed up, to warrant a ramble over snow-clad fields and in the leafless woods? Who that has seen a cardinal grosbeak in the full glory of his crimson dress, perched upon a bare twig, with nothing but untrodden snow for a background, and heard his cheery whistle come ringing through the crisp air, can ever forget it? Such a sight is not to be witnessed from your sitting-room windows. No, no, there is reason for rambling at all times, with perhaps one exception. In the noon of midsummer days it is proper to remain in-doors to rest, to keep cool, if happily you can. Nature herself, just then, is taking a nap. A word, now, as to where my home is, for I have never rambled elsewhere. I will not attempt a descrip- tion ; for why, indeed, should I expose its nakedness? It came to me not through purchase, but by the accident of birth. Just two centuries ago, a lad came from Notting- ham, England, to what was then a mere ghost of a vil- lage, but is now the present city of Philadelphia. By chance he came into “the Jerseys,’ and, when of age, chose, as a site for the home he purposed building, a tract on Crosswicks Creek, a navigable stream that enters the Delaware River at Bordentown. By trade a wheel- wright, but by choice a farmer, he throve well, and added - hundreds of acres to his original purchase; and now, two centuries later, I find myself anchored within sight of where my respected ancestor dwelt. Yes, and writ- ing these lines at a curious old desk that belonged to his g A WORD AT THE START. thrifty son, who bought other lands, built boats, and died early of grief, because the breaking out of the Revolution spoiled his plans. The predecessors of my ancestors, as possessors of the soil, merit a moment’s attention. These dusky-skinned natives were greatly attached to the neigh- borhood, and the abundance of their handiwork in stone still testifies to their prolonged occupancy of the country. Not only are there hundreds of their relics on every acre, but there is also a fragmentary tradition that, not far from my door-yard, Oconio-coco-coco-cadgi-cadgi-cadonko had his wigwam; and not far off, under an enormous white- oak, fought single-handed with the fiercest of cougars, long the terror of the neighborhood, and slew him with a flint knife. Oconio’s grave: is supposed to be quite near, but I have never sought to disturb his bones, much as I would like to have them, nor have I even looked for a wonderful stone pipe that was buried with him. Perhaps it is all true. I accept it as such, be- cause it is pleasant to recall the story, as told me nearly forty years ago. I have often tried to determine, in various ways, how long these Indians roamed along this terrace and over these fields and meadows, but have not as yet reached a satisfactory conclusion. That they were here for a long time can not be questioned, and even now, so long after their departure, the traces of their former presence lends a charm to our quiet rambles ; for, whenever we happen upon bare ground, the chances are that we shall see an arrow - head, and what a wealth of pleasing fancies even a single arrow- head may bring up! How many possible occurrences may be connected with this bit of chipped jasper! So it is, indeed, the country over; and often an unsuspected mine of pleasure is lying exposed to the gaze of those who, walking abroad, see nothing and learn nothing. _ A WORD AT THE START. 9 Relic-hunting, properly conducted, is an art, and had better be treated as such. It is too laborious for quiet rambling—as the eyes must always be fixed on the ground. Pied. to-day, much as in the olden time, are the broad stretches of meadow that, skirting the Delaware, are my constant delight and the scenes of my happiest days out- of-doors. Back from the river, more than half a mile, and parallel to it, is the elevated plateau that extends east- ward and seaward. From the one to the other there is no sloping, intervening stretch of land, other than the meadows. To pass from the uplands to the lowlands you must trip down a steep descent of eighty feet. Steep — as it is, it is well wooded, and is the “hill-side” of which I shall say much hereafter. It is a jolly place for those given to quiet rambles. There the earliest spring flowers are to be found, and to gather the earliest bloom of the year is surely worth an effort. There, too, tarry the fore- runners of the flight of summer songsters that gladden the hearts of all who hear their melody, for no subsequent songs are so charming as the first notes of the pioneer thrush, red-wing, or oriole. My house stands on the very edge of this terrace, and is so placed that from my windows I can see the meadows below and the river beyond. A substantial structure it is, and it answered my great-grandfathers’ modest wants though it does not suit me; still I am compensated for what it lacks, in the oaks, beeches, and locusts that sur- round it, as it is under them that I live. So much, then, as to the place where I live. Evidently there is not a single romantic feature in the neighborhood. The first Europeans who settled here were Quakers, and the plain- i . z 10 A WORD AT THE START. ness of the surroundings doubtless had its influence in deciding their choice. So strict were they, as their meet- ing records show, that probably they would have covered up any natural beauty that might have had a tendency to foster a poetical sentiment among their people; just as they desired their blooming maidens, if their color was too bright, to dust their cheeks with flour before at- tending meeting. It proved to be a “concern” upon the minds of the elders lest the aforesaid rosy cheeks should distract the attention of the young men who sat on benches so placed that they could look upon the fair faces of these maidens. Even in such prosaic times the young men thought a pretty girl was more to be desired that a drowsy sermon, and their seniors chided them for so thinking. The descendants of these Quakers, happily less strict, still assemble in the old meeting-house. But long years ago a vifted man, Archibald, nephew of William Bartram, the naturalist and taveleny thonght otherwise of this neighborhood and the young maidens of his day. Of these meadows and the wooded bluff he sang: | “Sweet Nottingham! thy charms I prize, Where yonder hills abruptly rise, Which gird thy valleys green ; At dawn, at noon, at close of day, Along these heights I love to stray And gaze upon the scene.” ) This, and much more, he found to say about the spot during his many visits, just eighty years ago—found it to say, too, in spite of living in Bartram’s garden on the ~ Schuylkill, where there was so much to attract a poet and naturalist. The matter, perhaps, is explicable from the fact that a maiden was even more attractive than the A WORD AT THE START. 11 neighborhood, and a suspicion crosses my mind that, childlike, he “made believe” to have discovered the beauty of the locality, hoping it would please the dark- eyed damsel. In this he succeeded. She was pleased, | and all would have gone well, had he not, so soon after, passed away. From about this time these meadows and the bluff attracted many naturalists of repute, then living in Philadelphia. Conrad the elder, botanist and miner- _ alogist; Conrad the geologist, his son; and Rafinesque, Say, Le Seure, Bonaparte, Wilson, and others, all rambled about here. Indeed, the names of some, cut by them- selves, are still to be deciphered on one of the old beeches that guards a famous spring, where they were wont to halt at noon-time. An instructive, pleasant, leisurely stroll is not un- profitable, even if the more striking objects of natural history are absent. It is asad error to suppose that the most familiar of our birds, to say nothing of other forms of life, both vegetable and animal, can ever be so familiar that nothing further can be learned by observing them. There is a percentage of probability so large that we may detect something quite new to us in the habits even of the little social chipping sparrow, that it is unwise even for the experienced ornithologist to pass them by un- heeded. [If it is early summer, you may happen to find its nest. Of course, you know it is always lined with hair. Well, look at the nest you have found, neverthe- less, if you can without disturbing it, and perhaps you may find a different material used. I did once, and once only, and it was a more pleasant discovery than many I have since made. As I continued my walk that same day, I pondered long on the subject of variation in nest- building, and found half a dozen other nests of birds be- fore I returned. One was a delicate, pensile structure, 13 A WORD AT THE. STALT. apparently too fragile to hold safely the three little eggs it contained; yet with them was an egg of the Cowpen bird, larger aon the three others together. — If a ay is taken for mental as well as bodily exer- cise, it is most unwise to ignore familiar objects, or refuse to ramble because there igs nothing to see. When once the impression of nothing to see gains possession of a person, he is in a bad way, as he is deprived of one great source of pleasure, and must acquire his knowledge at second hand or not at all. Not that I think little of a book-knowledge of Nature, for I read many books with delight ; but the best book is that which sends us out- of-doors, in search of information, rather than to the library. Walks may be taken alone or in company; but if you go with a companion, be sure he is thoroughly sympa- - thetic, or the ramble will be in vain. The best company are those that live closest to Nature, and he is wise who is friendly with the old trappers and fishermen who still lin- ger in every village. If the rambler is young, and learn- ing Nature’s A, B, C’s, an opportunity to question an old trapper is something to be prized. More can be learned of them, by judicious questions, than by reference to a cyclopeedia. Aspiring, then, to be an accomplished ram- bler, to know how to stroll profitably, be not less on the lookout for those whose business is with Nature than for those lower forms of intelligence we call, collectively, animal life. A chance conversation discovered to me one companion of many of my walks. When a mere boy, Uz*Gaunt lived in this neighborhood, having a little cottage adjoining my grandfather’s woods; and he, above all others, gave me my first lesson in practical zoology. A WORD AT THE START. 13 ‘When I first met him he was about seventy years old, and ten years later he appeared no older. Had he not been bent and disabled, finally, from severe rheumatic attacks, I doubt if any one could have guessed his age. His hair remained dark and thick, his forehead showed few wrinkles, his eye was as bright and piercing, at the last, as when, a score of years ago, he would point out the green head of a mallard in the tall grass and bid me shoot. Often I would fire on faith, not able to detect — anything but the waving grass ees he saw a cunning mallard hiding. Uz was the happy owner of a few acres, most of which were not arable. ‘The five acres that immediately sur- rounded his house were shut in from the world by a swampy tract that remained undisturbed. Tempting of- fers were made for the valuable timber that grew upon it, but Uz had enough to meet his wants, and turned a deaf ear to all who suggested his parting with the trees. “ They were my only companions when a child,” he once remarked to me, “and I could not part with them now. I’m not chicken-hearted, that I know of, but to sell those trees would be like selling my own flesh and blood. They are a part of my life now, and my sister and I make out to live on the little patches of cleared land about the house. No, so long as I live I want the trees to keep me company.” “ Then it is from the fact that you played all day un- der these trees that you became a naturalist,” I suggested at the time. “Yes, you hit it there. Of course, I went a bit to school, and father had two or three books which I read in a little, but my learnin’. came from out- doors. Why, the birds seemed to know me after a while, and I gained their good-will by lettin’ ’em alone. Ln al) RAEI lg meg ol at 14 A WORD AT THE START. My eyes would be on ’em all es. but I kept my hands | off. 99 “ But you carried a gun after a while,” I remarked. “Yes, but not for some time. Father made me work some, and when I did go gunnin’ it was at proper times, and I didn’t shoot birds in spring just to count their tail- feathers.” This was a quiet dig at me, for Uz had but little patience with ornithology as I had attempted to study it. The minutiee of color and anatomical structure he gave the go-by, but knew the habits of birds as I never expect to. In later years Uz left to his sister the care both of his house and little farm, and was ever on the alert, with gun in hand, to:secure what game might be at hand. The number of rabbits he killed every autumn I dare not mention; and, in the proper season, woodcock, quails, and ducks daily rewarded his rambles about their haunts. As a duck-shooter he had no equal in the neighborhood, and it was in this sport that he most delighted. For twenty years, during which I knew him well and saw him often, his sole occupation was that of a hunter and trapper, and, happily, he combined with these all the es- sential requirements of a practical naturalist. To him I feel that I am indebted in great part for my liking for the great world of out-of-doors, and for a total indifference to the artificial, pent-up life of the city. He it was who taught me how to stroll leisurely about when I felt so disposed, and to see a wealth of wonder every- where I went. It is proper, therefore, that I should here give him the credit that is his due; and, in so doing, point out to others the desirability of seeking out in their respective neighborhoods other Uz Gaunts, and profiting by their acquaintance. There are few villages that do not contain some one who is better informed than his A WORD AT THE START. - 15 fellows as to the natural history of the neighborhood ; and it is possible that what you fail to discover during your rambles will be learned by applying to the practi- eal Uz Gaunt of your neighborhood. Such was my ex- perience, and, in advising my readers to adopt a similar course, I can only hope that they may be so fortunate as to meet with one whose love of Nature was as sincere as was that of my old friend and teacher; and, that they can the better realize what manner of man he was, I have ventured to add “specimen days” spent with him, and record some of his observations in his own words. As a result of many years of rambling about home, I have seen most if not all of the animals that are now to be found here; and, whenever I saw any of them under cir- cumstances that were of peculiar interest, I made a note of it. At various times, and in various publications, as “ Hardwicke’s Science Gossip ” and “ Nature ” (London), “The American Naturalist ” (Philadelphia), “ Science ” (Cambridge), and “ The Popular Science Monthly ” (New York), some of these field-notes have already appeared. The willingness, on the part of the publishers of these various serials, to have me reproduce them in their pres- ent form, is here gratefully acknowledged. Rather than mar the pages with innumerable brackets, inclosing the scientific names of the animals I have had occasion to mention, I have added a complete list of the mammals, birds, reptiles, batrachians, and fishes of Mer- cer County, New Jersey. The common or local names I have used inthe body of the work are here repeated, with the name now adopted by the systematists. This list will prove, I hope, of some value to those interested in the subject of the geographical distribution of our animals ; and will, at least, prevent any difficulty in properly iden- 16 A WORD AT THE START. tifying any animal to which I have referred under its com- mon or local name. If these “notes,” the gatherings of many years, shall serve to amuse or instruct my young readers, or those of maturer years, if any such there be, then I shall be quite satisfied with having preserved that which is here given to the public. : : CO. Gas Prospect Hitt, Trenton, New Jersey, March 1, 1884. RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. CHAPTER I. OUR MAMMALS IN GENERAL. Tue marked changes that have taken place in the surface of our country since its settlement, more than two centuries ago, have naturally had their effect upon the fauna. This is realized most readily when we com- pare our present meager list of mammals with the goodly array of “mightie beestes” that once roamed through our primeval forests. Even earlier—in the Indian or pre- historic times—faunal changes occurred, of even greater magnitude than any that have since taken place, for, partly through climatic change, but more through inces- sant persecution, the moose, reindeer, and bison had dis- appeared from New Jersey, and the mastodon had _ be- come extinct, long before the arrival of the whites. The bear, elk, deer, wolf, cougar, and beaver still remained in vast numbers, however; and, although the Indians were essentially a hunting people, and depended largely upon the product of the chase, yet the many ani- mals that were once common here might have held their own, had not the occupation of the country by the Swedes, and the consequent introduction of fire-arms and H a, - 18 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. destruction of the forests, brought about results that were | most disastrous to the larger mammals. It was this latter cause, perhaps, more than all else, that affected the larger animals of New Jersey, within historic times; for, as their haunts were invaded by the settler, they were driven first to the remote mountain, forest-clad swamps, and then westward, as was the Indian; and the presence ever afterward of the European prevented, in great measure, their return even to those localities where a new forest- growth replaced the old. Notwithstanding all these ad- verse conditions, the bear and deer still linger within our boundaries, while the wolf has only been exterminated within fifty years, and the elk and beaver almost as re- cently. That all the animals mentioned were once com- mon here is proved by the presence of their bones in the shell-heaps or kitchen-middens of the Indians, and also by the accounts of the early travelers and settlers. Especially are we indebted to Peter Kalm, the Swedish naturalist, for many most interesting details of the fauna of the country as it was a century and a half ago; and it is most instructive to compare his account of the habits of the mammals, that were then found here, with our own experience of the fauna that still remains among us. For instance, writing of New Jersey, in 1748, he says: “‘ Bears are very numerous higher up in the country, and do much mischief. Mr. Bartram told me that when a bear catches a cow, he kills her in the following man- ner: he bites a hole into the hide, and blows with all his power into it, till the animal swells excessively and dies” ; and again: “ ‘They have two varieties of wolves here, which, however, seem to be of the same species. . . . All the old Swedes related that during their childhood, and still more at the arrival of their fathers, there were excessive ‘ ‘ —_ EE OUR MAMMALS IN GENERAL. 19 numbers of wolves in the country, and that their howling and yelping might be heard all night. They likewise frequently tore in pieces sheep, hogs, and other young and small cattle.’ But a few years afterward they seemed: suddenly to decrease in numbers, for in the year mentioned Kalm tells us that “they are now seldom seen, and it is very rarely that they commit any disorders. This is attributed to the greater cultivation of the coun- try, and to their being killed in great numbers. But. further up the country (i. e., up the Delaware Valley), where it is not yet so much inhabited, they are still very abundant.” Some of our smaller mammals, on the other hand, ap- pear to have been benefited by the change from a wild to a cultivated country, as, for instance, the squirrels, of which Kalm says: “The several sorts of squirrels among the quadrupeds have spread: for these . . . live chiefly upon maize, or at least they are most greedy of it.” Speaking of one other well-known mammal, now no longer found in New Jersey, the same author writes: “ Beavers were formerly abundant in Wew Sweden” (New Jersey), “as all the old Swedes here told me. At that time they saw one bank after another raised in the rivers by beavers. But after the Huropeans came over in great numbers and cultivated the country better, the beavers have been partly killed and partly extirpated, and partly removed higher into the country, where the people are not so numerous. Therefore there is but a single place in Pennsylvania where beavers are to be met — with; their chief food is the bark of the beaver-tree, or Magnolia glauca, which they prefer to any other.” Deprived of so many of these most interesting animals, it would seem as if the limited areas of woodland still re- maining were destitute of any features of mammalian life 20 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. worthy our attention. This would be true, if the most interesting problems in biology could be solved only by the study of the habits of the larger animals; but if we have not the cougar, we have the lynx; if not the elk, we have the deer; and if not the beaver, there remains the musk-rat; and it is to the study of the habits _ of such smaller creatures as have withstood the enecroach- ment of man that our attention will be directed, and not to the past, when a larger, fiercer, and more attractive fauna dwelt within our borders. In studying the habits of the few mammals that re- main in New Jersey, it would, indeed, be interesting to determine to what extent their habits may have changed, since their environment has been so greatly altered by the destruction of forests, the drainage of swamps, and the cultivation of so large a portion of their former do- main. I have already mentioned these changes, among others even more patent, as having aided in the extermi- nation of most of our larger mammals; and it remains now to inquire how far the smaller ones that are left have retained their old habits, and whether they have acquired any that are new. As their altered surround- ings must surely have increased the severity of that struggle for existence that greets every creature born into the world, it becomes an interesting inquiry whether the same causes have likewise increased their cunning and quickened their wits. When we come to consider certain phases of bird-life, we will find that man’s pres- ~ ence has changed some of their habits to a marked degree, and the same might reasonably be expected in the case of our mammals. I confess, however, that I have been able to find but few indications of such changes, and the accounts of the habits of the raccoon, musk-rat, and mink, as detailed by Kalm, seem to be as applicable to these OUR MAMMALS IN GENERAL. St animals to-day as when they were written. Still, the field-notes as to the habits of our mammals, in their pres- ent environment, are far from being devoid of interest and permanent value, and when it is remembered that traits that are peculiar to an animal in one locality, may not be characteristic of the same animal elsewhere, there is but little danger that the observations of a naturalist, even of familiar objects, will ae in all respects, a twice-told tale. CHAPTER IL. GLIMPSES OF WILD-CATS. To the world-wide traveler, the little stretch of mead- ~ ows that intervene between my house and the river are, no doubt, exceedingly tame and uninviting; neverthe- less, to me they possess innumerable charms; and I never weary of looking at them from the brow of the terrace that forms their eastward boundary. To me, indeed, they are.as varied as a checker-board ; and a bird’s-eye glance at them, such as one gets from the terrace, sug- gests this comparison. In about equal proportions they are separated by creeks and ditches into high and dry, and low and wet; not divided into two great parts, but rather into a series of equal parts, evenly distributed. | In June, 1860, there was a remarkable fall of rain, lasting from the Ist to the 4th of the month. The rainfall measured a little more than six inches, and as the storm extended well up the river, the stream was enormously swollen; in other words, we had a summer freshet that’ submerged the meadows to the depth of from six to ten feet. This, of course, upset the calcula- tions of the meadow-haunting birds, who had either to con- form to the new order of things, or else to quit the neigh- borhood. Fortunately, the latter alternative was accepted by but few. Asa result, I was astonished to find king- rails and woodcocks, and even the timid least bittern in the nearest high, dry, upland fields, skulking among the bushes that grew in the angles of the worm-fences. The GLIMPSES OF WILD-CATS. 93 musk-rats and otters, too, were drowned out and came to the slope of the terrace, seeking shelter in its wooded portions; and the minks reveled in an abundance of . drowned nestlings that were floated to the shore. This latter fact was new to me, as I had never known minks to eat of food that they had not captured and killed. During this summer freshet the animal life on the mead- ows was literally set afloat, and thus familiar animals were placed in situations that called for the exercise of great ingenuity. This, of itself, should be enough to satisfy any naturalist, as it not only offered a rare chance for the study of these well-known animals, under conditions that were altogether new; but the fauna of the meadows was increased by scores of animals that found refuge upon the drift-wood, and were borne along by the current until meeting here, for the first time, with open bottoms and the river spread over a wide expanse of country and de- posited many of the unwilling travelers. Among, the mammals that were thus brought into the neighborhood —at least their presence may be explained in this way— were several wild-cats. Under the circumstances, it was natural that I should spend the day, wandering here and there, upon these flooded meadows, and feasting my eyes on the many sights that were to be seen. It was, for the time, a first- class menagerie, better than any museum or “zoo” I had ever visited, because more instructive. Night came all too soon, but still I lingered, hoping for further novelties to appear, nor was I disappointed. While yet a little sunlight lingered in the west, my atten- tion was called to a commotion, not far off, wherein both beasts and birds were concerned. As I was floating al- most aimlessly in my canoe, I heard a scream that was quite strange to me, and, looking in the direction from 24 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. which the sound came, I was astonished to see a huge wild-cat, or bay lynx, standing upon a floating log, with — its back arched and hair standing straight up. In the brush-wood, that had been drifted with the log, stood a turkey-buzzard, eviderttly entertaining no fear of the eat, even if it had no designs upon it. A quarrel was going qi on between them, I supposed, and my only thought was how I might be there to see. ‘’o be sure, it was growing - dark, but this availed me nothing. I had no screen on the canoe, and indeed could only sit bolt upright in the little craft. If I went too near, the buzzard would fly; perhaps, too, the cat would swim off, although I had doubts as to the latter event. Accepting matters as they stood, I paddled to within a dozen yards, and then, check- ing my course, kept the canoe in one position, with as little movement on my part as possible, and became a silent spectator. Of course, both the cat and the buzzard saw me, and glared at me and at each other alternately ; but neither changed its position, except to move its head. There was evidently a mystery about it. Things were not as they seemed. These creatures, it was now appar- ent, were not there of their own choice. Satisfied of - this, I drew a little nearer. At this, the buzzard raised its wings, solemnly shook its head, and expressed its dis- approbation by ejecting a semi-fluid mass of half-digested matter, the odors from which were not suggestive of “ Araby the blest.” Still, the buzzard remained at his post, and I at mine. As to the cat, it held this act of the buzzard to be adding insult to injury, and struggled terri- bly to be free; and now, for the first time, I saw that it was a prisoner. One of its fore-feet was securely held in the jaws of a large steel trap, which was fastened to the log. The truth was now plain. The animal had been caught during the recent storm, miles up the river, and wea GLIMPSES OF WILD-CATS. 25 subsequently tree, trap, and cat had floated thitherward together. Being no longer afraid that it might run away or swim off, I ventured to approach a little nearer. My curiosity now centered in the turkey-buzzard, for appar- © ently there was nothing to prevent its flying away, and, as it is a timid bird, I was indeed sorely puzzled. Going yet a little nearer, I could just make out, in the uncertain light, that a sheep was floating in the brush-wood, and was partly upheld by it. On this the buzzard had feasted, notwithstanding the proximity of the snarling cat, and now it was so gorged that it could not fly, as the bird must needs have a chance to take a little run and jump before it can mount upward. Standing on a mat of drifting brush-wood, this was impracticable, and, while free in one sense, the bird was, for the time being, as - essentially a prisoner as the trapped wild-cat. Finding that I could not direct the floating mass to the nearest dry land, in consequence of its bulk, I con- cluded to remain conveniently near and see what might happen. It soon, however, became too dark to distin- guish either cat or buzzard, and I left them fora time in statu quo. Some hours later, by bright moonlight, I paddled to the spot again, but found the currents had changed the position of the floating mass and its living freight. The raft had lodged against a tree-top and be- come firmly fixed, and the buzzard had been given a chance. At all events, the bird was missing. Not so, though, the cat. It was still on the log, but not stand- ing up. Going closely to it, I found that it was sorely wounded and both eyes were pecked out. There was no doubt but that the buzzard had realized the cat’s helplessness, and, although gorged with savory mutton, had attacked the poor creature “out of pure deviltry.” I ended the cat’s misery by shooting it. 2 L 26 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. The last wild-cat I saw (1876) was met with most un- expectedly. For weeks I had been watching the move- ments of a family of ground-squirrels, or “ hackees,” as we call them, racing to and fro along the garden-fence. I had followed them up persistently, and once I had dug out one of their subterranean homes. The family history of those ground-squirrels I had well-nigh unraveled, and was disposed to worry them no more. Late one pleasant autumn afternoon, while lying, half concealed, in a mat of long grass, watching the few ground-squirrels that were scampering about, I noticed that suddenly a great fear overcame them. They ran to and fro, with no apparent object, and kept up an incessant squeal-like bark. Turning in every direction to see the cause of this sudden commotion, I at last discovered, crouching on the trunk of a lately-hewed chestnut-tree, a fierce wild- cat, that looked as though it would kill all the squirrels by its angry glances. I have never seen at any time so thoroughly devilish a countenance on any animal as in this case. In the murderous jaws of the cat was a squir- rel. I remained perfectly still, having the animal in full view. Presently it let the captured squirrel fall, and, placing one fore-paw upon it, the cat gave a long, low growl, very unlike any sound made by the domestic eat. It was repeated at short intervals, and not being responded to, so far as I could detect, the animal again caught up the dead squirrel and bounded into the thickets. I fol- lowed cautiously but rapidly, and soon found the animal again. It was now crouching at the foot of an enormous oak, and with much snarling and low mutterings was de- vouring the squirrel. This accomplished, the cat curled itself up in a little patch of sunshine to take a nap. I cautiously withdrew ; but on my return soon after with a gun, I found the cat had left for parts unknown. CHAPTER III. WICKED WEASELS. TxHovex not generally known to farmers and poultry- raisers, there are two kinds of weasels found here, and I am disposed to believe that one is as seldom in mischief as its larger cousin is out of it. For a long time I did not recognize any difference between the many weasels that I made note of. They varied greatly in size, but not otherwise. In my field-notes, it is true, I find dis- tinctions made, under such headings as “little ” or ‘‘ short- tailed’ weasels, to distinguish certain individuals from others that were typical examples of the commoner wea- sel or ermine. It appears that this difference in size is of “specific value,” as the systematists have it, and what shall follow refers to the “little weasel,” a beautiful creature, in color brown above and white as snow be- neath, and with a little pointed tail of a uniform brown color. This little weasel is not nearly so common as the ermine. The true ermine, or large weasel, is well known every- _ where, and needs no further mention, except to say that in New Jersey it very seldom turns white; and to ques- tion the statement of Audubon that in autumn they do not remain together, and do not hunt in company. I am fully convinced that the individuals of a family, at least, frequently, if not habitually, remain together until March or April of the ensuing year, when they separate. In 28 | RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. two instances, both occurring in the month of November, several weasels were caught in traps, in the course of three successive nights, and one was found to be an adult male, another a female, while the others, being smaller, were therefore believed to be the young. I have knowledge, also, of a man being attacked by several weasels and badly bitten by them. Before he es- caped from their fury, he managed to kill two of them, and I judged these at the time to be an adult male and a young one of the summer just past. The man who passed through this novel but dangerous experience be- lieved there was “at least a dozen of them in all”; and I have no doubt but that it was a family of weasels that were then hunting or traveling in company. During the past few years I have, during winter, met with an occasional specimen of the smaller weasel, one of which was white. It fell intothe hands of a taxi- dermist, and was lost to science. It measured, before skinning, six and one half inches from the tip of the snout to the root of the tail. The tail itself measured two and one fourth inches to the tip of the last caudal ver- tebra, beyond which extended a few coarse hairs. Like all of the tribe to which this little mammal be- longs, this creature has the graceful, wavy gait, when rambling about, that is so characteristic of the common or larger weasel. If unmolested, it moves deliberately, and from side to side, as though ever on the watch for | prey. If pursued, the gait alters somewhat, the body is — less curved, and it scampers off at great speed, although not so fast that a good running dog or even a cat can not overtake it. 7 Quite diurnal in their habits — although nocturnal, too, I suppose—they not unfrequently come to our very ~ door-yards, and I have known one to be killed by the cat, WICKED WEASELS. 29 which probably mistook it for a ground-squirrel or “ chip- munk.”’? When seized, it discharged from infra-caudal glands a fluid having a faint mephitic odor, which evi- dently so far sickened pussy that she was content with simply killing the animal, and did not attempt to eat it, play with it, or carry it off. So far as I have observed, the little weasel prefers _ wooded hill-sides, with a southern outlook. This may not, of course, be applicable to the animal as found in other places. Those that I have seen were all on the one sunny, wooded hill-side, which has been my only hunting- ground. Given the woods, there must needs be an open meadow near, for it is to the latter that they go to hunt; while in the former they have their nests and find safe cover from pursuing foes. | In May, 1878, a pair of these small weasels took up their abode near my house. My first intimation of their presence was the marked diminution in the number of ground-squirrels, or chipmunks, which I had intended to carefully study. Then a young chicken, now and then, was found lying dead, with a hole inits neck. The ery of “Weasel!” was set up, but none were seen for some time. During the first week in June, as I was looking for birds’ nests, | spied one of these animals running in the path ahead of me. Like a flash it disappeared in a stump that extended into the path. I followed it up, with all pos- sible dispatch, and from the “signs” it was evident that this weasel had its home here, and was continually going and coming out of a little tortuous passage-way among the roots of the stump. I kept my own counsel, and quietly followed up my discovery with the following re- sults : : The pair proved to be quite diurnal in their habits, however they may have spent their nights, and were fre- 30 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. quently seen, at various times of day, but never together: On emerging from its semi-subterranean retreat, the ani- mal did not appear to look about, but straightway darted off into a thicket of blackberry-bushes near by, giving great leaps, as though fearful of leaving behind any scent or trace by which the nest could be found. I noticed this sudden darting from the entrance beneath the stump on several occasions, and presume it is a customary method of leaving or entering their retreats. Twice I saw the weasel return, but in neither case did it bring any food with it, unless it was some object smaller than a mouse, nor was there any trace of fur or feathers about the entrance, although I am satisfied that this same pair had destroyed the ground-squirrels that a year previously had been so very abundant. Ten days later, I concluded to dig out. the nest, if possible, in order to destroy the litter of young it was supposed to contain, and thus prevent the serious raids which I feared would be made on my poultry. The nest was scarcely two feet from the entrance on: the hill-side, but was effectually protected by the large roots of the stump, behind some of which it was situated. It was lined with dead leaves, grass, and a few feathers of (I think) the robin and the chewink, and the skin of a snake, but no sign of the weasels was there. The nest had no odor about it, that I could detect, but.my terrier evidently smelt something, for he dug about the stump, with great energy, for several days after I had completed my examinations. I discovered, soon after, that the weasels had, very shortly before I endeavored to dig them out, transferred their quarters to a rats’ burrow under a pig-sty, not far off, and had made a radical change in their habits and diet, in so far as they now fed - exclusively upon the rats in the neighborhood. There WICKED *WEASELS. ' dl was found in their new quarters a large pile of rats’ bones, and, as subsequent experience proved, these little weasels had effectually cleared the premises of that terri- ble pest. My dog, however, was constantly on the watch, and finally worried the weasels so that they again sought new quarters. In September, I found them once again, and this time they had made a new home under a large oak growing on the border of a meadow. Here they seemed to be living wholly upon erickets, frogs, and mice, particularly the pretty white-footed or smaller jumping mouse. The number of common black crickets and grasshoppers destroyed by them was enormous, and this fact went a great way toward recommending the animal as being really sometimes as beneficial as it was at others destructive. Certainly this one family of weasels did me no harm. They destroyed half a dozen young chickens, I know; but this is offset by ridding me of a plague of rats, at least for that year, and then of the grasshoppers that I have mentioned. | The care that had been exercised, in early summer, to prevent the discovery of their nest, was now abandoned. The ground in front of it, and but little less so all about the tree, was covered with the remains of the crickets and grasshoppers that swarmed in the surrounding meadows. My impression is, that the weasels were constantly on the alert for them, and seized every one that ventured upon the grass near the nest. That frogs had also largely been preyed upon was evident from the many bones that I subsequently found in and near the entrance to the nest. While mice were the game which they appeared regu- larly to hunt, one species proved not at all easy of cap- ture, unless when surprised. This was the jumping mouse, or jerboa. Quite late in the month (Septem- ber) I was intensely interested in seeing my weasels once 32 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. more, under quite different circumstances. While stand- ing on the border of a wide stretch of meadow, the grass on which had lately been mown, I saw a jumping-mouse give an enormous leap, and no sooner had it touched the ground than it leaped a second time, with even greater energy, but not in the same direction. For some reason it had turned about, and in leaping returned very nearly to the spot from which it had first jumped. Its unusual actions had roused my curiosity, and, going quickly toward it, | was surprised to see a little weasel bound nimbly, in its peculiar manner, over the grass. As it turned out, there were three of these animals, near each other, and undoubtedly associated together in the hunt. One of them had flushed the mouse, which literally came very near jumping into the jaws of a second, and had I not disturbed them, it would probably have been seized on touching the ground, after its second leap, as one of the weasels was very near the spot where it alighted. On my remaining quiet, the weasels resumed their hunt, and one, or the three in concert, flushed the mouse several times, before it reached the thicket near by, which I hope, at least, afforded it security against their tireless persecution. This incident, and my impressions from the little I have observed of the larger weasel or ermine, convince me that during autumn and winter the families remain together. If this is not true of weasels in wilder and un- cultivated regions, is it a habit lately acquired by those that live in the more thickly settled districts, being found conducive to their safety ? eo CHAPTER IV. OUR COMMON MINK. So familiar is the common mink to every one who has lived in the country, and so minutely have its habits _ been described, that nothing can be added to our knowl- edge of the animal. My field-notes are filled with brief references to it, and I find that twenty years have come and gone since first I saw a living specimen. This first experience was very memorable, and is even yet always recalled, whenever, as I float leisurely down the creek, on the lookout for fish or birds, I happen to catch a glimpse of a stray mink, as it runs along the shore in quest of fish, flesh, or fowl, as the case may be. I seem to witness the struggle all over again, and need no refer- ence to my notes to refresh my memory, though, to insure greater accuracy, I will transcribe them: “ Cold, raw day, for the second week in May (1860), but, in spite of the threatening sky, went down to Watson’s Creek to look for warblers. Saw nothing but yellow-rumped warblers (Sylvicola coronata), and only a few of them, and a single listless red-start (Setophaga ruticilla), that evidently wished itself in the sunny South again. Near the ‘big ditch,’ although I was a long way off, I saw something moving in a seemingly rough-and-tumble fashion, so I hurried on. It proved to be a good-sized ‘snapper’ (Chelydra serpentina) having a tussle with a mink. The turtle had the mink by one hind-leg, and held on like grim death, m 34 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. while the mink had its jaws buried in the snapper’s throat, and it, too, held on, although the snapper kept his head moving in and out, all the time, in such a way that the back of the mink’s head was being rubbed against the edge of the top shell, and was now all raw and _ bleed- ing. The snapper was making for the ditch, twenty yards off, but moved pretty slowly. I took hold of him by the tail, and, holding him up, put my foot on the mink and pulled hard. It was no use. Neither let go, and it was a question of the turtle’s tail or the mink’s leg. Then I tried poking the snapper with my cane, and finally he gave a snap at the stick, but was too much encumbered by the mink’s clutch of his throat to seize it. The mink, however, didn’t mean to let go, for, when I held the turtle well up from the ground, it still held on, dangling in the air, and apparently dead. A smart rap on the head, while swinging in the air, made him let go at last; but the broken leg and loss of blood had used him up, and. he lay on the ground, not dead, but dying.” This is my “note” of more than twenty years ago. It . is among the first of my field-notes, and I let it stand, as I wrote it, while rambling about Crosswicks meadows. Ever since I have admired the pluck of the mink, for — here was a case where, for a considerable time, under the most painful circumstances, with its body describing a nearly complete circle, it had firmly maintained its grip, determined to sell its life as dearly as possible. That the mink has been able to hold its own,.even in thickly-settled districts, is due to the fact that it possesses advantages which have enabled it to elude the persecu- tion to which, at times, all our mammals are subjected. Among these are an acute sense of smell, so that it can scent danger from afar, and a high rate of speed when - chased “in the open.” Like the little weasel, it can also OUR COMMON MINE. © 35 hide in a marvelously small space. In fact, everything is so favorable to it that it has learned no tricks, and re- sorts to no stratagem when it finds itself at close quarters with an enemy. It has, also, in common with the otter and the musk-rat, the advantage of being as much at home in the water as on the land; and hence it largely frequents those irreclaimable tracts of marsh and swamp that, being useless to man, are but little frequented by him. Still, the mink has suffered more than most animals from the attentions of the professional trapper. Whenever I have seen a mink, in my meadow ram- bles, I have been impressed with the fact that all animals that fear man are as much on the lookout for him, and try as sedulously to avoid him, as they do any of their natural enemies. This fear of enemies I believe to be ever uppermost in the minds of animals; and possibly the mink considers man an enemy to be shunned just as decidedly as the toad shuns the snake. If, then, animals entertain this dread of man at all times, is it at all strange that we so seldom see them when we go bungling about their haunts? We probably never take a walk in the woods that we are not watched by many creatures which we do not see; and many a squeak or whistle, which, if we heard at all, is attributed to some bird, is a signal-cry of danger made by some one animal, which, having seen us, takes this method of warning its fellows. Even the little white-footed mouse can squeak so shrilly as to be heard several yards; and the bark of the gray squirrel is a far-reaching note. The little ground-squirrel, or chip- munk, can whistle a single note of warning, that scarcely differs from the clear notes of the crested titmouse. -[ have more than once tested this in the case of the mink. Mooring my boat near where I had reason to believe these animals had their nests, and remaining per- 36 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. fectly quiet and in hiding, I have usually been rewarded by seeing the minks moving about as soon as their confi- dence was restored by the absence of all signs of life in or about the boat. They would come out of their bur- rows, or from under large roots, and dive into the water, or it might be that they carried some food from the shore to their retreat. Any act of this kind, free from the re- straint of fear, is in the case of all animals the most inter- esting and instructive, and, were our opportunities of this kind more frequent, our knowledge of animal life would soon be largely increased. Important as it is to measure their bones and count their teeth, most of the great prob- lems of biology can, after all, only be solved by careful study of animal life in its native haunts, and in an envi- ronment not essentially influenced by the presence of man. A few words as to the animals upon which the mink preys. While from its quick movements and weasel-like capability of stealing quickly along through tall grass, — without adding a tremor to a blade, the mink has everything in its favor, it limits its attacks to those birds that are not capable of serious resistance. In August, when the marsh-meadows are teeming with the sora-rail, the minks have a jolly time, and capture hundreds of them, in spite of the speed at which these birds can run, and of their moderate power of flight. In early summer minks destroy many young ducks by seizing them by the feet and drowning them, as does the musk-rat, the snap- ping-turtle, and, as claimed by some, even the big bull-frog. But when it comes to attacking the herons and bitterns, except perhaps the least bittern, it is a question whether the mink would not be at a serious disadvantage in ap- proaching them. Unless they could seize these tall birds - by the throat, which would not be easily accomplished, OUR COMMON MINK. © _ they would be certain to receive, in return for their au- dacity, a fatal stab from the beak of the bird. Over-con- fident spaniels that have been sent to retrieve disabled herons have been fatally injured, and why a like result should not occur when an uninjured bird is attacked I can not imagine. Judging from a little experience of my own with a wounded bittern, I should say the nim- bleness of the mink would not avail it very much. Besides birds and fish, minks devour a miscellaneous mass of animal matter. Much of this is carried to the entrance of their nests and eaten at leisure. In one in- stance I counted fragments of what I believe to be over three hundred cray-fish, besides bones of fishes in abun- dance, and the shells also of three painted turtles. The latter were probably dead when found by the minks. While occasional fights doubtless occur between musk-rats and minks, in consequence of their usually liv- ing close together, I never had any reason to consider them as “natural enemies,” and as being forever at war. Statements to this effect have frequently been made, but such has not been the result of my own observation. CHAPTER V. THE SKUNK. _ Ir happily we can make our observations unseen by the animal, we can not but admire the beauty of the markings and general “ make-up” of this handsome mam- mal; but, even under the most favorable circumstances, much caution is desirable on the part of the observer, for too great eagerness may result in vexing the animal, and thus destroying the balmy freshness of the sweet June woods. | Although seldom seen at present, in comparison with fifty years ago, skunks are probably less rare than they are supposed to be. In thickly-settled districts, however, they have become more wary on account of their perse- cution by dogs, and in such localities, I’believe, become strictly nocturnal in their habits. While disclaiming any particular predilection for the animal, I must admit that I like them, and when an opportunity offers to follow one up I always do so with a feeling of interest, all the greater, perhaps, from the danger that attends the investigation, though, as yet, | have never met with an accident. I am disposed to pay them a high compliment at the outset, for, from my observations of a dozen or more dur- ing the last twenty years, I credit them with being as cunning as foxes. This is at variance with the observa- - tions of naturalists generally, but here I am speaking of a a THE SKUNK. : 39 the few that linger in a thickly-settled locality. But of this hereafter. In his notes on the skunk, written in 1748, Kalm makes one statement concerning them which is of consid- erable interest, if it be not an error. I refer to their ability to climb trees. He says: “It keeps its young one in holes in the ground and in hollow trees; for it does not confine itself to the ground, but climbs up trees with the greatest agility ; it is a great enemy to birds, for it breaks their eggs and devours their young ones.” Now, Dr. Coues, recently, writing of these animals, remarks that they “neither climb trees nor swim in the water”; and again, he describes them as lacking “the scansorial ability of the martens.” I can not speak of the skunks of 1748, but I am very sure that I have never seen one climbing a tree, or even resting among its branches; but that they have a trace of “ scansorial abil- ity” I can testify, for I have several times witnessed their walking—once running—on the top rail of a worm fence, and certainly this feat requires an amount of agil- ity that would, I think, enable the animal to do a little climbing if the trunks of the trees were not perpendicu- lar. Still, I have a Skye terrier that likewise runs on the top rail of fences with perfect ease, and yet he can not climb a tree. The difference between the two animals is to be found in the fact that the skunk climbs to the top of the fence, while the terrier jumps on it. But then comes the question, How does the skunk get into hay-mows if he can not climb? Surely he never would allow himself to be pitched in with the hay, in July, and be content to remain there quietly until winter, without giving the un- lucky farmer cause to think that “somewhere near there be a pesky skoonk,” as was once said to me. But if not a good climber, or not a climber at all, the 40 | RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. skunk can dig with marvelous ease, and in an ineredibly short time it can bury itself deeply in the ground. Late in the autumn of last year (1881) I chanced to overtake one of these creatures in an open meadow. On discover- ing my approach, the animal started off on a brisk trot, heading for the nearest trees. I made no effort to over- take it, for obvious reasons, but kept the animal in sight. When it reached the edge of the meadow, where stood a clump of large trees, it immediately commenced digging with great rapidity, and in certainly less than one minute it had tunneled so far beneath the roots of one of the trees that I could not see it, although, of course, I was more cautious in my explorations than would be neces- sary with any other mammal. This ability to tunnel in loose earth stands them nd in need when they frequent thickly-settled neighborhoods, as they often make deep, temporary burrows in plowed fields, and find there a safe retreat during the day. As they can dig for themselves such an underground shelter as they need in a few moments, of course it is occupied but for a few hours. At night they are abroad in search of food, and, let them be where they may at daybreak, they can conceal themselves in a few moments so effectually that their whereabouts is not suspected. This, I believe, is the secret of their survival in the immediate vicinity of — our towns. Had they only elaborate burrows to which, week after week, they resorted, then, doubtless, they would soon be discovered and driven off or destroyed. When the ground is loose or newly plowed, the skunk also resorts to digging to escape pursuit. JI have knowl- edge of one instance in which the animal buried itself so quickly as to escape, although hard pressed. Then it did not throw out the dirt behind it as it progressed, but wormed itself through the loose earth much as a mole eee ee ee eee ae le er ee _ eee ee THE SKUNK. ; 41 does. I subsequently determined that the skunk, in this case, reached a depth of four feet and tunneled a distance of nearly twenty It then turned about, and two hours later came to the surface within a few inches of where it entered the ground. When pursued by dogs, however, they do not trust to digging alone, but they endeavor to avoid an encounter by throwing the dog off the scent, and to do this they will pass along the top rail of a fence. If this fails, then their peculiar powers are brought into play. I believe that this animal has learned the wisdom of avoiding the use of its peculiar means of defense when other avenues of escape are open, as it seems to know, possibly through “inherited experiences,” that this dis- charge, while driving off one enemy, will attract a dozen others. Certainly, it is as much annoyed by the fearful stench as the unfortunate recipient of the discharge, and it must know, if it has any trace of intelligence, that dogs from every quarter will be attracted, not by the sweet savor thereof, but by the fact that the animal that originates this “atmospheric disturbance” is somewhere in the vicinity. From a series of observations made in 1872, I am dis- posed to believe that the skunk discharges the defensive glands, when distended, in holes which it digs for the purpose and then covers over. This is a matter of pru- dence, comfort, and cleanliness to them, as it renders them less liable to be persecuted by dogs; and their nests and haunts during the early summer, when they have their offspring to look after, are much less offensive. Indeed, a nest of skunks is no more offensive to me than that of the mink or weasel. Whether the care exhibited by them in keeping their homes clean and comparatively odorless is due to their own dislike of the smell of their 49, RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. offensive discharges, or is simply a measure of precau-— tion, the fact remains that such homes are often in fre- quented spots, and the presence of the animal is not sus- pected. Remaining carefully concealed throughout the day, and using great caution in their wandering at night, they escape notice, and are thus able to rear their young in safety. While not exhibiting the aversion to water that char- acterizes our common cats, the skunk does not appear to take to swimming voluntarily, even when closely pursued. Thus, when trying to evade an enemy, if it comes to the bank of a pond or creek, it will usually turn from its course, and seek safety in some other way than by flight. Occasionally, however, in the upper valley of the Dela- ware, where these animals are much more abundant than in the southern or tide-water portion of the State, the heavy freshets of early spring will catch them napping, and then they are forced to seek safety by clinging to floating logs. In this position they take an unwilling ride often of many miles, and if luckily they escape drowning, it is only to find themselves landed in a level, scantily-wooded country, the very opposite in all respects to their original home. Here it may not be inopportune to add that — as has frequently happened, a skunk, an opossum, and several musk-rats seek safety, at the same time, from a sudden flood, and they all take refuge on the same log, there is no visible commotion or disturbance among them, though the wide berth given the skunk warrants the be- lief that all our mammals have a wholesome dread of the possible exercise of his peculiar method of defense. My impression, however, is that, when skunks are fighting among themselves, or contending with minks or Opos- - sums, as sometimes. si paras over some. hapless chicken, oz . ; : vn i EE EEE — » THE SKUNE. | 43 the use of their defensive and offensive glands is not brought into play as is the case when they are brought to bay or seized by a dog or man. Skunks, however, had this power before they were exposed to the attacks of men and dogs, and, if not used as a means of offense when among mammals smaller than themselves, it was acquired as the necessary safeguard against their dog-like enemies, the wolves and foxes. When their involuntary river-voyages are undertaken, it often happens that a short swim becomes necessary. This is always so clumsily done that, if a skunk has more than a few yards to go, it will probably be drowned. They are not equally averse, I find, to traveling on ice; and the last living skunk I saw was walking on the ice from a small wooded island in Watson’s Creek to the main shore. While inactive and prone to long naps in extreme winter weather, the skunk can hardly be consid- ered as hibernating. Skunks are very partial to snakes as an article of food. In fact, these, with frogs and birds’ eggs, seem to be their main support. Were they under all circumstances odor- less and quite harmless, their eager search for these latter articles is sufficient to condemn them. It is bad enough that the demands of science should seem to require the collection in a systematic manner of an occasional nest and complement of eggs. This can not be avoided; but to aggravate the evil by having a skunk destroy most of the ground-nests in the neighborhood is beyond all en- durance. Better, surely, a nest of thrushes or song-spar- rows than a litter of skunks. An animal that destroys birds’ nests is always a nuisance, though I do not object to any other, however wicked. But to return to the snakes. When pressed by hunger, and hunting by day- light, the skunk prefers to go after snakes rather than dt RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. frogs, or to risking itself within the precincts of the poul- try-yard. Indeed, small snakes are evidently a great dainty, and the skunk appears to be more active when he finds a garter-snake, blind-worm, or flat-head adder, than at any other time. Having discovered a snake, he rises upon his hind-feet, and, giving a bear-like apology for a dance, he endeavors to seize the snake by the tail. — If successful, he shakes the snake vigorously, as a dog would do, and seizing it, when dead or nearly so, near the middle of the body, he carries it off to his burrow, or to a hollow log, or to whatever shelter he has at the time. a large skunk and a black snake, which, I judge, measured fully five feet in length. The prowling skunk had evi- dently seized the snake by the tail, and endeavored to give it a violent shake, as it would a little garter-snake. This angered the snake, and, turning like lightning, he wrapped himself about the skunk, completely encircling both neck and body. The head was so far free that the skunk could give the snake nip after nip, though it could not get a strong enough hold to disable it. Rolling over . and over, hissing and snapping, the snake nearly con- cealed by the long hair of the skunk, the two creatures presented a strange spectacle as they struggled, the one to conquer, the other to escape. After watching them for fully five minutes, [ ventured to approach, and dealt the two a hard blow with a club, and then ran back a few paces, not knowing what might be the result. Turn- | ing about, I ventured to return part of the way to see — whether the struggle continued. All was comparatively quiet, and, coming still nearer, I found that the snake had relinquished its hold and was slowly retiring in a dis- abled condition. The skunk was lying quite motionless, ee ee In June, 1863, I witnessed a terrific combat between Sw en op ee oe 6 ee ee THE SKUNK. ae 45 and proved to be dying, though not dead. Soon after, I examined the animal carefully, and found that it hac been strangled, or nearly so. During this combat there was no discharge of the de- fensive glands of the skunk. Whether these were in- active at the time, or whether they were disabled by the snake’s attack, can not, of course, be determined. CHAPTER VL. THE OTTER. Otrrrs are now so seldom seen, even along Cross- wicks Creek, that it may be counted a piece of great good luck to meet with one in the course of a day’s ramble. I feel repaid for the exertion of a ten-mile tramp if one crosses my path, or if I catch a glimpse of one as it dives into the stream. Not much to be learned, I grant, from such a brief acquaintance; but there is, at least, the . . faction of knowing that otters are about; er then it becomes our business to find them, not for shi to ‘make an exhibition of themselves, or publish the whereabouts of their chosen haunts. Though these animals are now quite rare, it has not been many years since they were comparatively abundant. Local history informs us that they were formerly to be found in Crosswicks Creek, and in my mucky meadows even, in great numbers, we it has preserved the details of Eien wonderful hunts in which a dozen or more pelts were secured in one day. ‘My four otter-skin lap-robes and my otter-skin great-coat” are items in the will of one who lived near by, less than half a century ago. ‘There are even old trappers still living who for- merly, depended upon otter-skins as the main source of their profit in a winter’s trapping. So much for the ir- recoverable past ! My notes make mention of a sunny day in June, 1869, ts » THE OTTER. aie 47 when I happened tod wander to a wild spot some four miles away, on the muddy, sloping banks of a tideless. stream. Here I took my stand, and in the dense shadow of the overhanging trees began my observations on the owls and jays that: were, as I thought, my only companions. Soon, however, I found out my mistake, as a loud splash notified me of the presence of other company. It was an otter, and, as my approach had not been seen and I stood motionless for some minutes after hearing the splash, I was duly rewarded for my prudence and patience by see- ing the animal slowly emerge from the glassy surface of the pond, holding a large fish in his mouth. With awkward steps he crawled up the opposite bank, and in a marvelously short time he devoured the fish, or most of it. Then walking to a point beyond, but in full view, he squatted down until his belly rested on the muddy slope, and, holding his head well up, with an expression of extreme satisfaction, he slowly slid down the smooth bank and disappeared beneath the surface of the water. I waited a full hour, but he did not reappear. Since then I have but seldom seen living otters. Once I over- took a large one, that at first “showed fight.” It was in a small but dense huckleberry-swamp without water enough for a comfortable bath. To find these animals thus, away from deep ponds and running streams, is a rare occurrence. Their main food-supply is fish, and what substitute they find in swamps I can not say, un- less it be the innumerable frogs that abound in such lo- calities. I have never been able to determine positively what sounds and cries, if any, are made by this animal. Al- though my opportunities for studying their habits have been very few, I have always had this matter in mind whenever I have chanced to catch a glimpse of them. 48 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. From a single occurrence, I am disposed to believe that they have what we may call a whistle, or whistlelike scream, uttered occasionally when several of them are met together. My reasons for thinking so are founded upon an incident that happened several years ago. While bobbing for eels in Watson’s Creek, near by, one pleasant moonlight night in August, my attention was drawn to a commotion in the water, about fifty yards distant. I quickly raised the “bob,” and gave my whole attention to the splashing and dashing, which were evidently caused by some three or four animals of large size. What they were I could not positively determine; but they were evidently too large for minks, and I could hardly believe that they were musk-rats. The clear light of the harvest moon, however, enabled me to see that mammals of some kind were either fighting or playing on and about a half- sunken log, one portion of which projected a short distance above the surface of the water. At three different times, one, and, as it seemed, the largest,of these animals was alone upon the projecting portion of the log, the others at the time being nowhere visible. At each time that this unknown creature was thus alone, it uttered a pecul- lar cry or call, which may be described as commencing with a low whistle and ending with a hiss. The sound was unlike anything that I had ever heard, and, while . somewhat cat-like, would never be mistaken for the cry - of that animal. Each time the animal made this sound, it appeared to raise itself on its hind-feet and then dived, when almost immediately the other two or three appeared and mounted the log. There was not sufficient light for me to determine anything positively, but I have always believed that the animals I saw and heard were a female otter and her young. The last otter that I saw alive was in February, 187 4. THE OTTER. see 49 In the same stream where, thirteen years before, I saw the supposed otter and her young, amid cakes of floating | ice, during a freshet, I saw a very large otter come to the surface with a chub in its mouth. It seemed quite at home in the icy waters, but dived immediately when it saw me. Soon, however, it reappeared far out in the stream, and clambering on a cake of ice it drifted slowly outward “to join the brimming river.” I sought to drive it from this stand, by shouting and throwing snow-balls; but it evidently knew that I could do it no harm at that distance, and it appeared to watch me with sublime indifference as it slowly floated seaward on the trembling raft of ice. This otter was much of the time within easy range, had I had a gun or rifle; but the animal seemed to know that I was unarmed. At all events, it showed no such fear as animals usually do when a hunter is about. It may be a mere coincidence, I know, but for many years I have noticed that I invariably have better luck in seeing mammals and birds when I go into the fields un- armed than when I have my gun with me. It is cer- tainly true that crows know a gun when they see it, and may it not be that among our large mammals this knowl- edge obtains also ? Kalm does not make much mention of the otter, al- though seen by him frequently. His one brief remark concerning them refers to the ease with which they can be tamed and trained. He says: “ Beavers have been so tamed that they have gone out fishing, and brought home what they had caught to their masters. ‘This often is the case with otters, of which I have seen some which were as tame as dogs, and followed their masters wher- ever they went; if he went into a boat, the otter went with him, jumped into the water, and after a while came 8 : 50 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. np with a fish.” This, alas! is something of the past, and no recent attempts to train otters have been made in my neighborhood. ‘The nearest approach to it was an effort simply to tame a half-grown specimen, and this could scarcely be called a success, as the animal never would allow itself to be handled, but fought the dog and bit the tamer’s wife—refused food, and died in less than a week. | 1 i CHAPTER VII. THE FLYING-SQUIRREL. - Asout sunset, or even later, after nightfall, out there comes from some hidden hollow in the trees, with a joy- ous bound, our merry-hearted pet—the flying-squirrel— and, hastening to the outermost branch of his home-tree, he literally spreads his wings and sails through the air from tree to tree, on and on, through the depths of the woods. } But not alone is he when thus on his nightly travels. Another and another of his kin come from the same hol- low in the tree, and young and old traverse in like man- ner some well-known tree-top route in search of their daily food. Often they do not return until morning, un- less it is very dark, and then they soon return by the same route, chattering like school-girls as they pass with marvelous expedition from tree to tree. It must not, however, be supposed that they promptly retire for the re- mainder of the night, even when they happen to come > home early. Very far from it. Their jaunt seems only to have stretched their limbs and given them a taste for the frolic among the upper branches of the trees, and is really indescribable. It would be hard enough to give the details of these movements even if plainly seen in broad day. Such a chance, however, seldom or never occurs, and the little [ have seen of them has been by stray glimpses caught during clear moonlit nights. Unsatis- 52 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. factory as these opportunities have been, they fully con- -vineed me that the scansorial abilities of these animals are quite equal to those of the common gray squirrel, and they have also shown me that for hours these little squir- rels will clamber and jump from limb to limb of the same tree, without calling into play their flight-power. When disturbed during the day, unless hurt, they are for a considerable time as stupid as owls, probably be- cause “their large eyes, like those of the owl, can not meet the glare of the sun.” In time, however, even though the day be very bright, they seem to realize the situation, and then, if on the ground, they scamper off with an easy but not graceful gait; but if they happen to be in a tree among trees, then they use their “ wings.” Never have I seen them, on being disturbed, make any effort to conceal themselves, which they might easily do; . more readily, indeed, being smaller, than the gray squirrel, which appears always to elude pursuit by an effort to conceal itself, and only to run away when it finds that its previous effort at hiding has failed. That the flying- squirrel should not adopt a similar mode of seeking safety when pursued has ever been a mystery to me. From numerous experiments and many observations, I am satisfied that the flight-power of this squirrel ena- bles it to preserve a horizontal position of several feet —ten or twelve—before the downward glide commences ; but the membrane once expanded, is not apparently moved in any manner until the animal draws in its feet to seize hold of the branch it has reached. A movement of the membrane that gave the squirrel an additional im- pulse has been asserted of this animal, and the sugges- tion made that the first steps toward the acquirement of the flight-power of the bats had been taken. This I will ~ not deny. It is something for which I have looked for THE FLYING-SQUIRREL. 53 many years, but have never as yet seen any evidence of it. Jam glad that others have been more successful. When a flight is about to be taken, the body is drawn up until nearly globular in shape, and oS the membrane is again expanded simultaneously with the impetus given to the body by the powerful hind-legs. If “ wingless,” this squirrel would move quite similarly to the jumping- mouse (/aculus), or even the better known white-footed or deer mouse (/esperomys). In a recent publication I find it stated that these squirrels fly ‘smoothly and swiftly on an inclined air- plane for thirty, forty, even fifty yards.” This I consider an exaggeration. It is perhaps within bounds to say that this animal can sail down an “inclined air-plane” for thirty yards; but it is very rarely that they do so, and I believe this distance is never exceeded. Their ordinary flights are about five to ten yards in length; a distance that the common gray squirrel will clear at a single leap. It is highly improbable that these squirrels would tarry long in a locality where the trees were so scattered as to require longer flights. In fact, it is with flying- squirrels, as with all creatures possessing some well- marked peculiarity: the earliest accounts of the peculiar- ity are exaggerated, and the inherent love of the marvel- ous in man subsequently prevents for a long time a correct view of the matter being acquired. A word more concerning this habit of flying. I have twice met with individuals of this species that were apparently partial reversions to the ancestral non-flying squirrel. The membrane extending from the fore to the hind limbs, that acts as wings, was scarcely developed, and the fore limbs were somewhat stouter than in the normal condition. In their movements, these squirrels were more like the true Sczuride, but, being associated BA RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. with their own kind, they tried to keep up with them and “fly,” but the most that they could do was to exe- cute a very graceful dive. These two non-flying squir- rels were both adults when captured, but died in a few days after being caged. Years of familiar acquaintance with these squirrels have not enabled me to detect much in their habits in- dicative of intelligence; and it is for this principally that I look in studying animal life. I feel sorry to have so poor an account to give of these beautiful creatures, but I am compelled to say it of them—they are not “smart.” Notwithstanding all their vivacity when in their native haunts, and their eminently gregarious habits, they do not suggest by any of their movements, so far as I could ever detect, any decided indication of that sociability characteristic of the ground-squirrels or chipmunks (Za- meas). Each, on the contrary, jumps, runs, flies, solely on his own account, associated together indeed, but never acting in concert. Their several squeaky cries, too, are quite as frequent when they are alone as when associated with their fellows. Thus, they are really devoid, to me at least, of the most attractive features of animal life. Flying-squirrels do not pass into a prolonged hiber- nating sleep, with the regularity characteristic of some other mammals. They store up a goodly quantity of nuts and acorns, which are stowed away in a hollow of some large tree; and from this magazine they draw their rations pretty regularly, unless the weather should be intensely cold. Even when snow covers the ground they sometimes leave their nests, for I have often caught them, in January, in an ordinary box-trap set for rabbits. Their nests are often in one tree, while their food- ‘supply is stored in another near by. The nests are al- - ways abundantly supplied with soft materials, and some- = . A 0 te - od THE FLYING-SQUIRREL. 55 times as many as a dozen squirrels will take up their winter abode in one. When asleep, they appear like little furry balls, so arranged that the tail is made to do duty both as a pillow and coverlet; the head rests near the base of the tail, which is spread over that side of the body which happens to be uppermost. These squirrels have of late availed themselves of conveniences erected by man, which partially replace the heavy growths of timber that have so generally been cut down. They now take up their abode in the attics of houses, if they can find any means of entrance. Once established, they drive the mice away, but they are them- selves so noisy that the change seldom proves desirable. If the locality does not meet with their approbation, they not only ramble noisily wherever they can get, but quar- rel incessantly. In out-buildings, also, I have frequently found them wintering. If the nest is in hay or straw, they nibble out a circular shaft or tunnel leading to it, and carry in an abundant supply of grain, if such can be had. In this regard, they are but little, if any, less de- structive than rats or mice. To return to the woods. Flying-squirrels make very large nests of leaves high up in the tallest trees, which are in every particular the same as the leaf-nests of the common gray squirrel. Some of those that I have ex- amined appeared to be sufficiently compact to withstand the winter storms, and were warm enough to protect the squirrels during the coldest weather. In them, however, there were no stores of nuts and seeds, so either the occupants hibernated the winter through and needed no food, or they had magazines near by, to which they re- ieried during spells of mild weather. Flying-squirrels are now, in consequence of the gen- eral destruction of the heavier growths of timber, not 56 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. numerous, and it is probable that they never were as abun- dant as the other species of Scouride. Even so long ago as 1749, Kalm refers to them as “met with in the woods, but not very frequently’’; and again, that they “are so tamed by the boys that saat sit on their shoulders and follow them everywhere.” | Gabriel Thomas refers to these animals, in his quaint little history of New Jersey, as follows: “ There is also that Remarkable Creature the lying Squirrel, having a kind of Skinny Wings, almost like those of the Baté, though it hath the like Hair and Colour of the Common Squirrel, but is much less in Bodily Substance; I have — (myself) seen it fly from one Tree to another in the Woods, but how long it can maintain its Flight is not yet exactly known.” The most interesting feature connected with the fly- ing-squirrels of this neighborhood is, I think, the fact that they are slowly adapting themselves to an altered environment, as shown by their constructing nests of leaves, which probably, a century ago, they did not do; and by their willingness, so to speak, to occupy accessible nooks in the dwelling-houses to which they can gain ac- cess from tall trees growing sufficiently near to enable them to reach these artificial quarters by means of their — limited flight-power. I believe these squirrels never take journeys, however short, by simply running on the ground. Unless they can pass from tree to tree they stay at home. This pretty mammal figures, I find, in American animal weather-lore, but not to any important extent. In “Signal-Service Notes,” No. [X, the compiler of that interesting volume writes, “When the flying-squirrels sing in midwinter, it indicates an early spring.” As a ~ lover of early spring, I heartily wish this were true. Ex- ————— s ae aa fe Lo ‘THE FLYING-SQUIRBREL, - BT amining the matter more closely, it will be found that pleasant weather in midwinter, when squirrels rouse from their prolonged sleeping, is usually followed by late springs; a record of the past one hundred winters show- ing clearly that the more uniformly cold winter is, the sooner and more evenly spring commences. If, there- fore, these singing-squirrels could be relied upon, it would be as bearers of unwelcome news—that spring would be tardy in arriving. It is scarcely necessary to add that all such “sayings,” so far as based upon the habits of animals, are, as yet, valueless to the student of meteoro- logical science. CHAPTER VIII. THE CHIPMUNK. Wrrs the first sweet blossoms of the Hpigaa, and long before the foremost warbler greets his old-time home with gleesome songs, our little chipmunk has roused him- self from his long winter’s nap, and sniffing the south wind, as it whirls the dead leaves about, scampers to and fro while the sun shines, and dives into his winter quar- ters, it may be for a whole week, if the north wind whispers to the tall beech-trees. But, in due time, the blustering days of March give way to showery April, and then, with more courage, “ Chip” faces the music of the winds, let them blow as they list, and, darting along the top rail of our zigzag fences, he.chatters and scolds, and calls to his equally noisy companions. They know full | well that they have the summer before them, and, while determined to enjoy it, they begin early and in good earnest to make arrangements for its coming duties. I watched several pairs of them from March to November, in 1874, and nearly all of my observations were made at this time, as other mammals have occupied my atten- — tion since then. Until the weather became fairly settled and really spring-like in character, these little chipmunks did not often show themselves, and when they did it was only in the middle of the day. They appeared to foresee the occurrence of a cold rain some twenty-four hours in ad- Ph. el 3 4 7 >- a ap * THE CHIPMUNK. grt 59 vance and resumed their hibernating slumbers, becoming lethargic and very difficult to arouse. A pair that I dug out in March, having two days before re-entered their | winter quarters and become quite torpid, were apparently lifeless when first taken up in the hands, and it was not _ and altogether like themselves. This seemed to me the more curious, in that they can respond to a favorable change in the weather in a short time, even when the ther- mometric change is really but a few degrees. On the 3d of Maya pair of chipmunks made their appearance in the yard of my home, and took up their abode in a stone wall with a southern outlook, on the brow of a steep descent of over seventy feet. This hill- side or terrace-front is thickly wooded, and harbors scores of these creatures, as well as many other small mammals. From the fact that the subterranean homes of these ani- mals are said to be quite elaborate in structure, I deter- mined to wait until the pair in the yard had completed their excavations in and under the stone wall, and ar- ranged their nest, and then to open and expose the nest and its approaches of another pair, which was more ac- cessible, and commenced at the same time. This I did on May 29th, and without difficulty determined the gen- eral character of the nest and its two entrances. The burrow contained five young, about three days old. The two entrances were at the foot of a large beech - tree, standing about six feet from the brow of the hill. A little grass only grew about the tree, and the holes at the surface of the ground were very conspicuous. No at- tempt at concealment had been made; but this was evi- dently because there were here, at this time, but few of their many enemies. Indeed, I was inclined to believe that there were no weasels about, and these are the most until after several hours’ warming that they became lively, | | | 60 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. destructive of all their enemies. The little weasel, per- haps, is less prone to enter their nests than the ermine; and it is the former species which is the more frequent of the two in this immediate neighborhood; but if the little weasels chance to take up their abode near by, the chipmunks soon hie themselves off to “fresh fields and pastures new.” To return to the chipmunk’s nest. The right-hand entrance to the nest proper was nine feet dis- tant from the opening at the foot of the tree, but, as the passage had a somewhat tortuous course, the tunnel was really about twelve feet long. The nest proper was, as near as I could determine, about twenty inches in length, and perhaps a foot in height. It was lined with fine grass. I had hoped to find more than two passages to the nest, and extra cavities or granaries, but there were no traces of them. These supplementary burrowings, or “ store-houses,” I believe now are made quite late in the summer, and are additions to their main burrows, made when it becomes necessary for them to commence storing up their winter supply of food. One feature of this earth-nest, and of all under- ground retreats of our mammals, struck me as very curi- ous. There was no evidence of any caving of the earth that I could see, or could I detect any evidence that means had been taken to prevent such an occurrence. The soil where I exposed the nest of the chipmunks was a fine, ferruginous sand that caved in whenever I tried to construct a similar tunnel. I made such examination of the surface of the burrow as I could, and found no trace of any foreign substance that explained the mystery, for such it was and is to me. On the 23d of June six young chipmunks made their appearance about the stone wall in the yard, and to these, - with their parents, I will now confine my attention. It ? THE CHIPMUNK. © 61 puzzles me even now, when [| think of it, to imagine when this family of eight chatter-boxes took any rest or kept moderately quiet. Very frequently during that summer (very seldom since) I was astir at sunrise, and I always found that these chipmunks were already on the go, and throughout July they appeared to do little but play in a very animated sort of way. They seemed to be playing at what children know as “ tag ”’—1. e., they chased each other to and fro in a wild, madcap fashion, and tried to touch or catch one another, and sometimes to bite one another’s tails. Occasionally the tail of some laggard gets a nip, and he gives a pitiful squeal, which starts them all to chattering. The way in which they scamper along the tapering points of a paling fence is simply astonishing ; but, however mad may be their gal- loping, let a hawk swoop down, or even pass over, and in a moment every one is motionless. If on a fence, they simply squat where they are, and trust to luck to escape being seen. If on the ground, when an enemy is discovered, and not too far from their underground nests, which is not often the case, unless foraging, they will dart to these nests with incredible swiftness, and going, I think, the whole length of the passage-way to the nest proper, they turn about immediately and retrace their steps to the entrance, from which they will peer out, and, when the danger is over, cautiously reappear and recom- mence their sports. These creatures, during the sum- mer, play merely for play’s sake, and seem to have no more important object in view than amusement. Indeed, so far as I have studied animal life, this indulgence in play, just as children play, and for the same reasons, is common to all animals. I have often seen most animated movements on the part of fishes that could, I think, be only referred to this cause. Frogs, perhaps, in this re- i i, a a eee = ae 62 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. spect are the nearest to being old fogies, as I never could detect anything on their part that the most vivid imagi- nation could construe into “ having fun.” About August 15th these chipmunks, and all the others in the neighborhood, appeared to settle down to work in “real earnest.” Instead of playful, careless creatures, living from hand to mouth, they became sober and seemed very busy. Instead of keeping comparatively near home, they wandered off quite a distance for them, and filling both cheek-pouches full of corn, or later in the year, with chincapins and acorns, home they would march, looking, in the face, like children with the mumps. How much they can carry at one time, in their cheek-pouches, I know, from actual measurement, but am afraid to say, as the statement would be “hard to swallow,” and so the inquisitive reader may determine the matter to his own satisfaction. | This habit of storing up quantities of food against the coming winter was continued, in this case, and I suppose it isso generally, until the first heavy white frosts, when the chipmunks give up toa great degree their out-door life. The food thus gathered, usually nuts and corn, is, I believe, partly consumed when they go into winter quarters, and before they begin their hibernating sleep, which may not be for some time. This impression is based on the result of digging out a nest as late as the 3d of November. The last time I had seen a chip- — munk belonging to this nest was October 22d. Twelve days after, I very carefully closed the three passages that led to it, and calculating about where the nest was, I dug down until I came upon it. I found four chipmunks very cozily fixed for winter, in a roomy compartment, and all of them thoroughly wide awake. Their store of provisions was in a smaller room or store-house immedi- ure ibang elite wanna TUM -CHIPMUNE = 63 ately adjoining, and consisted wholly of chestnuts and acorns ; and the shells of such of these nuts as had been eaten were all pushed into one of the passages, so that. there might be no litter mingled with the soft materials that lined the nest. How long this underground life lasts, before hibernation really commences, it is difficult to determine ; but as the torpid state does not continue until their food-supply is again obtainable out-of-doors, the chipmunks, no doubt, store away sufficient food for their needs throughout the early spring. CHAPTER IX. WILD-MICE. I nave often felt sore because I could never find a shrew in any of my rambles. I have knocked over hun- dreds of mice, in hopes of finding one with a pointed snout and a slender tail, but all to no purpose. There are shrews in my meadows, I am confident. Indeed; others have found them; but in twenty years’ search I have never seen one. But if not a shrew, I have seen mice in abundance—mice big and fat; mice lean and small, and middle-sized mice; mice that were ill-tem- pered and would bite; others that were gentle, and took pleasure in nestling in the hollow of your hand. Some- times I would fill my pockets with them, or tie up a dozen in my handkerchief, and then, reaching home, would let them loose in a box, and sit down gravely to “ determine the species.” I would have De Kay’s tomes before me, and Coues’s and Allen’s bulky quarto on “ Ro- dentia,” and Jordan’s “ Manual,” and the mice, and I would work by the hour, and pinch their tails and squint at their teeth and twist their toes, but it mattered not, all my labor and all my specimens simmered down to one poor meadow-mouse. I have tried to twist their hair and curl their whiskers, and lengthen their ears by a sly pull with the tweezers, but it was of no avail—there was only the one species, and I could not make a second, al- though I have tried very hard and very often. a Eee » WILD-MICE. in? 65 If, however, there is but the one mouse in our mead- ows, it is not so devoid of interest as might be thought, from the fact that it elicits generally no further remark than that “ it is nothing but a meadow-mouse.” Let us see what constitutes a meadow-mouse. As a furry entity dwelling in a bunch of grass and living on the seeds thereof, he is monotony itself; but some- times, as I have found, there is a variation from this pro- saic style of keeping house, and then the despised mead- ow-mouse is a creature of decided interest. For instance, I find in my note-books, under date of May 23, 1882, that in wandering along the margin of a low or “mucky” meadow, I came across a large but thoroughly rotted log. On giving the loga kick and a push with my cane, I saw that I had disturbed a whole host of creatures of various kinds. A meadow-mouse ran into the reeds near by, a swarm of black ants covered one end of the log, while untold thousands of red ants covered the other, and finally a white-footed mouse showed itself through a knot-hole and scampered off with a squeak. Seeing this much at a preliminary glance of the rotten log, I forthwith instituted a detailed exami- nation, with the following results: Between the semi-de- tached bark and the log itself there was a neatly-made nest of long grasses occupied by the white-footed mice. There they resorted when not foraging, and had every- thing cozily arranged for future contingencies. I was very sorry that I had so rudely upset their plans, as Mrs. White-foot was evidently in an interesting condition. In the center of the decayed log, a family of meadow-mice had constructed a very elaborate home. There were three well-made tunnels leading to an interior chamber, which was of sufficient size to accommodate a dozen mice without crowding. This nest or “room” was partly 66 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. filled with fine hay and a few very small feathers. There were no young mice, however. ‘The three exits were of sufficient size to admit of the rapid passage of a mouse, say about one and a half inches in diameter. Aithough the wood was very rotten and yielded to the gentlest touch, yet the sides of these tunnels were beautifully intact and as smooth as a carefully bored hole in hard wood. - While much interested in the fact that two very distinct species of mice should occupy quarters in such close prox- imity—the two nests being less than a foot apart—I was more struck with the fact that there should be also two colonies of ants in the same log. One colony of large black ants, nearly half an inch long, had an extensive se- ries of tunnels, chambers, and anterooms built in one end of the log, and in some of the apartments were numbers of large white larve. The mice, both meadow and white-footed, were near at hand, all day and every night, and notwithstanding the tempting morsels in the shape of the larvee I have mentioned, the mice did not appear to have disturbed the ants at all. On the other hand, the legions of black ants at one end of the log might read- ily have taken possession of the nests of the mice, yet I did not see a trace of an ant in either nest. Then, at the other end of the log, six feet away, were these mi- nute red ants by millions. These might also have proved a formidable foe to the mice, yet they, too, seemed will- ing to remain within bounds, and not a sign of them was to be found in the nest of either species of mouse. Some years ago a freshet floated a few half-rotted logs into a stretch of low, swampy meadow, near my house, and in these logs colonies of meadow-mice took up their abodes. They were regularly bored and tun- neled, just as so much firm earth might have been. In = “ OO, I ATT ain * WILD-MICE. Sees 67 each was a large central chamber or nest, thus showing an adaptation to circumstances which greatly interested me. The food-supply in the meadow evidently was abun- dant, hence these mice remained; but the ground was too wet to admit of underground retreats, so these half- rotten logs had been utilized, and proved in every way adapted to their wants. I could not determine what constituted the food of these mice, but suppose it to have been, in part, seeds of the reeds and coarse grasses; and it is not improbable, when these were not obtainable, that they fed upon animal food. My attention was called to the probability of this, from the fact that at every low tide many very small fishes were left in little puddles, and as these nearly dried away before the tide returned, it was practicable for the mice to have caught these fishes. Although I have often watched for some evidence of this, I never saw a mouse go a-fishing; but then this proves nothing, for these meadow-mice are far more active by night than by day, and when I was away they could readily have caught an abundance of these fishes. Unless the weather is extremely cold, the meadow- mice do not hibernate. They simply prepare for cold snaps by making roomy subterranean chambers, and line them with fine grasses. From these they sally forth at midday, if there is any sunshine, and find plenty of food in the seeds of the rank grass-growths that surround their chosen haunts. The food that they store for winter use is inconsiderable, and probably is consumed soon after it is placed in the magazines. Of course, I am speaking only of the mice as I have observed them in the neigh- boring meadows. Of our few remaining mammals, perhaps none have suffered less from the encroachment of man than the > an 68 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. beautiful white-footed mouse. The fact that this little creature is a mouse, and you can not make anything else out of it, is certainly very much to its disadvantage. — Could we but call it by some other name, many would — feel that interest in it which it really deserves. Being a mouse it is passed by all unheeded, or else cruelly pur- sued with all the alacrity that the good housewife displays in chasing down a too daring dus musculus. White-footed mice are nocturnal in their habits, but, like all the night-loving mammals, they are frequently astir during the day, and do not seem to be greatly in- convenienced by the glare of the midday sun. In my neighborhood these mice are very abundant, and I have taken especial care to watch for them, and study their ways whenever I could, but in spite of all my efforts I never could detect any peculiarly interesting feature in their habits, or catch a glimpse of something I had not anticipated. Our knowledge of the habits of most of our mammals is still incomplete. Something novel may at any time be expected; but, lively and musi- | cal as is the white-footed mouse, it differs but little from the prosiest mouse in your cupboard, so far as its habits are concerned. Nevertheless, their manner is attractive, and reminds one of a flying-squirrel, perhaps, more than anything nearer akin to it. When the nest is built in a tangled — thicket of briers, as is sometimes the case, or the animal has chanced to occupy an old bird’s nest, little white-foot clambers about these briers with astonishing ease. How it escapes the thorns, I can not imagine. Having found a nest, an excellent method of making them display their scansorial ability is to quietly place a dead snake near by, and then give the mice a shaking up. The moment - they spy that snake, they leave for parts unknown with hom, ? eg) eek a 69 such alacrity that even the direction they take can not always be satisfactorily ascertained. Leaving the dead snake, however, does not prevent their return, for soon they will come creeping cautiously along the briers, as slowly as possible, and evidently reconnoitring. If they are satisfied that the snake is motionless, they will creep very near, thus braving a great deal, especially if their nest contains young. Perhaps half an hour may pass, but they gradually determine that the snake is dead, and then they slip cautiously back to their nest. If the snake is left, their fear wholly vanishes by the next day; and the chances are, if you revisit the nest, you will see them dining off the reptile. In autumn, white-footed mice store up nearly as great a bulk of nuts and grain as the chipmunk, and build cozy nests near these magazines. Usually there is an under- ground passage connecting the two, unless the nest is under a log or stump. During winter these mice take very protracted naps; but they are supposed not to hiber- nate. Now the distinction between sleeping, often over a period of four weeks, without once awaking, and true hibernation, is one that I fail to comprehend. Notwith- standing the very extensive magazines filled with choice food, gathered by these mice, they do not make any marked inroad upon them during the winter, and s0, if much of the time awake, they must have but very poor appetites. Time and again I have opened their granaries in February and March, and found them nearly or quite undisturbed. Perhaps they had other stores of food, which had been opened during the winter, but I think not; and I know very well that these mice are nearly twice as heavy in May as in March, when “they are poor as snakes.” If the weather be warm, about April 1st they are fully 50 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. themselves again, and ready to commence their round of summer life with all the responsibilities that “house- keeping” entails; and then it is, after a long season of comparative fasting, when the supply is scarcest, that they have need of food, and, in order to recruit their energies, [ have found that this mouse has decided car- nivorous habits. While by no means as bloody as a weasel, or fierce as a brown rat, it nevertheless does not hesitate to attack a weaker brother, and it is really a skillful hunter of birds’ nests, the contents of which, whether eggs or young, it feasts upon with great relish. Several times I have known them to rob the nests of robins, song-sparrows, and the chewink or swamp-robin. In one instance, a brood of young robins, nearly old enough to leave the nest, were attacked by a pair of these mice, during the brief absence of the parent birds, and two of them were killed. Carefully keeping watch, I found that as soon as the old birds retired from the nest, to answer the calls of two of the young birds which were on the ground, the mice stole back to the nest and began eating the young birds they had killed. As soon as dis- covered by the parent birds, they were forced to beat a retreat, but they invariably returned when the oppor- tunity offered, until the dead birds were nearly devoured. Another and much rarer species of mouse, the pretty kangaroo or jumping-mouse, merits our attention; and I only regret my opportunities for observing it have been so few and unsatisfactory. This little mammal—not a true mouse, by-the-way—is not unlike the preceding in its habits, though he is easily distinguished by the won- derful leaps he takes when pursued. From the few ob- servations I have been able to make, this jactatorial locomotion is not its ordinary method of traveling. A\l- though its forelimbs are so short, it scrambles over the Saris j arr OE em “ $ WILD-MICE. Gio ral ground with as much ease and rapidity as other mice. If pursued, however, and extra speed is required, then its whole manner is changed, and it seems quite like an- other animal. It takes enormous leaps, one after another, with great rapidity, and, when the conditions are favor- able, it distances most of its pursuers. temarkable as are the leaps made by this mouse, I have never seen them clear “five or six feet at every spring,” as described by Godman. Without the means of determining this point, I should judge that one half that distance was more nearly correct. Here, perhaps, it is legitimate to ask the question, Has their jumping power at all decreased? It is not unreasonable to suppose that such should be the case, if the habit of jumping arose from the necessity of eluding certain enemies which do not now exist in as great numbers as formerly. Certainly, at present, in this neighborhood, these mice have no more enemies than the white-footed or the meadow mice, nor are they ap- parently any more secure from the attacks of these ene- mies, because they can jump a little faster than the others can run. Godman remarks of this animal: “ At the commence- ment of cool weather, or about the time the frost sets in, the jumping-mice go into their winter-quarters, where they remain in a torpid state until the last of May or 1st of June. They are dug up sometimes during winter from a depth of twenty inches, being curiously disposed in a ball of clay about an inch thick, and so completely coiled into a globular form as to conceal the figure of the animal entirely.” My own observations have not been in accordance with the above, so far as the “ball of clay” is concerned. Such as I have found had well-built nests of fine grass and bits of hornets’ nests, placed in a 72 RA MBLES ABOUT HOME. ie roomy underground chamber, sided sO situated as to be exposed to excessive dampness. Tan Its hibernation is certainly much more profound an. that of the white-footed mouse, which voluntarily rous Did from its winter slumbers; furthermore, the jumping- mouse does not hoard grain, as does the latter. CHAPTER X. MUSK-RATS AND SQUIRRELS AS WEATHER-PROPHETS. Tae musk-rat is too well known to require any par- ticular account of its daily habits; although there is al- ways something to be learned about any and all animals. Haying successfully withstood the encroachments of man, and indeed having often been benefited by its abil- ity to utilize the constructions of man, such as the banks of canals and ditches, the musk-rat is now about as abun- dant as ever, and thrives in spite of constant persecution, not alone in retired situations, but often within the very limits of our cities. As to their numbers now, when compared with a century ago, there is probably some slight decrease, but itis not much. Kalm (1749) says, “ The Swedes asserted that they could never observe a diminution in their num- ber, but believed that they were as numerous at present as formerly.” They were hunted then quite as persist- ently as at present; and possibly even more so, as their fur was more in demand. But well and accurately known as the musk-rat is to many, there is still a very prevalent misconception in the minds of people generally with reference to certain of its habits, and particularly to those referring to its winter life. In calling attention, then, to its winter haunts and habits, there will occur a fitting opportunity of correcting certain distorted facts and curious fancies, not only about this 4 Pe a eae = a ae 3 ~——— get - - - o, r VRE ys - TS telnet me « » : aoe s%* c - eee ~ , - ‘ ee re = batt ° ne ee np eee eh ei pee - — n Se ee ae ee a ee aay y= a er ee ee eS pt a as i a Se eee a - es < ie, om! - ; : == ake 4 RAMBLES ABO UT HOME. animal, but also in relation to the great i of our pniadls: Besides the extensive burrows in which, during thie greater part of the year, the musk-rats jae they often erect, in autumn, quite elaborate structures, in swampy ground, or occasionally in shallow and quiet waters, when they can find safe anchorage, as for instance to a stump. These winter-houses, as they are usually called, are coni- cal in shape, and generally about three feet in diameter, at_ the base, and two or three feet in height. The mate- rials used in their construction are long, coarse grass, bul- rushes, twigs, and some of the larger limbs of shrubs. I have never discovered any evidence that, beaver-like, they gnaw off saplings of water-birch for the purpose of using them in house-building, but that they do so, at times, has been asserted by many. The materials gath- ered are closely cemented with stiff, clayey mud, which the musk-rats procure from the beds of streams, often - burrowing beneath the sandy superstratum to secure it of the proper consistency. When sun-dried, these struct- ures. are very strong and will bear the weight of a full- grown man. The walls are generally about six inches in thickness, and are very difficult to pull to pieces. The interior consists of a single circular chamber, with a floor that is ingeniously supported on coarse sticks driven into the mud, after the manner of piles, and among them are laid horizontally many others, thus making. a strong but open foundation, upon which are placed small twigs, stiff mud, and over all a layer of soft grasses. This interior is shuviedad after the dome is completed. In the center of the floor is an opening, leading by several, often six or eight, diverging paths, below the water-level, and extending to the nearest higher or comparatively drier ground. Through these the musk-rats make their escape, — * MUSK-RATS AND SQUIRRELS. 7453 if the home be disturbed; and it is only by first discover- ing these paths and blocking them, or by closing the one exit at the base of the house from which the paths start, that it becomes possible to secure all the occupants of one of these winter nests or homes. While the exterior of these structures is quite irregular and apparently rudely or carelessly put together, it is evident that this exterior is designedly arranged in this manner to make the home appear like a stranded bunch of trash, transported thither during some sudden rise and overflow of the stream, or some filling up of the swamp, as the case may be. The interior, however, of these structures is usually neatly furnished and smoothed, and with its lining of soft ma- terials, the entire structure bears no little resemblance to an enormous bird’s nest turned upside down. Even more than in the case of birds’ nests, however, — there is a great deal of variation among these structures, and the above description of a typical nest is taken from my notes of two such structures which were carefully ex- amined in the winter of 1880-’81. I have in this descrip- tion made use-of the best features of the two nests or homes, and given a fair idea of what the structure is, when every condition is such as the musk-rat desires. Like birds, however, they have usually some objectionable fea- ture to contend with, and hence they never erect pre- cisely such a home as they are capable of constructing. Now these nests are not built every year, by any means. In the same locality, near my home, where a colony of musk-rats have good quarters and a comparatively easy time, these animals one year content themselves simply with their burrows in the higher ground that bounds the _ wet or “mucky” meadow ; and the next year they erect one or more of these dome-shaped houses. I had long no- ticed this irregularity, and having mentioned it at various a ; sot aoe, erat ~ 7 = a 2 sarc Se fe j a "6 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. times to trappers and the “old folks” of the neighborhood, was in every instance assured that, when no such houses were built in the fall, the winter would be very “ open” or mild, and wee versa. In other words, the power of fore- telling the character of the coming winter was ascribed to the musk-rat by these trappers and old folks generally, who are popularly supposed to have gained much accu- rate knowledge from long observation. ‘“ Nature,” indeed, “is an admirable school-mistress,” but careless scholars do not do her justice. I was the more surprised at this, too, because I have found that these same people can generally give us more accurate details of the habits of our animals than are found in the books. Having my doubts as to the truth of this, as well as other “common impressions,’ I have for many years tested the matter, and noted down in what years houses were built in the same localities, and when none were erected. The result was about as I expected. In the majority of instances it proved to be precisely the reverse of what I had been told. As an example of this, take the two winters, 187980 and 188081. The former was very mild and spring-like, and numerous large houses were built; during the succeeding autumn, in the same locality, none were erected; and the character of the winter was precisely the opposite of the preceding one. Now, the musk-rats were here all winter, just the same, but they lived in their subterranean homes. The records of the past twenty years, in fact, clearly show that the “common impression” should be reversed, if it be true that there is a ghost of a connection between the custom of erecting these conical houses in autumn and the char- acter of the coming winter. Why these winter-dwellings are not always erected, is not easy to determine ; nor do plausible explanations sug- bd MUSK-RATS AND SQUIRRELS. a7 gest themselves. That it is in some way connected with their food-supply in winter is probable, and there may be some connection between the habits and the general condition of the springs and the abundance of surface water. I have thought that when the springs were “up” and the swamps full, in autumn, these houses were more likely to be built, and vice versa; but I have noticed several exceptions, and do not feel assured that I am right in my surmise. At all events, there is no reasonable ground whatever upon which to base the assumption that musk-rats can foretell meteorological changes, beyond such as may occur within twenty-four or thirty-six hours. Far be it from me to deprive any of our mammals of all due credit! On the contrary, my whole sympathy is with that view of their origin and of man’s that gives the same powers, but in different degrees, to them and myself ; but there is as yet nothing discovered in the life of a musk-rat that even vaguely hints at the possibility of a prophetic | power beyond the capabilities of any ordinary weather-. witch. | Let us now consider, in this connection, the habit of many mammals of storing away quantities of food for winter use. As the musk-rat does not hibernate, and is not affected in its movements by the severity of winter weather, it requires no such magazines of supplies, and consequently has none. The winter-houses it erects have a bearing, I doubt not, upon the food-supply, which is probably more accessible from these structures than from their ordinary burrows. On the other hand, many mam- mals have but one class of retreat, summer and winter, and these gather in autumn, for winter use, enormous quantities of nuts and seeds, which are their sole depend- ence. Now, the same question arises here as in the case of the musk-rat: Have these “harvesting” animals any "8 ~ PAMBLES ABOUT HOME. means or power of foretelling the character of a coming winter; and do they differ in the habit of storing up food, to an extent commensurate with the great varia- bility of the winters? Jor if a winter is steadily cold and prolonged, as was that of 1850-’81, the time passed in slumber will be equally extended, and a much less quan- tity of food will be consumed. If, however, the weather is as mild as the winter of 1879-80, then these animals will be quite active much of the time, and of course con- sume a larger amount of food. ‘This was the case in the winter last mentioned with both the gray squirrels and. the chipmunks, and I venture to state that there was no more food stored the preceding autumn than in the fall of 1880, when winter set in about November 25th. It is also probable that no food whatever was consumed during the three winter months that followed, yet [ am assured that the amount of food stored by these animals does vary, and that when much is stored, the winter will be severe, and vice versa. This shows not only great ignorance of the habits of common animals, but the illogical position of those that so confidently make the assertion is evident from the fact that if the weather is mild and the animals: awake, then the greater supply of food is, of course, re- quired ; for it must be remembered that the amount of foraging in mild weather is so little that it does not be- come an important factor in this question. The habit, per se, of storing food for winter use is beyond dispute, and it now behooves us to consider the variability of this practice and to seek the explanation of the fact that more food is stored some winters than others. It can scarcely be ascertained when and how the habit. of storing food for winter use was acquired. Doubtless it dates back as far as the glacial period, but this does not concern us. What of the habit as it exists to-day? “4 om oo bd ' MUSK-RATS AND SQUIRRELS. - x9 First, let us glance at the subject of our climate as it is, and as it was some two centuries ago. Kalm says that, “desirous of hearing from the old Swedes, who have lived longest in this country, and have been inhabitants of this place” (Raccoon, in Swedesboro, Southern New Jersey) “ during the whole time of the change mentioned, whether the present state of the weather was in some particulars remarkably different from that which they felt in their younger years, the following is an account which they all unanimously gave me in answer to this question : “The winter came sooner formerly than it does now (1749). Mr. Isaac Norris,a wealthy merchant, . . . con- firmed this by a particular account. His father, one of the first Hnglish merchants in this. country, observed that in his younger years (about 1690), the river Delaware was commonly covered with ice about the middle of WVo- vember, old style, so that the merchants were obliged to bring down their ships in great. haste, before that time, for fear of their being obliged to lie by all winter. On the contrary, this river seldom freezes over at present be- fore the middle of December, old style. 3 “Tt snowed much more in winter, formerly, than it now does (1749); but the weather in general was likewise more constant and uniform, and when the cold set in it~ continued to the end of Lebruary or till March, old style, when it commonly began to grow warm. At present it is warm, even the very next day after a severe cold, and sometimes the weather changes several times a day. | “ Most of the old people here were of opinion that spring came much later at present than formerly, and that it was now much colder in the latter end of February, and the whole month of March, than when they were young. Formerly the fields were as green and the air as 80 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. warm toward the end of iis a as it is now in March, or in the beginning of April.” It can scarcely be said that any change has taken place during the one hundred and thirty years since the above was written, except that the snow-fall has much decreased. This has not arisen from a warmer temperature, and a consequent change to rain-fall instead of snow, but is an absolute decrease in precipitation. ‘There is certainly con- siderable evidence to show that this corner of the world is slowly drying up, even if the globe, as a whole, is not. Let us now turn to what the same writer says of the gray squirrels. He writes: “The squirrels gather great stores for winter, which they lay up in holes dug by them for that purpose; they likewise carry a great quantity of them into their nests. ‘¢ As soon as winter comes, the snow and cold confine them to their holes for several days, especially when the weather is very rough. During this time they consume the little store which they have brought to their nests ; as soon, therefore, as the weather grows milder, they creep out, and dig out part of the store which they have laid up in the ground; of this they eat some on the spot and carry the rest into their nests on the trees. We fre- quently observed that in winter, at the eve of a great frost, when there had been some temperate weather, the _ squirrels, a day or two before the frost, ran about the woods in greater numbers than common, partly in order to eat their fill, and partly to store their nests with a new provision for the ensuing great cold, during which they did not venture to come out, but lay snug in their nests ;__ therefore, seeing them run in the woods in greater num- bers than ordinary, was a safe prognostic of an ensuing cold.” - Here we have plainly attributed to the gray squirrel a . es . : ane oe ki lie a MUSK-RATS AND SQUIRRELS. 81 weather-foretelling power, which certainly is not exhib- ited by these animals at present; and, more strangely, Kalm does not suppose them ever to become torpid in winter, which they now unquestionably do. Finally, the underground storehouses of gray squirrels are but seldom made in this neighborhood, though enormous quantities of nuts are stored in the tree in which their nest is, or in’ one very nearit. This, at least, is the rule within the range of my own observations. In the extracts from Kalm’s volumes, we have intimations, at least, of a slight change in the habit of storing food, and apparently a great change in the fact that these animals now hibernate to a variable extent, though formerly they do not appear ever to have become torpid.. If this be true of squirrels one hundred and more years ago, why should the habit of hibernating have been acquired, when the climate was gradually be- coming more mild, as it surely is? Has hibernation taken the place of storing food? Has less food, of late years, | been stored, and forced semi-starvation brought about the hibernating habit? From my own observations, made during the past twenty years, I do not find that the bulk of nuts, seeds, and corn stored by harvesting animals varies to any important extent—certainly not, so far as gray squirrels and chipmunks are concerned. I found just as many storehouses of the chipmunks in the open winter of 1879-80 as in the “ Arctic” one of 1880-81; and yet the amount consumed the former year was prob- ably one half of that gathered; while in the latter the amount consumed was almost nothing. At the time of this writing (April, 1881), the magazines of the gray squirrels are well stored, simply because these supposed non-hibernating animals did not eat a nut apiece from early in December until late in February. If ever there were two consecutive winters which tested the question of . - RAMBLES ABOUT HOME the variation in the amount of food gathered, and its bear- ing upon the coming season, it was the two winters I have mentioned; and I could find no evidence, in anything that the squirrels actually did, that had any bearing what- ever on the character of the season, or hinted at the pos- session of a power to foretell the weather. Certainly the experience of these two winters contradicted the general impression as to any essential variation in the “ harvest- ing customs” of these animals, in accordance with the “openness” or severity of the season. We are now brought to the consideration of another phase of this subject, which is of much interest. It is well known that the yield of nuts of all kinds varies to a considerable extent, and we can readily imagine a case where, there being an abundance of gray squirrels and a “short crop” of nuts, the supply stored away for winter was less than usual; or if, from any untoward accident, a family of squirrels were deprived of a large portion of the supply they had gathered—what, under these circum- stances, will be the result? Of course, if the weather is very mild, the squirrels will resist the tendency to keep “in-doors,” and will sally forth in search of stray acorns; or if, the ground’ being covered with snow, these are in- accessible, they will feed on leaf-buds of the trees; but if the weather is too severe for out-of-door work, then can they voluntarily pass into a lethargic state, and thus eke out their small store? I am disposed, both from ob- servation and experiments, to believe that they can. Un- like some mammals, these gray squirrels can withstand a great degree of cold, and their sleep, when deprived of food in cold weather, is to all appearances true hiberna- tion, and often extends over a period of three weeks. Rousing from their nap, they will eat greedily if food is accessible ; but if not, the sleep will be resumed. This, > MUSK-RATS AND SQUIRRELS. 83 in winter; but in summer the same sitive ess Retvitably in starvation. This evidence of optional hibernation is, I consider, ‘far “more wonderful than any power to foretell the character _ of a coming season, which, in the case of the musk-rat, or of the squirrel—judging the one by the houses it erects, and the other by the food it stores away—is a faculty that I do not believe they possess. CHAPTER XI. DOES THE OPOSSUM PLAY ‘“’possum” ? Amone the few mammals that have successfully with- stood the encroachments of man upon their haunts, no one is more interesting to me, in its habits generally, than the well-known opossum. The earliest notice I find of these animals is by Gabriel Thomas, who, in his sketch of Pennsylvania and West New Jersey, published in 1698, refers to “that strange Creature, the Possum, she having a Belly to swallow her Young ones, by which means she preserveth them from danger, when anything comes to disturb them.” On the other hand, Kalm appears to have overlooked them, making no further reference to the animal than to remark that “the opossum, like the otter, can be tamed so as to follow people like a dog ”—a state- ment that scarcely holds good of the opossums about here to-day ! These animals, it has always appeared to me, are de- void of cunning, even in choosing their nesting and rest- ing places, and it has always been a mystery to me how they have managed for so many years to escape extermi- nation. Yet, stupid as they unquestionably are, they are still abundant, even in the immediate vicinity of large towns. Being of a low type of mammals, and characteristic of an early geological epoch, are we to infer that their want of cunning arises from this fact? If so, it seems strange _ that, through the inherited experiences of an immensely ? DOES THE OPOSSUM PLAY “’POSSUM”? 85 extended ancestry, they have not acquired some small degree of intelligence; but this they do not appear te have done. They pass their days in a happy-go-lucky manner, and, if they reach old age, it is through good luck more than good management. The habits of the opossum may be thus summed up: Choosing a hollow tree, one in which a whole family can live, or a hole in a hill-side, which they do not alter and seldom dig for themselves, they sleep much of their - time; and when they occasionally wander about for food it is generally at night, especially if it be moonlight, though sometimes they go in broad daylight. They ap- pear to have no marked predilection for any. one kind of food, and exercise no ingenuity in procuring it, being as apt to seize a chicken if it comes in the way, during the day, as to stealthily attack a hen-roost after sundown. One peculiarity, indeed, I have twice witnessed. This was the tearing apart of a very soft, decayed log, and the capture of a nest of large black ants. Ina bungling way they imitated the ant-eaters, and licked up with the tongue the ants and their larve, but. they seemed to swallow more rotten wood than insects. If so, the wood, I im- agine, would make a very unpalatable if not an indigest- ible meal. , Unlike our other mammals, the opossums have no spe- cial fear of man, and make no effort to avoid him. Dur- ing autumn, especially, they wander about by day in the most unconcerned manner. Jrequently I have met them in narrow wood-paths, with a safe cover on either side, but, instead of beating a retreat, they have stopped to see if I would get out of their way. Of dogs they have some fear, however, and will shuffle off if they see or hear one; but even then they frequently only climb a short distance up a tree, and remain in full view. ‘ - oe a ei ae a ee Ta ER eC A A hl TC A EGG CE ~— a; i SHE a ae at is at 4 -—— ———---e = Se = eS 86 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. - Unlike every other mammal in New J ersey, the opos- sum appears to be nearly or quite voiceless. I do not say that they have no squeak or louder cries, but time and again I have endeavored to force them to utter some sound, but always in vain. Even in early spring, when several males were together and disputing, by actions, over the unconcerned females near by, they appeared to be quite dumb. Many times my opportunities have been most favorable for detecting any sound that they might make, but I have heard nothing. When captured there may sometimes be noticed a faint hissing sound, but I do not think it is voluntarily produced. Reference has already been made to the peculiarity in the anatomical structure of this animal which dis- tinguishes it from all other North American mammals. Earnest as have been the efforts of many observers to learn the details of the breeding-habits of the opossum, there yet remain some points of interest to be deter- mined. | In a communication to the Essex Institute of Salem, Massachusetts (Vol. III, p. 288), Mr. Shute gives the fol- lowing as his own observations, made at Beaufort, North Carolina : ) “The date of the birth was March 16, 1863. Dur- ing the delivery of the young the parent lay on the right side, with the body curved in such a manner as to bring the sexual organs opposite that of the pouch; the mouth of the pouch was open and drawn down by contraction of the muscles so as to receive the young when delivered. The young were seven in number. The time occupied in delivery was about four hours. The parent remained in the same position about thirty-six hours, and refused all sustenance. , “Immediately after the transfer of the young to the a oe de > DOES THE OPOSSUM PLAY *’POSSUM”? 87 pouch, I removed one, by detaching it from the teat, in order to ascertain if the movement of the foetus was in- stinctive. I found that it was at least partly voluntary, as it made an effort to regain its place in the pouch, and the same movement was made by the parent, as at first, to receive it. I did not notice any use of the limbs or lips of the parent during the transfer of the young.” A few words in conclusion, concerning the supposed peculiarity of the opossum in feigning death when cap- tured. As the result of the systematic and rational study of animals has been to realize that animal and vegetable life is but an uninterrupted series of forms, from the lowest to the highest and most complex organisms, there has been a tendency to see, in the phenomena exhibited by lower organisms, merely a modified condition of that which man, the highest organism, habitually exhibits un- der like circumstances. While admitting that man has no power, or gift, so called, not directly derived from the lower forms of animal life, may it not be that, in observ- ing the habits of such lower forms as come under our notice, we are sometimes misled by making personal comparisons? and what a man might do, or probably or undoubtedly would do, under given circumstances, is not what the observed lower form of animal zs doing, in spite of appearances to the contrary. I have been led to this conclusion by the patient and cautious study of the habits of the opossum as it is now found in the immediate vicinity of thickly-settled districts, where but little cover is afforded, and where its limited ingenuity is wholly re- quired to make good use of that which remains. While the habits of all the mammals still found in settled and cultivated districts, unless it be the mice and moles, are doubtless more or less modified by the extra 88 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. exertion required of them in contending against the almost constant presence of their two greatest enemies, man and the dog, thus increasing their ingenuity, it can never be determined how far the raccoons, otters, and minks ef to-day are in advance, either in intelligence or cunning, of those of some few ceaturies ago. I presume that the struggle for existence being more desperate, they are more cunning—we know they are more wary—and that they have had transmitted to them the experience of hundreds of generations. ‘This is readily seen in the case of many birds, notably the common crow, and why not, therefore, with a higher organism? In the case of the stupid opossum, this question is scarcely applicable, as that animal is a link connecting the present with the past, and _ therefore not to be judged under the laws governing the present. Jurther, the low intelligence of the opossum seems rather to favor the view I shall express concerning the peculiar habit that has rendered the animal quite famous. Whenever the opossum is captured, it is popularly supposed to feign death, or to “play ’possum,” as it is usually called. Now, does this really occur? Does the opossum ever deliberately make the effort to deceive its captors by assuming such a position, and suppressing its breath to such an extent as to appear dead? If suchbe | the case, it is well to look beyond the mere fact of thus feigning death, and see what such an act, if voluntary, really indicates : 1. The object being to render itself useless or unat- tractive to its captors, the opossum must be credited with supposing that, if it can appear to be dead, it will be use- less to its captors. Now, what is there in opossum-life | that could give rise to such an impression? Could the experience of past generations, exposed as they were to ? DOES THE OPOSSUM PLAY “’POSSUM”? 89 the enemies characteristic of the different environment of that time, do so? Here it may be added that the results of this supposed feigning are never such as to warrant the animal in so doing. 2. The assertion that the opossum feigns death neces- sarily assumes that the animal in question realizes what death is. While it may be admitted that, being a semi- carnivorous mammal, it must know what the death of its prey means, does any animal realize that that is its own inevitable fate? When badly wounded, or worn out with age, an animal “crawls away to die,” but is it not as probable that, in seeking a retired spot, it does so with hopes of recovery, rather than with a feeling of res- ignation at its approaching dissolution? I must confess, however, that the well-known fact that scorpions can be induced to commit suicide, appears to effectually set aside my belief; unless, indeed, this act on the part of scorpions may have some other than a suicidal explanation. Still, I am disposed to believe that the pleasant knowledge of approaching death and its certainty is confined to man. If so, then in fancying that we see death feigned on the part of the opossum, we ascribe to it a process of reason- ing which is fallacious, and would, if persisted in, have resulted in the extermination of the species; while as a fact we find that it has, on the contrary, been able to withstand the encroachments of farming operations, and the destruction of timber about its haunts, which have driven off some of the smaller and all of the larger mam- mals. If this is the habit of the opossum, it must neces- sarily have originated long prior to the advent of man upon the earth, and been acquired as a safeguard against the attacks of enemies not now existing, which would not molest it if they supposed it to be dead. At present, this supposed habit is not a protection against the attacks 90 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME, — of dogs, its only enemy here except man, and yet after an ineffectual resistance the same act is gone through with when attacked by dogs as when captured by man. It isa habit that militates against its safety, and could never have been acquired in its present environment. Speed, if exercised, would in many cases insure safety, and the opossum can run when it chooses to make the effort. That the supposed habit of feigning death was acquired as a safeguard against pursuit by man solely, is absurd, inasmuch as in this case it does not conduce to the safety of the animal; and to assert that any habit was acquired solely as a means of guarding against the persecutions of man, is to ascribe a very high grade of intelligence to the most stupid living mammal. Whatever the origin of © the habit, if such it is, it can not be logically regarded as voluntary. The brain of the opossum is too primitive to have evolved this degree of cunning, forethought, and contrivance. | In order to test this supposed habit, I have sought out their hiding-places, in numberless instances, and endeav- ored to make them “show off” in this manner. In one case, a large male opossum was captured in an ordinary: box-trap, set for rabbits. On lifting the lid of the trap, the animal was found to be curled up into a form as nearly globular as it was possible to assume. Being disturbed, it slowly raised its head, opened its mouth wide, but did not offer to bite, and in this posi- tion it quietly awaited coming events. After some five minutes of mutual staring, the opossum closed its mouth and slowly restored its head to a more easy position, and even closed one eye, as though the other was all that was necessary to note what might occur. On be-— ing roughly handled and given several pushes with a stick, it again opened wide its mouth and protested — DOES THE OPUSSUM PLAY * ‘POSSUM? 91 against disturbance by a low, hissing sound, but did not uncoil its body. If the animal, at this time, realized that it was a pris- oner, it certainly did not fear death, for it made no effort to escape, which the fear of death would cause it to do, since it was in no way disabled. After waiting an hour, and seeing no sign of feigning unconsciousness, but, instead of it, a most provoking indifference, I walked off some distance to a point where I could see the trap, but was myself hidden from the opossum. Fully ten minutes elapsed before I saw any movement on the part of the animal, and then it was a very gradual uncoiling of the body, a protracted yawn, a stretching of the limbs, and then standing up, he looked about and very deliberately walked off. I ran toward him, when he quickened his pace, but was soon overtaken. On seizing him by the tail, he crouched down, partially coiled his body, and spread his jaws to the utmost. When I threatened vio- lent blows about his head (although careful not to strike him), the animal’s head slowly sank down, and the eyes closed, but this was not a feigned act. The breathing was affected but not suppressed, the surface temperature of the body was lowered, I judged, and it was, as I believe, a faint, and not a feint ; a temporary paralysis of the whole body through fear, and for the time being absolute un- consciousness. Furthermore, as in fainting, the applica- tion of cold water had the effect of restoring the animal to consciousness. I have made scores of experiments of this kind, in some instances actually striking them, when the fainting through fear was more sudden; and in no experiment have I seen anything to suggest intentional feigning of death. The late Dr. Lincecum, in a sketch of the habits of the opossum, as observed by him in the Southern States 99 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. (“ American Naturalist,’ Vol. VI, p. 555), speaks of their being attacked by turkey-buzzards, and “going into spasms,” during which the buzzards pick out their eyes and otherwise wound them. This being the ordinary re- sult of a “make-believe,” would even as foolish a creature as the opossum long continue it? Again, Dr. Lincecum | speaks of “kicking over” an opossum, which “immedi- — ately went into a spasm.”’ This is a very different matter from feigning unconsciousness. 7 -As to the position usually assumed when the opossum is supposed to be feigning death, it is that which the ani- mal assumes when sleeping; and, further, is the one best calculated to prevent injury from blows, as the head and | - breast are partly protected. As this animal is superlatively lazy and positively | timid, and by no means intelligent, when compared with | the mink or raccoon, I believe this supposed habit of | feigning death is attributable to fear and not cunning; if a and certainly it is a merciful provision that thus destroys, | without pain, all sensation in animals about to be torn to pieces. wy i. eas 5 y tye = a a ’ gen — Rie ems mine yoga Ce ee gs apa manent che Orr Sess ae - = Pg By ~~... ee i a = a x ore ' CHAPTER XII. OUR BIRDS IN GENERAL. Tue Duke of Argyll lately illustrated most forcibly the truth of the saying that “a little learning is a dan- gerous thing,” when he wrote disparagingly of the vocal powers of American birds. Had he been with me one spring-like April morning of the past year and heard the “burst of song,” lasting from sunrise until high noon, to which I listened, his want of appreciation of our birds would have been changed, I doubt not, to enthusiastic . admiration. For several days the birds had been arriving, one or more kinds at a time, but it was not until the 29th of the month that the summer birds had arrived in full force. The brown and the wood thrush, the cat-bird, the bobolink, and the two species of oriole, the three wrens, and a host of other merry warblers were here on that day, each in full song, and congregating in their several haunts they united in giving a ringing welcome to the coming summer. What with the added voices of our winter birds, the lark, the sparrows, and the gay cardinal, there was nothing wanting in the songs they sang—no check to the melody of their choral greeting. Amid the . bright surroundings of the young leaves, through which the trembling sunbeams danced in glee, these feathered choristers charmed alike the eye and ear, and I listened 94. RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. for hours to the glad refrain, which even yet lingers in my ears. | But we have other birds besides those that sing, and no lack of them. To realize how numerous they are, and how varied in every bird feature, it is only necessary to take a quiet country ramble—not along the dusty highways, for there you will only see the alien sparrows —but in the woods and through the swamps, over the meadows and along the river-banks. Do this, and the wealth of bird-life here will be duly appreciated, and not otherwise. The truth is, our hawks are as brave and our crows as saucy as any that can be found; our quails, too, are as gamy, our herons as stately, our ducks as shy, and our divers as impudent, as those ot other continents ; and, best of all, there is an abundance of them. It is not my purpose, however, to maintain the supe- rior excellences of our many song-birds, or uphold the merits of those whose virtues are other than vocal. Those who know our birds best, know well their capabilities ; and it may be thought a mere repetition of what has been often said before, to mention again either their songs or their general habits. Nevertheless, I am led to do so for the reason that I do not believe that the whole history of any bird will ever be known; and because I am con- vinced that the nearest approach to it will be in the sum of the results obtained by different observers, living in. widely separated localities. The things that I have seen in Central New Jersey are not the same that would have appeared to an observer in the mountains of Penn- sylvania, in New England, or in the Western States, for it is with the habits of birds, not their anatomical pecul- iarities, that I am concerned, and these are decided by the bird’s environment. As this is widely different in different portions of the range of any species, it neces- * OUR BIRDS IN GENERAL. ° 95 sarily follows that there must result certain peculiarities of habit incident to the locality that are of interest to the philosophical naturalist. In a region like Central New Jersey, which seems ‘s be a neutral ground between the ranges of Northern and Southern species, it is scarcely necae ile to determine precisely the avi-fauna. Every year adds additional in- stances of the occurrence of some rare straggler; and, in accordance with the character of the winter especially, is there an abundance or otherwise of certain species that make a brief stay during that season. Again, it is scarcely practicable for an observer, however enthusiastic, to be out-of-doors the entire day, and, I may add, evening; and yet, unless thus constantly on the watch, the coming and going of certain species will escape his notice. A list of birds characteristic of a given locality is of value as a catalogue of a very limited area, and does not hold good over any considerable number of square miles, for the variation in the surface geology or physical geogra- phy of the neighborhood affects in a marked degree the _ habits of some species, and decides the presence or absence of others during a part or the whole of the year. As an instance, Gentry, in his “ Life Histories of Birds,” refers to our common meadow-lark as migratory about German- town (Philadelphia), Pennsylvania, while in this neighbor- hood it is a winter resident; and the same might be said of several other species. Yet the field of Mr. Gentry’s observations and my own are but thirty miles apart as the crow flies, though geologically they are as different as well can be. In conclusion, it may be added that in the uplands and meadows, and along the river-banks, I have noted one hundred and seventy-two species of birds. Of these, many are migratory, while others visit us but rarely. Of 96 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. those that remain throughout the year there are but few, though at no season are we without a sufficient variety to make it as pleasant as it is profitable to indulge in out-of- door studies in ornithology. Even in the gloomiest days of winter there will always be a stray song-sparrow, nut- hatch, or tit, a brave cardinal, a lark, or at least a crow, jay, or woodpecker, to enliven the woods and fields, and no bird can be long watched, as it hovers about its chosen haunts, without giving us some further insight into the mysteries of bird-life. | CHAPTER XIIL - THE MIGRATION OF INLAND BIRDS, As understood by me, the migration of a bird is sim- ply the desertion of a given locality for a certain and al- ways the same portion of each year. As an example, the common house-wren is migratory, in that it remains in New Jersey only from late in April until late in Septem- ber, having left its southern home for six months. Before endeavoring to determine the causes of this movement on the part of some birds, we must first note the various features characterizing the movement itself— for it may safely be asserted that no two birds migrate in the same manner, although the similarity is marked among the various species of the same family. The most notable feature in migration is the apparent uniformity in the time of its occurrence; that is, of the dates of the ar- _ rivals in spring and of the departures in autumn. Is this arrival in spring as regular as claimed by some -and supposed by most people? ‘To the casual observer, and ~ indeed to many who have for years noted the first appear- ances of our various birds, the arrival seems to be quite regular ; and, curiously enough, we find many such ob- servers insisting that, however late a bird may be, any one season, he is never earlier than a given date. Thus we _ have been frequently told that the wrens are never seen before May ist, and that usually upon that day they are here in full force. Now, let any one watch day and re j ! 4 4 . 98 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. night for the first birds of the season; let him wan- der all day in or about tangled thickets and sheltered, sunny hill-sides; let him, with sleepless eye, scrutinize every haunt of the birds, and with vigilant ear listen to every faint chirp and far-off twitter, and follow up every undetermined bird-note ; let him do this, year after year, from April 1st to the 30th, and he will find his note- ‘books teeming with records of early birds, that will come and go all unsuspected by the mid-day observer, who often will insist upon the absence altogether of many a summer songster, which, skulking about, withholds its joyous songs until the woods have welcomed the full company of its kind, that of old have made merry in its shady nooks. The fact is, there is more to be learned about birds in one hour of the early pais. than in six weeks of midday sunshine. . The amount of variation in the dates of arrival of all of our spring birds is really considerable, and in the whole list of migratory inland birds that annually visit New Jersey, either to remain throughout the summer or on their way to more northern localities, there is not one that can be considered regular in the time of reach- ing here, by from twenty to thirty days. The amount of variation in the dates of arrival, year after year, of the same species—say of the brown thrush, cat-bird, or yellow-breasted chat—is less, however, than in the time of arrival of allied species, as, for instance, of the various species of thrushes which reach us very irregu- larly. The robin is a resident species ; the wood-thrush appears from April 15th to May 10th; the tawny thrush sometimes later by two weeks, and sometimes absent al- together; the olive-backed thrush passes by irregularly — as to both time and seasons, and so, too, does the hermit- thrush, which, however, occasionally remains throughout cd THE MIGRATION OF INLAND BIRDS. — 99 the summer. The brown thrush, or “thrasher,” comes to us by twos and threes as early as April 20th, and not until after the 1st of May can they be considered as- present in full force. The mocking-bird is very irregu- lar, both as to years and dates, and the cat-bird, never missing a year, wants the early May foliage developed in which to skulk. Often in “single blessedness” he comes to his last year’s haunts, and is wonderfully in- genious in his efforts to conceal himself in the leafless thickets of early April, keeping ever close to the ground, and never venturing upon the slightest attempt at a song. The many notes I have made with reference to the warblers also indicate a great degree of irregularity and uncertainty in their migratory movements. This applies to these birds not only as a family, but to all of the vari- ous species separately, of which ascore or more generally pass through the State. During certain seasons I have noticed a marked preponderance of some one or two warblers which in the following seasons were much less common than many other kinds of birds. Thus, in 1860, 1864, 1867, and 1872 the common redstarts were very abundant, not only about their natural haunts, but within the city limits, and scores of them could be seen climbing over and flitting through the branches of the shade-trees of the less-frequented streets. Since 1872, except in 1882, these birds have not been so numerous ; indeed, they have been far less so than many other war- blers, such as the yellow-rumped, the black-throated blue, and the yellow summer warbler. Unlike the thrushes, the warblers seem to be largely con- trolled by meteorological influences ; and sudden changes of the weather, which, unlike some birds, they seem un- able to foretell, greatly influence their movements, and certainly delay their northward progress; and yet, while eae a > 4 yt a: | 44 rag Pr ‘ He ieee Pa A Fi Bs 100 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. I have frequently known them to be caught in a “ north- easter,” they are not otherwise affected by it, so far as I could determine, other than by the delay before men- tioned. Even a sudden change from warm, summer-like weather to decided cold, did not apparently destroy any of them or check their lively movements among the trees. Let us glance at the well-known swallows. For five months of every year we have with us, in greater or less abundance, six species of swallow and one “swift,” the common chimney-swallow. Of these, one, the rough- winged swallow, is comparatively rare ; the white-bellied are not particularly abundant, except during certain sea- — sons; the cliff-swallow is erratic, now here, about the barns and stables of a circumscribed neighborhood for several years, and then wholly failing to appear in their former haunts. Not so, however, with the barn-swal- low; with a variation in date of arrival of about ten days, there comes to us in May our full complement of these beautiful birds. They have decreased in numbers during the past fifty years, so observant old farmers have said, but probably not so much as they think. It is more probably the increase in the numbers of other species that makes the numbers of the barn-swallow seem fewer. The bank-swallow, earliest of all, is here literally by mill- ions, and the purple martins, in moderate numbers, sel- dom fail to occupy the boxes placed for their accommoda- tion; while, lastly, the chimney-swallow, I believe, has never failed to appear in about the same numbers year after year. I have fewer instances recorded of single swal- lows, seen at unusually early dates, than of birds of any other family. Some, indeed, arrive much earlier than others, as for instance the bank-swallow; but the differ- ence in the date of its arrival, throughout any ten years, is certainly much less than it is with other birds, which a ? THE MIGRATION OF INLAND BIRDS. 101 with some is surprisingly regular, though not absolutely so, as is so often asserted. Let us now glance at the peculiarities of this family of birds, and compare them with the thrushes and war- blers. One marked difference is seen in their wonderful flight-power, the thrushes and warblers being weak in their powers of flight, positively as well as compara- tively ; and my observations bear me out in asserting, as a law of migration, that its regularity is in proportion to and solely dependent on the flight-powers of the species. With the entire list of inland birds of New Jersey we believe this to hold good. I have already expressed my belief that many birds have the ability to foretell a coming storm. As this is not directly connected with the subject of migration, as I am now considering it, I will pass to another feature of this prophetic power, as it apparently is, in birds, and that is, their ability to judge of the general character of the com- ing season by a visit of a few days’ duration early in spring. I have so frequently noticed that certain birds, common to a locality during the summer, occasionally fail to visit it, except in the case of one or two individuals, that come for a few days in April, that it has appeared as if these pioneer birds had satisfactory reasons for believing that there would be a scarcity of food, and so returned to meet their fellows, and, informing them of the fact, they all de- parted to “fresh fields and pastures new,” just as a single crow, discovering danger, will turn a whole colony from their course as they are going to their roosting-place. This, be it understood, is a supposition, and may be wholly un- true; but how are we to interpret the meaning of any habit or particular movement of a bird, except by the human standard? An act on the part of a bird is intel- ligible to us only as we would interpret a corresponding 102 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. act in man; and these acts in birds and men, producing allied results, indicate that close connection between all animal life which is so readily comprehended from an evolutionary stand-point. Now, as an instance of this “ foretelling ” power in birds, I noted, during the spring of 1874, the arrival of the first chewink or towhee bunt- ing on the 27th of April. Busily it hopped among the dried leaves and tangled briers, enlivening the thicket with its constant song, Just as a dozen of its kind had done throughout the preceding summer. In a few days it had disappeared, and not a chewink has been seen or heard for nearly six months. Late in October a few were noticed on their way south from the country north of us. This locality is one where these birds usually congregate, and I have often found a dozen nests within its limits. But, a few miles away, these birds were as abundant as usual. In two ways I can explain the absence of these birds: either those that were accustomed to occupy it went to a new locality, and the single bird that had pre- ceded them, finding his companions did not come, left, rather than remain alone; or he left to announce that food would be scarce—for it must be remembered, as Darwin has remarked, “most animals and plants keep to their proper homes, and do not needlessly wander about, as is seen even with migratory birds, which almost always return to the same spot.” At any rate, the summer of 1874, in this neighborhood, was the driest in the past fifty years, and it seemed as if the chewink knew what was coming. So, at least, I believe. During that sum- mer I noted the nearly entire absence of several species which are common, as a rule, and a very marked decrease in the numbers of those that did appear; but, at the same time, my note-books mention the arrival of one or more individuals of every one of our migratory birds. Many, 2 THE MIGRATION OF INLAND BIRDS. 103 like the chewink, foresaw what was coming, and acted accordingly. It would be most interesting to determine if insect-life was less abundant than usual during that summer, but I can only note on this point, as suggestive of the fact that it was so, a marked freedom of the fruit- trees and fruit —— from the attacks of their insect ene- -mnies. I must confess, however, that this explanation of the coincidence between the actual absence of the birds, and the occurrence of a remarkably rainless summer, does not lead me to believe that birds generally have a pro- phetic insight, or that they are habitually led thereby to prepare for the season, whatever it may prove to be. My statistics, covering many years, with especial refer- ence to several of our smaller mammals, show that they do not possess such foretelling powers, and therefore it is the less probable that any bird should be thus gifted. When my remarks on migration were first written, I was disposed to attribute prophetic power to migrating birds. I let my notes stand as originally written, but must add, in this connection, that during the past ae years I have grown skeptical. Another feature of the migration of our inland birds must here be briefly referred to; and that is, the failure of late years of certain species ei come, as a rule, as far north as New Jersey; and also the habit, now fully ac- quired by others, of remaining throughout the year, when, but a comparatively short time ago, these same birds were truly migratory. As an instance: the summer redbirds, twenty years ago, were regular visitors to Central New Jersey, arriving about the first of May and staying until October. They nested on trees, frequently in apple orchards, laying pret- ty, purple-blotched, green eggs. They preferred wooded i 104 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. hill-sides with a growth of underbrush, and having a southern exposure. In such situations they were numer- ous, and to one such locality, in particular, I can well re- member the charm they added by the bright gleam of their plumage as they passed from tree to tree, uttering their peculiar but not melodious notes. For the past twenty years I have not seen half a dozen individuals, and no nests have been recorded since 1857. In far scantier numbers the scarlet tanager has taken their place, although this bird is not rare by any means, nor was it so when the preceding species was abundant. It is much the same with the mocking-bird. For- merly as regular in its appearance, if not as abundant, as the cat-bird, it is now among our rarest summer visitants. An occasional pair, selecting some well-tangled thicket, will come late or early and build their nest, and then half a dozen years may elapse before we see them again. Yet fifty years ago these birds were common. Gabriel Thomas, in his history of “ Pensilvania and West New Jersey,” published in 1698, in the list of birds of Pennsylvania to which his attention had been called, refers to this thrush as “that strange and remarkable fowl call’d (in these parts) the Mocking-Bird” ; and - again, in making a similar list of “ West New Jersey” animals, he mentions “that uncommon and valuable Bird (being near the bigness of a Cuckoo) call’d the Mocking- Bird.” From the prominence he gives it in the brief list of such large birds as geese, eagles, and pheasants, I pre- sume that it was then a very abundant species. Fifty years later, Kalm found mocking-birds near Philadelphia, and remarks, “ These birds stay all summer in the colonies, bnt retire in autumn to the South, and stay away all win- » ter.” | During the past half-century the numbers of these U “ey 4 ee THE MIGRATION OF INLAND BIRDS. 105 birds that visit New Jersey have undoubtedly steadily de- ereased. In such cases as have come under my own notice, however, the love of locality is very strong, and, if the nest is.not disturbed, the pair will return year after year. It is probable that, in this case, withdrawal from so north- ern a locality isnot voluntary, but is due to the almost certain persecution to which they are subjected. The remarkable vocal powers of the bird straightway publish the locality to every prowler, and the nest is soon sought for the valuable brood. In accordance with evolutionary doctrines, these birds should have learned in time to keep quiet, as their tongues are their worst enemies; but this probably is too great a sacrifice, and so they now remain away, or are so seldom met with as scarcely to be con- sidered as an actual member of our avi-fauna. Once, however, in the past twenty years, there has occurred an unusual northward flight of these birds. In May, 1862, in several localities, they were noticed in considerable numbers, and attention was drawn to the fact in the local newspapers. It is not improbable that the war in Virginia, then in progress, had much to do with this; as it is evident that the constant cannonading and ceaseless blaze of camp-fires over much of the territory usually occupied by these birds would have the effect of driving them beyond the limits of these disturbances. As instances of “spring arrivals” that have become resident species, I will first mention the well-known blue- bird, which, whatever may be the state of the weather, is as lively and full of song from November to April as at any time during the summer; yet it is still considered as a migratory species, and formerly, I doubt not, was so, even in New Jersey. More interesting is the instance of the common yellow-rumped warbler, which, in scanty 106 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. numbers, braves our winters, and from the tops of the loftier pines chirps merrily while the snow-flakes fill the air, though later in the winter it seeks shelter in protected nooks where the noonday sun has melted the snow and | given us a breath of spring-like air. In several such spots, since February, 1863, when I shot the first winter speci- men, I have not failed to find several individuals of this species during each of the winter months; and there seems to be a steady increase in the number of them that thus remain. The same remarks will apply, in part, to that beautiful but not well-known songster, Bewick’s wren. ‘They too, in scanty numbers, congregate in shel- tered places, and even during the gloomiest of November days one may often hear the clear notes of this lively bird as it sits, braving a chilly westerly wind, perched on the topmost twig of some leafless tree. A more marked instance than any, perhaps, is that of the great Carolina wren. In the “ History of North American Birds,” by Baird, Brewer, and Ridgway, it is stated that this wren “ occasionally has been found as far north as Philadelphia,” and that it is essentially a south- ern species. Although Audubon found it breeding in New Jersey fully fifty years ago, the probabilities are that, until recently, it was essentially a rare visitant to this locality. At the present time, however, this is far from being true, as it is really, in many localities, taking the place of the commoner house-wren. Neither is it “studious of concealment, and shy and retiring in its habits,” but, on the contrary, it builds its nests in our out-buildings wherever a suitable locality offers, however | much frequented the building may be. So tame, too, are they at such times, that it needs but little dexterity to capture them with the hand while they are sitting on the nest. They usually raise three broods, and are yearly oe Wa = . ee — - 2 THE MIGRATION OF INLAND BIRDS. 107 becoming more abundant, and therefore a more promi- nent feature in our avi-fauna. The interest centering in this species, however, is not the fact of their summer sojourn here, but that they have wholly relinquished the migratory habit. They are as abundant, as full of song, as familiar, and as super- latively restless and wren-like in January as in June, and in this they afford an instance of change of habit that is worthy of consideration. It is not the only example, however, of a wren braving the severity of our winters. We have the true winter wren, and, in scanty numbers, Bewick’s wren. It has already been mentioned that the supposed regularity of the movements of the common _ house-wren does not now obtain. Indeed, during the past seven years, I have carefully noted the dates of arrival and departure of the house wren, and find that they are here both earlier in April and later in autumn than [had supposed. It would appear that they, too, are slowly becoming accustomed to our wintry spring days and early foretastes of winter, and that their tarrying with us is simply a question of food. In the case of the Carolina wren, may it not be said that the descendants of the wrens found in New Jersey, by Audubon, fifty years ago, have become acclimated, and so remain throughout the year; or do these birds, in scanty numbers, annually migrate from more southern jocalities, and leave a few of their progeny behind when the winter winds again drive them southward? It is immaterial which is the case, as it suffices to know that here, in Central New Jer- sey, the Carolina wren, a well-marked southern species, has of late years become an abundant resident species. With the change, too, has come a change in its habits, so far as this was necessary to enable it to seek a sufficient food-supply in winter. Just where it finds this food in 108 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. midwinter, and of what it consists, [am not sure; but from the fact that it frequents our out-buildings, and is also often seen in the woods, especially among fallen tim- ber, it is probable that hibernating insect-life and spiders afford it all needed nourishment. I have now noted the more prominent features in the migratory habits of our inland birds as they come to us in May from the South, save the one fact, the bearing of which I can not determine, that, while a large proportion of the birds perform the journey by night, others travel wholly by day. At least this is the common impression, but it is difficult to demonstrate it. How little really do we know of the precise modus operands of migration ! All through April and May, if astir at the earliest dawn, when the resident birds are just starting their morning songs, we will occasionally hear the welcome notes of some summer bird for the first time. Has it been wing- ing its way northward through the thick, black hours of night, guided by some unknown sense; and does it no sooner reach its: old-time baunts than it checks its onward course, and from a familiar tree sings with grata heart a loud thanksgiving glee ? If, during these same months, we wander about those quiet nooks and by-ways, where the first thrushes and warblers are likely to be seen, we shall find all the day long, and evening, too, that they are conspicuous by their absence. Not a chirp or twitter, save of the sparrows and tits that are with us all the year, and of the linger- ing snow-birds that seem to regret to leave our pleasant places. Far into the night we may remain, and only the startled chirp of some disturbed or dreaming bird, or the fret and scolding of little owls, will greet our ears. The silence of midnight may pass unbroken, and then, as * THE MIGRATION OF INLAND BIRDS. 109 the first gray streaks of light, in the hazy east, herald the on-coming day, suddenly a cheerful warble from some tall cedar, or tangled brier-patch, breaks the dead silence, and we mark the arrival of the first spring songster of its kind. Did it reach us at sunset, and, having rested a few hours, did it then announce its presence by its cheery song ¢ | It may be that they come both by day and by night, but why at all by night, if indeed so they come, must ever be a great mystery in the strange habit of migration. I let the above sentences stand unaltered, but the years since they were written have added to our knowl- edge of the migratory movements of our smaller, weak- flying inland birds. Not long since, many of these birds of several species were seen, by the aid of a telescope, moving southward, in large numbers, on a bright, moon- light night, flying at an estimated height of about two and one half miles. Straightway on reading this, I compared my dates of arrivals of all our birds, and then made com- parison with the almanacs for those years. ‘T'wenty-three years of these notes should give us something worthy of acceptance, I think; and it was found that the nearer the full of the moon comes to the 1st of May, the earlier collectively arrives the full complement of our summer migrants. Of course, a storm may make a difference, and I think the prevalence of cold northerly winds does also; but still it may be accepted as a fact that very many of our birds take advantage of moonlight, and see- ing where they are going, and knowing where they wish to go, they travel by night. This, of course, necessitates long journeys, and I am puzzled to know how those birds of apparently weak flight-power can cover such long dis- tances. It can not be wholly due to their powers of endurance, but may be owing to some advantage taken, 110 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. I know not how, of astrong upper current of air, that bears them along in the direction they desire to go. It has been suggested that the vigor of the male birds and the distended ovaries of the females, at this time of the year, are doubtless coupled with a general vigor of the whole body; but it is questionable if this additional strength of itself is sufficient to enable these birds to fly for hundreds of miles without rest; and furthermore, if such is the case in spring, they have not this added strength in autumn, when also these long journeys are made. Let us next study our birds during the autumn. A careful examination of the many notes, jotted down at frequent intervals, during the months of August, Sep- tember, October, and November, with respect to the de- parture south of such of our birds as are summer resi- dents, and of some that, having passed the summer in regions far to the north, are now likewise seeking their accustomed winter-quarters, indicates an apparent regu- larity in the southward movements of our birds, similar to what is seen in the spring, when they are on their way northward, and at the same time it shows an actual de- gree of irregularity in the dates of departure exceeding that of the dates of arrival. An instance of this was brought to my notice one August morning in 1881. As a point of observation for noting the movements of certain birds frequenting the tops of our tallest trees, I sought a seat as near the top of a fine old chestnut-oak as I dared to go. While on my elevated perch, I was surprised to find that, now and then, a stray specimen of some unlooked-for bird would tarry a moment in the tree-tops, and then, resuming its high, southern flight, would pass quickly out of sight. Such birds were orioles, both the Baltimore and orchard; sin- gle rusty grakles; a Maryland yellow-throat, a ground- a eh — THE MIGRATION OF INLAND BIRDS. 111 loving species, still abundant in the thickets beneath me; a golden-crowned thrush; several black-throated bunt- ings; and two humming-birds, male and female, still keeping company. The movements of alli these birds impressed me with the belief that they were migrating birds, and not mere chance visitors. In most instances, they seemed to drop from above; they remained but a little while, never longer than ten minutes, and then took a distinctly upward flight until nearly out of sight, when they started down the river—that is, in a southerly direction. This movement, which was well marked in every case, I construed into a migratory one, and occur- ring as it did so early in the season as August 20th, it leads to the conclusion that the return or autumnal flight of our migratory birds commences very soon after incu- bation is over, and is not a sudden impulse that controls the movements of the entire number of any given spe- cies. Certain it is that the degree of irregularity in the return of the birds that pass northward in May is very great—much more so than is the onward movement in spring to their northern summer haunts. This does not apply to all species, of course, but to many; and it is precisely such exceptions—such semi-migrating or “ir- regular” species—that give evidence that the movement is slowly being relinquished, as being no longer absolutely necessary for their comfort and well-being. There are two very common birds, belonging to widely different families, the habits of which, I think, bear di- rectly upon this subject. One of these is the well-known yellow-breasted chat, the other the indigo-bird. The chat is one of our latest spring arrivals, being very sensitive to changes of weather. If undisturbed, these birds occupy the same nesting-place year after year, building a new nest every season, more from necessity 1192 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. than choice, as the white-footed mouse generally so uses and abuses the old nest, during the autumn and winter, that it is usually demolished before the return of the birds the next spring. Now, I have noticed for years that the chats are full of song and very active until the young birds are able to leave the nest; and then it usu- ally happens that within a week or ten days the whole family will leave the neighborhood. After the middle of July and throughout August I miss them from localities where for ten weeks previously their curious medley of sweet and discordant notes was constantly heard during the live-long day, and often for half the night. This absence of these birds was no fancy upon my part, caused by their silence, for many birds cease singing when nesting is well over, but was abso- lutely true of them. Careful search failed to trace them, as they had evidently left the neighborhood. The six weeks of summer following the middle of July prove to be an interval not in the summer sojourn of those that nested here, though it seemed so, because the chats that about September ist appear again in our woods and thickets are not our old friends, but are new-comers that have reached us from more northern localities. Those that nested here, returned to their winter homes when nesting was over; while those that are seen here in Sep- tember are those that, having nested farther to the north and later in the season, are now on their return to their winter-quarters. - | : : Thus, it will be seen that the chats that nested in the valley of the Delaware River returned south as soon as nesting was over; while a little later, the birds from the Hudson and Connecticut River Valleys came hither and occupied, for a brief period, the then chat-deserted Dela- ware Valley. These again proceed leisurely, in their a THE MIGRATION OF INLAND BIRDS. 113 turn, on their way, often lingering long in the golden sunshine of sweet September days, but never singing those ecstatic spring-time notes that fairly start the echoes of a bright May morning. | In brief, the autumnal or return migratory movement of our inland birds really commences in midsummer and is from valley to valley, and therefore a gradual change of base, along the whole northern Atlantic seaboard. I have frequently observed the same thing in the movements and habits of the indigo bird. In this case, also, there is often a well-marked interim, say from the middle of July to the beginning of September. This can not be explained away by suggestions of slight changes of locality, as from uplands to swamps, or open country to wooded districts. It is, rather, an interim caused. by the departure of those that nested here in May and June for some more southern locality. These birds seem to move with the regularity ascribed to swallows, and I doubt if one in fifty of those that are seen as late as September were here during the nesting-season. These late birds, too, do not haunt the brier-patches, high weeds, and like spots; but stay closely among the taller trees, and near their very tops at that, sometimes essaying a feeble imitation of early summer warblings. More often this song is now but the ineffectual efforts of young birds to anticipate their future capabilities in melody. Other equally marked changes in habits on the part of other birds may be mentioned as further evidence that migration is more gradual than has been supposed. As early as the beginning of August both species of orioles have left their spring-time haunts. Occasionally a male will be seen pausing on the top of some tall tree, and whistling as he tarries for a moment; but where are now the numbers of old and young birds that nested or = 114 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. were reared in the many pendent nests in the elms and willows? Unlike the chats and indigo birds, the orioles do not all depart from the land; but, congregating in loose flocks, they associate intimately with the reed-birds, that are now gathering by the thousands in the uplands, preparatory to seeking the reeds on the river shore. Here the orioles will remain until the second or third sharp frost. Again, those very unlike birds, the king- bird and blue-bird, will together form loose flocks and congregate in the meadows. ‘This is the more difficult to understand as the king-bird is strictly migratory, while the blue-bird is only partly so; and I am positive that the flocks of the two species that haunt the meadows un- til October are broken up at last by the king-birds pass- ing southward and the vast majority of the blue-birds returning to the uplands, where they remain the winter through, seeking shelter from the more violent storms in the dense foliage of our common cedar. These changes of habit, comparing May and June with August and September, have doubtless been brought about by the all-important question of food-supply, and in the instance of the birds last mentioned, may be looked upon as the first step in the return migratory movement, especially as it is a change from higher and cooler up- lands to the low-lying and warmer shores of the south- ward-flowing river, from near the mouth of which these birds make an easy overland journey to the valley beyond. In this way, long before winter sets in in the New Eng- land and Middle States, many of our spring birds have — completed their return journey home—for home it is to them when they near the tropics or enter them. If we consider the several circumstances that would necessarily influence migratory movements, this actual irregularity in autumn is just what might be expected, en ee eee ee a a ee ee ee a ae ne a THE MIGRATION OF INLAND BIRDS. 115 but in the spring, when every bird, if possible, returns _ to its own home and former nest, they will not linger on the way, as they know too well the length of the journey before them. The coming duties of incubation, too, speed them on, and we wonder why they are not more regu- lar in their movements. In autumn all this is changed. Now nothing need hurry them, and, so long as they find an abundance of food, they move along leisurely, just keeping ahead, as it seems, of the chilling frosts of the coming winter, which they can easily endure, but which robs them of the food they must have. This is espe- cially true of insect-eating birds. Considered in this light, we are not surprised to find, then, as a rule, that the warblers, swallows, and such other birds as depend wholly upon insects for their sustenance, leave more promptly, and in larger numbers at one time, than do the granivorous birds and those that can subsist on seeds, though they consume insects as long as they can find them. | The weather, both during September and October, is exceedingly variable, although never really wintry, and this fact makes the southward movements of the migra- tory, insect-eating birds equally so, inasmuch as these birds are not larve-hunting species, but depend upon in- sects that can be caught upon the wing, or are to be found resting upon the leaves and twigs of the trees. Therefore, just so long as the heavy white frosts are de- layed, these insectivorous birds will linger, or move southward in the most leisurely way. Up to a certain time, usually about the middle of October, these birds largely increase in numbers, consequent upon the daily accession of those from the north, and after the maxi- mum is reached, their number steadily decreases, until _ but a few stragglers remain. aw 9 aie ee an rier ate Nt TEES it 4 i 4 it ahi “a Bs) el Dod = = v re 116 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. I feel quite confident that in exceptionally mild sea- sons many more migratory birds winter in southern New Jersey than ornithologists suspect; and I can see in the lingering remnant of the great flight of warblers that an- nually pass through the State that gradual adaptation to surrounding conditions, on the part of birds, that as cen- turies roll by, evolve, by that mystery of mysteries the survival of the fittest, new species from the old. Again, long after the true insect-eaters have passed southward, beyond the limits of the State, and searcely a leaf is Jeft upon the forest-trees, when not one straggling fly-catcher, in a day’s walk, can be found hovering about the many spots so lately tenanted by myriads of their kind, we have yet the pleasure of seeing in our rambles many a blithe sparrow, restless tit, or noisy nut-hatch, ‘S either in the fields or about leafless hedges, or haunting the still green but nearly deserted swampy meadows; or high up in the lofty pines, and amid the thickest branches of the gloomy cedar, we may chance to find hosts of merry linnets, full of song, or fiery kinglets that scold like wrens, should you approach too near. Of our many sparrows, of which several are resident species, | have noted down for several years, when the severity of the winter was yet to come, even as late as the middle of December, the presence of three or four species that may be considered as migratory. For in- stance, in the wet, reedy meadows, it is not until winter has incased in ice the tangled grasses that the sharp- tailed finch and swamp-sparrow quit their home. In 1872, and again in 1874, which latter year was the most remarkable for the number and variety of birds of any in my memory, I noticed that in the dry, upland fields, all through November’s hazy Indian summer, the sprightly, black -throated bunting remained, in little companies; a THE MIGRATION OF INLAND BIRDS. 117 and in the quiet woodlands several retiring grosbeaks were seen until biting north winds drove them from their summer haunts. The bobolinks, in spite of the persecu- tion they suffer from sportsmen, hold to their reedy haunts, in scattering pairs, often until the first fall of snow, and, this same bird being occasionally seen very early in the spring, may possibly remain during the win- ter, but if so, it is very rarely. A few red-winged black- birds, we know, do withstand our winters, and seem to find food somewhere and ila even when the ther- mometer is at zero. The difference between the insect-eating and the seed- eating birds, in the more prolonged stay of the latter, is, | think, easily explained. In the spring, when birds journey north, there is an object ever in view, whilst in the autumn, their sole care is to be at home in time, not so much to escape the coming cold, as to avoid being pinched by hunger. We have seen that the first frost, though it affects vege- tation but little, does materially decrease insect life; the swallows, as a rule, even anticipate it,and gathering in immense flocks they wing their way southward before it comes. From this, we can clearly see that the weather greatly influences, indeed governs, the migratory move- ments in autumn of the insect-eaters. It bids them de- part, and, in general, they heed the bidding ; but long after this, while there are yet berries, seeds, and fruits to be obtained, the migratory vegetarians linger by the way, in varying but considerable numbers. Let us now glance at the abundant and well-known purple grakle or crow-blackbird. The numbers of this, with us, partly migratory species which remain through- out the winter, as compared with those which are here during the spring and summer months, are about as ten to 118 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. one thousand, as near as I can judge; and, in proportion as the winter is mild, the percentage of ites that remain is increased. In du sions elastin this bird is strictly mi- gratory, the great bulk of those that depart from the north and from New Jersey wintering in the Carolinas and Georgia. In this species, therefore, we have an example of a migratory bird that is gradually becoming more and more accustomed, not to the rigors of winter, which birds are better able to withstand than they are generally supposed to be, but to the methods of our winter residents, such as wood-peckers, jays, and titmice, in pro- curing seasonable food. As a matter of course, food, and an abundance of it, must necessarily be obtained, and, on examination of the stomachs of grakles killed in January, I have found them filled with a half-digested mass of what appeared to be both animal and vegetable matter. If the grakles that remain during the winter are of a hardier constitution than those that migrate, then, as they mate very early in the year, and before the great bulk of the southern sojourners reach us, their offspring will nat- urally inherit equally vigorous constitutions, and, like their parents, will be more disposed to remain—at least, a large proportion of them will be—and in this way, wholly through natural selection, a race of grakles, otherwise un- distinguishable from the whole number of this species, will be evolved, that in time will replace, in great part, the now migratory and semi-migratory individuals. If I have correctly explained a change now in progress, in the habits of this and other species, then can we not from it gain a clew to one, at least, of the original causes of the habit of migrating ? The act of migrating being the passage from one dis- tant point to another, it is evident that the cause or causes of this movement, as the case may be, operate at 2 THE MIGRATION OF INLAND BIRDS. 119 either terminus of the journey. A warbler that winters in Florida and breeds near the Arctic circle is influenced by a cause that exists at each terminus, or rather by two differing causes, each peculiar to the location, for it is wholly incredible that it is the same cause that induces both the visit to northern regions and the return to a southern clime; therefore there must be at least two reasons for the habit—one inducing the bird to migrate northward in the spring, another compelling it to return in the autumn. If it be possible now to demonstrate what these causes are, and how the same cause ean influ- ence all migratory birds, considering that their habits are otherwise so totally different, it will not then necessarily follow that it was the originating cause of the habit. When, indeed, did this migration commence? How far back into the world’s geological history must we go to trace the first bird that was forced to seek another and far-distant land wherein to rear its young and find for its offspring and itself sufficient food? What conditions of heat and cold, land and water, summer and winter, then obtained, that birds must needs fly from coming rigors of scorching sun, or ice and floods, or perish where they were? Was it from living in such a world that migration originated, and became, strangely enough, characteristic of only a fraction of the whole number? How, too, could birds have learned the oncoming of dis- astrous times, and know just where to seek a safe harbor and secure rest? Clearly it could have been only by a very gradual accumulation of experiences extending over many generations, before the few progenitors of our many birds gained the happy knowledge that here in the north we have months of sunny summer weather and a wealth of pleasant places. I shall not go back, then, of the Gla- cial period, but rest content with it as having been the " 120 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. starting-point in time of birds’ migratory movements. The progenitor of our score of warblers, the one tyrant fly- catcher, from which all our species have sprung, the vireos, the goatsuckers, and cuckoos, then very few in species, if indeed there were more than one of each, must have been influenced by the presence of the icy barriers that shut them off for the time being from a vast portion of the northern world, and at the close or closing of that wonderful period it may be that migration commenced, yet why and how it is hard even to conjecture. Knowing that it commenced then or recommenced, if previously a feature of bird life, we have now to inquire what are its apparent causes at present; but, before inquiring into these, may we not, after all, ask if migration be not an inherited habit, the originating causes of which are not now in operation? The conditions not obtaining that necessitate migration, does it not become a case of sur- vival of habit, just as in man many customs now exist, the origin and proper meaning of which are wholly lost? — That this is true of the migration of all birds I do not believe, but that it partially holds good with some species I am fully convinced. As an inherited habit, but one now not absolutely necessary to the birds’ welfare, I can see why it should be, as it frequently is, so greatly influ- enced by surrounding circumstances and conditions. Taking the movement from its proper starting-point, which I assume to be the movement from south to north in the three spring months, we must now look for suf- ficient causes to induce the undertaking of such long jour- neys. ‘These causes are suggested by the two principal objects effected on their arrival at their northern destina- tion—the rearing of their young, and procuring suitable and sufficient food for both themselves and offspring. — If migration is for these two purposes only, then it should 2 THE MIGRATION OF INLAND BIRDS. 121 prove to be the case that food was not sufficiently abun- dant in the south for both its resident and migratory birds. This certainly could not have been the ease, and I believe, - therefore, that migratory movements, at the outset, were very limited in extent, and consisted only of a few birds at a time, which, seeking to avoid their enemies and have undisturbed possession of a locality, pushed out from their accustomed haunts for, comparatively speaking, a few miles. The young of such pioneer birds would naturally leave the neighborhood of their nest and return to their parents’ usual haunt with them; but, on the re- turn of another breeding-season, they would themselves seek a nesting-place near where they themselves were reared, and the older birds would go to the same nest or nesting-place that they previously had occupied. This is precisely what occurs now, year after year. Now, as birds increased, century after century, the limits of this northward movement would be extended, until it became in time the journey of thousands of miles that it now is. Assuming, then, that migration arose for the dual purpose of safe nidification and a certainty of sufficient food, we are met by the ugly question, “ Why do not all the southern birds come north?” If, when the whole avi-fauna was concentrated at the south, there was any struggle whatever for favorable feeding- or breeding- grounds, then, naturally, the weaker would go to the wall, or, in other words, would be driven beyond the limits of their accustomed habitat. These weaker birds, taken together, having once formed the habit of visiting certain localities at stated times for given purposes, or being periodically forced to do so, they would vary in their methods of reaching these localities, in their choice - of regions wherein to remain, and in the length of their annual visit, just in proportion as their habits generally 6 192 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. varied from those of both other species of the same family and from species of other families. For instance, to — avoid a common enemy, a number of species might have gradually learned to migrate at night; while others, al- though forced to migrate, had not this same enemy to contend with, and so traveled only by day. In this way the habit of nocturnal migration would long ago have — been formed, and it would, by inheritance, be continued by their descendants, even after the enemy had been long extinct. Having reached their northern summer homes, and, free from molestation, reared their broods, clearly, if all things needed for their comfort were to be obtained, it can not be supposed that these same birds would unneces- sarily retrace their long flight to the distant south. This suggests that, if I am correct in assuming that birds first appeared in a tropical climate, and from such climate migration started, it is probable that, by gradually pro- longing their northern visits and accustoming themselves to northern insect and vegetable life, these regions be- came populated by their resident species. It is evident that the present migratory species are simply compelled to return, and three compelling causes are demonstrable. Primarily, the sudden increase of cold at the close of the brief northern summer, which starts southward those farthest at the north. This accession of intense cold necessarily decreases the amount of food, and the birds — are now forced to find it elsewhere. Farther and farther south they come, just in advance of the cold, and slower — and slower they proceed as they enter our more temper- ate latitude, and here, resting as it were, they linger — until a keen frost kills their insect-food, and, scattering — the leaves, robs them of their main shelter from their enemies, happily fewer now than formerly, and now still 9 a * =a af a THE MIGRATION OF INLAND BIRDS. 123 southward they proceed, until they reach a home in lands blessed with perpetual summer. I have now traced these migratory species from south to north, and back to their southern habitat, and endeav- ored to point out the several operating causes of the movement as I did so. I have already suggested the possibility of migration being an inherited habit not now necessary. Now, be this true or not, it is evident that the habit is not so fixed that ordinary changes in sur- rounding conditions do not greatly influence it. This, I think, is shown by the irregularity of the movement that really occurs, and the tendency on the part of many species to modify the habit by occasionally halting much to the south of their usual breeding-grounds, and by re- maining later and later in autumn; and, again, by the fact that many birds are now only partially migratory, and that others occasionally migrate simply in search of food, irrespective of seasons, thus exhibiting, as it were, traces of a habit they have long lost. In the migration of a bird, then; I see simply a tem- porary sojourn in a distant locality for the purpose of rearing its offspring in safety; the cause being implied by the term “safety,” that is, freedom from enemies and an abundance of food. CHAPTER XIV. A SHORT STUDY OF BIRDS’ NESTS. Havine read with great delight Mr. Wallace’s essays on the “ Philosophy of Birds’ Nests,’ and his theory concerning them, it occurred to me to see how far his views were applicable to the hundreds of nests that were yearly built in my favorite haunts about home; for, whether I rambled by the river’s shore, or the wooded creek-bank nearer by, in the open meadows or the upland fields, by the weedy angles of the zigzag fences, or in the depths of the woods, I soon noticed that, whatever else might be wanting, some one kind of bird, at least, had found in every locality a fitting place for its nest. At first, there appeared to be such a similarity in the nests that I almost came to the conclusion that birds could only construct them in one manner, and were incapable of varying from it; that they did not exercise any judg- ment in the work, and that to-day their nests were but fac-similes of those built by their remotest ancestors in the indefinite past. This idea of fixedness of habit was formerly very gen- erally, and to a limited extent is still, taught as true not only of birds but of all animals. It is the natural out- come of the old creative theory of life, and is, I need scarcely add, utterly false. Whatever may have been the peculiarities of the original bird-like creature, before losing reptilian and as- a 2 A SHORT STUDY OF BIRDS’ NESTS. 125 suming decidedly avian features, it certainly bore no re- semblance to any living bird, the oldest form of which was long since evolved from a still more primitive avian, and at the same time distinctively reptilian, creature. These changes having been wrought in the birds themselves, it would be strange indeed if there had not been a corre. sponding want of fixity in their habits. As to the general correctness of the views of Mr. Wallace concerning the motive that causes certain birds to build nests of a particular pattern, 1 have no criticism to make. Suffice it to say, that the results given in the following pages will show that, to a certain extent at least, his views will apply to our birds. With these cau- tionary remarks we are now ready to take up the results of my short studies of the nests themselves, which were originally made several years ago, but which have been verified during each succeeding summer. Having carefully examined the nest of a particular kind of bird, which seemed to agree most nearly with the published descriptions, I then noted each nest found, and marked the amount of variation in the construction and position. ‘Take, for instance, the nest of our common robin. Here we have a nest largely constructed of coarse twigs and grass, lined with a “ cup-shaped fabric of clay or mud,” this mud being covered with finer grass, horse- hair, and occasionally a few feathers. It is an excellent nest to study, as it shows fully the amount of variation practiced in their construction. During the spring and summer of 1873 I found thirty-two of these nests in an area of about four hundred acres. Of these thirty-two I shall speak, principally with reference to the care exhib- ited in the mud lining, and refer but incidentally to their positions. Eleven of them were what might be called “typical” ; as in them the mud lining was complete, ex- ‘necessary for the eggs or very young birds to rest upon. ‘some outside advantage, such as immediate proximity to 126 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. tending to within an inch, or a little more, of the rim or top of the structure. In fourteen, the mud lining was more or less incom- _ plete, although it always extended over the bottom of the nest, or of so much of the interior surface as was — Without an exception, the fine grass and hair lining the interior of each nest were in greater proportion as the mud lining was imperfect, so that, in some instances, the mud being concealed, the nests were very similar to those of other thrushes. The remaining seven nests were “ abnormal,” each of them occupying a different. position from that which the robin is usually supposed to select. A careful study of the surroundings, however, showed that there was always abundant food, which may have had some influence in the choice of location. As-an instance, one of these seven nests was placed in a deep cleft in the trunk of an apple-tree. It had a southern exposure, was protected from rain by the trunk and branches of the tree, and. altogether was admirably located. But, as the tree itself. had an abundance of branches, which for many summers. had had robins’ nests among them, there seemed to be some reason why this particular location was now occu- pied for the first time. What was the cause of this change from the branches to the cleft I could not dis- cover. The nest itself was merely a few coarse twigs, projecting about two inches from the trunk of the tree, and intended for the necessary support of that portion of the “clay fabric ” not resting upon the tree itself. When completed, the structure much resembled a modified clifi- swallow’s nest, such as these birds build under the eaves of barns. a_i i ee a A SHORT STUDY OF BIRDS’ NESTS. = 127 If now, as Mr. Wallace has pointed out, and, as I be- lieve, conclusively shown, young birds build their nests through imitation, then the young robins reared in this nest will seek out somewhat similar situations for their own nests. Should such a locality not suit the bird’s. mate, then a more exposed position would be chosen, as is usually the case, and some of the peculiarities of the nest in which one of the pair was reared would, I doubt not, be retained. If, however, it should happen that the pair in question were brother and sister, then it is probable that an identical nest would be constructed, if a similar locality could be found. Notwithstanding the wander- ing disposition of our robins, it can be shown that the same pair, year after year, return to the same locality to build ; and if they, or indeed, if birds of any kind remain together, or having separated they come again together, year after year, there 1s no reason why the brood of one year may not become more or less associated during the ensuing spring, when they may mate and construct nests of their own. I am very positive that this in-breeding occurs very often among resident species, and with no ill effects. We see it constantly, too, in our domestic pigeons. In comparing the eleven typical nests of the robin, it could not but be noticed that minor differences or pecul- larities existed. These small variations were in size, which was in fact considerable; in shape, some of the nests being oval rather than circular; in the choice of material for the interior lining, and, in one case, this lining, | am sorry to say, was surprisingly like that of a chipping-sparrow’s nest, and had probably been stolen. Indeed, among robins, as well as among all other birds, there are individual rogues, as well as cross-grained, scold- ing wives and husbands. 128 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. Taking a careful survey of the whole thirty-two nests, they suggested at once an ordinary village: there were, for instance, handsome structures, and then again very modest ones; and while, perhaps, strictly speaking, the causes that produce this variation in the dwelling-places of birds are not the same as those which lead to a similar state of affairs among mankind, yet in a remote degree they are believed to be in many respects analogous. For instance, there are industrious birds and. lazy ones ; plucky birds that are not daunted by obstacles, and de- spondent ones that are cast down by shadows; and this of itself will account for a great deal of the variation in birds’ nests. That birds differ greatly in their tempera- ments can hardly be doubted, and, if this be admitted, may we not goa step further and claim also differences in mental capacity, or, in plain language, may we not say that the “smarter ” the bird the better the nest ? * Why these nests of the robin vary, simply is—a mud- lined nest being that which formerly, if not at present, was best suited to the bird’s welfare—that a bird reared in a poorly constructed and partially lined nest may prove to be of greater ability and more energetic than its parents, and this, joined with the fact that the bird’s mate may have been reared in a nest of perfect construc- tion, of itself, would tend to remedy in part the defects in construction that its partner might allow; the facts to- gether would certainly secure an approach to, if not the complete attainment of, a typical robin’s nest. So, as the years roll by, the nest of the robin would remain substan- tially the same ; but what slight variations circumstances have caused to be made, if not detrimental, would also be continued, and, if any marked changes of environment occurred, increased. Why, indeed, a robin should line its nest with mud, A SHORT STUDY OF BIRDS’ NESTS. 129 and its near relatives, the wood-thrush and cat-bird, should not, is not known; but as changes gradually brought about by man’s agency have already effected changes in the habits of some of our birds, so these same changes, ever in progress in the haunts of the robin, may cause these birds to gradually omit this lining of mud, and so make their habitations more like those of other thrushes ; just as the cliff-swallow, with us, no longer places a “ bottle-neck” opening to its mud-built nests. There is an instability in the whole range of the hab- its of birds going hand-in-hand with the undoubted ten- dency to variation in their anatomical structure, exces- sively slow as this is. Natural selection, or whatever may be the determining influence that governs it, controls as surely the range of variation in the details of the con- struction of their nests, inasmuch as these variations are the inevitable results of changes wrought in the physical construction of the creatures themselves. Stripped of the haze that metaphysics has gathered about it, the op- erations of the mind, whether in man or bird, are only the curious results of the working of those fatty atoms, intimately combined, which we call the brain, and by no argumentation can the two be separated. They are just as interdependent, and as much parts of a single whole, as the eye and sight, the nose and smell, hearing and the ear, the circulation of the blood and the beating of the heart. A nest of a totally different character, that of the Baltimore oriole, was more carefully studied, inasmuch as it afforded more marked variations from what may be considered the typical form of such a structure. In the essays by Mr. Wallace (“On Natural Selec- tion,’ by A. R. Wallace, London, 1870, p. 211 e¢ seq.), 130 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. the conclusion is drawn that, where a nest is so construct- ed as to conceal the sitting bird, the occupant, in all such cases, is of bright, showy plumage, and would easily be detected by birds of prey, if not concealed when on the nest. Of the family Jcterida@, to which the Baltimore ori-— ole belongs, Mr. Wallace says: “ The red or yellow and black plumage of most of these birds is very conspicuous, and is exactly alike in both sexes. [This is not true of the Baltimore oriole, the female of which is much less brightly colored.] They are celebrated for their fine, purse-shaped, pensile nests.” Now, there are two consid- erations worthy of attention with reference to this bird and the character of its nest. In the first place, as the male bird is much brighter than the female in its plum- age, would it not require a concealing nest if it assisted in incubation? Now, does the male bird take part in covering the eggs? Unquestionably it does. Secondly, if the bird-concealing nest, a “pendulous and nearly cy- lindrical pouch,” is constructed solely with reference to the protection of the parent birds, would it not be within the range of probabilities that, no danger existing, the labor of constructing so elaborate a nest would be aban- doned? — Has this ina a occurred ? During the summer of 1872, I found nine nests er the Baltimore oriole within a comparatively small area; in 1873, I succeeded in finding seventeen nests In an area nearly ten times as large; and during the summer of 1874 I found thirteen nests in an area of the same extent as that examined in 1873. These thirty-nine nests I classified as follows: of the nine examined in 1872, six were so constructed as to ef- fectually conceal the sitting bird, and three were suffi- ciently open at the top to give a hawk hovering above it a view of the occupant. a ia TTT TT TTT hse. . A SHORT STUDY OF BIRDS’ NESTS. 131 Of the seventeen which I found and inspected during the summer of 1873, eleven were “bird concealing” in their shape, and the remaining six like the three I found in 1872—1i. e., were open at the top. © During the summer of 1874, Baltimore orioles were unusually abundant, and of the thirteen nests found, | eight were open at the top, and five were long, pendulous pouches that wholly hid the sitting bird. | Bearing in mind the supposed reason for building a nest that would conceal the parent birds when occupying it, [ noted down the exact location of each of these thirty- nine nests. In every instance, those that concealed the sitting bird were at a considerable distance from any house, in uncultivated parts, the larger portion being on an unfrequented island; the others were on elm-trees growing on the banks of a lonely creek. In both these localities sparrow-hawks were seen frequently, when compared with their appearance in the neighborhoods selected for the building of open-topped nests, all of which were in willow and elm trees in the yards of farm- houses, and in full view of people continually passing to and fro. The conclusion drawn from the study of these nests _ was, that the orioles, knowing that there was in this case but little danger from hawks, constructed a less elaborate nest, one which answered every purpose of incubation, though it did not conceal the parent birds when occupy- ing it. Of the nests that did not conceal the sitting birds, every one was really open at the top, and the bird entered from above. The weight of the bird when in the nest appeared to draw the edges of the rim together sufficiently to shut out all view of the occupant. The rims of those nests that when occupied concealed the birds were all —~ a -~ i a] eS ot —e a Le ee eS aa = - —, - eS died hi r > | V8 SO SS AEE ee ea ee ‘~~ .= ~ - — Fos ; r —" Oe an Pee A a Baws eel. ~~ * 132 : RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. much smaller, and the nest itself was deeper, than were any of those nests where concealment was not considered in the construction ; these latter being in every way much like the ordinary nests of the orchard oriole. | Originally, in all probability, when its enemies were more numerous, especially the smaller hawks, the nest of the Baltimore oriole was perfectly closed at the top and had an opening at the side; but, of the hundreds of these nests that I have seen, I have never yet found one that was constructed in this manner. | Perhaps as great a change in the manner of construct- ing nests as that given in the case of the Baltimore ori- ole is shown in an instance that occurred under my notice in 1875, and has since been repeated every year (1880) by, probably, the same pair of birds. This is the construction of a semi-globular, supported nest, in a pine- tree, by the orchard or bastard orioles. The materials used in building it were the leaves of the pine, or “ pine- needles,’”’ as we call them. A few strands of long grass and a bit or two of thread entered into the rim of the nest, and seemed merely to outline the top and hold to- gether the slight twigs to which the nest was attached. The pine-needles were woven into a basket, and supported by astray thread or a single long, flexible blade of grass, placed here and there through the nest. The bottom of the structure rested on a twig, so that in no respect was it suspended. While ordinarily these orioles build a less carefully constructed nest than does the Baltimore oriole, still it is usually suspended, and made of long, flexible grass, closely interwoven. The nests in the pine-tree, on the other hand, were remarkable for the almost total absence of any suitable flexible materials. This could not have arisen from their absence, as Baltimore orioles A SHORT STUDY OF BIRDS’ NESTS. 133 built three nests in the immediate vicinity, and had no trouble in finding as much long grass, hair, and bits of twine as they needed. ; The nest of the orchard orioles made of pine-needles was rebuilt in the pine-tree in precisely the same man- ner in 1878 and in 1879. In 1880 two such nests were built. In 1876 and 1877 the nests were built in apple- trees near by, and pine-needles were used. Why the pine-tree was deserted for two years is to be explained by the fact that, in those years, a colony of purple grakles occupied that and the adjoining trees during the nesting season ; and, considering the noise they made, night and day, it isscarcely to be wondered at that the orioles should seek other localities for their summer home. The grakles did not appear in 1878 and 1879, so the orioles again had the pine to themselves while nesting. In 1881 and the past summer, 1882, the grakles were back, and no orioles nested in the pine; but I found a nest of theirs in a pear- _ tree near by, and this, like all the others, was made almost wholly of pine-needles. The present nesting-habits of the chimney-swallow are worthy of some consideration, in connection with the subject of variation in the nidification of birds. It may be laid down as a fixed habit of this bird, that, at _ present, it constructs its nest only in chimneys. The ex- ceptional cases that have been mentioned recently are too few to render qualification of this statement necessary. Now, as chimneys have been available less than three centuries, where, prior to this, were the nests of this bird placed? Peter Kalm says of these birds, writing one hundred and thirty years ago: “ They derive their name from nests built in chimneys which are not made use of in summer: sometimes, when the smoke is not very great, 134 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. they do not mind the smoke, and remain in the chimney. I did not see them this year [1749] till late in May, but in the ensuing year [1750] they arrived on the 3d of May, for they appear much later than the other swallows.” (This is not true of them at present. They invariably follow the bank-swallow, and precede by several days the rest of the swallow tribes. The chimney-swallow, furthermore, is not a true swallow but a swift, birds of avery different family, but with similar habits.) It is remarkable that each feather in their tail ends in a stiff, sharp point, like the end of an awl; they apply the tail to the side of the wall in the chimneys, hold themselves with their feet, and the stiff tail serves to keep them up. They make a great thundering noise all the day long by flying up and down in the chimneys; and, as they build their nests in chimneys only, and it is well known that the Zndians have not so much as a hearth made of ma- sonry, much less a chimney, but make their fires on the ground in their huts, it is an obvious question, Where did the swallows build their nests before the Huropeans came and made houses with chimneys? It is probable that they formerly made them in great hollow trees.” This view of Kalm’s is correct, as is well known. I had the good fortune in 1869 to find a “great hollow tree” in a piece of woodland that was thus tenanted by a colony of these birds. The nests did not vary at all from . those found in chimneys. I judged the cause of this return to the old-time habit of nesting in trees was the fact that the chimney of a small house near by, in which the swal- lows were accustomed to build, had been closed to them by a wire netting, and, as the nearest available chimneys were all tenanted by swallows, these “shut out” birds were forced to seek some available locality in a tree or crevice of a rock, or else quit the neighborhood. Ac- — . . | a 2 A SHORT STUDY OF BIRDS? NESTS. = 185 cepting the only alternative, they availed themselves of _a hollow chestnut-tree, where they were, to all appear- ance, as well suited as they would have been in their. former haunts. My curiosity was roused to know what the following summer would have to show. Would they return to the tree? In April and May of 1870, I care- fully watched for them, but not a swallow appeared. The nests of the chimney-swallows, when placed in hollow trees, are, of course, greatly exposed to the attacks of owls and such carnivorous mammals as are good climbers, and it is highly probable that, in the case of these birds, we have an instance of birds thriving better and increasing in numbers, in consequence of the envi- ronment being greatly altered by man’s agency. The habit of building nests of a particular pattern and many together has remained the same; but, the artificial locali- ties offered being a great improvement over anything in Nature, the birds have been correspondingly benefited. CHAPTER XV. THE SONGS OF BIRDS. During the spring and summer of 1874 especially, and at all favorable opportunities since, my out-door studies were largely confined to particular phases of bird- life, rather than to their habits generally. Most promi- nent among these was that of singing, and its relation to the other utterances of birds; for I had been long under the impression, and since am fully convinced, that a bird’s song bears just the same relationship to its various chirps, twitters, and calls, that singing with mankind bears to ordinary conversation. Early in the morning of any bright May day, passing, on my lookout for new arrivals among the migratory birds, along some woody slope glistening with dew and glorious in floral decoration, I am greeted by a loud chirp! In an instant a hundred melodious voices are hushed, and not until I have remained quiet for several moments is the concert resumed ; then the bird that gave this warning call seeks some more elevated perch, and, with head erect, he again takes up the strain. Another and another songster joins in the chorus, and again the woods ring with the united voices of thrushes, wrens, spar- rows, and warblers beyond count. It may be objected, at the very outset, that all are not singing birds, and the fact of non-singing birds outnum- bering the others disposes effectually of my theory. md THE SONGS OF BIRDS. ; 137 “ Whoever heard an owl sing?” is asked in derision. Well, my good friend, do you call the shrill, cacophonous shouts of savages singing? Yet we know that to these. same savage peoples their weird cries and monotonous drumming are as melodious as the best efforts of a prima donna are to us. While, as we understand melody, some species of birds are endowed with marked musical abil- ities and others are devoid of them, it does not follow that the latter have not a series of notes or utterances pleasurable to themselves and to their fellows. To deny this is really to assert that some birds are gifted with song for man’s pleasure instead of for their own. This is a common expression, I know, but it is utterly absurd. Careful observation will enable any one to see clearly that every bird has a considerable range of utterance, which is divisible into cries or expressions of various kinds, each, of course, having a different and uniform meaning. Some of the low, monotonous notes of brood- ing birds are evidently uttered for their soothing effect upon themselves, their mates and young, and are only heard during the nesting season. The truth is, a bird can only be rightly understood by a bird, and a naturalist must spend years in patient watching, often for days to- gether, and must have made himself familiar to the birds, before he can witness a tithe of the many acts which go to prove that they approach nearer to reasoning beings than is generally supposed. Space does not allow me to give all the details that I have jotted down during my rambles about home, and I must content myself with an occasional extract from my note-book, in the effort to interpret briefly the songs of many of our birds. Including some twenty species of warblers, more or less regular in their yearly appearance, there are in Cen- 138 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. tral New Jersey fifty-four birds, resident and migratory, that can be considered as strictly singing birds. These may with perfect propriety be classed in accordance with their peculiar temperaments, as VIVACIOUS, SPRIGHTLY, or DULL; meaning thereby to express three degrees of ani- mation in their songs. As instances of ‘the first may be named the house-wren and Baltimore oriole, the song- sparrow and indigo bird belong to the second class, and in the third are to be found the bluebird and the peewee. Now, the songs of these birds can not in any sense be looked upon as a uniform series of notes—a stereotyped whistle or an unvarying warble, as is said of them by the late Dr. Holland in the following stanzas: “The robin repeats his two musical words, The meadow-lark whistles his one refrain ; And steadily, over and over again, _ The same song swells from a hundred birds.” “ Bobolink, chick-a-dee, blackbird, and jay, Thrasher and woodpecker, cuckoo and wren, Each sings its word or its phrase, and then. It has nothing further to sing or to say.” But, as a matter of fact, they do have other songs to sing, and do find plenty to say when occasion requires. While as a rule the song of any bird, when once known, can usually be recognized when heard a second time, yet this is not always the case, for the reason that our songsters _ do, at times, vary their notes in the most striking man- ner. This is such a frequent occurrence, and is so uni- versally true of our song-birds, as effectually to disprove the — that they have “ iba further to ‘es or to say.” As has been said, the various songs of the fifty odd kinds of singing birds can be readily placed under one stele lb alah aap cc Ale ge -— 2 | THE SONGS OF BIRDS. 139 or the other of these three headings; and, curiously enough, in every case the song is indicative of the char- acter of the bird or vice versa. Unquestionably there is. a close connection between the song and temperament ; in fact, it may be laid down as a law that the latter de- cides the character of the former. This has, I think, a strong bearing on the question of the origin of the songs themselves, as I do not entertain the suggestion that some birds were created songsters, while others were denied this power. Rather, it seems to me that, from cries of alarm, and quick, hearty chirps expressive of satisfaction, there have been evolved the melodious notes of our most accomplished songsters. Why may not this be so? Cer- tainly by analogous processes our present civilization has produced in time the elaborate music of the present day, from the harsh, discordant attempts at melody on the part of existing savage races, just as they were the outcome of still ruder sounds in which man’s primeval, pre-human ancestry indulged. Let us now consider for a moment one fact in regard to these songs that separates them from the other utter- ances of birds, and that is, that the bird sings solely for the pleasure of listening himself, or of being listened to by his fellows, and the song bears no relation whatever to any of his preceding or subsequent movements. From this it would appear that the song of a bird is an expres- sion that gives pleasure to the bird itself and to others of its kind, which latter fact is recognized by the singer, and thus affords him additional satisfaction. In brief, the reason that birds sing is precisely the same as that which induces man to cultivate music, which, by the was was originally exclusively vocal. - We shall now turn to the other class of utterances of these same birds, and carefully note them down in all 140 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. their variations. There is in them material for months of careful study, and any one who has an opportunity to listen to a pair of newly-mated birds will be struck with amazement at the great variety of sounds, all evident expressions of the varied mental impressions of the mo- ment. These “notes,” as we may call them, are usually low, and many are scarcely audible, unless we happen to get very near the birds and yet remain unseen. In this whole class of sounds other than the true song, we have a guide to their proper interpretation in the very evident fact that all such single expressions, as chirps, trills, twitters, and shrill cries, are always accompanied by movements which are closely related to them. A bird singing, except during courtship, when gymnastics are indulged in, does not busy itself with anything else at the same time. Thus, for instance, if busy feeding, at the moment of inspiration, it quits its search for food, and, taking up a suitable position, it begins its song and keeps it up until wearied with the repetition or called by its mate, or, struck by a sudden thought, away it goes, to work it may be, or else it flies off to some distant place. When, however, it is busy hunting for food, the low chirps and an occasional twitter that accompany the search indicate, if alone, that it is talking to itself, or, if with company, that it is talking to them; for a bird sur- rounded by others, or in company with its mate, will chirp more loudly and with a greater variation of notes than when alone. If disturbed at such a time, how dif- ferent an utterance is heard! Who can doubt the mean- ing of a frightened bird’s alarm-cry? And how quickly is it responded to on the part of all the birds within hear- ing ? : Probably the most marked instance of a difference in the habits that accompany the chirp and the song proper a THE SONGS OF BIRDS. 141 can be seen in the chewink or towhee bunting. This bird keeps upon the ground nearly the whole time. Its nest is always there, and its food is found under dead . leaves lying upon the ground. Now, while it hops about, it utters, with much regularity and frequency, a double chirp, which has given rise to its local name, ché-wink. A person might watch one of these birds for half a day and never suspect that it had any song or other note _ than the cheery ché-wink, ché-wink, it so frequently utters. It so happens, however, that it has a moderately sweet song, though it never yet was known to sing it while standing upon the ground. If moved to sing, it mounts upon a low bank or on the lower limb of a tree, and whistles, “Chée-do ! chée-do ! tree-de-ré de-ré, de-ré |” and then down on the ground it goes again. The plain meaning of this, I take it, is that the chirps are not a song, nor are they intended by the bird as such, but that the more elaborate notes, uttered when in a bush or tree, do constitute his song, and this he sings for _ gratification of himself and friends. Again, observe two birds immediately after mating, and what a laughable caricature of a newly-married cou- ple—say on their wedding journey—are their actions and their low ceaseless twittering! They also have their petty vexations and their little quarrels, in which the feminine voice is ever the louder and more rapid in its utterance, and its owner enjoys the precious privilege of © the last word. _ I have often witnessed such quarrels, and the literally hen-pecked husband has always been compelled to sub- mit to his tyrannical partner. If he be lazy, woe betide him when nest-building commences, as it does so soon after mating. His gay feathers will soon lose their prim appearance, and mayhap only the fraction of a tail 142 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. will be left him, but, in spite of all this, he will cheer his brooding mate with his choicest songs; singing, I have sometimes thought, with greater fervor from the con- sciousness that his wife is too busy at home to bother him. , But what has all this to do with language? Just this, that it depends on the manner in which things go on between the birds, whether the chirps and twitters are low, musical, and deliberately uttered, or whether they are shrill, cacophonous, and so rapidly repeated that the birds, if unseen, can not be recognized by their voices. But it may be urged that, to constitute language, or something akin to it, these chirps and twitters must be shown to convey ideas. Can one bird tell another any- thing? it will beasked. To this I answer that, if any one has watched a colony of brooding grakles, or paid close attention to a flock of crows, he has probably Satisfied himself upon this point. Crows have twenty-seven dis- tinct cries, calls, or utterances, each readily distinguishable from the other, and each having an unmistakable con- nection with a certain class of actions ; some of which, as, for instance, the many different notes of the brooding- birds, are only heard at certain seasons. In this connec- tion, it may be added that the intelligence of crows is fully one half greater than that of any other bird in our fauna. Instances of the exercise of much cunning and forethought on their part are almost innumerable. Let us see, however, if among our singing-birds there is not to be found evidence of an ability to communicate ideas, presumably by the aid of vocal sounds. Here is an occurrence that took place in my presence in the spring of 1872. A pair of cat-birds were noticed carry- ing materials for a nest toa patch of blackberry-briers hard by. To test their ingenuity, I took a long, narrow a THE SONGS OF BIRDS. 143 strip of muslin, too long for one bird to carry conven- iently, and placed it on the ground in a position to be seen by the birds when searching for suitable materials for their nest. In a few moments one of the eat-birds spied the strip and endeavored to carry it off, but its length and weight, in whichever way the bird took hold of it, and he tried many, impeded its flight. After wor- rying over it for some time the bird flew off, not, as I supposed, to seek other materials, but, as it proved, to ob- tain assistance in transporting the strip of muslin in ques- tion. In a few moments it returned with its mate, and then, standing near the strip, they held what I consider to have been a consultation. The chirping, twittering, murmuring, and occasional ejaculations were all unmis- takable. In a few moments this chattering, if you will, ceased, and the work commenced. Each took hold of the strip of muslin at about the same distance from the ends, and, starting exactly together, they flew toward their un- finished nest, bearing the prize successfully away. I followed them as quickly as possible, and, reaching the brier-patch, never before or since heard such an in- terminable wrangling and jabbering. Had I not seen the birds, I doubt if I should have recognized them from their voices. The poor birds simply could not agree how to use so long a piece of material to the best advantage. If it had been shorter, they might have made it serviceable ; but as it was, being neither willing to dis- card it nor able to agree as to its proper use, they finally abandoned it altogether, and so too they did the unfin- ished nest and the neighborhood. From what has been said, I can not see how birds can logically be denied language. A hundred instances sim- ilar to this in the essential details occur every spring day, and they all prove that a bird has some means of commu- 144 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME, nicating its thoughts to its companions; and, as we know : - that they have a large range of utterances, is it not pre- sumable that these are in large part the media by which their thoughts are expressed? We can only judge by the same standard which we apply to man, and, when so judged, it must I think be admmanier that bite have a spoken language. We have also seen that these various vitjenqaaall are only expressed when the bird is occupied, and that their songs proper are only sung when the bird is quiet or giv- ing its whole attention to the act of singing, for the fact that they often sing while flying does not contradict this ; and these facts, it is believed, are sufficient to show that birds, like mankind, sing for pleasure and talk from ne- cessity. My own observations have led me to this conclusion. CHAPTER XVI. CHATS AND WRENS: A SUMMER’S STUDY. I rirst saw the chat on Sunday, May 9, 1874. From the topmost branch of a tall locust he sailed, with unsteady wings and dangling legs, upward and outward for some distance, uttering a few harsh squeaks, and then alighting, he warbled a series of sweet, liquid notes, followed in turn by sounds like the yelp of a puppy, the squeak of a squir- rel, or the dull creaking of a rusty weather-vane. Then, hopping from twig to twig, searching for insects, he added his own peculiar chirp, alternated with low yet distinct notes, quite indescribable, but all hollow, ghost-like, and gloomy. These weird, mournful groans, plaintive calls, and cries as of some poor creature in distress, would fol- low each other in quick succession, when, suddenly ceas- ing, an outburst of. glorious melody would complete the strange series. Then, having regained his perch upon the topmost branch, the restless bird would remain quiet for a moment, when, with the same awkward, crooked flight, he would repeat the same series of strange and sweet notes, with some little variation of the uncouth sounds he se- lected for imitation. While I listened, wondering what next would greet my ears, | was surprised, even startled, by hearing the same strange sounds repeated, but at some distance off. Another chat, farther down the path, was singing in the same strange way—another it must be, for the one first 7 146 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. heard is still in sight on the same locust-tree, flitting care- — lessly about and apparently silent. Curious to hear the — new-comer, I passed on, when the sounds were heard in — the opposite direction. I retraced my steps, and now the strange medley came from the low bushes about me, and, while looking carefully for the unseen chat that seemed so near, there came floating down to me from the tall locust’s topmost branch the same series of odd sounds and sweet warblings. The truth was now clear: the one bird had uttered every sound I had heard, and by his ventrilo- quism had for the time completely deceived me. My study of this habit and its use now commenced, and for long weeks I watched him, to test in every way his ability to mislead one by the exercise of this peculiar power. On the 13th of the month, asecond chat appeared, and the two—for the new-comer was a female—quickly selected a stutable spot in a tangled mass of blackberry briers at the foot of the locust-tree, and built a commodious but — roughly constructed nest. While his mate was sitting, the male chat seemed more animated than ever, and, jealous of every intruder, he “threw his voice ” in every direction other than toward the nest whenever any one came too near. On concealing myself and getting very close, I found, by watching for an hour or more at a time, that when undisturbed they uttered fewer cries of other crea- tures, and seldom exercised their ventriloquial powers. Their song was varied and at times grand, but usually the cheerful notes were so intermingled with hollow, se- pulchral tones, not of an imitative character, as to render the entire utterance far from pleasing. I never could so startle the bird that it would simply give a quick chirp of alarm and fly off. However suddenly I appeared from my concealment, there was an equally quick uttering of notes of distress such as I have described, coming from, CHATS AND WRENS. 147 it seemed, a point several yards distant. Vary my exper- iments as I would, it mattered not: the bird was thor- oughly conscious of its ventriloquial power, and trusted. far more to it than to flight to avoid and mislead any intruder. How came this bird to possess so unusual a power? This I shall leave for others to determine, with this one suggestion: having closely observed a pair of these birds during the entire summer, I discovered that the habit is eminently useful to them, and is, I think, possessed by the male only, though upon this point I am not positively certain. : : When it is recollected that many of our birds—nota- bly the mocking-bird and cat-bird—mimic not only the notes of other songsters, but sounds of almost every de- scription, and that perhaps all gregarious birds post: senti- nels to sound alarm on the approach of an enemy, it is evident that all the vocal powers of birds are not brought into play simply for their own satisfaction or for that of their mates; for there is a wide difference between a bird’s song and its ordinary chirping and twittering. During the lapse of ages they have learned, through ex- perience, something of the laws of sound, and they know fully as well as man does that certain notes can be heard at a greater distance than others. This is shown by the fact that birds, when giving an alarm-cry, utter the note with a penetrating shrillness, not common in any of their ordinary chirps or song. This knowledge of one of the properties of sound, simple as it is, is the starting-point in the acquirement of the power of mimicry, which is the intermediate stage between ordinary vocal utterances, including songs, and that ventriloquial power which we have seen is possessed in great perfection by the chat. Now, as this bird imitates very many sounds, it seems 148 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. clear that the simple power of mimicry must have been first gained, and that the ventriloquial power, or the power to repeat a sound so as to make it seem as if it were uttered somewhere else, was a subsequent acquisition. Such an addition to the power of mimicking other birds and the cries of small mammals would at once prove advantageous in misleading a pursuing enemy, as, for instance, a small hawk; and the chat would not be slow to learn this, and to profit by the knowledge. In this way a new habit readily becomes characteristic of a spe- cies, first locally, and then throughout the entire extent of its haunts. A. word in conclusion concerning the vocal powers of the chat. While it is true that these birds sing a good deal by day, yet it 1s not until after sunset and during the night, especially if there be a moon, that they are merriest ; and a more joyous strain never came from the bobolink than that which is then uttered by the chats. But, alas! this melody is so often spoiled by a comming- ling of mournful sounds, that it is not surprising the Indians should have called them the “ ghost-birds.” About the middle of June the young birds had left the nest, though they still continued with the parent birds, and were fed by them. From this time until August, when both old and young left the neighborhood, I failed to detect any attempt even at singing on the part of the young; and the more marked features of the song of the parent birds were but seldom heard after the young had obtained a sufficient flight-power to insure their safety. This would seem to lead to the inference that both the mimicry and the ventriloquism were exercised by the male for the purpose of securing safety to the young and to the female while upon her nest; as the occasional exhibitions of song on his arrival in spring F 0 Se ee - ~- SS a CHATS AND WRENS. on 149 were, I suppose, given at first for his own satisfaction, and afterward, when the females had arrived, these tests of his power were intended for their gratification. Let us now consider a very different bird—one not common in New Jersey, or, at least, very “local” in its distribution. About the middle of July, when most birds had long finished their nesting-labors, a pair of Bewick’s wrens appeared in and about one of my out-buildings, and, in a day or two, having fixed upon a suitable spot, began to build their nest. As they were not at this time at all timid, [ had abundant opportunities of watching them while so employed, and I must admit that there was nothing poetical in their modus operandi. After the first few strands of long, tape-like grass had been arranged upon a beam, the birds came to the spot together, each carrying a blade of grass or other equally flexible material. The female then sat in the unfinished nest, arranging the materials, while her mate brought others, some of which he apparently wound loosely about her. This continued until the foundation and sides were completed. When finishing off the nest the female remained in and about it, while her mate was in quest of such soft materials as he could find. These were simply laid in the bottom of the nest, and received no special attention until a consid- erable quantity had been piled up, when the female bur- rowed into it, and, as I judged, kept turning round and round in it, until she had succeeded in making a com- paratively smooth depression in it, just fitted to her body. The larger strands on the outside, which had heretofore appeared of no use, were now rudely twisted into the sides of the nest and carried up until they formed a sort of arch, scarcely close enough to form a roof, or to make of the entire structure a globular nest, like that of the 150 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. marsh-wren. In three days the work was completed, and was not better than any child could have made with the same material, wrapping, winding, and fitting them over his fist. Not one particle of ingenuity was displayed at any time. On the fourth day the first egg was laid, and on this day a cat succeeded in catching the male bird. As the female did not seem to miss him very much, and as it was this mishap that made the subsequent study of the nest and- female bird possible, I did not ob- ject to the interference. The widowed wren wandered about quite as usual, constantly uttering a very cheery chirp, and gathering up a goodly quantity of insects every day. One egg was laid each day, until four had been deposited, when she commenced sitting. The fourth ego was pure white, the others of the usual color and markings. An interesting physiological question here arises which may be briefly referred to. This species of wren usually lays from seven to nine eggs, and hatches them all. Did, in this case of the widowed wren, the influence of the male only reach to the third or possibly the fourth egg? Of the four eggs laid, the last did not hatch, and I judged from its contents that the yolk had been imperfect. Again, did the death of the male bird indirectly cause the shell of the fourth egg laid to be wholly colorless? The season was too far advanced to make any additional observations, and I may add further- more that this is the only instance I ever knew of a bird continuing to sit after the death of her mate. After the young wrens were but a day old, the parent bird was seldom seen except for a moment at a time, when she would dart into the outbuilding through a knot- hole in one of the weather-boards, with a supply of food for her young. Then off she would go again, usually to the low roof of an adjoining building, and there would 4 tye i a eas se, 2 4 CHATS AND WRENS. . @bi chirp most shrilly if any one happened to be near, flutter- ing the while in a most distressed manner, as though de- termined to make those who might be passing believe that she had a nest up on the roof, or anywhere, except in the spot where it really was. This habit was so marked as to attract the attention of the members of my family; and, if the out-building—a work-shop which was continu- ally visited during the day—happened to have any person in it when she arrived with food for her young, she would dart back as rapidly as she came in, and go through her accustomed antics on an adjoining building, while still retaining the food. By the middle of August, the young, although but scantily feathered, had left the nest, and in a day or two, old and young departed from the neighbor- hood. The song of the Bewick’s wren is very fine and more melodious than that of the common house-wren. There is not in it, however, or in any of the various utterances of the female, any trace of mimicry or ventriloquism, and when I saw the anxious wren labor with both voice and body, and with all her might, to make her supposed ene- mies believe her painfully acted and harshly uttered lie, I could not but recall the advantage of the chat, in being able to remain comfortably at home, and send his voice on an errand, whenever and wherever it seemed neces- sary. With reference to this wren’s nest, it may be said that this species usually builds a very commodious and neat structure in a concealed spot, and not, as in this case, on the top of a window-frame, in full view, like a peewee’s. It was really an instance of what is often seen in nest- building, carelessness and laziness on the part of the builders. In my studies of birds’ nests, I have found ex- posed positions chosen, because the twigs and branches 152 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. grew in such a manner as to lessen the labor of bui vl Thus we see that, while some birds are “smart,” ot! are less so, and that not a few have their vreabenlal as is so often the case in man. All of which, I think a strong argument in favor of the theory that the men powers of birds are identical with those of man, differi only in degree. ; CHAPTER XVII. THE CAROLINA WREN: A YEAR OF ITS LIFE. Earty in the morning of September 1, 1882, as I was passing near the stable, my attention was called to the shrill notes of an excited little bird that, darting from the building, alighted on the fence near by and screamed Jimmée, Jimmée, Jimmée, so loudly, that every James in the township should have hastened thither. No response came, and again the call, a clear, penetrating whistle, was repeated. This continued at brief intervals for two or three minutes, and then, as quickly as it came, the bird flew back to the stable, entering through a knot-hole in a weather-board with such rapidity of movement that I could but marvel at its dexterity. Half an hour later I saw this same bird again, coming from the stable through the same knot-hole, and this time it sang as loudly, impatiently, and frequently as before, but the notes were different. It said, or seemed to say, tsau-ré-ta, tsau-ré-ta, tsau-ré-ta. Had I not seen the _ bird I should have recognized it by a peculiarity in its song, which was never wanting, whatever might be the particular notes it uttered. My attention being called to this little bird—the Carolina wren (or mocking wren of authors)—I determined forthwith to study its habits as opportunity presented, for the little that I found recorded of it is far from satisfactory. What might be the attraction in the stable was my ———*- * 154 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. first object to determine, for I did not suppose it had a nest so late in the season, and I had not noticed the bird particularly during the summer months, although I knew they were in the neighborhood. A protracted search failed, indeed, in finding any nest; but while I was wan- ae about I was surprised to a the wren enter the _building and proceed immediately to search for spiders, which hitherto were abundant in every nook and cor- ner, but now were comparatively scarce. Once the bird alighted upon the back of a horse standing in its stall, and while there quietly preened its feathers, as much as a wren ever deigns to do this, and then, with a shrill chirp that startled the animal, aie) it flew in search of more spiders. Late in the afternoon of the same day I again saw the wren enter the stable and pass directly through the mow- hole to the hay-loft overhead. I followed and found that the bird had taken possession of a barn-swallow’s nest, and here it was keeping bachelor’s hall. The nest was placed against a rafter, near the peak of the roof, and was quite inaccessible to cats. This probably the ~ wren did not consider. It is a sly cat that ever catches a wren napping. The bird did not like my discovering his hiding-place, or at least was annoyed by my inquisi- tiveness. It circled about me several times, snapping its beak I thought, and chirped an unusually emphatic ¢sep, which I took to be the wrennish for “ damn.” All through the mellow September days, early and late, the clear notes of this wren were to be heard, and through October, and long after every summer songster had departed, I heard them daily and many times a day. During the autumn there was little to note with re- gard to the bird’s habits. The insects in the stable and outbuildings afforded it a sufficient food supply, but dur- EE =] : THE CAROLINA WREN. ES ing exceptionally warm and sunny days it made frequent Visits to a wooded slope near by, and there, among the giant oaks and chestnuts, it seemed more lively and full of song than when nearer home. A few words with reference to the character of its song. Every utterance is sharply defined by a peculiar- ity that belongs only to this bird. I think I should know the bird by its voice wherever I might hear it. Again, while the bird has a great variety of notes, I believe I have never heard it mingle these various utter- ances. It may chance to whistle gummeée or tsau-ré-ta or phoé-do, but it never follows one with the other. It is in all cases a repetition of the notes it first utters. Thus I once recorded its song as uttered during ten minutes. Its notes then were phoédo, phoé-do, phoé-do phée! with a rest of some five to ten seconds—then repeated; and this continued without any variation until the notes as here ‘given had been uttered sixty-four times. As the bird was about commencing the sixty-fifth repetition it was frightened and flew off. GABF This, however, did not last long. In the course of a week they had settled all their little differences, and hunted the spiders in the out-buildings, and early insects every-- where, in company. The song of the male bird was now more varied and frequent, yet never with a trace of mimicry of the notes of other birds. Its song in volume exceeded even the clear whistle of the cardinal grosbeak, and could be heard distinctly for half a mile during a still morning. | wr March 18th was a pleasant, spring-like day, and an early Maryland yellow-throat was singing merrily. This drew me out of doors, and I noticed directly that the Carolina wrens had commenced nest-building. Both birds were busy carrying long grass, strips of inner bark of shrubs, and an odd thread or two that were found near by. One bird examined the clothes-line carefully, but could not succeed in unraveling any portion. Following the wrens, I found they had located on the upper surface of one of the plates of the frame of the barn. The nest was directly under the roof, and quite filled the space between the upper surface of the plate and the shingles, about six inches. The nest, when com- pleted except the lining, was quite a foot in length. It was, in fact, a mere shapeless mass of loose material. Into this the female wren burrowed and remained most of the time, while the male bird brought softer fibers and chicken feathers. With these the cavity was lined and | the nest completed. March 24th an egg was laid, and another each day until the 29th, when the hen commenced sitting. Dur- _ ing the days that followed, the male bird was very active in supplying his mate with food, and took his turn in caring for the eggs, but evidently under protest; this I conclude from the super-merry songs he uttered on being 158 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. relieved. Indeed it is a marvel to me that evena female — wren can sit still. They have such nervous tempera- ments that an entire change of nidification, whereby solar heat could be depended upon, would, no doubt, be hailed by them with joy. Five young birds were hatched April 9th. When twen- ty days old they were able to fly, and had left the nest and apparently their parents. I saw them, evidently shifting for themselves, two days later, when they disappeared. May 14th the old birds were again building a nest, this time in another building, but in a similar position. The structure was identical in shape and size, but differed in — being largely lined with snake-skins. It was completed by May 20th, and a week later seven eggs had been laid, and June 7th six eggs were hatched. The young were on the wing July 1st. July 15th a third nest was found nearly completed. Five eggs were laid by the 28d, and on August 8th the young birds of the third brood had appeared. These could fly by the 26th of the month, and had left the nest and the neighborhood by the 30th. It is now a few days more than a year since my atten- tion was particularly called to the single Carolina wren that frequented the stable. During the past twelve months it was closely watched, and every habit noted. When I was absent others observed it for me, and nothing of importance escaped attention. While I am writing these concluding lines, I can hear the bird singing merrily as it sits upon the top of the hop-vine pole, of late its favorite perch. While listening to its song it is a proper time to sum up the results of what I have seen and heard. As a songster it ranks very high and its utterances are all original. As a spider-hunter it is as active as any of — the family of wrens. As a courageous foe of the English sparrows it is a blessing to the community. CHAPTER XVIII. DO SWALLOWS HIBERNATE ? Ty the year 1750, Peter Kalm, the Swedish naturalist, made the following entry in his journal, during a brief sojourn in Southern New Jersey: “I observed the barn- swallows for the first time on the 10th of April [new style]; the next day in the morning, I saw great numbers of them sitting on posts and planks, and they were as wet as if they had been just come out of the sea.” On a sub- sequent page, he remarks: “The people differed here in their opinions about the abode of swallows in winter; most of the Swedes thought that they lay at the bottom of the sea; some, with the English and the French in Canada, thought that they migrate to the southward in autumn, and return in spring. I have likewise been eredibly informed in Albany that they have been found ‘sleeping in deep holes and clefts of rocks during winter.” Furthermore, it is well to say that John Reinhold Forster, the accomplished translator of Kalm’s travels, adds, in a foot-note, a series of well-attested instances of swallows having been found hibernating in the mud at the bottoms of lakes: among these instances he mentions Dr. Wal- lerius, a celebrated Swedish chemist, who affirmed that he had “seen more than once, swallows assembling on a reed, till they were all immersed and went to the bottom ; this being preceded bya dirge of a quarter of an hour’s length.” Commenting upon the above and like instances, 160 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. Mr. Forster is led to conclude that in countries as cold as Sweden “swallows immerse in the sea, in lakes and rivers, and remain in a torpid state, under ice, during winter ;” and thatsome English swallows, and some in Germany, “retire into clefts and holes in rocks,” while in Spain, Italy, and France, that they are strictly migratory birds. That our American swallows are strictly migratory birds, I have no doubt; and it would never have occurred to me to consider the subject of their hibernation other than a mere fancy, had not an excellent American orni- thologist stated recently that this alleged submarine hiber- nation was physically and physiologically feasible. This assertion is too hasty, and is not warranted by known laws of life. Having been made, however, and a semi-assent to the alleged habit of hibernation being thus given by an authority in ornithological science, it behooves the naturalist to determine how great an amount of truth there is in the statements, so frequently and forcibly made, of the persons claiming to have witnessed actions on the part of swallows, indicative of hibernation commenced, and of the discovery of swallows in conditions indicative of hibernation in progress. Believing this supposed habit to be really a miscon- ception of movements on the part of swallows, to be lik- ened in some measure to the rolling habit of the mythical hoop-snake, I have taken every available opportunity, since 1878, to observe the movements of the several spe- cies of swallows that frequent my neighborhood, with the hope of determining what habits obtained among them that might possibly have given rise to the world- wide impression that swallows not only hibernate but even deliberately bury themselves in mud at the bottoms of lakes and rivers. The species of swallow that I have had oppiriealll | DO SWALLOWS HIBERNATE? —‘16 1. of carefully studying for the past three years are the bank- swallow, the cliff-swallow, the barn-swallow, and lastly the swallow-like swift, universally known as the chimney- swallow. I do not propose to give here an extended account of the habits of these four species of well-known birds, but to relate the occurrences that I have witnessed, which seemed to bear upon the question. These birds I will treat of in the order named. Probably the most abundant of all our swallows is that known as the bank-swallow, a name derived from the habit of building its nest in the steep faces of earth-banks, when they are of such composition or structure that these birds ean safely burrow into them to a depth of several feet. I say “safely,” for if the earth be too yielding, and the _ sides liable to crumble, then the bank will be abandoned. — In every instance that has come under my notice the cho- _sen banks or escarpments occupied bya colony of bank- swallows had a southern exposure, and directly fronting it, and never so far distant as to be out of sight, there was either a pond, a creek, or the river itself. Now this association of water and the colonies of bank-swallows is important. Least susceptible to changes of weather, and depend- ent upon food more than temperature, the bank-swal- low is the earliest of the family to appear in spring, and the last to disappear late in autumn. The alleged hiber- nation is a habit that concerns us only at such times of the year—in early spring, when they leave their muddy couches after prolonged slumber, and in autumn when they seek these submarine retreats. | Like all, or nearly all, migratory birds, the bank-swal- _ lows return in early spring to their haunts of the preced- ingsummer. When I have first noted their return, often — an ———s hc: eee RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. as early as the 10th of March, they were either flying to — and fro over the water in front of the site of their nests of last year, or flying in and out of the old burrows, in- specting their condition, but not preparing for the coming duties of incubation. Thus early in the spring, their flight is not as continued as it isa month later. Apparently they have not recovered from the fatigue of their migratorial — journey, and they rest in small companies, not upon trees, but, I may say, exclusively either at the openings of the subterranean nests, or upon sticks, dead trees, and vegeta- — tion projecting from the water. Now add the very im- — portant fact that the amount of food to be found by these swallows, thus early in the season, is very limited—being confined to a few hardy insects that are then astir if the sun is shining—and it becomes evident that, from an insuf- ficient supply of food, their vigorous flight power of mid- | summer will be visibly affected. Add to this the depressing influences of cold rain- storms, which they do not endeavor to avoid, and we have causes sufficient to explain the well-attested fact that these swallows are at this time of the year often to be seen, as Kalm described those he saw in 1750, “as wet as if they had been just come out of the sea.” Let me now mention the details of an incident of this kind. On the 17th of March, 1878, the weather for a week previously having been fairly pleasant for the time of year, a few swallows were seen ; it rained very hard until about noon, when it cleared suddenly, the wind shifting to the northwest. I started out for a short ram- ble in search of Indian relics, and, passing by the bluff that for years had been frequented by bank-swallows, I was attracted by the incessant but feeble twitterings of numbers of these birds; none were to be seen. I looked for them for some time, and finally found a hundred or —_- ; 2 DO SWALLOWS HIBERNATE? 163 more sitting upon the top rail of a section of half-sub- merged fence in the marshy meadow facing the cliff. Ap-_ proaching as near as I could, I found them unable, or, at least, indisposed to fly; and finally, getting to them, found them thoroughly soaked, and readily taken by the hand. Those that endeavored to escape fell into the water, and were lost in the dead bulrushes that projected _ above its surface. I presume that many were drowned. My explanation of the occurrence is this: they were in- sect hunting when the storm commenced, and, taking refuge upon the fence, they were awaiting the slow pro- cess of drying of feathers, by exposure to the wind and the fitful sunshine. This accomplished they would have _ been themselves again. On the other hand, had I not seen these swallows previously, there was every reason to lead me to suppose that they had suddenly appeared from some near-at-hand hiding-place, where they had been quietly at rest during the winter just closed; and _had any one following in my footsteps found the poor struggling birds that I had caused to fall into the water, then natural, indeed, would it have been to suppose that from the water itself had emerged these chilled and help- less birds at the first breath of spring! Now, on the 19th of March, 1880, there was a cold storm, with both snow and rain. Two days previously I had seen two bank-swallows. Thinking that others might be about, and desirious of seeing them during a rain, I went to the cliff near my house, but saw nothing of them. Lingering about the place for some time, I finally saw three emerge from holes in the cliff, and, after fluttering about a short time (the rain had then stopped), | they alighted on a stake projecting from the water, where they remained fully ten minutes. The rain commencing again to fall, one flew away, and went, I think, to the 164 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. | : cliff ; the others flew to the same fence, where I had seen ~ scores of them two years before, and sat near together — facing the wind, just as pigeons will arrange themselves on the peak of the roof of a barn during a rain-storm in ~ summer. In this case, these two swallows certainly became — thoroughly wetted, and had they been found later, when the storm was over, would doubtless have presented the appearance of being “as wet as if they had been just come out of the sea.” How easy it is to be misled by appearances in this — matter of studying bird-life! Had I not known that swallows had been flying for days before I found these wet, bedraggled, storm-beaten birds, I could fairly have claimed that my own experience fully confirmed the opinions of others, that swallows not only migrate, but remain in mud-encased beds at the bottoms of our ponds, creeks, and rivers; but until swallows are first heard sing- ing their farewell dirge, as Dr. Wallerius describes, then seen to sink into the mud, and are then promptly resur- rected, before a cloud of witnesses, it will be safe to as- sert that what many have seen is susceptible of another explanation than voluntary submergence in the mud of our water-courses. urthermore, it can be safely asserted, I think, that bank-swallows return year after year to their haunts of previous summers. A New York, or Con- necticut, or Massachusetts colony of these birds, will not reach its haunt of last summer as early as will the New Jersey colonies reach theirs. Although the recent observations of Mr. Scott at Princeton, New Jersey, conclusively show that migration customarily takes place at any night when it is moon- light, it does not necessarily show that migration at night is the common habit of all birds that migrate. Indeed, = 2 DO SWALLOWS HIBERNATE? ©. ge SS it is impossible to believe that, however brilliant the moonlight may be, any bird could distinguish, at the ele- _yation of a mile or more, the limited area of its former - summer haunts, the particular thicket in which it nested the foregoing summer; or, in the case of swallows, the little bluff wherein a colony had had their subterranean summer homes. The most that can be claimed is their recognition of the particular river valley wherein they _haye been accustomed to spend the summer. Granting this, if they migrated at night, then it is early in the Morning after their arrival that we should expect to see them resting in scattered numbers after their journey ; and when thus wearied from a protracted flight, and damped with the dews that have bathed surrounding Nature, they might well present the appearance of havy- ing arisen from the waters beneath, rather than fallen from the clouds above. | Continuing our consideration of these bank-swallows, _ let us now pass to the time of their annual disappearance, s “ a | late in autumn, or at the onset of winter. Two condi- tions cause the change of habitation, or, at least, the dis- appearance from their summer haunts—a much lower temperature, and absence of insects, their only food. Now, severe frosts often occur in October, or they may be delayed until November, but this alone does not de- cide the movements of the swallows; for often they have wholly disappeared before October, and then a year may pass, with flitting swallows skimming o’er the lea, un- daunted by the chill November fogs. The supposed regularity of their comings and goings is not applicable to their New Jersey haunts, however it may be in more northern localities. What, therefore, I have seen of their movements in autumn that has possible bearing upon alleged hiberna- 166 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. tion is, first, the effect of age. Now, it is as evident as that birds grow old, that, in due course of time, these mi- gratory swallows will reach that condition of decrepitude when they can make their migratory journey from South to North, or vice versa, for the last time. In such ease, _ there must necessarily be a large number that are left behind, when the main body depart each year, unless it can be shown that these aged birds die in the course of the sum- mer at the North, or during their winter sojourn in the South. Both statements are true. The result of a sum- mer’s study of a colony of bank-swallows reveaied the fact that a number of old unpaired swallows flitted feebly about the bluff, but never appeared to wander far from it. They were often seen sitting at the openings of the nests in the cliff, and were taken for young birds. They were not fed by old birds having young to look after, and fared scantily on such insects as they caught by their own exertions. Early in August I found many lying dead, both in the burrowings and at the foot of the cliff. Ex- amination proved that they all were old birds. In au-— tumn, about October Ist, the main body of the colony largely frequent the weedy marshes, and seem to be for- — ever on the wing, insect-catching, as they move in an endless labyrinth of curves over the quiet waters. I ‘have seen thousands of them thus engaged, far from their nesting haunts. Occasionally they would alight upon tall reeds and objects projecting above the water, and twitter without ceasing. Then, as by a signal, these thousands would rise together from their resting places, and mounting to an unusal elevation fly away, to return no more that season. These birds were associated take = on their southern migration; but there were still left a few of those who had here spent a joyous, gleesome summer. The lame, & DO SWALLOWS HIBERNATE? 167 the weak, the blind, and the unburied dead of that avian city still remained ; and what a mournful spectacle they offered ! painfully so in themselves, and the more impres- sive when the thoughtless, glittering throng of a few days past was vividly recalled. Cheered for the time by the mellow sunlight that beamed upon them, the aged, half-helpless swallows, whose wings still responded to the will languidly, chased the few remaining insects flitting over the weedy waters. Others, venturing less far, caught, with what skill they could com- mand, the chilled and drooping flies that sought refuge from the cold winds in these safe, snug harbors in the cliff. Indeed, this shelter-seeking flight of insect-life, that now teems about these deserted nests of the departed swallows, proves a veritable godsend to those poor birds that, from whatsoever cause, are fated to remain, if it be a blessing to prolong a joyless existence during a few brief weeks in autumn. But the importance of this sad phase of swallow-life as bearing upon our subject remains to be stated. Notwithstanding their weakness, the desire or instinct to migrate still remains, and when pressed more than usual by sudden accession of cold, or by scarcity of food, numbers of those that remain will collect as of yore, on the rushes and reeds about the water, and often com- mence their protracted flight toward their winter haunts. Many straggling swallows doubtless wander miles before finally succumbing to the weakness of age, though they never wander far from water, but migrate in their accus- tomed course, which is always coastwise, down a river valley. When their course is finished they are found in the track of the hardy multitude that have passed successfully onward. Here, yielding to the severity of the increasing cold, they find watery graves beneath the nodding plumes of the russet grasses over which, in days ‘ Le a ~ eee ae eae _ Whether in mid-winter or in genial April days, the mud 168 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. gone by, they had flitted without fatigue, thoughtless of . the morrow. Such swallows I have seen, year after year, and it was — to them that Dr. Wallerius referred when he said that they — assembled on a reed “ till they were all immersed, and — went to the bottom ; this being preceded by a dirge of a — quarter of an hour’s dong Intelligible, therefore, as I consider the movements of swallows to be, in so far as these might give the impression — of hibernation beneath the water, it is not by the same observations that I have here recorded that the asserted finding of torpid swallows during the winter, encased in mud, can be explained. The mere finding of swallows in the mud is of itself nothing strange, although the chances of their escaping — the ‘haces of the turtles and carnivorous fishes is very small; but to find them alive, in such positions, is a dif- ferent matter, and at once recalls the probability of the assertion that I have questioned, that it is physically and physiologically feasible for swallows to lie dormant under water. If so, some great constitutional change must take place, for swallows, throughout the summer, are readily drowned, if held for even a minute under water; and, if their plumage is well soaked by repeated immersions, they are helpless. until thoroughly dry again. The structure of their feathers, furthermore, is wholly unlike that of aquatic birds, and therefore they can not resist the per- vading action of the water, as do the oily, close-set feath- ers of the ducks and divers. Again, if torpid swallows are encased in mud, be- neath a considerable depth of water, by what means can — the reviving influences of returning spring reach them? at the bottoms of our ponds is of nearly uniform temper- a DO SWALLOWS HIBERNATE? . 169 ature, and certainly does not vary so much as to start, by its added warmth, the life-pulses of swallows that for five or six long months have ceased to beat; and why should | these unfortunates remain thus beneath chilled and often | ice-locked waters, when, in the mellow sunshine above, other and wiser swallows of their kind flit and twitter as of yore, having happily chosen migration rather than submergence ? But the testimony on this point is too explicit to war- rant the belief that these witnesses could have been in error. To show how readily people can be mistaken, let me state a case: A. B. has testified on oath as follows: “Early in April, 1836, as I was passing on foot down the Borden- town road, near the drawbridge, I heard a loud hissing in the bushes at my left, and, turning my head, saw a large, checkered, black and white snake. It held its head well up, and darted its tongue at me. I was a good deal frightened and turned and ran, as [ had heard of hoop- _ snakes, and found I was chased by this snake and that it _wasone. Luckily, I was running down hill, and covered the ground pretty lively. Near the bridge, I jumped behind a cedar-tree, and the snake passed me. It had its tail in its mouth, and rolled along like a child’s hoop, - only agreat deal faster. It turned off at the creek, and rolled into Crosswicks Creek, and then uncoiled, and swam like any other snake.” | Now, in this statement, made in good faith by a con- scientious man, there is a curious admixture of truth and misconception. Mr. A. B. admits that he has heard of hoop-snakes, and, as they are reputed to be more deadly than veritable rattle-snakes or copper-heads, it is very. natural that he should see, or simply think he sees, a snake take its tail in its mouth and roll, hoop-like, down 8 ; a ¢ , —. i eee 170 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. the sandy road. This impression is always the more vivid when the snake happens to take the same direction in which the poor frightened person may happen to flee. Now, if people are taught to expect to encounter any given form of dangerous animal, in any neighborhood, they are apt, when any creature having the similitude of this mythical foe to humanity is seen, to endow it with all direful attributes, and their distorted vision will convert into a horrible monstrosity, and detect impossible ez sige in a harmless and inoffensive creature. Now, I have taken the trouble to question a certain class of people concerning this hoop-snake, and I find it is firmly believed in by hundreds, who affirm that they, their parents, or some one of their friends had seen them, been chased by them, or had indirectly captured them, by suddenly darting behind a tree, when the snake would uncoil, and, striking its tail into the tree, would be held by it, and when in this position would be killed by the person pursued. Now, all of these statements are just as explicit as the finding of dormant swallows in the mud; yet, one and all, they are absolutely false. If, therefore, the impression is made on the minds of the young people of any commu- nity that swallows hibernate in the mud, it will be diff- cult to rid them of the idea that any swallow that may be found in, or even near water, is not indicative of the truth that swallows do really pass the winter in such a manner. Is this more unreasonable than that the belief — in hoop-snakes should be so common, even among other- wise well-informed people? Jf we can not explain this impression that swallows hibernate in mud, and beneath © water too, in some such manner as I have endeavored to make plain, then our only alternative is to exclaim, in de- spair, “ Lord! Lord! How this world is given to lying.” ~ DO SWALLOWS HIBERNATE? ee Let us turn now to a less abundant, but no less inter- esting species, the clifi-swallow. This bird, instead of burrowing into a bank, builds an elaborate nest of mud under the eaves of barns, along rocky ledges, and, in New Jersey more frequently than elsewhere, on the beams sup- porting the floors of bridges. Proximity to the water is desirable evidently, but is not an essential condition of the locality chosen for their nests. As in the case of the -bank-swallow, these birds also live in large communities, and present much the same general features of swallow- life. The peculiarity of their nest, in being made of mud, of course necessitates frequent visits to water, whence they derive this material for their nests. Now, unlike the bank-swallow, the cliff-swallow is a late arrival, and no sooner here, tired as he must be, than he commences the work of building a new nest or of repairing the old one. In either case it is absolutely necessary that he should dabble in the mud. Day in and day out, for a week or more, his whole time seems spent in mixing mor- tar by the water’s side, and transporting it in little bits to the nest. He is wet and. bedraggled much of the time; and if a cold northeasterly rain sets in, as is so often the case during the first week in May, then these swallows are in a sorry plight indeed, and, suspending building operations, they huddle about in numbers, twit- tering mournfully, on the principle that misery loves company. Such storms even sometimes prove fatal to many of them, and they are more frequently found dead near their nests than are individuals of any other species. Find them, then, during a storm, or even notice them, for the first time, when they are sitting on the . ground near the water, dripping wet at times, and the impression you will have will be that of Kalm, that they See 172 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. look “as if they had been just come out of the sea.” This impression, too, is increased from the fact that there are no heralds of the northward-moving mass of swallows. of this kind. One and all, they come together. Yes- terday, not one was to be seen; to-day, the entire com-_ munity are settled in their old haunts, and ready for. housekeeping. Their migrations are continued through the night, and either’ by starlight or moonlight, as the case may be, they are guided to their several haunts of the preceding summer. I am very positive that they arrive during the night, and I lay unusual emphasis on this fact because the ap- pearance of such a flight of swallows the morning follow- ing their arrival would be apt to give an impression of aquatic hibernation, 1f such an idea had ever been ex- pressed in your hearing. Not the entire colony will im- mediately seek the nests of the past summer, for there will be many young birds who have as yet not built nests, and there ‘will also be birds yet to choose their mates. Now, such birds will sit in long rows on tele- graph wires, on fences, and, if the water be near, be very sure that they will congregate about it. Thus congre- gated about a pond early in the morning, perhaps after a heavy dew, and you can readily see that they will be “as _ wet as if they had been just come out of the sea!” | In the reference made by Kalm to swallows, he speci- fies the barn-swallow as being that which he saw on the 10th of April (new style), 1750, in a wet, spiritless condi- tion, sitting on posts and planks. Now, in this case, we have a species of swallow that differs greatly in its habits from the preceding. While sociable, and willing that a neighbor should dwell near by, they are by no mesns gregarious ; and it is often observed that but a single nest will be in a building, however large it may be. Unlike 4 * * io, DO SWALLOWS HIBERNATE? Bes ip, the bank- or cliffi-swallows, they are quite contented to seek their food flitting over fields and about the build- ings wherein are placed their nests. They are not to be associated with water or its vicinity, any more than with the driest stretches of dusty fields. | How, then, are we to explain the soaked appearance _ of those seen by Kalm, sitting on posts and planks? I think the preceding sentence explains it. He saw these birds first on the 10th of April, and on the next day far greater numbers of them, sitting on posts and planks. ~ _ They had but reached their destination—probably had just completed a protracted flight of hundreds of miles— | and were seen early in the morning. Thoroughly fagged _at the end of a long journey, and early in the day, when | all else was dripping with the moisture of rain-like dew, | would it not be strange indeed if these new-comers, like all animate and inanimate nature about them, were not “as wet as if they had been just come out of the sea” ? ~ _ But the barn-swallow asks no lengthy holiday on his ival, He quickly recuperates, and the duties of the hour are squarely met. If, during the summer, his wan- derings are less about water than land, it is to the water that he goes first, when ready to construct his nest or re- pair the structure of last summer. By the water’s edge, ‘he carefully mixes the adhering mud that forms the ex- terior of his house. Here, we have a repetition of what I mentioned with reference to the cliff-swallows. Just at the time when the supposed mud-encased swallow should leave his submarine abode, and all bedraggled, wet and {worn should be seen spreading himself in the sun, and drying out, in readiness for a summer’s campaign—then ie we really find the beautiful barn-swallows busy at the water's edge, and often well wet through; but, instead _ of lakes and rivers, what have we to say of the more rea- 174 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. of having lately emerged from the water, they have liter- ally dropped from the clouds. 4 But if, for many and good reasons, we set aside, as a misconception of the facts, the impression still retained by many, that swallows hibernate in the mud, at the bottom sonable proposition that they hibernate, as do many ani- mals, in underground retreats, in clefts of the rocks on even in hollow trees? Now, the one simple way to decide” this matter is, to find them hibernating, as they are aia to do. So far as my own experience extends, I have never found a swallow hibernating in any position, nor do I ever expect to; and, furthermore, I believe nine tenths of all the = that are published of the discovery of the hi- bernating swallows could be readily explained as some- thing very different, if all the facts of the case could be ascertained. But when we come to study very closely the habits of a familiar bird, that to all but ornithologists is a veritable. swallow, our common swift or “ chimney-swal- low,” then I am fairly staggered, and find myself saying Gepeail my breath, “ After all 12 In_ conclusion, then, it behooves me to consider this common chimney-swallow very carefully and candidly, and determine how far certain occurrences that I have witessed are indicative of hibernation. ; In a large unused chimney of an old house built j in 1708, standing near my home, thousands of chimney- eras annually congregate, arriving in April—or appearing then—and departing, well! I am not certain when. Now, this chimney has an internal surface of about four hundred and twenty-five square feet, and, allowing one square foot to each nest, will accommodate so many pairs F DO SWALLOWS HIBERNATE? 175 of swallows. But I find that not more than one third of the available space is utilized. At this rate, there would be one hundred and forty pairs of swallows occupying - the chimney at one time. Now, this may seem like a fish story, but it is an inconsiderable fraction of the truth. I have carefully timed by my watch an unbroken line of entering and out-going swallows, and seen them in these processions steadily enter and reappear for five and a half minutes, without a break, each bird followed by another so closely that intervening spaces were scarcely discern- ible. The downward and upward series were of course different birds to a certain extent, and it is a fair estimate _ to say that fully one thousand swallows were making a nesting and roosting place of this one chimney at the one time. Not the least curious feature of these large colonies is the evident fact that but a small proportion of these birds are nesting at this time; and we are lost in amazement when considering that the fragile eggs and tender fledg- lings should escape destruction, surrounded as they are by such a crowd of jostling, climbing, crawling, tireless swal- lows. Nor is it at all easy to reach any definite conclu- sion concerning the object of these non-nesting birds, in thus continuously through the day entering their roosting place—the chimney. Now, these particulars are mentioned in this connec- tion to show that many hundreds of these birds often roost in the one place, and must be very closely packed together when all are at home. Fora portion of every twenty-four hours they are well able to withstand the de- pressing influences of a crowded condition, with certainly a minimum of fresh airto breathe. The same conditions _ would prove fatal to most other birds, if indeed not to all others. 176 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. This feature of the summer life of these birds please bear in mind. ! Any time after the middle of September there is likely _ to be a change. A severe northeast storm coming, they — are gone! A week may pass, and not a swallow is to be seen. You may listen at the chimney holes, and not a swallow is to be heard. ‘The sky is as birdless asin bleak — December. But again the weather becomes warm; our — magnificent October days.are come. The mellowest sun- shine of all the year gilds the broad meadows and adds a glory to the scarlet maples; and again scores of chimney- — swallows, as before, are flitting all day long in the cloudless skies. Whence come these birds? They are not so many, indeed, as were here before the biting northeast winds — bade all our summer birds depart; but far too many to — consider them as mere stragglers. Indeed, they are too — strong of wing to be thus looked upon. We felt, or — might have felt, certain that the swallows had gone; but — with the returning cheery days these birds are again with — us. Hither they were closely stowed away during the ~ storm, or they are more northern birds which, leaving their summer haunts beyond the track of the storm that visited us, had only reached us as they were moving south- ward after the storm had passed. This, I think, very — likely is the truth of the matter; but many circumstances ~ strongly point to the former supposition—that of tempo- rary shelter during the storm. Here is an instance. On © the 4th of October of the past year the weather with us was warm, the thermometer ranging from 65° to 85° Fahr. Throughout the morning there was a brisk shower, or series — of showers; but by 2p. m. it had cleared, with a gentle wind from the north. It gradually grew colder, and by | sunrise on the 5th the temperature had fallen to 40° Fahr., and the wind had increased in violence. All this day _ 4 Wg a : DO SWALLOWS HIBERNATE? — 1%% thousands of chimney-swallows and a few of other species were seen flying southward, keeping as-near to the ground as possible, just avoiding the tree-tops, and in open spaces - often just clearing the ground. ‘They were in dense flocks, and appeared to be driven helplessly before the cutting blasts of the north wind then prevailing. The weather moderated the next day, and on the 7th of the month there were very many swallows flying about just as usual; they did not finally disappear before the 20th of October. Such flocks of swallows as I have mentioned are cer- tainly indicative of a voluntary or forced migration to a certain extent. What becomes of such storm-driven colo- nies (and they are an annual occurrence) I cannot say; but they are certainly indicative of the habit of migration obtaining among these birds, to a certain extent. On the other hand, what of the many swallows that remained for fully two weeks after the storm I have mentioned? As bearing upon this point, the following is worthy of note: In December, 1879, I had occasion to have a wood-stove removed from a fireplace, and one for burning coal put in its place. The removed stove had not had a fire in it for nearly a year. On detaching the pipe, there were found seven swallows in one of the elbows, occupying the space between the angle and the damper. They were all perfectly well and comparatively vigorous. On being placed upon the floor of the room, they soon recovered their full senses, and, after a feeble flight about the room, © passed quickly through an open window and were seen nomore. The great bulk of the chimney-swallows appar- ently departed by the 25th of October of that year. I certainly saw none later; yet fifty-five days after that date seven are found, in fine health and strength, snugly stowed away in a stove-pipe. It is fair to suppose that they had lived for this length of time without food. If 178 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. so, have we any right to limit the length of time that they may thus remain in a semi-torpid or hibernating condi- tion? To maintain that such a question is reasonable is not an attempt to carry water upon both shoulders; for swallows’ hibernation in sheltered places, surrounded by the atmosphere, is vastly different from lying in mud at the bottom of a lake or the ocean. In asecond somewhat similar instance that has come to my knowledge, a num- ber of these birds were found in a hollow sycamore which was cut down in the month of February. These birds were dead when I saw them, and I was assured by the wood-cutter that they were stiff and cold when he took them from the tree. They were not frozen, however, and the appearance, on dissection, was such as to lead to the belief that they had died but very recently; certainly before the tree was cut down, but not long previously. There was no decomposition ; some trace of fatty tissue, and the blood liquid; the bowels and stomach empty, but ~ moist, soft, and flexible. In this case, happening during a remarkably mild - winter, that of 1879-’80, it is possible that swallows might survive in such quarters, when a season of ordinary sever- ity would destroy them. It is claimed that we do not know where the winter haunts of these birds are; if so, may it not be that, like the almost as abundant bats, these birds congregate in caves or hollow trees? But if we grant this much, these hibernating places are not to be looked for in New Eng- land or the Middle States, but so far south as to be beyond the reach of the severest frosts of our winters. Certainly, _ did they hibernate with us, in the same manner as the bats, their hiding-places would have been discovered far oftener than even such instances as I have related have been noticed. As a thousand or more may be found in ~~ 2 DO SWALLOWS HIBERNATE? — | 179 one chimney during summer, it is fair to presume that, in hibernating, equal numbers would then also be congre- gated. No such swallow bonanza is yet upon record. On the other hand, if chimney-swallows are thus dis- posed of during winter, it becomes easy to account for stragglers that, for some unknown reasons, have not joined the innumerable ranks of their fellows in their southern flight; but which, in lieu of this, have essayed to brave the winter by seeking such shelter, in protected places, as they may find. That such stragglers can survive an ordi- nary winter has not been shown—can not be, until they are taken in full vigor from their hiding-places at the close of the season. To find living swallows in a cave, tree, or chimney in February or March, would be a deci- sive matter; to find such birds before New-Year’s-day does not show that they would be able to remain in health _ the season through, and reappear in full vigor in March or April. Judging solely from my own scanty observations, the chimney-swallow is practically a migratory bird, so far as New Jersey is concerned. In what manner the winter is spent beyond our boundaries, I can not say, but offer such trivial instances as I have related as possibly confirm- atory of the belief on the part of many, that, like bats, they strictly hibernate. It remains as yet, however, an open question; but to discover that such was really true of them would have little bearing upon such a strange belief as that true swallows hibernate in mud. What is still needed is a system of the most careful observations, made without a trace of preconceived opin- ions. What child but thinks that our flying-squirrels really fly, instead of sail through the air! Too often, igno- rant ourselves, we give evasive answers to our children, and many errors are thus perpetuated by the world at 180 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. large, which a little patient observation might readily have checked. On the other hand, when we affect to become observers, how often do we rashly jump at con- clusions based upon deceptive appearances! Certainly, in my own brief experience, I can only testify to the apparent reality of a bird, less common than swallows, but superabundant in New Jersey, hibernating in mud. I refer to the little rail, or sora. Early in August, with all the regularity of the passing seasons, these birds sud- denly appear in vast numbers, in the meadows skirting the Delaware River. Now, ornithologists know well enough that the rail is strictly migratory; but I have yet to see the first gunner, or other person familiar with our meadows, who ever saw a rail-bird earlier than in July, and seldom then. Nevertheless they are here weeks prior to that month, but so closely do they keep. them- selves to the muddy, weed-grown marshes, that their - detection is well-nigh impracticable. Of course, there — must be taken into consideration the fact that, prior to the middle of August, they are not sought for; but then, and until after frost, thousands. are killed by the gunners. Now, the gunners, the farmers, and those whose business or inclination takes them to these marshes, know the rail- birds as a suddenly acquired feature of the locality, and, if they see them, see them running lightly over the mud that skirts the ditches in our marshy meadows. They are as much a feature of such localities as frogs; but, unlike them, they are extremely sensitive to frost. It is not strange, perhaps, that the impression of hiberna- tion should have been entertained with reference to this bird; but it must be borne in mind that mere sudden disappearance should not suggest hibernation in the mind of any thoughtful person. Birds that migrate by day, rather than in the night, disappear as suddenly as do the ‘ oe me | ee 2 DO SWALLOWS HIBERNATE? —‘1811 rail-birds, but, being seen on their migratorial journeys, of | course are not invested with any peculiar habits. It seems never to have occurred to those who insist upon the hibernation of the rail-bird in the mud, that a still greater mystery is the impulse that should affoet all these birds at the one moment; for their sudden and simultaneous disappearance is always insisted upon. The truth is, however, that they do not disappear all together. After the first hard frost, be it early or late, the great majority of them promptly disappear; but a fraction of their former numbers remain. Now, what I believe to _be a rational explanation of the apparent hibernation is this: The number of rail-birds in a given tract of marsh is suddenly greatly diminished (this occurs on the day fol- lowing the first hard frost); those that remain are often weak of wing; and many are found dead, probably hav- ing been wounded by the gunners. One and all are found only in the marshes, and coupled with these facts: is the one more important than all, that the rails are not seen migrating. They invariably depart at night. Herein lies the solution of the common impression—one far more _ prevalent than that concerning our swallows, whose move- ments we can watch. While we are familiar with the rail-birds, they are associated with frogs and the aquatic life of our marshes. Frost comes and they are gone. We do not see either frogs or rail-birds disappear; but we know where the frogs are, and, remembering the am- phibian habits of these birds, we continue to associate them with the croaking frogs, and relegate to the mud these timid, weak-winged birds. But, in truth, they have gathered their long-husbanded strength, and, in the still- ness of the frosty night, have winged their way south- ward without a sign. As I pointed out in the case of the swallows, many ae epee ety res eae aoe %, Yi ey hk ‘ cae ee 182 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. are unable to undertake the j journey. ies is that thousands that are crippled by the sportsman in the marshes all the winter, but they — pial We the vTiEOE of the season. ‘ag and accepted as eat diaad the authentic Ltechisth ‘ies of these birds. aah gas Pyaaty ae + ‘ J sf i 3 — loi ha : ial . i, * * vk Ped ie, “ieee CHAPTER XIX. A SECLUDED CORNER. © Once, in the far distant past—perhaps so long ago that a vestige of the ancient glacier of the river valley still lingered on the distant mountains—a broad and. shal- low creek meandered through the meadows that skirt the river, and, after a mile or more of independent flow, was lost in the greater volume of that stream. This little _ reek, fed by springs that issued from the bluff that runs parallel to the river’s course, pursued its winding way through a dense growth of hickory, oak, birch, and maple. Along its banks the Indian roamed, and in its quiet waters he found an abundance of fishes. There was a time, too, when the spot was beautiful, and there still remains a vestige of its former beauty; but only by careful searching can it be recognized. The springs that gave this creek its volume of waters have sought other channels; the coming of the white man proved the destruction of the forest; and now there is left only the half-dry channel, choked with rank grasses, bulrushes and . reeds. This to the farmer is an eye-sore, as it yields him no profit; but to me it is indeed a pleasant place, for I find a charm in the wild growths, teeming as they are with feathered occupants. In place of the forest, there are now broad stretches of dry pasture, with here and there a single oak or hickory left to tell the story. For- tunately in one corner of this low-lying tract, called the “2 22+ 7 * i 2 os - a P See? As - A ti : “S23 &, ~ - sailed eal = 7 f - rT sae ee « PD po ger i I we ay > 1 , | : ; | + : f | i t bl ' . ' as 7 ‘ ' : : ; , - } sd : \ . ht ! ie ia ‘ \ ie “a: a an 4 ; .) 1 rie Le ‘ : ‘ : , ; Be : } f je ( 7 - . ' | : ) ; | { $ A ibd , i .« " j ¢ } ’ 4b : ' . } iq i ee 7 7” . on b y 3 vr Fy | SY, ia} ! ¥ ‘ J “ ‘ 4 > 5 q ; D>, - s e 2 a } ee f 1 “ * ap tl ‘ Bary : ae | MT bf a ‘ v1? : a tae : . - ae < ’ i * ; oe | ahs a moe Pb , 4 7 of > on : \ ; {" ih 44 ; 7 ae £ ai ; ie) — : 2 . at : “9 4 ie? eh x _ % Us ay in : . ae af: " ~ “ * 3 4 ae y) s > Ly > aa a ,- Ce ' i ; } 7 : 5 : ; i Z } 4 ’ ‘ i ‘ 4 ( i : t ‘ . : wl } i * > t [ a | @ “ moe an > ” ite le a ae al i ae he a a sk fe pet Sana hE ei sa eer eh ae ie am ie i JE ALINE EN ate Rk ea or eee eo ae eee oe. ee cs ST eS hes Pe anes eR ER hy Fe Lay oe a , , we See » ae ee m Ap tet poh: By a Se . ge ; ’ ; . : ae" ~F-¢ L ; ; o< "eel a een it ms ; i as oa oe Je ; ) ; ; 2 “: ike THREE BEECHES. wise > CHAPTER XXI. ROSE-BREASTED GROSBEAKS, A wew bird in the neighborhood is a source of joy. However common it may be elsewhere, and however fa- miliar you may be with it “in books,” yet to see it in — the trees and bushes about your own home, a voluntary — visitor at that, is to gaze on a novelty, and you do so } with much the same feeling that you would upon a new ~ species. Now, the rose-breasted grosbeak comes under — neither head. It is not a new species, nor is it new to © the neighborhood, for scores of them pass by every May, on their northward journey, and come trooping back, in — October, with their families. But in 1882 they decided _ upon a change. They came in May as usual, and, delight- — ful to tell, they remained—not one, nor a pair, but a great — many of them. In years past, to see one was an unusual — sight, and to hear it sing, a rare pleasure; but in 1882, they not only came, but seemed anxious to be seen. They perched in the trees nearest the house, and sang such songs as never bird sang before. So, at least, it seemed to all of us. Perhaps, after all, the song wasno sweeter than that of the wood-thrush; but it was widely different, and was so great an addition to the orchestra, that we rated it, while new to us, as the first of the series of noble bird-songs that daily floated houseward from the | woods near by. Pa | May 21st, I spent a pleasant hour watching a gros- — > » ‘ ) if i * beak feed upon the seeds of the catalpa. The tree itself i ll 2 ROSE-BREASTED GROSBEAKS. —-199 had, as yet, no foliage. From its long, naked branches, only the slender seed-vessels—“ beans,” we call them— dangled in the breeze, and ever and anon striking a neighboring branch, they rattled like a gourd. They had remained closed during the winter, and now, if ever, was the time for them to open and let loose the prisoned seeds. Their time, however, did not appear to have come; but to-day a grosbeak “did the business” for the one tree near my garden fence. Never was a bird more me- thodical in anything it undertook, and generally birds “take matters into consideration” before beginning any work. Clinging to a convenient twig, the nearest to the _ one that supported the pendent pod, the grosbeak nipped open the seed-vessel near the stem, making but a short in- cision, and then drew forth a single seed. This it trim- med, and let the light, feathery particles come floating down to me. The kernel the bird reserved to itself. Then the next seed, and the next were taken out, in the same quiet, methodical way, until the free end of the pod was reached. The last seed was detached by separating the two halves of the pod, and these then swung apart, and, slightly curling upward, trembled in the breeze, as they drooped from the dainty stem. Then the grosbeak passed to another pod or “bean,” nor did he quit work until every one was rifled of its contents, split apart, and left swinging in the wind. If there were a hundred “beans” at the outset, there were now two hundred halves of bean-pods dangling in the air; giving the leafless, spi- der-leg branches a more ragged appearance than before. During all this time, not a note from the busy bird, not a chirp nor twitter. This was cunning, perhaps, as it might have been afraid of attracting others who would claim a share of the feast. It was not until the settled warm weather of June 200 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. that the grosbeaks began to sing much; and then, for an ; hour before sunset was their favorite time. Their labors of nest-building were by this time completed, and they were, I thought, rejoicing at the idea of vacation, for un- til the eggs were hatched there would be little to do. And such bird-music I had seldom heard before—never — since. The notes had all the clearness of the oriole’s, and _ yet were without its harshness; they were as varied as those of the wood-thrush, yet not so monotonous. The charm consisted in our not being able to anticipate the — song, as it was never, I think, quite the same, though cer- — tain well-marked features were heard in every utterance, and this at once caused the bird and its song to be recog- nized. For weeks I tried to express the song in music, — but the evening’s result was a sad jumble of harsh notes, and before the summer ended I gave up in despair. At times, the wood-thrush, chat, oriole, and the vireos would join the grosbeak, and then indeed it was a service of song. — During the subsequent summer days, I found these birds usually in an apple-orchard, busy as wood-peckers, _ hunting for insects, even in the hottest sunshine. They thereby proved themselves to be as useful as they were beautiful. J found them, too, gathering potato-bugs, and they seemed to suffer no harm, although the vines, previ- ous to their visit, had been dusted with Paris-green. From this I judged, as no grosbeaks were killed, that they ate only the living insects, which of course were — free of the poison. This fancy for the potato-pest ought to secure entire safety to the grosbeak, so far as man _ is concerned; but, strangely enough, it does not, as I found a fiend collecting them, one morning, “for the milliners.” Unfortunately, a defect in our laws pre- vented my killing the collector without getting myself into trouble, but the birds were not again disturbed. CHAPTER XXII. EARLY MORNING. - Berrorre describing the spot, and our object, a word about this time of the day. The most familiar objects, at this hour—4 a. m.—have a somewhat different aspect. The country was just sufficiently the same to make us _ sure of where we were. Fleecy clouds enveloped the low- _ lands, and acres of pastures appeared like miniature lakes. _ The glistening dew silvered the grass along our path, and brought out in strong relief the geometric webs of the spi- der. Where a few hours later there will be a compara- tive silence, was now heard the choicest vocal efforts of all our songsters. Nota bird within hearing but joined in the chorus of welcome to the rising sun. All nature, _ except poor humanity, rejoiced that the glories of a new- born day were here. My object in thus taking an early start was to have a day’s shooting along the river-shore for “teeters and the like,’ as Uz Gaunt called the whole family of sand- pipers. Plovers he knew, and spoke of them by their proper name. It so happened that early in the morning the tide would be out, and long stretches of the shore and of “Long Bar” would be bare. Uz had promised me some good sport, and soon we were on our way, he speak- ing of the birds we were so soon to find, as a matter of _ course, and [ in expectation of all that he promised. When the river was reached, for we had been passing a — ~ 202 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. down the Popihacka, now Watson’s Creek, for some dis- tance,a mist hung over the muddy flats ae the water. ' Even at a ee ae short distance objects were ob- : scured, but still we were not at a loss as to the proper — direction to take, for the clear notes of several sandpipers } could be heard, and these guided us. ; Uz eared for several minutes to these sounds, and then quietly remarked, “The plovers are not with them, _ to-day, and we'll have bas luck.” | “Why?” I asked; for it was a decided surprise to | me, to hear him say bias > | ‘Simply because those little plovers are a great deal quicker witted than ‘teeters’ of any sort, big or little. [ll tell you more about them, after a bit.” | Until the fog lifted, of course nothing could be done; but we had not long to wait, and soon we were able to- mark the movements of troops of sandpipers running hither and thither up and down the sand. We took up our places, at points considerably apart, and approached — each other, keeping a troop of teeters between us. When within twenty yards, the birds would take wing, and gen- erally afford a shot to one or the other of us, before they had flown over the water or out of reach. In this way we bagged a score in a little while, but they soon became wild, and the shooting grew quite monotonous. In the course of two hours we were ready to quit, and before the day became really oppressive we were homeward bound. The birds that we had shot were the least sand- . piper, the spotted, several “solitaries,” and two of that — curious form known as the “ sanderling.” As we were sculling homeward, I reminded Uz of ! his promise concerning the sboverna: and as we moved : slowly up the creek he told me the following as one eS | his experiences : EARLY MORNING. . 68 “Some years ago, one August, there was a great flight of ‘ yellow-legs’ and ‘ tell-tales,’ as you call ’em, along the river. [ve never, altogether, seen so many since. For a- week or so, Long Bar, at low tide, would be just black with ’em. No gunners came ’round just then, and I had the thing all to myself; and it paid big. Well, early one morning, about the end of the time, I was settling myself in a sort of ambush I had, made of cedar-boughs tucked _ against a buttonwood log, lyin’ on the bar, and I thought I heard the yellow-legs coming up the river; but instead 2 it was a whole swad of little plovers. They settled down, black, right in front of me, and then scooted ’round, until they made me out. One or two of ’em gave a wild _ chirp, and away the whole of ’em went. I was glad they were gone, and takin’ comfort in my luck, when the pesky things came back, but kept on the river side of my _ sereen. They trotted up and down as unconcerned as a fly on your nose, and I paid no attention to them for _ awhile, as I was waiting for bigger game. After a bit _ the big teeters I was after came within hearin’, and I was all eyes for a lot of ’em to settle down within range; but what do you think? those pesky plovers set up a sort of a chatter when the big teeters came, and just made ’em keep away from anywhere near where I was. Talk about birds talking! Why, them plover told the big teeters there was danger lurkin’ behind the log as plain as you or I could. The birds’ actions showed that. They say “actions speak louder than words,’ and so the birds’ doings told me plain enough that their twittering, when the teeters came by, was understood all ’round, and the birds acted accordingly. If you’re goin’ to boil it down toa lot of hard-twisted words, perhaps you can make it out _ that it was something different from our ways of talkin’ and takin’ in the situation; but to me it was one and the went again to Long Bar to see if any birds were about, — 204- RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. same, and I guess that birds’ talk and ours differs just as we differ in our make-up, and not in the natur’ of it. Pve — seen enough of birds in my time to make me believe in 4 their talking, anyhow. Well, I got kind o’ tired lyin’ — behind that log with nothing to do, and the tide was comin’ in, and I felt like blazin’ away at the plovers for — spoilin’ my day. If I did, I knew the others would be — off, and thought perhaps they would come back and the — plovers would stay. Not a bit of it. The shot laid over — five or six plover and wing-tipped a teeter, and that was — all the birds I got that morning. I whistled till my — cheeks hurt, but it was no use; them plovers had cooked ~ my goose for me, and [’ve always found ’em a cunnin’ © set ever since. Well, it was only a day or two after, I but there wasn’t. I was sittin’ on the buttonwood when — I heard a ‘ peet-weet’ or two, and ducked down, not quite sure what it was. Betimes I was behind the log, four of these little plover was on the other side, and as busy — feedin’ or lookin’ for food as they could be. Now, the — tides had washed a little hollow in front of the log, — and I’d seen in it a dozen little minnies swimmin’ ’round — lively and tryin’ to get out. You see the tide went out — too fast for ’em, and they were caught. Well, what — completely took me aback, was the way these plovers _ acted. They wanted the minnies, and yet didn’t quite know how to get ’em. They chased ’round a bit, but — didn’t seem to catch any, when, do you believe it, them four plovers just walked in, all abreast, and undertook to corner the little fish. Hang me, if they didn’t, though. You’ve seen a flock of turkeys walk abreast across a field, catchin’ grasshoppers? Well, these little plover just walked through that water as even along as turkeys, only they — didn’t keep their heads goin’ all the time like the turkeys. _ i : a a EARLY MORNING. © 205 They just went on as a matter of course, until they had the minnies cornered, or thought they had’em. It was a mighty fanny. sight, I tell you, boy, and one I only saw _ that once.’ “Tf turkeys should do this, why shouldn’t plovers do the same?’ I asked, forgetting that he disliked interrup- tions. “ All I know is, it doesn’t seem strange in the turkeys, and same way I’ve seen rock-fish move like soldiers on a school of minnies; but for the plovers to do the like seemed all out of place, somehow, just as anything is apt _ to when it is unexpected like. Well, to go on with my story where I left off: So far as I could tell, the fish had got ahead of the plovers by buryin’ themselves in the sand. I was so took up with the way things turned out, that I raised up, forgettin’ about the plovers, and went to look for them fish; the plovers put off, and I looked all round. There was no minnies in the water, certain, and so I dug down a bit, and, sure enough, the cunnin’ things had gone down as much as an inch in the wet sand.” 7 By this time we were at the landing, and Uz’s narra- tive came to an abrupt conclusion, for the time being, and we were too busy fixing the boat and other matters to talk much. On our return towards home, however, over the dewy path of some hours ago, but now hot and dusty, I started the conversation by remarking that the common mud-minnow of our meadow-ditches buries itself in the mud to escape danger. “T know it,” replied Uz, “and that reminds me that Pye something more to say about those plovers and min- - mies. Perhaps you’ve never watched little plovers very closely, and so don’t know ’em as well as I do. Well, they have the habit of huntin’ minnies that are left in 206 - RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. puddles at low tide, as ’'ve told you, and here let me tell you something more about this. You know wherever there is a good-sized cobble-stone on the sand, the out-_ | goin’ tide washes a little hollow on the lower side of the stone, and in this the little minnies take refuge when the water ’s fallin’. The plovers know this just as well as I do, and go spookin’ ’round; but seein’ ’em, the minnies get clear under the stone out o’ sight. How the plovers smell ’em out, I don’t know, but they’ll just splash and dance ’round, and somehow seem to scare ’em out, and then they gobble the littlest of °em up. When they are too big, as is mostly the case, they only worry at ’em, for it is only the little wee bits of minnies they can make out to swallow. There’s another kind of minnie, or little fish o’ some sort, they don’t disturb, I know, and sometimes a whole regiment of ’em will be on the flats at low tide. They.are like little perch in looks, and go off with a skip and a jerk, instead of swimmin’.” “You mean what are known as ‘darters,’ I guess. Little fish with big spiny fins, that lie at the bottom of — the river and the creek, where it is sandy,” I suggested to Uz. | “That covers the whole ground, boy,” he replied, and continued, “and they have been something of a puzzle to me. Last spring, when I was huntin’ for my sheath- knife at low tide off Long Bar, I was lookin’ at the bottom as I floated along, hopin’ to see my knife. About half- way down the bar, I see the carcass of a musk-rat some- body had skinned, lyin’ on the bottom, and just about a thousand of these little ‘skip-jacks,’ as I call ’em, were feastin’ on the rat. I halted a minute, and watched ’em. They would kind o’ haul off, and then give a dart at the - rat’s carcass, and catchin’ a bit in their jaws, take it away with ’em and gobble it up when they’d got fairly settled EE ee Wee na eae | “Ant . at EARLY MORNING. oe 207 on the sand. Then up and at it they would go again. I marked the spot, and next day was along there again. The fish had gone, but they had about made a clean skeleton of the carcass. I never before saw so many of em together.” | | “Why do you think plovers don’t eat these darters as well as the common minnows?” I asked. “Simply because, when I’ve been ambushed on the flats lookin’ for teeters, ?ve seen lots of these little skip- jacks caught in the puddles. Could see ’em skippin’ out of the water, and the little plovers would run right among ’em and not notice’em. Things like that, happen- ing right under my nose, I can’t help but notice. Some- times the plovers would chase little fish ; sometimes they wouldn’t; and I found the skip-jacks they let alone and the littlemost minnows they gobbled up.” “A good many people might see all this and never know what it meant,” I replied, and added, “I’ve seen plovers often, and shot dozens of ’em, but this is all news to me.” “That’s just accordin’ to what I’ve told you more than once. If you waited until you were as old as I am before you printed anything about birds, you would then likely tell a good many things nobody would believe—like enough be set down as crazy. I’ve never told you half Pve seen in my days, and do not mean to. You wouldn’t believe some things.” “Indeed I will,” I replied quickly ; “I’d rather have your opinion and knowledge than that of any one I know.” “ All very well to say, boy, but you’d feel a little doubtful about it if I gave you a full account of my years of lookin’ at things in natur’; anyhow, I won’t do it.” “T hope you will change your mind,” I knowing coaxing was useless; “I want, any. you again about the snakes in the June f. member, I didn’t see any of any account.” ee sf Pestape I will, some day,” Uz replied, a now.’ : % | Here \ Wo xdached! (id romctoads and parted for ak NE Cr OF CHAPTER XXIII. A WALK IN WINTER. Tur whole range of field, forest, and meadow, with their scattered patches of tangled thicket and lace-work of worm-fences, on which I looked from my study-win- _ dow, had during a recent January morning a marvelously altered appearance. ‘That the familiar land-marks were all there I had no reason to doubt, but ready recognition of them was, after all, not so easy, when a deep, undrifted snow covered everything. | What though an open fire-place and hickory logs were _ at my disposal? These are incomparable after sundown ; _ but it argued no want of love for my grandmother’s and- _ irons, if so early in the day I did not succumb to their charms. Let me first weary myself with a tramp over the snow, which will not last but a day or two, it may be, and gather material for a dream by the blazing hickory logs when it is gone, for the wood will keep. Nota sight nora sound of bird for the first half mile ; and as it was a matter of wading rather than walking, much of the time, I began to feel discouraged and thought of the andirons. But when fairly in the open fields, the spow-crust was firmer, and a change came over the spirit of my day-dream. [I heard a bird chirp, and at once felt my strength renewed. Nor does this indicate mania on _ the subject of birds. To be sure, I could have heard Sparrows chirp, to my heart’s content, by merely raising — i é ged bi ? bal | 210 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. my study-window; but these were English sparrows, and de gustibus non est disputandum. I would rather raise Cain with the misguided people who brought these tru-— culent little wretches into the country. The bird-note that I had heard was nothing but a faint chirp, but then it did not come from a sparrow’s _ throat, but from a prettier one and a wild one, whose — owner is never here in summer. Here, then, were all — things needful to play “up North,” as the children say: snow, ice, cold weather, arctic birds; and so the fun ~ began. I heard a faint chirp, and then an answering one; then a clear, ringing twitter filled the crisp air, and a great company of horned larks came flying by and settled daintily on the broad expanse of snow before me. So I had not, after all, taken a walk for nothing. Of all possible sights of a snowy winter, whether in the open fields or the hoary forests, that of a company of tripping, chirping, merry horned larks is the most beauti- ful. Nor do I wonder that they like so well to be abroad at such a time. Can sunshine be more magnificent than when it gilds acres of untrodden snow? The larks, at such a time, need little shelter from pursuing foes. The merest ripple in the surface grants them all they need, and sharp eyes are required to follow their movements. This they seem to know; at all events, they are happy. Yet why do they visit us only at such times? Do they belong to one of the “old families ” among birds, and did they come in with the glaciers, as some of our friends claim to have done “with the Conqueror”? If so, their love of arctic conditions became so strongly rooted that — no subsequent experiences could or have changed it; and in these later days, when the Eskimo and the glacier have alike retreated toward the arctic circle, the larks, too, have followed in their wake, and only return to the ~ A WALK IN WINTER. ee homes of their remote ancestors when winter kindly re- stores it to its old-time condition. To return to these larks before me: there were fully — a hundred of them, and they ran with wonderful’ speed over the snow, sometimes carrying their heads well up, and then thrusting them eye-deep into the snow. I saw all about me the oblique holes they had thus made, and I judged that it must have been done in picking up grass- seeds that the winds had scattered, and in catching a small red spider that was abundant near the top of the snow, for both of which they were evidently in search. There was also some insect-life abroad—minute black flies, that eluded my efforts at capture, but which may _ have been caught up by the quick-motioned larks. Beyond me, the half-hidden worm-fence had protected in its corners a long hedge of tall weeds, and these I found still retained a large portion of their seeds in the _seed-vessels. ‘These weeds the larks did not approach. Indeed, they are not adapted to climbing at all, and any food to be accessible to them must be upon the ground. Again, during the whole time that these larks re- mained in view, I failed to detect any leader among them. I thought that, in every instance of their taking flight, I heard a clear, bell-like chirp, but there was nothing to indicate that this alarm came from one and the same bird. However this may be, no sooner is the note heard than every bird rose instantly, and, although much scat- tered at the time, they closed their ranks promptly, and moved with a wavy motion, almost as a single object. I likened it to a sheet of paper carried gently along by the wind. With the same unity of purpose they alighted ; no one lark touched the snow a second in advance of its fellows. But no sooner were they again on foot than they were wholly indifferent to each other, and went Sven 919 - RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. a seed-gathering and spider-hunting, each one strictly on his own account. 4a It seemed to me, at the time, highly improbable that — they could follow this course for any length of time . without drawbacks, and I asked myself if they were never molested when wandering over snow-clad fields. — Happily for my curiosity, I was soon enlightened. A shadow floated quickly over the snow before me, a faint, — eat-like scream came from overhead, and as I turned I saw between me and the sun a restless, impetuous spar-_ row-hawk hurrying by. It too had seen these merry — or “pe 40) larks from afar, or, descrying me, had guessed that I was bird-hunting, and so came to see. At all events, on came the hawk, and perched upon a projecting stake of a pane ee near by. From this “coign of vantage” sailed over the spot where the larks were, but no sooner was it directly above them than they moved en masse a — few yards, and, settling down, they scattered again. I could scarcely foliations movements, but it was evident — that they were determined not to give the hawk an oppor- tunity to single out any one of their number. In order to accomplish this, they in one instance burrowed into the snow until quite concealed. The hawk, darting like lightning toward them, struck the low snow-bank, and, being disappointed, he rose with a shrill ery of anger and disgust. As he was flying in one direction, the larks rose up as one body, and moved by me in the opposite di- rection at a rate of speed never attained by any spar- row-hawk. I was fairly thrilled with the suddenness and sagacity of the movement, which was all over before 1 fairly realized what had happened. I saw no more of ~ the larks that day, but enjoyed the chagrin of the hawk, — which vainly endeavored to determine their whereabouts. The baffled bird seemed to hold me responsible for their * A WALK IN WINTER. =. Be esee pe, ‘and scolded me in no measured terms. Either kn nowing that I was without a gun, or being perfectly in- é lifferent to the fact, he came flitting near me, and darted ~ menacing toward me as I stood my ground. I have seen brave birds and impudent ones, but none that ex- ceeded this baffled hawk in both these qualities. He evidently held me responsible for all that had happened ; at least I thought so, as I slowly wended my way home- CHAPTER XXIV. FEEDING HABITS OF KINGFISHERS. In the volume by Mr. Darwin on the “ Expression of the Emotions,” it is stated, on page 48, that “ kingfishers, when they catch a fish, always beat it until it is killed.” When I read this statement, I felt quite sure that it did not apply to our common belted kingfisher; and, in a | brief communication to “Nature” (vol. vii, p. 362), I took occasion to say that I had never seen a kingfisher take its food otherwise than by swallowing it whole, and that while he was yet upon the wing. The captured fish having been swallowed, or, at least, having disappeared, the kingfisher will then alight upon the branch of a tree, and, stretching out its neck, go through a gulping motion, as if the fish had not been entirely swallowed, but had been retained in the esophagus. Up to the time when I made this note (January, 1873), I certainly had never once seen a fish taken from the water and killed before being devoured, and I was under the impression that, in — feeding, the kingfisher, after darting into the water and — securing a small minnow, emerged from the stream, uttering its shrill, harsh, chattering ery, as if rejoicing over the delicate morsel it had captured, and not scolding ~ at its ill-luck, as has been thought. That this is so is — evident, because I have shot these birds as they rose from the water, and on dissection have sometimes found in — their stomachs or cesophagus an entire fish in which life — » " ey SE Ss | 2 FEEDING HABITS OF KINGFISHERS. 215 was not quite extinct. Indeed, I can not see how the kingfisher could utter a prolonged scream with a fish struggling in its beak. When the captured fish, either © from its size or from any other cause, is retained in the cesophagus until the bird alights, the movements of the kingfisher in swallowing it are very like those ofa pigeon feeding its young. The neck shortens and swells, the _ feathers are rufiled, and the wings slightly open and shut two or three times. A further examination, however, showed me that I was wofully mistaken in my original statement. Not having had my attention called to the subject particularly, my casual observations had led me to suppose that I knew the kingfisher perfectly, when, in fact, my ac- quaintance with the bird was very slight. This dawned upon me when I found the truth of my assertions in “ Nature” doubted by many; and also, when I was as- sured by careful observers that Mr. Darwin’s remark did _ apply to our species of kingfisher. Then I determined to satisfy myself, and I began at once to study very care- fully the habits of the bird in question. During 1873 and 1874 I took every opportunity possible of familiar- izing myself with the daily routine of its life, with the following result: In 1873 the whole season—from April to November—was spent upon the water studying our smaller fresh-water fishes, and my opportunities were unusually good for observing the movements of a pair of these birds. My daily record of observations shows these kingfishers feeding, from one to four times a day, for eighty-three days; or, in other words, during this period I saw them dive for fishes one hundred and sixty- _ six times, and either every plunge was unsuccessful or the birds swallowed, before alighting, every fish they had taken; making, of course, due allowance for their occa- P “ . 5 216 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. ‘ » sional failures to seize their prey. This seemed to con- firm my original impression, but, as a late ornithologist — of note has said, “The horizon of one man is at best — _ very limited, and many ornithological facts occur that are — not dreamed of in his philosophy.” I repeated my observa- — tions through the spring and summer of the ensuing year. My opportunities were equally good, and, much to my — satisfaction, I have a quite different story to relate. It is proper, however, to state that during the summer of — 1873 my observations were made altogether in a very limited locality—the summit level of a canal—and were — confined to one pair of birds. During the subsequent year, I watched the kingfishers in several different locali- _ _ ties, and my note-books make mention of these birds — from two to six times per day, for one hundred and one days, or a total of about four hundred observations. Of this.series I have to say that in eighty-eight instances the kingfisher captured and, alighting, deliberately beat the fish against the limb of the tree, and afterward swallowed it. Thus it will be seen that this habit is by no means constant, as less than one fourth of the fish taken were killed before being swallowed ; though, on the other hand, . it is evident that I was wide of the mark in stating that the fish is always swallowed without being first killed. — There is, of course, some cause for this difference in the habits of these birds, and I believe it may be ex plained in this way: as already stated, my observations — during 1873 were confined to a single pair of these birds, — in one locality; and the obvious reason why these par- — ticular kingfishers always swallowed their prey as soon as — caught was because they fed exclusively on the very small — but extraordinarily numerous cyprinoids frequenting this artificial sheet of water. I know, of my own fishing ex- perience (pursued after a different manner, however), 2 FEEDING HABITS OF KINGFISHERS. 217 that millions of cyprinoids or minnows were found there, as though they sought in this canal an asylum from the attacks of carnivorous fishes, which are quite rare, as — compared with the number in the river near by. _ During the season of 1874 I took notes on such king- fishers as were seen about two creeks, a mill-pond, and the Delaware River. In each of these localities large fishes of many kinds are more or less abundant, and the _ percentage of small cyprinoids—from two to four inches _long—being much smaller than in the canal, it would evidently be irksome to so voracious a bird as the king- fisher to wait until fish of the proper size for swallowing at _ without preliminary butchering should come within reach. It therefore, in some measure, seems to depend upon the é size of the captured fish whether or not it is killed by the _ kingfisher before it is swallowed. Both habits having been found to be true of this bird, "it is desirable to know why the habit of killing the fish before eating it should be the invariable practice of this bird in some localities, as stated. I can only suggest that this may depend upon the anatomical characteristics of the fishes caught. When an abundance of cyprinoids, which are fishes with soft-rayed fins, are to be obtained, then little or no preparation is necessary to make them fit for food; but if young perch with their spiny fins, or tough, hard-scaled fish of any family, have to be de- pended upon, then the kingfisher is forced to prepare the food before it can be safely swallowed. 10 " we Sr snl tenga a me ee 5 ee eee) eee abt eng ants a Aedew arg +5 ~ ~ 2 - — = — » Jf 2 2 < 2 eae rere peas © Se Nba eens oe one 2 2. ach ee —yreguhens) al eS i Ow tee = 2 enn - ——- a > . . a ~ “~ a - indy oe eae — / 71> ‘ : oh . a! Hie ’ Z : 2a + - BL Betis J Ud } - ' he y 3 te | _ . ° 4 ? é fi ti \ u bi ought—but, nevertheless, he is always to be found on the = - < a < = —<» a ee ee npn and oer iy? ee eed, é it sat and meditated by day, and from which in the ev La ‘ab ate ae < a — ee ee thd Kinnd Nal aged seater - er EN ee fee te ies © sm 8 ont ius ‘ alee S Ny es oe Py ey ee ee = rs — en Pa eae o r CHAPTER XXV. THE SAW-WHET eek: OTHER OWLs. : DovstusEss the little santowhel owl ean evithitdndla any degree of cold—belonging to a circumpolar fanny he , sunny side of a tree, and along hill-sides with a abutlial orm exposure. If he comes close to the house, he will find a cozy corner where the sunshine strikes in full force, and where never a breath of the north wind can enter. Twice I have found them on the south side of the barn, where they had arranged roomy nests, and had occupied them for weeks. Not a single nest, large enough fo three, but each for itself had a protected perch, where n ing it sallied forth in search of food, returning, howev long before dark. None of our birds, either resid species or winter visitors, are partial to north winds. Even horned larks and snow-buntings will keep out the wind and stay on the leeward slopes of snow fields; and when our moisture-laden northeast wind vails, then birds of all kinds, even to the crows, shelter ; and miles of walking oy not give you, perha a ees of a single stray feather. | To return to the saw-whet. Generally in a d cedar—one surrounded by other trees, and not standi alone—and also in a tangled mass of green-brier or gr vine that has lodged in the upper branches of some 2 THE SAW-WHET AND OTHER OWLS. 219 tree, you will likely find the resting-place of this, the smallest of our owls. A remnant of a leaf-nest, made by | the gray squirrels as a winter home, is likewise a favorite roost, and from it the watchful little owlet scans the im- mediate neighborhood, and knows just where he is likely to find a shrew, sparrow, field-mouse, or Hesperomys. It is not his habit, ordinarily, to forage by day, but he is not oblivious to the diurnal movements of his neighbors, nevertheless. If occasion requires, saw-whet will sally out in broad daylight, moving with a noiseless, bat-like flight, but with all the confidence of a sparrow-hawk. It is correct, in a degree, to consider this owl nocturnal in _ its habits, but not so strictly so that his presence by day should excite any surprise on the part of the beholder.. In speaking of the allied Tengmalm’s owl and of this _ species, Dr. Coues remarks that “they are among the most perfectly nocturnal birds of the family.”* If by “nocturnal” is meant that these birds are more active as . the absence of light becomes more marked; that their _ activity increases with departing daylight, then it is not true of them. To say that owls are crepuscular, partial - to cloudy days, and delight in clear moonlight nights, is _ true, just as it is of the herons, night-hawks, whippoorwill, and chimney-swifts ; and, among mammals, of the bats. Iam disposed, furthermore, to believe that their vision is not as good as that of the night-heron or of a bat on, comparatively speaking, dark nights. I find in our up- land woods, if the day is cloudy, that the long-eared owl moves about quite as freely as any of our hawks; and in the meadows, especially during September, when the reed-birds congregate in the marshes, the short-eared or. _marsh-owl is about by day, and skims quietly over the * “ Birds of Northwest.” Page 314. Washington, 1874 (Government Printing-Office.) 220 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. reeds and tall grasses in search of wounded birds know- ing that many such are to be found by following in the wake of gunners, who murderously discharge their guns at the dense flocks of reed-birds, and wounding a dozen often where one is killed. That the little red owl is quite himself while the sun shines,is known to every country lad. That all these owls love the twilight, no one can doubt; but that their activity increases with the ae oe? ae growing darkness, is not true of any of the nine species — of owls that I have found in this vicinity. Although I have found these saw-whet owls at all seasons, I am not quite sure that I have ever heard their voices. The “saw-mill” note, of which Audubon speaks, I have never heard to recognize it; nor the bell-like note — mentioned by other writers. When I have captured — them alive, they made the usual clicking noise with the — beak, and tatnthy murmured, as nearly as 1 can express — it; but beyond this I have eas no utterance. A neighbor, on the accuracy of whose observations I can rely, has had better luck in this respect, and describes — to me the note of this owl as expressed fairly well by — the syllables ¢lee-klee, tlee-klee, twice or thrice repeated. Then an intermission of a minute or more, and the note or notes are repeated. He further says he has heard it during dull, cloudy days in summer, and early in the evening, but at no other time of the year. It is not, of course, to be inferred from this that the saw-whet does not utter its peculiar cry in autumn and winter, or late at night. Being nocturnal in its habits to the extent that are all owls, of course it must do so; but, on the other hand, it is additional evidence that this species is not as strictly nocturnal as has been supposed. A word about the voices of owls. It is common to speak of these birds as “hooting,” but what is meant by am i 7“ = SS AW ey) | | 2 THE SAW-WHET AND OTHER OWLS. 991 this term is not very clear. The little screech-owl has a variety of notes, not one of which is suggestive of a “hoot,” as I understand the meaning of the word. The long-eared owl is known here as the “ cat-owl,” because its voice resembles much the mewing of that animal. The great horned or eagle-owl has the nearest to a “ hoot- ing ”’ note, perhaps, but it is far less gloomy than one might suppose. In broad daylight it would attract and inter- est one ; and only because it is heard at night, when few other sounds but the hum of insects are to be heard, does it, popularly speaking, “‘ fill one with dread.” These large owls fret, cackle, laugh, and chatter, rather than “hoot.” The barn-owls, although abundant, do not often “sive tongue.” Have they learned wisdom by experi- ence, and fear that by hooting they will only make their whereabouts better known? Not long ago, however, I _ heard one of them scream to some purpose. On the 5th _ of May, 1883, my nephew discovered a nest of this owl, containing six eggs and the mother bird. With some difficulty she was secured and placed in a covered basket. With her new surroundings she was evidently disgusted, _ and soon uttered the shrillest and most unearthly scream I have ever heard from beast or bird. It may be repre- sented by the letters kr-r-r-r-rr—ick ! Commencing as alow murmur, the volume of sound gradually increased until it became an ear-piercing shriek, ending suddenly with a click. The bird at the time opened its beak widely, and closed it suddenly with the ending of the utterance. It was several times repeated. I say it was the wildest scream I ever heard. Not 80; once, a year or more before, while passing along the wooded bank of Watson’s creek at night, I was fairly frightened by a wild scream I had never heard before, and failed then to identify. What manner of 999 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. bird or mammal uttered it was then and subsequently a mystery, until the captured owl screamed as I have de- scribed. Then I knew. It was the same ery; but this time louder, wilder, more unearthly than before. In the interesting series of weather proverbs published recently as “Signal Service Notes, No. IX,” there are three references to the hooting of owls, no one of which, I think, merits attention as a weather-sign. It is said, for instance, that “owls hooting indicate rain.” What of the owls that ery so persistently during the summer drought that, early or late, is sure to come? For the past eleven years we have had a “dry spell” of four to six weeks’ duration every summer, yet the owls did not fail to hoot. So too, in winter, the cat-owls seream every night, whatever the weather. © | . Again, “if owls scream in foul weather, it will change _ to fair”’ Probably, but not because the owls scream. During protracted rain-storms in autumn, and particular- ly in November, the short-eared owls that frequent the meadows are exceedingly noisy. Day and night, if two or three chance to roost in the same tree, they will hoot in concert, from sunset to midnight, and no more on the day preceding a “clearing up” of the weather than dur- ing the first of half a dozen rainy days. More strange than all, it is said, “if owls hoot at night, expect fair weather.” When, if not at night, do owls hoot? To be sure, the marsh-owl screams during the day occasionally. So, too, do the snowy and great horned owls; but some — unusual occurrence prompts this. Surely, the regular hooting hours of all owls are after they have left their roosting-places and are moving about, either in search of company or hunting for food, and this is after sunset. The principal food of our owls, except the saw-whet, is the ever-abundant field-mouse. JI know that both ia P a ———, - 2 ‘ ’ — Soe ae ees ee wi a Ia lidiacton et ca SS tc eee ee Re er ce ae eens ere Bi. 2 THE SAW-WHET AND OTHER OWLS. 93 the snowy owl and the great horned owl capture mice; the former hunting them with much skill, if there are stretches of bare ground accessible, during the weeks in midwinter when these birds visit us. The equally rare barred owl, too, cares more for a mouse than for a chicken or pigeon; and I have long insisted that whatever of valued bird-life, even, these large owls may destroy, really counts for little in comparison to the good they do in de- stroying field-mice. Certainly, owls, as a class, merit our protection, and should be spared the senseless persecution to which they are subjected. The loss of a chicken or quail or grouse signifies little indeed, when we consider the value of all checks to the increase of mice. These _ creatures multiply so rapidly, and work so much destruc- 5 tion in cultivated fields the year through, that any mouse-eating animal, whether owl or hawk, is a bene- _ factor to mankind. The persecution to which owls and hawks have been subjected, even in many localities to _ the verge of extinction, has resulted in losses to the _ farmer, by the resulting increase in field-mice, quintu- ple the value of all the poultry that might have been destroyed had birds of prey been reasonably abundant. These may appear rash statements, hastily expressed, but, in reality, are my firm convictions—the results of careful observation and study of the habits of these birds for fully twenty years. No objection, however, can be urged against the saw- whets, on the score of their diet. In winter, a mouse or a snow-bird satisfies them for a week or more; and during the other seasons, insects, whenever attainable, are their favorite food. Black crickets, brown grasshoppers, and even pea-green katydids, are eaten in large numbers. So, _ too, the larger moths are eagerly devoured. I am inclined to believe that one reason why we see so few large moths, 224- RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. such as the cecropia, polypheme, promethean, and lunar moths, in comparison to the number of cocoons that are to be found during the winter clinging to the bushes, is that no sooner are the matured insects on the wing than this owl, the little red owl, and the bats, attack them. I have twice found the remnants of many wings of these four moths in the hollows of trees where the saw-whets, for the time, were living. This fact, further, was once very forcibly brought to my attention by an annoying incident. For several summers I have been anxious to secure a good example of the rare walnut-moth (Cerato- campa regalis), and during a pleasant August evening last summer was delighted to see one fluttering against the — window, struggling to enter the room, where a bright light was burning. I hurried out of doors to capture my prize, but was too late. A saw-whet owl that had been roosting in a pine-tree near by had also seen the moth, and, pouncing down, seized it while I was reaching up- ward for the same purpose. Prior to 1877 I had not found any specimens of this — owl in the neighborhood. On January 16th of that year, after two weeks of quite uniform cold and snowy weather, it proved warm, rainy, and a dense fog prevailed. A few birds of several kinds twittering in the cedars drew me out of doors, and I found, to my surprise, that the snow- birds, sparrows, titmice, and kinglets had discovered one of these little owls in a cedar-tree, and were discussing its presence with many emphatic chirps and twitters. It is always a safe conclusion that something unusual has occurred, when different birds congregate about one spot, and are unusually noisy and demonstrative. Re- membering this, led me to discovering the saw-whet—the first living specimen I had ever seen. Since then these owls have been found here every a? THE SAW-WHET AND OTHER OWLS. 295 year, not merely as visitors but as residents. They nest in the hollow apple-trees of my neighbor’s orchard, and once a nest was built in a remnant of a “leaf-nest” of a gray squirrel. But one brood, I think, is raised. Young birds of the characteristic, uniform, chocolate- brown color are as common as those with the mottled plumage of adult life. The plumage, in fact, varies much more in this species than with the little screech or red owl. The latter may be red or gray; but the saw-whets vary indefinitely as to the degree of mottling. Particu- larly is this true of the facial disk. I have seen it pure white, with scarce a trace of color about the eyes; and again, the dark rim of the orbits was so wide that but little white was noticeable as the bird sat facing you. There are many other characteristic features, however, always present, which render it easy at all times to in- stantly recognize the pretty, innocent, and wise little saw- whet. 3 | ee ee | ae ~ a ee * ger apn leh Se CRT ee . * tern sing ‘ hay 42 : . _ af i 'eay pm f > a Ras y ‘ 3 ¥ fae oie i J qe ; i d , ee ii - Te - \ . * . oo te ’ many birds should happily have ready access to a consi 1 pearance and behavior, and forming, as they do, a prom G CHAPTER XXVL NOTES ON OUR HERONS. Ir those who are fond of watching the habits of ou. erable expanse of meadow, with here and there a china of trees, and with a creek meandering through it, or ca wander along a goodly stretch of heavily aah river shore, they will doubtless have abundant opportunities of studying the habits of a class of birds that have ever been to me the most interesting of all. Being so different from all the others, both in ap- nent feature in the landscape that brings us into i communion with “untamed nature,” these birds, neg wn collectively as the herons or Ardezdea, offer an exhaustle fund of instruction to the field naturalist. a In the vicinity of my home I have noted, during m rambles, the great blue heron, the great white, the sn ee egret, the little blue, the green, the two night-herons, and both the bitterns. | é The first mentioned of this goodly list is now by ne means abundant, and the white egrets are seen even | frequently. The smaller blue heron seems quite indiffer- ent to temperature, and single specimens are often m with in winter, associated with the very common | ni NOTES ON OUR HERONS. ) 227 as a rule it is migratory in its habits. As an instance of this I may mention that, during the winter of 1869~70, and for several years since, a family of common night- herons have occupied the pine-trees in a large and heavily wooded yard in the city of Trenton, N. J. In this yard is a pond which is fed by a lively spring, and which, dur- ing the above-mentioned winter, in consequence of the mild weather, was quite free from ice, the vegetation near it being comparatively green. The many frogs, too, were thoroughly active all winter, albeit without much if any food, and the many small gold-fish and silvery-finned minnows in the pond were as readily accessible to the herons as in summer. These frogs and fish afforded an abundant food-supply to these birds from November to April. Occasionally they would go as far away as the 2 river, but they soon returned, having probably taken the flight for exercise and not to search for food. Least seldom seen, because with us so very shy, of all these long-legged birds, if we except the great white her- on, is the least bittern. JI have seldom found more than _ asingle pair in the same neighborhood. When disturbed, unlike the big bittern or “bog-trotter,” it gives no _ hoarse croak as it takes wing, but with an easy flight it goes a short distance and drops again into the long grass, _ where it is, I judge, most at home. It does not feed on fish and frogs exclusively, but pursues with wonderful agility the grasshoppers that climb the blades of tall grass and the stems of reeds. Finding a nest, in 1873, I took a position near by, in hopes of seeing something of the movements of the parent birds when unmolested; but in this I was disappointed, except so far as to determine that they returned to the nest on foot. For the two hours that I watched them they came and went continually, but not once did they fly as high as the tops of the 998 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. rushes. Dr. Coues has mentioned a resemblance of this bittern to the rail-birds, and, when a good opportunity — offers to see them undisturbed, this resemblance in their habits, and especially in their movements, is readily seen. While the larger bittern and the herons have each a stately walk, and perhaps can not run, this little bittern will run whenever the ground will permit; and it can twist and turn in and out among the reeds and rushes with all the agility of a king-rail. I have several times seen them, associated with the soras, run out from the grass” to the muddy banks of the ditches, and along them for several yards, and then dart in again, never, the while, — taking a step that could be called a “walk.” Neverthe- less, they can step along most majestically ; and when, as- suming for the time the proper family characteristics, they fish or go a-frogging, they act their part with due proprie- ty ; but they seemingly prefer to act like rail-birds, and in this respect we see in them a similarity to the habits of the shrike when it simulates the hawks. It sometimes happens that during certain summers many of these herons, of the rarer species, are exceed- ingly abundant for a short time, and then disappear altogether. This is due, not to any peculiarity of the - weather, so far as temperature alone is concerned, but to those occasional excessive rainfalls which result in tem- porarily flooding the large tracts of meadow-land that skirt the river. These meadows are usually dry, except in scattered small areas, but when submerged they afford a desirable hunting-ground fora brief period. A notable instance of this occurred in 1875. On Monday, August 2d, of that year, it began raining early in the morning, and continued to rain, except dur- ing a few brief intervals, until Friday, the 20th. The wind varied only from southeast to south. About ten mee 57 a NOTES ON OUR HERONS. 229 and one tenth inches of rain fell in these nineteen days, and, as a consequence, there was a heavy summer freshet, the meadows skirting the river being submerged to a depth of from two to six feet. On the 14th a flock of thirty snowy egrets made their appearance, keeping much together, avoiding the clumps of tall trees, and at times associating very familiarly with a flock of domestic geese. Occasionally, the great blue herons were seen in scanty numbers, either by themselves ‘ or associated with the white herons, and every day there were numbers of the small, blue herons, but these excited no comment from those familiar with the locality, as they are very abundant every year, and at all times. Indeed, these—the night-herons and great bitterns—are fixtures of our meadows, and noé to see them would be far more strange to “the folks at home” than is their appearance to the stranger, who for the first time sees and hears them, as they are fishing in, or flying over, the creek near by. ; August 17th, a small fiock of great, white egrets, or herons, made their appearance, and associated familiarly with the smaller, snowy egrets that had preceded them by three days. , "ft 4 s as 2 r , ow Fa, So deat Pr oe ‘ ean ere tok fk A Dial 2 NOTES ON OUR HERONS. 231 this source. To what extent this is true is, I think, partly shown in the notes I have taken in the field from Aug. 14 to Sept. 9, 1875, inclusive. Just how- these movements should be interpreted the reader must judge for himself, but I think the explanation here given is most in accord with the facts, which I regret my inability to describe as clearly as might be desirable. Valuable as they undoubtedly are, written descriptions give but a faint idea of the varied movements and daily habits of our birds, which must be seen to be really appreciated. Now it is very evident, I may state at the outset, that these great white herons know that their size and color render them quite conspicuous; and I noticed every day the same movements on their part, which demonstrated their appreciation of this fact. They invariably kept in the middle of the tract of meadow, unless when feeding, and then never ventured nearer than, say, one hundred yards to the wooded margins of the meadow, or to the near outstanding trees. This shyness, as it would be ¢alled, was not of itself at all remarkable, but as it was accompanied with another habit having direct relation to it, it was very curious and clearly indicated reason. This F other habit was that of rising to a very great height _ always when passing over woods, as was necessary on coming in from the river, along the banks of which I be- _ lieve they had their roosting-places. While the less timid blue herons would pass leisurely along the tree-tops, not a dozen yards above them, the great white herons, on being disturbed, or when voluntarily leaving the mead- ow, would rise rapidly to an unusual height, and, appar- ently keeping directly over the spot where they had been. standing, would not commence an onward flight until the _ upward one was sufficiently prolonged to assure them that they were wholly out of harm’s way. So, when returning 232 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. to the meadow, they would, as it were, drop from the clouds, while the blue species would quietly wing their way along at a height of from ten to forty metres. Now, inasmuch as no white egrets have, in any num- bers, visited this locality for several years, and as in the Southern States they are little, if at all, more wary than the blue herons, it seems to me to follow necessarily that their peculiarity of flight, as instanced in avoiding sup- posed dangers, could not be hereditary, and was really — an exercise of unusual care and forethought on the part — of these birds; a mental operation identical with thought — In man, and having nothing whatever in common with instinct as understood by us. Why, indeed, a flock of these great white oe tdi nearly four aor should frequent daily a tract of meadow so small as this of seventy acres, it would be very diffi- — cult if not impossible to determine; but such being the case, I naturally endeavored to mark their feeding-habits — carefully, and this, with the aid of a powerful glass, I — was able todo. Their food consisted exclusively, while — on the meadows, of frogs and grasshoppers, and especially — of the latter, which were very abundant, and which, hay- — ing been caught by the freshet while in the long grass, — were so wet and draggled that they could not escape by — flight. The smaller herons seemed always occupied in gathering up these grasshoppers, and never stopped to— plume themselves or take a quiet nap, standing on one leg, as the blue herons are so fond of doing. The great white herons, on the contrary, seemed to weary of gather- ing grasshoppers and frogs, and would spend much time in dressing their feathers; but, while really undisturbed, they never ceased to be suspicious, and the little flock seemed to have a mutual understanding for their common safety, as every fifteen or twenty minutes one of their | NOTES ON OUR HERONS. 288 number would rise well up into the air and circle slowly about, as if to see if the coast was clear. If at sucha time any person was noticed approaching, or I purposely showed myself too near them, the flying heron would give a loud, shrill call, and they would all rise up immediately and be gone for perhaps an hour. I frequently disturbed them, and so uniform was their action at such a time, that I could describe in advance to a friend what would be their movements when alarmed. So unvarying was their method of leaving and returning to the meadow that it seemed only explicable by considering it the predeterm- ined routine, resulting from a consultation had among themselves, when circumstances first led them to the spot in question. : | As an instance, also, of these birds evidently “study- ing the situation,” I daily noticed a change in their habits, as the waters began to subside and restricted their range : of submerged land. Not once did I see these white herons light upon dry land or in any of the trees, while in both places the blue herons did so continually. These more careful, timid if you will, white herons unquestion- ably realized fully that an open meadow, even when only six or eight inches under water, afforded no cover for their arch enemy, man, but felt that he might crawl dan- gerously near in the long, tangled grass, now again ex- posed. The indication of this evident train of thought on the part of the herons consisted in the marked increase of suspicion, and the steadily increasing number of cir- cular flights, on the part of some of their number, to see if any danger was near. It were useless to endeavor to give a detailed account. of their many interesting movements, all of which were 80 indicative of thought; but the whole series of observa- tions, as I now recall them, and the perusal of my many ~ 934 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. brief field-notes, more than ever fully convince me that these herons, like all our birds, depend upon and owe their success in life more to the quality of their reasoning power than they do to the mere operations of blind instinet. While the vocal efforts of the herons can not be com- mended for their melody, there is, nevertheless, a wealth of suggestiveness in the hoarse guok/ of the night-heron, as it slowly wings its way above you in the dim twilight. The “ booming” of the great bittern is by no means an unpleasant sound, except perhaps to those who have no ear for Nature’s varied voices, and no eye for beauty, as it is found in precincts man has not marred by his pres- ence. Perhaps nowhere, in this sadly artificial region where I chance to dwell, is there left a trace of primitive times so pleasant to contemplate as the meadow and — creek-side, when, in the gloaming, the herons come from — their noonday haunts, and fishing in the still waters, or flying from point to point above my head, they call to — each other, and express perhaps the whole range of their communicable thoughts in the one, unvarying, monoto- nous note, guok / The scarcely less harsh ery of the green heron, 100/44 is not an unwelcome sound to me, and I always greet with pleasure the first time that I hear it, in the early spring. A few words, in conclusion, about the nesting and other habits of this well-known bird. Certainly it must — be well known, for no bird in the whole fauna seems to be so abundantly endowed with “heaps upon heaps” of meaningless names. Never yet have I heard it called a green heron, heron, or little heron; but always, “ poke,” “ fly-up-the-creek,” ‘ chuckle-head,” “ bastard wood-cock,” and so, ad infinitum. Why, indeed, these birds should be indlod out in this manner, and ridiculed by a multi- | plicity of defamatory names, I have yet to learn. La} aI NOTES ON OUR HERONS. — Meas As to its habits, there is in nearly every family of birds some one or more species that have taken more or less completely upon themselves habits not characteristic of the family. This is true, in a measure, of the little green heron. It is the least aquatic of all the family ; for, while strictly a wader and a good fisher, it neverthe- less is not so dependent upon water for a food-supply, and is often found in high and dry fields, looking, I suppose, _ for grasshoppers. ‘Time and again have I seen them in the woods, where no water was to be found except that which collected about the few small springs, and which often did but little more than dampen the ground. Like our spotted sandpiper, dear “teeter tilt up” of my boy- hood, which often builds in the upland fields, and is as much at home on a worm-fence as is the sparrow, the green heron will nest in trees where there is no water near, and remain there night and day, the greater part of the time. Not that they do not visit the nearest creeks, _ for this they frequently do; but, unlike the herons gener- _ ally, they are not less a feature of our uplands than are the common birds of our door-yards. Their nests, too, _ are built much nearer to houses than are those of any other heron. These nests are flimsy structures; often not over a hundred twigs, loosely laid together, constituting the home of the expected brood; and lucky are they if it holds together until they are able to crawl upon some convenient branch to await the growth and feathering of their wings. One little colony of these herons built, last summer, in a clump of birches near the house, and I think one third of the eggs, at least, were broken by fall- ing through the nests; nearly all of which were so open. that the eggs could readily be seen from beneath. How the sitting bird kept them warm enough to insure their hatching is a puzzle. That it was accomplished by con- 236 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. tact with her body seems incredible. But if wofully poor — nest-builders, and painfully awkward brooders, they are attentive parents, and as long as the young herons are de- — pendent, they are by no means neglected. Among the changes in fauna that have occurred within historic times, the disappearance of the cranes — should here be noted. Dr. Turnbull, in his “ Birds of East Pennsylvania and New Jersey,’ remarks: “The Whooping-crane (Grus Americanus) may be said te have — disappeared, not even a straggler having been seen for some years. It likewise seems to have been once very plentiful; for we read in Hakluyt’s ‘ Voyages,’ edition — 1589, folio 729, that Captain Philip Amadas and his fel- low-adventurers, who visited and explored the coast in the — year 1584, ‘having discharged their harquebus-shot, such a — flocke of Cranes (the most part white) arose, with such a crye, redoubled by many echoes, as if an armie of men — had showted altogether.’ ” if On page 230 I have given Kalm’s remarks on thal , former occurrence of cranes in New Jersey, and referred — them to the sand-hill crane of the Western States. Dr. Turnbull considers that the Swedish naturalist referred - more particularly to the whooping crane. This may pos- sibly be true; for, as Dr. Turnbull remarks, it was known > to breed in Cape May County, in Wilson’s and Audu- bon’s time, and stragglers have been seen as recently as 1857. It is more than probable, however, that both spe- cies were once abundant, and the sand-hill crane the more abundant of the two. ae ie i salle coe Pre CHAPTER XXVIL. NOTES ON THE WOOD-DUCKE. Wanperine along the weedy, tangled margin of a _ guiet inland creek, where giant elms and scareely smaller maples throw sombre shadows at evening and deepen the gloom, I saw moving slowly before me a pretty wood- duck that gave me but a moment to look ere it disap- repre Pe Sry Pee ee _ peared, not by flight but by diving, and as it passed out of sight, here and there on the still waters suddenly _moved and then likewise disappeared, one after another, _ several hitherto-unnoticed ducklings. I had no opportu- ' nity then to watch them further. On my way home, however, I fell to thinking, and wondered, considering that wood-ducks built their nests in trees, how it was that they got their young to the water, oftentimes nearly a mile away. It was the month of June, and I purposed solving this question if it should happen to be my good luck to find a still occupied nest. Day after day I searched every probable and possible nesting-place, and finally, where I scarcely hoped for any trace of ducks or even wood-peckers, in an old decayed apple-tree I found a nest with young birds that were just hatched. How I rejoiced over my discovery! and know- ‘ing not how soon the old birds might remove the young, - I sought for a safe retreat from which I might watch the tree and its occupants; and while the day lasted I held my place, but no ducks came near the brood. I wondered 238 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. if I had frightened them away. Early the next morning I was at my post, and waited long hours without result, — but at last not in vain. In the distance, clearly limned against the cloudless sky, I plainly descried a small duck. — Nearer and nearer the object came, and I felt sure that its — flight was directed to this very nest. Not so, for to another and larger tree, a hundred yards distant, it finally ore Mes turned and alighted on an outer branch. It remained © there but a moment, and then sailed rather than flew to — the nesting-tree ; and, sitting alongside of the hollow limb in which were the young, it seemed rather to be contem- plating some of its own affairs than concerned about the young ducklings, that, as freely as might a squirrel or — mouse, clambered about the limb and over the mother — duck. Doubtless they were anxious to get to a more congenial home, ard this wish was intensified by the be- ginning of hunger, for it is doubtful if they are fed at all until they are safely afloat in some quiet pond. I had not long to wait before the modus operandi of — the exodus in this case was learned. The old duck, by sounds or actions, gave the little ducklings to understand that they were to follow their mother, and presently she slowly clambered down ‘he trunk of the tree, which grew at an angle of forty-five degrees from the level sur- face of the ground, and was followed by the ducklings. A curious procession they made, truly, and one that in — times of plentiful minks and weasels would doubtless have — proved dangerous. No sooner had the last young duck reached the ground than I essayed to follow, but so rapid — were their movements, and so zigzag their route, that it | was no easy work, as the long grass often effectually con- _ -eealed them. But I caught occasional glimpses, and | found that with but little deviation from the most direct — route they had wormed their way to the nearest water. > Do ny @ a NOTES ON THE WOOD-DUCK. ——-939 In less than a minute, probably, I reached a point near them and the spot at which they entered the water; but the old duck heard me, and with a loud “ quack,” unlike the common quacking of a tame duck, away she flew, while the little ducklings, catching her meaning, dived, I suppose, and hid in the bulrushes along the shore. At any rate, I never saw either the young birds or the old duck again. | There is one fact, too, that has an important bearing on this subject. It is well known to those who have tried to rear young wood-ducks, that the newly-hatched birds have long, sharp, really cat-like toe-nails; and by their aid the little ducklings, while yet bits of shell cling to their backs, can clamber over the limbs of trees, and up any almost perpendicular surface, if at all rough. I _ have never compared their feet with those of other ducks, _ but do know that their toe-nails are very sharp and render climbing easy. It isa common practice in this neighborhood to search for the nests of the wood-duck, and place the eggs under _a barn-yard fowl. Young ducks, thus reared, become quite tame, but it is considered necessary, as soon as the young are hatched, to nip the points of their nails with a pair of scissors. Unless this is done, the old women that “’tend poultry ” say the young ducks will climb up any wood-work and seek out the nearest water. I was a little skeptical on this point at first, but have been con- vinced, having seen a broodpof young ducks climb up rough boards a distance of three feet, and let themselves down on the other side. These boards were worse than perpendicular; they leaned over toward the ducks. So | it matters not where the nest happens to be, as no tree is so smooth that, by hook or by crook, the young wood- ducks could not get down, even if the old birds did not 240 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. lend them some assistance. From what occurred in my — neighbor’s poultry-yard, I should think young wood-ducks might venture pretty much anywhere that a squirrel would climb. ‘Their scansorial ability is undoubtedly equal to all occasions, and must be taken into considera- tion when the manner of the exodus of the young ducks from any nest is a matter of doubt. Two years later I found another duck’s nest. In this instance the nest was fully fifty feet above the water, in a tangled mass of twigs and grape-vine, on a huge buttonwood that grew from the water’s edge and towered ; nearly one hundred feet above the creek. The creek-bank here was a steep bluff of about three fourths of the height d of the tree, and over all of the slope was a dense growth — of moderate-sized maples, sassafras, and cedars. Having — by chance found the nest, I hunted for a tree growing — on the bluff that would afford a good view of the nest. Finally succeeding, I took up my position, and with the | aid of a field-glass discovered the duck sitting very quietly — on her nest. Day after day I returned, and on the sixth — from the date of discovery of the nest, the eggs were hatched. Now my interest was fully up to the require- — ments of the occasion, and I was determined, at all cost, — to see how the duck would solve the riddle—as it was to me—of removing these ducklings to the water. Go they must, and that speedily, for the old mother, however de- sirous, could not carry food to the young—at any rate, she did not. There they were, fifty feet above the water, in a tree smooth of bark and almost perpendicular. How I trembled with impatience to know what would happen, and how long it seemed! Would they climb down so ~ tall a tree? If so, I trusted I should be on hand to wit- ness the descent. Two days passed, and still these little fellows stuck to — 2 NOTES ON THE WOOD-DUCK. — 1 their nest, not even creeping beyond its boundaries; but on the third I was rewarded for my persistence, for on taking my position in the neighboring tree, I saw. that some of the young had disappeared, and I felt sure the others would soon follow, unless, indeed, their fellows had fallen from the nest. This proved not to have been the case, for, in the course of half an hour, the old duck made her appearance, and now I fairly held my breath as I _ watched her with my glass. After a moment’s rest she squatted closely down on the nest, and a duckling quickly climbed upon her back and nestled closely between her shoulders. The old bird then walked slowly to the very edge of an overhanging limb, and with outspread wings, with aslow, flapping motion of them, let herself down, _ rather than flew, to the water. The moment she touched _ the surface of the stream she dived, and left the duckling swimming on the water, and to all appearances perfectly athome. This was repeated four times, when the tender brood were all safely afloat, and as quick to scent danger and flee from it as was their wary mother. 11 _ morrow or a day or two beyond; but he, like all other | CHAPTER XXVIII. A SOUTHERLY RAIN. “ Wuat about to-morrow?” I asked Uz, as we stool on the brow of the hill and gazed over the meadows at our feet, now partially enveloped in a silvery mist. Uz wet his forefinger and held it up, looking closely _ at the movement of the few fleecy clouds above as he — did so. After a brief pause he replied, with the air of — one well convinced of the truth of his opinion, “ There'll be a.southerly rain and ducks.” : _A word about weather predictions. JI am compelled to admit that I have faith in the judgment of men like : old Uz Gaunt, when they pronounce an opinion as to the - a a ee men, fails in the matter of foretelling seasons. | oe does not like my referring to the winter of 1880— | 81. His prediction, which he early made known to me, - was quite the opposite of what the season proved to be.’ He consoled himself, however, with the earnest protest, that he was never before mistakenly and that “covers three more than fifty years” since he commana colvaae the riddle of what the winters will be. Sf ‘¢ Natur’ knows what’s comin’,” he has often said to | me, “and Natur’ gets ready for winter, to suit the sort of | = pe it’s goin’ to be.” This is a common impression in my neigh boreal and I presume is so everywhere; but it will not stand the A SOUTHERLY RAIN. ? 243 test of statistics. Corn-husks, pigs’ spleens, goose breast- bones, squirrels’ magazines of nuts, musk-rat-houses, all are relied upon by country people, but not one is trust- worthy. Perhaps the position of the dark and light por- tions of the breast-bones of geese (i. e., geese hatched the previous spring) is more relied upon as an indication of the “open” or cold weather of an approaching winter than all the others; but it can not be of any use, if for no other reason than because, in a number of such bones reported upon by as many different people, there was nothing like unanimity; and, strangely enough, it is yet an open question whether the light portion of the bone is indicative of “open” weather, and the dark portion _ of cold, or wice versa. What originally gave rise to these various signs is _ well worth tracing; but it is not to be dwelt upon here. Having wandered too far already, let us take a back track and return to the hill-top where Uz still is standing. _ No man who, without any pretensions to “ book-learning,” _ studied Nature out-of-doors probably ever excelled Uz Gaunt in correct impressions of Nature’s methods. As a sportsman, or “‘a gunner,” as he called himself, he was a success; for no one could excel him in finding game, or in bringing it down. This, however, never worried me, for he generously gave me chances to shoot, although I often failed to secure a duck which he would surely not have missed. But Uz kept himself, at times, when I was with him, so busied about the movements of the birds he sought, and was so interested in determining how nearly correct he had been in his calculations as to their whereabouts, that he forgot to shoot when they. were flushed. Not long since, he sculled up to a flock of -widgeon which we could not see, but which he “ knew” were “just beyond that clump of alders.” I had my > al | qth RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. doubts, and expressed them; but he was very firm. 4 | “They’re skulkin’ in there; now see if they ain’t,” he — | persisted, and so nearer and nearer we drew toward the it bushes. His gun, already cocked, lay in his lap, and I : was ready. Up they jumped, sure enough, and I got in b both barrels. Uz never thought of his gun, but ex- claimed with pride, “I told you so!” It was enough for him to be correct in his opinion. Is it any wonder, then, that in all matters pertaining to our local zodlogy 1 should have found him both well posted and reliable? —_ When the to-morrow I mentioned at the opening of this chapter came, it proved to be a warm, rainy day, with a southerly wind, or “south-southerly,” as he always called it. By this he meant that the wind might shift from southeast to southwest, possibly; but at all times would be essentially “southerly.” Uz was right in this, and the rain came down in a steady pour, with now and then a very brief intermission; and the river was soon swollen to the freshet stage. The meadows disappeared beneath a covering of shallow waters; and, better than — fi all else, the ducks came. . : Early in the morning of the fourth day, Uz and I © stood on the hill-top and took a general survey of the ~ country before starting out. He noted the direction of the wind, the general distribution of the clouds at the time, and then, pointing toward the river with a signifi- cant nod, quietly remarked, “I said so.” I looked in the — i li direction indicated, and, sure enough, a long, zigzag line 7 | of ducks was coming up the river. “ Widgeon and — teal,” he remarked after a pause, and then made a move ~ to go to the boat. I wondered how he knew they were ~ widgeon and teal, instead of black ducks and sprig-tails, but forbore asking, and on we walked until we reached the boat. ° om. 84% a ’ 2 A SOUTHERLY RAIN. 45 A light cedar skiff, well trimmed with evergreens, and just large enough to hold us both, it was a pleasant thing to sit in when Uz did the sculling. With a scarcely appreciable motion of the wrist, he caused the boat to move rapidly yet noiselessly through the water, and, in some way past my comprehension, he knew just where a flock of ducks would be, if they tarried in the overflowing meadows. ‘This day it was a repetition of the story that may be told by any one who has sculled after ducks. At times we were too much for the ducks, and, getting good shots, brought down several. Then, again, the ducks were too much for us, and were out of shot, in spite of all of Uz’s ingenuity and our united care- fulness. There came a lull in the day’s occupation, however, of more interest to me than the shooting. This was when we hauled up for a lunch and smoke. It met with Uz’s approbation as well as my own, and, when our pipes were lighted, I drew him out as I had seldom done before. It was a great treat to listen to what I may call a natural naturalist, a man that had read no zoological literature and never heard of Darwin or Huxley. , “ Ducks, it appears to me,” remarked Uz, as he gazed at the pile of a dozen lying in the boat, “either have a strong smack of the human about them, or man has a little of the duck about him.” “Why so?” I asked in surprise, for Uz was not much given to voluntary philosophizing. “ Because they are so cunning, and do so many things that we’d do in the same situation. Now, there’s the. green mallards. They will skulk in long, green grass, and keep their heads movin’ with it, just so they can see you, but you’d never mistrust they were around. You lita 946 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. don’t see a widgeon do the same thing. They’ll pitch for some dead stuif, hay or rubbish, more their own — color.” “But ducks don’t always have these chances, ” I pro- tested, “and when there’s nothing but water they’ve only 4 \; an even chance.” + ARE “ That’s very true when we're talking about the river, Af or some big lake; but I’m talkin’ of ducks on these | meadows. F or something like fifty years Pve shot over : this tract, and don’t know about any other but by hear- i say; but if you want to know what I think of our meadow .. ducks, [’ll tell you.” ; “Well, Uz, I won’t interrupt ie and I do want to — hear all you’ve a mind to tell me.’ Me “Take ’em for all in all,” Uz continued, “the sprig- — ye ie cr St tt iin | tail is the shyest duck we hie, and [ve been outwitted oo a more by them than any other duck; but, dear me! there ain’t the ducks now there was whee I was a young man. I’ve seen a thousand at a glance on the lower meadows. Well, as to the sprig-tails, the last time I had a chance at — | a flock of ’em, worth speakin’ of, was nigh on to ten years Ete ago. A good fall fresh’ covered all the meadows, except — 3 the high knolls, and I went down toward the Swan Island — - flood-gates on Crosswicks Creek. Not a duck came near Be the stools for well onto an hour, and I’d a mind to go" By somewhere else, when I happen to see a bunch of teal Be makin’ right for me. I crouched down, and they came | | in easy shot, and I blazed away. Fetched three and crip- ae pled another, and then, what the snakes should jump up, 1 but a great swad of sprig-tails right back of me! They'd a actually been walkin’ about in the high grass back of me, and I believe calculated their chances and knew I’d be lookin’ for ducks on the water, and not high and dry on the knolls. I’d a good notion of sprig-tails*cunnim’ int tp ehh no Le - ~ Oe a ee —L_ yy ————————_———_—_—_—c ttstst—<‘is—— Se TT . ‘ ‘ A SOUTHERLY RAIN. % 247 before then, but that made me set ’em down as the cun- nin’est of all ducks.” “ Perhaps the ducks didn’t see you,” I suggested. “Perhaps they didn’t, only they did, just the same. Why, boy,” exclaimed Uz with unusual energy, “those sprig-tails were within twenty yards of me all the time, and to think I didn’t even smell ’em! ” Uz here took a few contemplative puffs, and watched the curling smoke in silence. Then, in his usual quiet manner, continued: “I'll tell you another thing about sprig-tails. More than once I’ve noticed that they make sort of slaves of smaller ducks. I’ve seen a dozen sprig- tails circle ’round a lot of stools, and wait until the teal that were with ’em sort of investigated the matter. The teal would settle down near by, and all would seem right ; and then the sprig-tails would settle, but always on the off side of the stools; and, if they got very near, they’d smell a mouse and put off. I’ve often killed the teal in a flock of sprig-tails, and lost every one of the others.” “ But isn’t it merely that the teal are less suspicious ?” I asked, as Uz paused for a moment. “No, not exactly,’ he replied; “they are more sus- pectin’, I know; but what I mean is, they go with the teal for the purpose of havin’ them go first into doubtful places, and sort of test em. If no harm comes to them, then the sprig-tails think it’s safe for them, too.” “That is giving them credit for a ened deal,” I re- marked. “Not a speck more than’s due ’em; and here’s an- - other way they’re cunnin’. ‘They haven’t got owls’ eyes, I suppose, but go a good deal by smell; and they’ll leave the river after sundown, and come in on the meadows to feed when there’s nobody to disturb ’em. I learned their dodge, and tried night-huntin’, but it was no use. 248 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. They’d feed by night where they’d never go by day, but the whole place would be picketed, and you couldn’t get anywhere near ’em. Before your boat was shoved off, ‘quack!’ would yawp some spy, and the whole kit and eaboodle would be off. I could hear their splash on the water as they rose up, but couldn’t see a feather.” “ve noticed all this too, Uz, but where is it like human nature to do as you’ve described ?” “Just here—just here. The ducks we’ve left us in these parts know at a glance that it’s dangerous ground for ’em, and so they learn at the start to be extra careful. None of ’em are hatched about here, and couldn’t know beforehand they’d ever see such a place; and yet, so soon as the freshets bring *em up the river, they take it all in at once, and work accordin’. A wild duck is wild anywhere; but ’round here he’s wilder than ever; and this bein’ wilder only means that he has to be more care- - ful and cunnin’, and so he isso. That is why I think a duck has some sort of a mind. It’s a hard-twisted sub- ject, I know; but the more I think of it, the more Pvea notion that there’s a smack of man-nature in wild ducks, — or t’ other way, just as you please.” ’ “Most people would want stronger evidence than — you mention, Uz, to make them think so,” I replied, not knowing what to say, really. a. € “T s’pose they would—I s’pose they would; but the only way to see things as I do is to use my eyes. Follow q up the ducks and other critters about here, as I’ve done,” and they’ll look very different to you from what they do _| when you see ’em once a year only, and then ina m’nagerie. — Pshaw! boy, it takes years to get to knowing birds and things; but when you do, you'll give ’em more credit for — common-sense than the crowd gives’em. When you're my age, boy, if you follow it up, you'll think as Ido.’ * ] A SOUTHERLY RAIN. 7 249 “J have been following up this matter for some time, Uz, and have written something about it,” I replied, when he had fairly finished his little speech and com- menced a vigorous puffing at his pipe. ) “Written something? well, that’s no eae Did you have it printed?” “Yes, certainly; but why not?” “ Well, there’s just this about it,” Uz remarked very slowly, evidently thinking as he spoke. “It may be all very well to print what you know; but I’ve a notion that you’re not old enough yet to know much about it.” “You forget that you’ve been my teacher for some years now, Uz,” I interrupted the old man to remark. “Cleverly put, boy; but I was goin’ on to say, you don’t know ducks as I do; but then—but then—but then, if you wait till you’re as old as I am, and see things as I do, the world might set you down as cranky, if you printed what you thought.” “That isn’t very encouraging, anyhow,” I said, with a half sigh. “The fact is, boy, that it can’t be proved, I suppose ; but animals of all kinds are not so wide apart from folks as these very folks think they are. If I’ve learned nothing _ else, by shootin’ and fishin’ all my life, I’ve learned that. Tye seen common-sense in snakes and frogs even; and Im satisfied there’s a sort of family likeness runnin’ Sthrough the whole of us, whether we’ve got two legs or four.” “That is the doctrine of evolution, Uz,” I remarked. “Call it what you choose, boy, but it’s true; and my pipe’s out, and it’s time we were movin’.” And we con- _ tinued on our wanderings after ducks. ee —= =, bow i . - = — s = oe ‘ ee tet a ed io ee Sa ee. eae SHORT STUDIES OF TURTLES. — 273 vitality to enjoy a midday outing, and vigor sufficient to enable it to return to its quiet underground retreat toward the close of the day. In most ponds of any con- siderable extent, frequented by turtles, there are one or more deep holes wherein many of the different species are found to take refuge after the first hard or plant- killing frost. Here they remain, in the deeper and warmer water of these holes, when the shallower portions of the ponds are coated with ice. Now, do they lie in the mud in these holes in a torpid condition ? Throughout the winter, in these same deep holes, I have found that many of our fish also congregate; and the turtles, to a certain extent, during the winter prey upon these fish; the snappers occasionally catching one, and the other turtles feeding upon the remains of the snapper’s feast. What first gave me this impression was the fact that I frequently found in nets set under the ice, even in midwinter, fishes that’ had been partially eaten; and as this occurs quite often in summer, I took it for granted that the offender—a turtle—was the same in each ease. Led by this inference, I baited hooks and placed them in the deep holes of a large pond, and in several instances succeeded in catching specimens of the stinking or musk-turtle. Snappers, in the same way, have been caught during the severest cold weather, in the deep holes in ponds, and about large springs that discharge their waters on level ground. It would seem, therefore, that if the water re- mains above the freezing-point, these turtles continue in a fairly active state, even though they do not find any large amount of food. In such spring-holes, the grass remains green throughout winter; a few frogs linger in the waters; an occasional bittern haunts the spot; pike, too, are not unusual, and the snapper therefore has com- gee ——— ae an Sapam. “A ae) - eaten as O74 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. pany, at least, and occasionally he makes a meal of some one of the hardy visitors which, like himself, brave the winter, and does not seek to avoid its rigors by a pro- tracted, torpid sleep in the mud. Of the series of ten species of turtles that I have men- tioned, some of them, it may be, are so sensitive to cold — that they hibernate regularly, and for about one half of — the year; but in the case of the snapper, mud-turtle, and — stinking or musk-turtle, the habit at best is neither gen- — eral nor regular. And yet it is probable that these — three species, though they do not hibernate regularly, yet — do so when cut off from access to the atmosphere by the — growth of thick ice; for, while these turtles can stay under the water for a comparatively long time, yet, if all — their other functions are active, respiration must neces- — sarily be active also; and it is questionable how long they — can live without access to the air, notwithstanding the fact that, like the frogs, they can absorb sufficient air through their skins, and so remain beneath the surface — for a long time, if the water be thoroughly aérated. In— Agassiz’s monograph on our turtles occurs the following — sentence: “In mud and soft-shelled turtles, the lungs being much reduced in size and importance, by far the — greater part of the respiration must be performed by the skin of the whole body, which is much thinner in these families than in other turtles; while, on the contrary, in. . . the Cistudo (box-tortoise) the powers of respiration are no doubt performed entirely by the lungs.” In the case of skin-respiration by the frog, Professor Semper has stated, in his volume entitled “ Animal Life,” that “ Milne-Edwards the elder showed long since that frogs, when prevented from coming to the surface, were able to live under water so long as they were not cut off > ; . y/ wea , e 4 a P. ! a SHORT STUDIES OF TURTLES. 275 from the possibility of obtaining food, and were freely sup- plied with fresh water. In such a case general skin-res- piration must necessarily take the place of lung-respira- tion.” By experiment I have been able to determine that a snapper can remain twenty-one days beneath run- ning water without food, and yet not appear to have suffered ; although its appetite was perfectly wonderful when the creature was relieved from its confined and submerged quarters. 3 Considering, then, the facts, that one of these species has been known to take a baited hook in midwinter, and that individuals of this same or another species have been found to eat of fishes that were entangled in a net set be- neath the ice, and bearing in mind that they have been found in quite an active state in shallow but open waters even in midwinter, it is safe to assert that certain of our turtles do not regularly hibernate from autumn until spring, as has been generally supposed ; the snappers, the musk-turtles, and the “ mud-diggers,’ furnishing the prominent exceptions to the rule. | a ms ow ® yeas een eh Ps Te ef ‘2 7 e — = med, =< ~~ - : —) “ ne nail ; 4 iy 4: = <2 ad = —_ vy t hy ote ‘ ~ d) ete - ered pes »« me, a ret , ’ ? _ rs Were % nS of = F yee a» 2%, ~ . bf Re 5 renie 7 bd y = Ad cnguil Pal rt — 4 — ee = a “ - - : ' _—— = ss Oe a epape $< Z 3 ae eee ee yan wa Se ee eee - ‘pga Nai i wh Oe ee . ‘ a ae c ee tet sstrt r ¢ Set > ep x Cg a ne Pp cee Py ieee. _ bana phi meat clay =e PE OA vm / My eat at —_- a — = oo i Cee ene pie. rs os me = - 2. —- ny ngs ae oe i. — o — u ~ - * - fee #3408 - ~ é ‘J < = ~ Le * % . ’ . e ~ « is 6 lew. eS on ° — eS ve r es a > aes or ore Sidseial aa) Et eS ioe is oe) = A aS cae CHAPTER XXX. UZ GAUNT’S TALK ABOUT TURTLES. — “ Curistmas of 77 was a green one, you may r remem- "y ber,” remarked Uz, as he shook the ashes from his pipe. “Tt didn’t need any hickory logs blazin’ on the hearth, such as these,” and he stirred the ashes and rearrang 1 the wood on the andirons as he spoke of them. “1 weather had been mild for a long time, and once I hear frogs singin’. Well, this kind of thing sort of came to focus on Christmas day, which was warm even in i shade. The river was low, the meadows dry, and crows as noisy asin April. I felt sort of restless and took a walk in the meadows. I left my gun home, pers. You know I take kindly to a bowl ot snapper-so 301 ee of my own fixin’.” s “ Yes, I do that, and can run along neck-and-neck 1 vith you, when you're the cook.” a “ Well, I followed the main ditch down, jumpin’ fr hassock to hassock, and kept probin’ in the mud my cane, when, after a bit, I felt something hard ¢ end of my stick. It wasn’t a stone or a stump, I» at once. ‘There was a little tremble run up the s' 2 UZ GAUNT’S TALK ABOUT TURTLES. OG though you hit an empty barrel, as near as I can tell you. Id a turtle down in the mud, and concluded to bring it out into the daylight. There’s more than one way to do this, but none of ’em is an easy job to get through with. I kept probin’ ’round him, to try and make out where his head was, and then I could feel for his tail, and pull him out. Now this does very well for one of your common snappers, but didn’t work so easy in this case. I could sort of feel that turtle all over the meadow. Wherever I put my cane down, I seemed to come to his back shell; but after edgin’ out a bit for some time I could make out the rim of it, and I tell you he was a whopper, accordin’ to my probin’. That turtle seemed about as big ’round as a wash-tub, and I got regularly worked up about him. I wasn’t in trim for huntin’, but didn’t care. Id found a turtle that was worth havin’, and I meant to have him. FProbin’ showed he was about three feet deep in the mud, but I made up my mind to locate his tail and then reach down for him. So I did, but it was no use. I felt about, and got one ugly scratch from a hind foot, but he kept his tail out of reach, or hadn’t any; I didn’t know: which, then. After thinkin’ _aspell, I concluded I’d try to get a pry under him, and went for a fence-rail. It took me some time to get what I wanted, and when I got back that turtle had got out. I probed all ’round, but he’d moved. This rather took me down, but I kept up my hunt, and after a bit found he’d moved straight for the main ditch, and was tearin’ up the mud on the bottom as he went. This was all that saved him for me, and I no sooner learned his whereabouts than I went for him in earnest. I ran the rail I had right under him, and tried to lift him up. Thunder and lightnin’, boy, you might as well try to lift a steer. I disturbed him, though, and checked his course a 278 A, RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. bit. Jammin’ the rail down again, I guess I hit his head, for it riled him, evidently, and he raised right up. His head and neck came up out of the sand, and I was for standin’ back just then. If ever you saw a wicked eye, that turtle had one, and his head was as big as my fist. Stickin’ his head out, though, gave me the knowledge I f | wanted. I knew how he laid in the mud, and I ran my rail down under him as far as I could. It kept him from divin’ down, and I went right into the ditch to try and get a hold on his tail if I could. This I did, after feelin’ for it a bit, and no sooner had I got a good grip on ~ it than the old fellow got free of the rail and commenced goin’ deep into the mud. I tugged and he dug, and it was a clear case of ‘pull Dick, pull devil’ between us. — He was gettin’ the better of me, though, for I was gettin’ chilled in that water, and had nearly lost my hold, when — the turtle gave an extra jerk, and if it hadn’t been for the fence-rail ?'d a lost him. Iwas pulled for’ard, but the rail was right in front, so I put one foot on it, to — keep from sinkin’ any deeper in the mire. This bracin’ gave me the advantage now, and I put all my strength to © i it. Theturtle came a little, and I seemed to gain strength. I tugged and tugged with all my might, and presently — ] his hind feet showed. You see, he hadn’t firm enough mud to hold on to. I backed slowly across the ditch when I got him in open water, and got a fair footin’ on the ditch-bank at last. Still, I wasn’t out of the woods by a long shot. That turtle weighed close onto seventy — pounds, and I’d no means of handlin’ him. Chilled through, with both hands needed to hold him, and in the middle of the mucky meadow, all that was left me was to try and drag him to the high, smooth meadows. It was a tough job, I tell you. I had to walk backward, and he pulled against me like a frightened horse. I a UZ GAUNT’S TALK ABOUT TURTLES. 279 gained a little, slowly, and after a bit got on the high ground. Then I felt more at ease and took arest. I couldn’t take him home, of course, in the same fashion, but I had a chance to let him loose, and rest my hands. How I looked ’round for a bit of rope to bridle him! It was no use, though, and after all I was likely to lose him altogether. After a minute’s thinkin’, it occurred to me IV’'d make a hobble out of my shirt and then slip home lively for the right sort of tackle. I wasn’t long in get- tin’ the shirt off, and I twisted it into a sort of rope and hobbled him with it. It was a desperate, odd-lookin’ tur- tle when I got through, and I laughed at him a bit as I turned toward the house. You see, I left him on his back, and his legs bound so he couldn’t use ’em to turn over. I skipped pretty lively, I tell you, for that mile or so twixt me and home, and was in a good glow when I gotin. Hettie looked kind o’ scared when she saw me, _ but I put her mind to rest in two words, and soon was on my way back. ee is = ye radios os aie ne ee eT Ne Te a v 7 3 oy la — eee Rea CT 4 Perr CP eee ee ee ay * PVE tsi “ee Ph ae i APPENDIX. LIST OF THE MAMMALS, BIRDS, REPTILES, BATRACHIANS, AND FISHES OF MERCER COUNTY, NEW JERSEY. : MamMats. Wild-Cat. Lynx rufus. Occasional. At the time of the settlement of this neighborhood by European colonists, wild-cats were very abundant, as the refer- ences thereto by early writers indicate. A century later they were not abundant except at long distances from the settlements. Kalm (1749) refers to them as common to the mountainous regions up the valley of the Delaware. Referring to the abundance of deer in that region, he remarks: ‘ Among their enemies is the Lynz of this country (New Jersey). ... They climb up the trees, and, when the stags pass by, they dart down upon him, get fast hold, bite, and suck the blood, and never give over till they have killed it.” In what is now Sussex County, New Jersey, and Pike County, Penn- sylvania, on the opposite side of the river, wild-cats are still to be found, but are by no means abundant. The domestic cat returns to a feral state much more commonly than is supposed, and the offspring of such cats are noticeably larger, fiercer, and more active than any tame cats that I have ever seen. Iam even strongly inclined to believe, but will not be posi- tive, that the offspring in the third generation are always of a uni- form blue-gray color. These domestic cats ‘‘run wild,” and their offspring are quite as arboreal as the true Lynz rufus. Weasel. Putorius vulgaris. Common. This species is also known as the “ little weasel” by those who can distinguish it from the following. - 8 | | gesgeare RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. Aeneid ee a SOE | | Weasel. Putorius ermineus. Common. I have recently learned of several instances where _— « weasels have taken up their abodes in the cellars of houses situated _ . | on the outskirts of towns. While unable to climb as readily as can | the rat, the weasel will, when once established where ratsare abun- dant, either destroy them or frighten them away. Thesameistrue of them in the country; and I doubt if the farmer is not profited more by the lessening of the numbers of rats and mice than he loses, on the other hand, by the destruction of a few chickens in the course of a year. Mink. Putorius vison. Skunk. ephitis mephitica. Otter. Lutra Canadensis. In some localities, even though thickly settled, otters seem to be | increasing in numbers. During the summer the dense vegetation ~ ton affords them sufficient cover, and, being exceedingly cunning, they . are able to baffle pursuers, whether.men or dogs. In the winter, however, the odds appear to be against them, and quite a number are reported as trapped or shot during this time of year. Raccoon. Procyon lotor. This animal is still found in the more unsettled parts of the county, but can not be said to be anywhere abundant. It is noc- turnal in habit, and cunning enough to keep away from dogs; and go often lives for months near a farm-house without its presence being suspected. Little Brown Bat. Vespertelio subulatus. Silvery Bat. Vespertilio noctivagans. He Carolina Bat. Vespertilio fuscus. | Little Red Bat. Atalapha Noveboracensis. The last of this series of bats is by far the most abundant, and, ‘unlike the others, is less sensitive to changes of weather. It is the latest to disappear on the approach of winter; often flies at noon- — day, in midwinter, if the day is warm and not too bright; and the — earliest to appear in spring. 7 Mole. Scalops aquaticus. My observations of this animal ati me to believe that the specific SPPEN rE SF oe name of “aquaticus” is essentially inappropriate. With us, the animal is confined to the highest and driest of our upland fields, and appears to have a decided aversion even to damp soils. Hairy-tailed Mole. Scapanus Brewer. This species is far Jess common than the preceding, and of late years I have seen no specimens of it. Star-nosed Mole. Condylura cristata. This curious animal is essentially an aquatic species, as observed by me. It frequents only the low, wet meadows, in which it bur- rows as extensively as the scalops does in the upland. I have occa- sionally found openings to its burrows beneath the surface of the water, and know, from recent observation, that the animal is an excellent swimmer. _ I am convinced that this species hibernates, and often the mead- ows in which its winter nests are situated are covered with water for from two to four days at atime. Such periods of submergence do not appear to affect the hibernating moles in any way; but asum- mer freshet of like duration ee, proves fatal to great numbers of them. . Shrew. Blarina brevicauda. The statement made in the body of the book, that I have never found a shrew near home, no longer holds good; but I let it stand, for the fact that I have recently seen and captured a specimen is all that lean say. On the 10th of August, 1883, my son brought me a dead shrew which he had found, and on the 30th of September fol- lowing, while listening to the rose-breasted grosbeaks that were singing in the woods near by, I saw a small mammal leap by me. Its movements were not like those of a mouse, and I gave chase. It endeavored to hide in the heaps of loose dead leaves, but was easily captured. It proved to be a short-tailed shrew, and is the only living specimen I have ever seen. Flying Squirrel. Sciuropterus volucella. I have recently had my attention called to the small size of the © flying squirrels found here, as compared with the dimensions given _ by Audubon and Bachman, Godman, and others. It would certainly seem as if they had shrunken considerably during the past fifty years. Is this due to the fact that food is less abundant and the en- vironment less favorable? : eo apuia 450 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. Gray Squirrel. Sczurus Carolinensis. It is but very seldom that a black squirrel is now seen in this neighborhood, but formerly they were very common. Family papers in my possession, dating back a century and a half ago, refer to ‘‘ damages to crops caused by troops of great black squirrels.” Red Squirrel. Scvurus Hudsonius. The general destruction of heavy growths of timber has caus this destructive squirrel to become comparatively scarce. They often more abundant, however, than we suppose. This _“s was forcibly brought to my attention during the past summer, 1 pair of them were found nesting in a hollow locust-tree AS ten steps of my front door. These squirrels had evidently been several _ weeks in this tree, yet no one had seen them. Subsequent observa- tions revealed the fact that this particular pair were essentially cre- puscular in their habits, and even in the gloaming, when they chanced to go abroad, their movements were exceedingly stealthy until they felt that they were well out of sight and hearing. Di not these squirrels realize the danger of living so near an occu house, and act with unusual caution in consequence of such fear? think so, ° Chipmunk. Zamzas striatus. This common mammal appears to be increasing in numbers. 267 UE Rag OLE ery if ee Woodchuck. Arctomys mona. a Although so common in most localities, few are found in Mercer County. Jumping Mouse. Zapus Hudsonius. ; While probably the fact that this species is strictly nocturnal makes it appear less abundant than it really is, still it is certainly © nowhere to be found in great numbers. I think no one will be likely to find more than one or two pairs during a summer, although ~ Dr. Godman remarks that ‘it breeds very fast, and may occasion- ally become injurious to the farmer.” White-footed Mouse. Hesperomys leucopus. Albinism is quite common with this apenios, both partial and “complete. Meadow Mouse. Arvicola riparius. That there are two or three species of so-called mice, other than ms e. ‘ fe ‘e Wy > r oa APPENDIX. | : 451 the above, found in this neighborhood, is highly probable; but, as stated in the body of the work, I have not been able to identify - them. : ; Muskrat. 2ber zibethicus. Kalm mentions the well-known habit of the muskrat, of eating the ordinary river mussels (wnzos), and intimates their depending largely upon them for food. Godman does not refer to this, but states that their food is wholly vegetable matter; adding, ‘It has been imagined that this animal feeds also upon fish . . . an - opinion which the structure of the teeth, stomach, and intestines sufficiently contradict.” De Kay, on the other hand, says, ‘‘ It is also extremely fond of the fresh-water mussel (wnio), heaps of which, in a gnawed and comminuted state, may be found near their retreats. Asa matter of fact, the muskrat not only consumes quan- tities of mussels, but other animal matter whenever it can be ob- tained. I have knowledge of their seizing ducklings and dragging them to their burrows, and have seen them in a mill-pond quarrel- ing over the remains of a dog that had been drowned.” Rabbit. Zepus sylvaticus. Of the few mammals of considerable size still to be found in long-settled neighborhoods, the rabbits seem best to have withstood the encroachments of man upon their haunts and the persecution of a host of enemies. They are probably as abundant as a century * ago, benefiting more by the destruction of their natural enemies, than suffering from the persecution of man and dogs. Opossum. Didelphis Virgumiana. During the past three or four years these animals have increased quite rapidly in numbers, and become less wary, or at least frequent localities that are less well adapted to shield them by day than are their usual woodland haunts. As an article of food they are highly prized by many; but their merits as such seem to me largely over- stated. While not disposed to regularly hibernate, they can sleep for weeks without food. Brrps. - Dr. William P. Turnbull, in preparing his classical “ Birds of East Pennsylvania and New Jersey,” * remarks * “The Birds of East Pennsylvania and New Jersey.” By William P. Turnbull, LL.D. Glasgow: Printed for private circulation. 1869, 4to. 452 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. in his preface: “From the geographical position of the district it 1s particularly favorable for observation, being the resort, at some period of the year, of a large proportion of the birds of this continent; and, from the fact of its being the temporary resting-place of most of the migratory birds, there is probably no district of the same extent in — this country that is frequented by such a number of species. A considerable number of our summer visitants from the Gulf States and Mexico appear to make it their northern limit, while other flocks remain only a short period in spring, and migrate still further north, penetrating as far as British America to breed ; and these again arrive in autumn on their return journey to their winter retreats. It may like- wise be noted that the district is the southern limit of many species which breed at Hudson’s Bay and the fur countries, and pass the winter on the Delaware and Chesapeake, thus forming a line of separation, so to speak, for the migratory flights of many interesting birds coming from opposite di- rections. “On consulting the list, however, it will be remarked that the proportion of what may be considered resident birds is small. ‘This fact seems to have attracted observa- tion as far back as the time of Dr. Benjamin 8. Barton, who published a work, entitled ‘Fragments of Natural History,’ about seventy years ago, in which it is stated that, in the district now spoken of, very few species remain all the year, and that even of these there appeared to have been a partial migration in severe winters; such birds, especially, as lived on insects and small fruits being com- pelled to retire southward—a fact still noticeable at the pres- — ent day—many species that usually migrate remaining in mild and open winters. Closer observation of late years, however, has enabled ornithologists to affirm with certainty that, of so-called migratory birds, a greater number pass the winter with us than has been hitherto supposed.” | _ Elsewhere in his preface the author further remarks: _ ad ~~ s —— Cyhee a j nani Sita nn at rag q al i. 4 rn i SMA ore APPENDIX. 453 “The diffusion of well-authenticated information regard- ing the distribution of American birds is yet-a matter for future observation. There have been, no doubt, many im- portant contributions on this subject, of late years, yet the field is so extensive that many years must elapse before we ean lay claim to a thorough knowledge of many important particulars, which patient research and well-timed energy alone can solve. The author of the present little work, while claiming for it the merit of careful observation, ex- tending over a period of several years, at the same time believes the plan of the catalogue to be capable of attaining more useful results if enlarged in proportion to the nature of the districts investigated. It is, therefore, to be hoped that accurate observers may undertake similar records, by means of which the next great work on the ornithology of our country may contain a better collection of facts, repre- senting the phenomena of the remoter districts, than has yet been obtained.” Believing that I can best serve the purposes of working ornithologists by closely following the list given by Mr. Turnbull in his work, from which I have already so exten- sively quoted, I have in the following pages practically reproduced that list, with annotations based upon the ob- servations of the sixteen years which have elapsed since Dr. Turnbull wrote his work. My list of birds, that may be said to constitute the ornithic fauna of Mercer County, numbers two hundred and seventeen species ; the list given by Dr. Turnbull numbers three hundred and forty-two species, and is given as the complete enumeration of the birds of an area many hundred times as large as that re- ferred to as the field of my own observations. Of the three hundred and forty-two species given by Dr. Turnbull, fifty- nine are under the heading of “Stragglers or Irregular Vis- itants” ; which leaves us but two hundred and eighty-three species as characteristic of the fauna, or properly belonging to it. Deducting eleven species from my list of the birds 454 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. of Mercer County, New Jersey, there remains a difference only of seventy-seven species between those observed by Dr. Turnbull in “that part of Pennsylvania eastward of the Alleghany Mountains, and of New Jersey, including the coast-line, which extends from Sandy Hook to Cape May,” and those that I have seen in a very limited portion of the valley of the Delaware. Wood-Thrush. Zwurdus mustelinus. Strictly migratory, and sensitive to frost. Arrives early in April, if the weather is warm, and remains until November. It is more irregular than any other of our thrushes, Hermit-Thrush. Zurdus pallasi. ‘‘ Not uncommon. It arrives in April, and again late in October on its way south, when it is more abundant along the sea-coast. . . A few have been observed during winter when that season has been open and mild” (Turnbull). They also remain, in scanty numbers, during summer, and breed. Olive-backed Thrush. Zurdus Swainsoniz. ‘Rare. It arrives in the end of April. A few also of this spe- cies have been seen in winter” (Turnbull). J have not found this thrush to be at all ‘‘ rare,” but very irregular in its appearance. Wilson’s Thrush. Zwurdus fuscescens. Resident, or but partly migratory. It is not unusual to see them during the winter, if the weather is mild. At such times they seek shelter from the wind, and congregate largely on wooded slopes having a southern exposure. Robin. Zurdus migratorius. This familiar species is wandering, rather than migratory. They are as abundant in January as in June; indeed, often much more so. Brown Thrush. Harporhynchus rufus. Migratory. Often appears as early as March 1st. ‘A few re- main during mild winters’ (Turnbull). Mocking-Bird. Jdimus polyglottus. Rare. A pair of these birds have for two years past nested in APPENDIX. ase _ the yard of aneighbor. ‘“ It appears to have been plentiful in for- mer years, and, according to Bartram and Dr. Barton, even re- mained all the winter near Philadelphia ” (Turnbull). Catbird. Galeoscoptes Carolinensis. Abundant everywhere. I think it is evident that a change is slowly coming over their migratory habits. They certainly arrive earlier and stay later than the dates mentioned by Wilson, Audubon, or Nuttall. Single birds have been seen during the winter. Bluebird. Sialza szalis. Whatever may have been the habit of this species, it is now, in no sense, migratory. Golden-crowned Knight. egulus satrapa. - Not uncommon. Seen both in spring and autumn usually; but also in winter, though less frequently. That they breed in Northern New Jersey is unquestionable. Ruby-crowned Wren. Sregulus calendula. More abundant than the preceding, and is identical in all its habits. The two are frequently associated, especially in mid-winter, when a flock of a dozen or twenty is occasionally met with. Blue-gray Gnat-catcher. Polioptila cerulea. I have seldom met with this species, which can scarcely be rec- _ ognized by a description of its voice, quoted by Jordan as “like a mouse with the toothache.” It is said, on the contrary, to be really a fine singer. Dr. Turnbull does not give this species in his list. | Tufted Tit. Lophophanes bicolor. Abundant. ‘“ Especially abundant in summer” (Turnbull). My observations have led me to conclude it was more common in au- tumn and winter than in summer. Black-capped Tit. Parus atricapillus. Very abundant. During the summer they are more retiring in their habits and stay more closely in heavily-timbered areas. In winter they at times almost outnumber the snow-birds. White-bellied Nut-Hatch. Svtta Carolinensis. Common. While to be found, on careful search, at any time of the year, they are certainly more abundant during the winter. 456 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. Red-bellied Nut-Hatch. Sitta Canadensis. ‘“Rather rare from October to April” (Turnbull). I have found it as late as June, and believe the —— to be resident to a limited extent. Tree-Creeper. Certhia Samiliaris. “Abundant, but more so in winter than at other times of the year. I can detect no difference between it and that of Europe; it has the same shrill but feeble note, and its habits are identical” (Turnbull). Carolina Wren. Zhryothorus Ludovicianus. Within the past few years this magnificent songster has become quite abundant, and is strictly resident. According to Dr. Turn- bull, at the time he wrote it was “ratherrare. It appears early in May on the borders of the Delaware. Mr. John Cassin informed me that he had occasionally seen this bird on the Wissahickon in winter.” Bewick’s Wren. Zhryothorus Bewicki. Some years ago a few pairs of these birds were seen in my — neighborhood; but they have been replaced by the Carolina wrens, that appear to have driven the others away. House-Wren. TZroglodytes edon. Abundant. Less sensitive to cold than formerly—say, fifty years ago. They arrive earlier and depart later than in the time of Audu- bon and Wilson. I have seen them as early as April 5th. Winter-Wren. TZ7voglodytes hyemalis. Common, but not resident probably. The similarity in appear- ance to the preceding, and coming from the north at about the time the house-wrens pass southward, has given the impression to many that the latter are not migratory. Short-billed Marsh-Wren. Cv2stothorus stellaris. “Rather rare from April to September ” (Turnbull). I believe — that more of these birds are to be found than is commonly sup- posed. I have found colonies of them in certain limited tracts of reedy meadows. Long-billed Marsh-Wren. Ctstothorus palustris. Abundant in all marshy or tide-water meadows. etm a ee ees Os ec lll we cal mgn — APPENDIX. a ae Horned Lark. Hremophila cornuta. “ Plentiful ; appearing late in October and generally leaving in ~ March, but some seasons it remains until April” (Turnbull.) Ifa cold northeaster occurs in September it often brings these birds, which, again, have been seen as late as May 10th. Titlark. Anthus Ludovicianus. “Common. It arrives from the north in October, and departs in April, but is more frequent in the autumn and spring migra- tions ” (Turnbull). a Be Creeping Warbler. MUniotilia varia. Abundant from April to October. Blue Yellow-backed Warbler. Parula Americana. Common from April to October. Worm-eating Warbler. Helmintherus vermivorus. “Rather rare; arriving in the middle of May” (Turnbull). During the past ten years this has been one of our most abundant ‘species, and one that reaches us as early as the middle of April. Blue-winged Yellow Warbler. Helminthophaga pinus. Somewhat rare, but variable in this respect. Nashville Warbler. Helminthophaga ruficapilla. Common. Often very abundant during the autumnal migration of the warblers generally. ; Tennessee Warbler. Helminthophaga peregrina. Not uncommon. Dr. Turnbull speaks of it as more common in autumn than in spring. Golden-winged Warbler. Helminthophaga chrysoptera. Quite rare, except in certain summers when warblers of every species are unusually abundant. Cape May Warbler. Perissoglossa tigrina. “‘Very rare; it arrives early in May, and again it visits us on its. _ way-.south about the 10th of October ” (Turnbull). Summer Warbler. Dendreca estiva. Abundant. . 20 458 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. Black-throated Blue Warbler. Dendraca cwrulescens. Abundant. ‘ A few remain to breed” (Turnbull). Myrtle-Bird. Dendraca coronata. Abundant. Yearly becoming more abundant during the winter, Even the severe January of 1884 did not drive them ayers, Several specimens were seen that month. Black and Yellow Warbler. Dendreca maculosa. “ One of our most beautiful warblers, and rather frequent ; com- ing early in May, and again in September” (Turnbull). Blue Warbler. Dendreca cerulea. “Rare. From May to end of August. The Blue Mountain warbler of Wilson is the young of this species ” (Turnbull). Chestnut-sided Warbler. Dendreca Pennsylvanica. “Not uncommon. Arriving early in May. A few remain to breed” (Turnbull). Black-poll Warbler. Dendreca striata. Common in spring and autumn. Blackburnian Warbler. _Dendraca Bika Common, and tarries to breed. Bay-breasted Warbler. Dendraca castanea. “Rather rare, appearing late in April, and again in October. The young bird of this species is the autumnal warbler of Wilson i (Turnbull). Yellow-throated Warbler. Dendreca Jomieaaa Rare. I have seen but few specimens. This species is not in Dr. Turnbull’s list. , | Prairie Warbler. Dendraca discolor. Not uncommon. Upland fields, overgrown with rag-weed, are favorite localities. | ; Black-throated Green Warbler. Dendraca virens. ‘Rather frequent, arriving early in May and departing in Octo- ber. It is more plentiful in the spring and autumn migrations” (Turnbull). ee a eS ee a a ee —s": te ee ee es APPENDIX. 459 Pine-creeping Warbler. Dendreca pinus. ‘This species is rather rare in spring, but plentiful in autumn. Arriving early in April, and again in October. Many remain during summer” (Turnbull). — This is one of the few species of warblers that lingers in Central New Jersey long after the severe frosts have set in. I have seen them as late as December 3d. Yellow Red-poll Warbler. Dendreca palmarum. Abundant, but do not remain to breed. Golden-crowned Thrush. Sturus auricapillus. Very common in moist ground thick with underbrush. Water-Wagtail. Sturus nevius. Not as common as the preceding, but during no summer have I found it rare. Water-Thrush. Siurus motacilla. Not uncommon, but probably the least abundant of the three species of this genus. Connecticut Warbler. Oporornis agilis. “Rather rare. This species is very seldom met with in spring, but is, however, more frequent in autumn, appearing late in Au- _ gust” (Turnbull). During the spring of 1882 and of 1883, Isaw many specimens of these birds during the month of May. Kentucky Warbler. Oporornis formosus. “A southern species, and rather scarce. It arrives late in April” (Turnbull). As has frequently happened during the past decade, during cer- tain summers, warblers of all kinds would be phenomenally abun- dant. During such I have seen many of this species. Maryland Yellow-Throat. Geothlypis trichas. A specimen of this common warbler was seen on the 18th of March, 1883. This is unusually early for this species, which, how- ever, usually anticipates the arrival, in spring, of the warblers gener- ally, by two or three weeks. The specimen here mentioned was very active, kept much to the tops of the taller trees, and sang incessantly. ee ee 460 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. Mourning Warbler. Geothlypis Philadelphia. I have seen but the one specimen of this warbler, to recognize it. A friend, who has carefully studied our warblers, reports it as “not uncommon in April and May.” Yellow-breasted Chat. Jcteria virens. Very abundant as a summer resident. Hooded Warbler. /yodioctes mitratus. Very variable as to numbers. . Dr. Turnbull speaks of it as ‘rather rare.” 3 Green Fly-catcher. Lyodioctes pusillus. “This bird appears early in May, and again in October, and is rather abundant ”’ (Turnbull). My impression is that they are also, to a certain extent, summer residents, and presumably breed here. Canada Fly-catcher. yiodioctes Canadensis. “ Frequent from the end of April to October” (Turnbull). Redstart. Setophaga ruticilla. Abundant. A summer resident. Scarlet Tanager. Pyranga rubra. Abundant. A summer resident. Summer Redbird. Pyranga esta. | Rare. Formerly more abundant than the preceding. Barn-Swallow. Hirundo horreorum. Common. March to September 30th. White-bellied Swallow. Zachycineta bicolor. Common. Late in March to September 15th. Cliff-Swallow. Petrochelidon lunifrons. Common in colonies, which return year after year to the same nesting-places. April to September, both inclusive. Bank-Swallow. Cotyle riparia. Common. Early spring until late in October. iid ee ip EOS a lets Cah pecairntge ur. _— EE ——eaeeeeEErreor ta ee a . . tn de te i : ei — APPENDIX. ‘ 461 Rough-winged Swallow. Stelgidopteryx serripennis. This is the least abundant of our swallows, but is never wanting altogether, I believe. Purple Martin. Progne subis. Common, where boxes for their accommodation are provided. Cedar-Bird. Ampelis cedrorum. “‘ Abundant, but less frequent in winter than at other seasons” (Turnbull). My observations are the reverse. I certainly have seen much larger flocks and more of them in winter. During the severe January of 1884 they were exceedingly abundant. Wax-Wing. bi " ; ae a ee Oe ee. ee, ae a ee ee ee Fi, ; + 2 * FY ; LL I ee ey ee TNE Fe eee ee he NE A i es eT Ce ee ee APPENDIX. | 463 Lapland Long-Spur. Plectrophanes Lapponicus. _ “Very rare, and found only in severe winters” (Turnbull). My observations have determined that single specimens of this bird are not unusually found in the flocks of the preceding species. Savannah Sparrow. Passerculus Savanna. Transitory. Abundant only in spring and autumn. Grass-Finch. Poecetes gramieus. Abundant, resident, and the most “domestic” of our birds. In the fields in which these birds are hatched they appear to remain throughout their lives. They are as abundant in January as in June. Dr. Turnbull considered them migratory, and speaks of their numbers as “‘ being augmented in summer by flocks arriving early in April.” Yellow-winged Sparrow. Ammodromus passerinus. ‘‘Common, arriving late in April, and departing in October” _ (Turnbull). Henslow’s Bunting. Ammodromus Henslowt. Never common. Varies greatly in numbers from year to year. Sharp-tailed Finch. Ammodromus caudacutus. “Frequent on the salt marshes along the coast” (Turnbull). Not uncommon on the inland tide-water meadows of the Delaware River. White-crowned Sparrow. Zonotrichia leucophrys. Never abundant, but still not rare. They appear often as early as September, and remain until the spring following is well ad- vanced. White-throated Sparrow. Zonotrichia albicollis. Common from September to May, often inclusive of the latter month. Tree-Sparrow. Spzzella monticola. Abundant from October to April, both inclusive. A statement made by the writer in 1868 (‘‘Geology of New Jersey’’), that this species was ‘‘resident,” was a careless blunder. Field-Sparrow. Spzzella pusilla. “Common. Comes early in April and leaves in October ” (Turn- bull). If the weather is pleasant, they remain until December. 464 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. Chippy. Spzzella socialis. Resident. Not migratory, as stated by Dr. Turnbull. Swamp-Sparrow. Jelospiza palustris. Abundant in all our reedy meadows. A sweet songster, with notes that are as liquid as the babbling ef a brook. Song-Sparrow. Jelospiza melodia. Resident, but to some extent may also be migratory. I can not perceive, however, that they are more abundant in summer than in winter. | Linecoln’s Finch. Jfelospiza Lincolni. Not abundant. Both migratory and resident. Snow-Bird. Junco hyemalis. Abundant from October to April, both inclusive. Foxie Sparrow. Passerella iliaca. Arrive in October usually, and remain until April Ist. They appear to be most abundant at the end of winter, when often quite large, loose flocks are seen associated with numbers of white- throats. Black-throated Bunting. | Luspiza Americana. ‘Plentiful. Appearing early in May, and leaving in September” (Turnbull). Rose-breasted Grosbeak. Gonzaphea Ludoviciana. — Since 1880 this species has been increasing in numbers steadily. They come early in May, and remain until September 30th. The finest song-bird of North America. Indigo-Bird. Cyanospiza cyanea. Common from May to September, both inclusive; but so sensi- tive to cold storms that a cool August drives them southward. Cardinal-Grosbeak. Cardinalis Virgunianus. Resident, and more lively and full of song at Christmas than in midsummer. Dr. Turnbull intimates that they are partly migra- tory ; but I am inclined to believe this an error. There is, at least, no evidence of this in Mercer County. Chewink. Pzpilo erythrophthalmus. Common from early spring until the leaves have fallen. Ac- wi ee i APPENDIX. : 465 cording to Dr. Turnbull, ‘a few remain during: winter, and may be found in well-sheltered localities.” Bobolink. Dolichonyx oryzivorus. Appear early in May or April, if the weather is mild, and spread over the country as ‘“ bobolinks.” In August they gather into large flocks, and follow the river valleys southward as “reed- birds’ on the Delaware, and ‘ rice-birds” in the Southern States. Cow-Bird. Molothrus pecoris. Common from March 15th to November lst, and sometimes seen later in the year. Red-winged Blackbird. Agelavus pheniceus. Most abundant from February until November, but to be found even during midwinter. Meadow-Lark. Sturnella magna. Resident. Abundant. Baltimore Oriole. Jeterus Baltimore. Very abundant. April 15th to October 1st are the dates of the arrival and disappearance of most of them; but a few stragglers are seen every year, both earlier and later than the dates given. Orchard Oriole. Jeterus spurvus. Equally common with the above. Arrives and departs at about the same time of year. Rusty Grackle. Scolecophegus ferrugineus. - More abundant during some years than others, but at no time as common as the following. Crow Blackbird. Quzscalus purpureus. Common. Both resident and migratory. Raven. Corvus corax. Only occasionally seen ‘‘ flying over.” Crow. Corvus Americanus. Common. Resident. Fish-Crow. Corvus ossifragus. Rare. Dr. Turnbull speaks of it as migratory, stating that “ it arrives early in April.” - . ee 466 | RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. Blue Jay. Cyanurus cristatus. Common. Dr. Turnbull speaks of it as ‘‘ Jess numerous in win- ter than at other seasons.” I have not found this, but the contrary to be true. | | Forked-tailed Fly-catcher. JLiluulus forficatus. ‘‘ Bonaparte procured a specimen of this bird near Bridgeton, New Jersey ; another was shot by Audubon at Camden, near Phila- — delphia, in June, 1832” (Turnbull). A specimen was collected in April, 1872, near Trenton, New Jersey, and presented by the writer to the Academy of Science, at Salem, Massachusetts. King-Bird. Zyrannus Carolinensis. Common, May to September, both inclusive. Great-crested Fly-catcher. Myiarchus crinitus. Common. May to September, both inclusive. Peewee. Sayornis fuscus. | Common. March to October, both inclusive. Wood Peewee. Contopus virens. Abundant. April to October, both inclusive. Olive-sided Fly-catcher. Contopus borealis. “Very rare. It is generally seen early in May on its way north, — and returns in September ” (Turnbull). Traill’s Fly-catcher. Hmpidonax Tratllit. ‘Rare, but some seasons it is not uncommon in the spring, ar- riving about the middle of May ” (Turnbull). I am positive that it occasionally remains during the summer and breeds. Green-crested Fly-catcher. Eimpidonax Acadicus. ‘Frequent from the beginning of May to the middle of Septem- _ ber. It is generally found in the most secluded parts of woods” (Turnbull). Least Fly-catcher. Hmpidonax mmimus. ‘Rather rare, arriving in April on its northern migration, and returning early in September. A few remain to breed” (Turn- bull). 2 APPENDIX. | 467 Yellow-bellied Fly-catcher. mpidonax flaviwentris. “Rare. It arrives in the middle of April, on its way north. Dr. Slack found it breeding near Trenton ” (Turnbull). | Whip-poor-will. APPENDIX. "gi Red-backed Salamander. Plethodon erythronotus. Red Triton. Spelerpes ruber. Purple Salamander. Gyrinophilus porphyriticus. Tiger-Triton. Amblystoma tigrinum. There are other salamanders found in Mercer County, I am con- fident, but only the above have I been able positively to identify. Of the latter species, I have seen but the one specimen. Hellbender. Menopoma Alleghaniense. Accidental. Believed to have escaped from a traveling “ show.” FIsHEs. Hog-Fish, Sand-Perch. Percina caprodes. Darter. Boleosoma Olmsted. Crimson Darter. Pwcilichthys erochrous. Darter. Pwacilichthys fusiforme. Yellow Perch. Perca flavescens. Rock-Fish. Roccus lineatus. White Perch. Roccus Americanus. Mud Sunfish. Acantharcus pomotis. River Sunfish. Lepomis auritus. Blue Sunfish. Lepomis pallidus. Rare. Single specimens, now and then, have been found in the Delaware. Sunny. Lepomis gibbosus. Banded Sunfish. J/esogonistius chetodon. Spotted Sunfish. Hnneacanthus simulans. Spotted Sunfish. Enneacanthus obesus. The first mentioned of these “spotted” sunfish is extremely abundant, but the other is uncommon. Very probably they are not distinct. a a ERE ll ™ % - * ms —— at oe , 7 - - ———— S a we - —_ - < - ke LRT IO en = raaceue AT8 RAMBLES ABOUT HOME. Goggle-eyed Perch. Pomouys sparovdes. 2 a Only occasional specimens met with in the river, Pirate. Aphododerus Sayanus. -Mud-Blower, or Ling. Lota maculosa. Discovered in the Delaware River in 1888. Stickleback. Apeltes — Rare in the inland streams. River Minnow, Blunt Heads. | Funioea diaphanue 3 41 ~ River Minnow. Fundulus nigrofasciatus. There are two other species, which, I believe, occasionally ascend _ the river as far as Mercer County. Those mentioned are aaa ly abundant, ies the former. Mud Minnow. Umbra limi. 390 Bill-Fish, Silvery Gar, “ Snippick. ” Belone ccutirostris, Pike. Lox reticulatus. Ditch-Pike. sou fascratus. Smelt. Osmerus mordax. 3 Rare in the Delaware, but common in other rivers of the State. Shad. Alosa sapidissima. hears f ae a