UPLAND AND MEADOW

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'2r floaftqui00ing0 Cljromclc

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BY\ (Js

CHARLES C: ABBOTT, M.D.

AtrrnoR of

"primitive industry" "a naturalist's rambles about home" etc.

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NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE

91
R3

Copyright, 1886, by Harper k Brothers.

All rigku rtttntd.

PREFACE.

A CRITICAL friend told me I must write a preface,
and when he saw that mj despair became a serious
matter, suggested that it might properly consist of a
few words with reference to the supplementary title of
the book.

Following Campanius, who, in his " History of N"ew
Sweden," mentions a stream, I presume to be in this
neighborhood, as Poaetquissings Creek, I have followed
his spelling of the name. It is not euphonious, I admit,
yet quite pronounceable, and therefore has been freely
mentioned. But so occupied have I been with the
features of the stream itself, that not until recently,
when the book was completed, did it occur to me to
either determine the meaning of the word or how near
to the Indian pronunciation the spelling adopted by
Campanius might be.

I have learned both facts, and should certainly deem
the result disastrous were I necessitated to frequently
struggle over the proper pronunciation.

My learned friend. Dr. Daniel G. Brinton, informs

iv PREFACE.

me tliat " the word has suffered considerable mutila-
tion. It has certainly lost its first syllable, which is a
common occurrence with Anglicized native words. I
take it to be a synthesis of ach-poan^ corn-bread, and
ach-gussen^ to roast or cook, with the locative termina-
tion nk. Hence the full form would be achpoachgus-
sink, and would mean ' the place of corn-bread baking.' "

Says good Thomas Campanius, of Stockholm, " Poaet-
qnissings Creek is by nature provided with everything
that man can desire;" but where is Poaetquissings
Creek ?

The map of the Delaware River made by Peter Lind-
strom in 1054, and described by Campanius in his quaint
little "History of New Sweden," has been a source of
amusement to me ever since I dared venture alone in a
boat. I have been trying, whenever opportunity offered,
to determine to what points he referred in his brief de-
scriptions, and have never felt discouraged, even though
the more accurate Acrelins, writing some years later,
remarks, " Aquikonasra, Warentapeeka, Trakonick, Po-
actquessing, Meneieck, etc., etc., are forgotten places."

Wandering on the river from point to point, I find,
even now, many curious features, as I explore the little
inflowing creeks, or pause at the mouth of some pre-
tentious stream, as it empties into the river, and say,
" Perhaps this is Aquikonasra ;" or, chancing in winter
upon some open water, ask, " Can this be Warenta-
peeka?" Campanius says of the latter, it is a spot

PREFACE. V

where the water never freezes, and swans abound at
all seasons. If the half-hidden stream that I enter is
choked with wild weeds, and I ani stopped by the ab-
sence of a defined channel, I recall what our author
says of Trakonick, "It is difficult to navigate through
this part."

Now, as a matter of fact, there are not so many
creeks, on the Jersey side, emptying into the Delaware
between the falls and the capes, as Lindstrora mentions
or Campanius describes in detail, and we can only con-
clude that two or more names refer, in some cases, to
the same stream, or the creek and the land it drained
were known by different names. In either case, we
have left us no alternative but to guess which is which,
and, so doing, I conclude that the little stream near by,
which I have at times called Popihacka and Meneieck,
as fancy suggested, may, after all, be that which our
author mentions in so striking a manner when he says,
" At Poaetquissings Creek ... is everything that man
can desire."

The tangible little stream to which I refer, whatever
name it possessed in Indian times, is the second below
the rapids of the river, or where the Assunpink emp-
ties into the Delaware, and is very near, if not quite, with-
in the region mentioned by Campanius when he says,
" From Trakonick, and farther up on the east side of
the river, the soil is fine, and bears black maize of the
color of tar ; the Indians have planted it there for many

vi PREFACE.

years. It is diflacult to navigate through this part. It
is inhabited on this side by the Manteese Indians; tliat
nation considers itself entitled to these shores by the
right of possession ; their numbers are now much di-
minished by wars. The land within is very rich in an-
imal productions. There are beavers, otters, elks, bears,
wolves, and lions, with every other kind of wild beasts ;
also, a great quantity of swans, geese, turkeys, pigeons,
and other wild fowl."

This description can be verified to a great extent.
Whether we call them Manteese or Lenape or Dela-
wares, certain it is that Indians were here in days gone
by, and here for many centuries. As a proof of this,
we have only to land at any point, and wander a few
rods from the bank of the creek. Wherever the sod is
broken, whether by the plough or gullied by summer
sliowers, we are sure to find broken pebbles, splinters
of flinty rock, and battered stones, which of themselves
tell the story of Indian times; but not so readily can
we read their history as when we find a little arrow-
head, a carved stone ornament, an axe, or broken pot.
These are suflScient to satisfy even the most incredu-
lous, and from such scattered relics a more trustworthy
history of the past can be reconstructed than from such
prejudiced mention of the Indians as is made by the
short-sighted missionaries who, in questionable efforts
to elevate them, destroyed every good quality, and
gave tliem nothing of lasting value in return. What

PREFACE. vu

splendid opportunities had the early Quakers to pre-
serve to US a much-desired knowledge of the aborig-
inal people of the Delaware valley, and what trivial
facts have they left on record ! Later, such men as
the Brainerds might have taught us much; they have
left us only the record of their own laborious but fruit-
less lives. Such pitiful incidents of the past are now
well-nigh forgotten, and well they may be.

The Indians, to whom Aryan civilization proved a
curse, and whose last days here were embittered by
the bigotry that beset them, have left imperishable
traces on every acre of the Delaware valley, which now
afford to him who loves to ramble a ceaseless round of
pleasure in gathering their weapons, ornaments, domes-
tic implements, and even the toys of their children.

From these, indeed, we can reconstruct fairly well
the story of their lives ; perhaps better than could those
who, desirous of bettering them temporally and eter-
nally, only succeeded in depriving them of their lands
and embittering their lives; and, of this long river
valley, perhaps no spot is more profusely supplied with
the relics of the Indians than what I believe to be the
Trakonick neighborhood mentioned by Campanius, and
particularly the shores of the little creek I assume to
be Poaetquissings.

So much, at least for the present, of the people who
dwelt here in pre-European times. The stream as it
is to-dav will now command our attention.

Tiii PREFACE.

I have been told bj a ladj, a former resident of Chi-
cago, that, during the great fire in that city, she was
bidden by her parents, when the house was about to be
burned, to remove from her room such valuables as she
could conveniently carry. She retired for that pur-
pose, and, forgetting all her jewelry, returned to her
parents with a cake of soap.

I trust that, having been out of doors nearly every
day of the year, either in the uplands or the meadows,
it has not proved to so little purpose. The jewels were
there, and free to him who would select ; may what I
offer, as the gatherings of manv rambles, prove some-
thing better than a cake of soap.

0. C. A.

Prospect Hill, Tkenton, N. J.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTEB rAM

I. At the Outset 1

II. POAETQUISSINGS IN WlKTER 18

III. 'TwixT Cold and Heat 61

IV. Marsh- Wrens 88

v. A Colony of Grakles 101

VI. Four Red Birds 114

VII. The Spade-Foot Toad 132

VIII. Trumpet-Creepers and the Ruby-Throats . . . 142

IX. The Drawing of the Seine 147

X. A Summer at Home 189

XI. September Sunshine . 247

XII. An October Dlary 264

XIII. An October Dla.ry — Continued 308

XIV. An October Diary — Concluded 348

Index 891

UPLAND AND MEADOW.

CHAPTER I.
AT THE OUTSET.

Better repeat the twelve labors of Hercules tlian
attempt to catalogue the varied forms of life found in
the area of an average ramble. Indeed, I have seldom
seen a half-acre that was not a " Zoo " which the study
of a lifetime would fail to exhaust; but, if this is the
sole incentive to take a recreative stroll in the upland
or meadow, it were better to stay at home.

On the other hand, to feel that whatever creature we
may meet will prove companionable — that it is no stran-
ger, but rather an amusing and instructive friend —
assures us both pleasure and profit whenever we chance
abroad.

He who has this interest in the life about him can
never be lonely, wander wheresoever he will, nor return
from a contemplative ramble other than a wiser and
happier man.

When I talked, years ago, to the old men of the
neighborhood — there is not one of them left — I inva-

S UPLAND AND MEADOW.

riabl_y wished that I had been mj grandfather. I felt
fully a century too late.

If half the tales they told me were true, nothing of
to-day equals that which was found here when they were
young. If this had been an old man's fancy it would have
only provoked a smile ; but, alas ! it was so far true as
to cause me at the time endless regret. It was by no
means a sugar-coated pill that I was forced to swallow
when one of these gray-beards quietly remarked, " You
seem to know something about animals, but we had the
critters themselves."

This was not cheering to one who was ambitious of
seeing something of wild life, but I had one consola-
tion ; my old friend had not seen the country in its
best days, as judged from his point of view. As proof
of this, compare his remarks with the following, from
an old diary:

"Ninth mo., 1T34. Father reports Friend Stacy as
saying that formerly ducks and geese were more abun-
dant than they now are. He thinks the use of great
noisy guns has reduced their numbers. How they
could be more abundant than of late puzzleth me to
comprehend. Watson's Creek is often truly black with
them, and gatherings of fowl of many kinds do now
pass up the Crossweeksen, such as take several minutes
to pass by. The geese are always in wedge-shaped com-
panies, and are never so numerous as in the smaller
sorts. I do seldom see the great swans, but father says
they are not unusual in the wide stretches of the Dela-
ware. The Indians that lately tarried by the great
spring on our hillside did shoot several near where the

AT THE OUTSET.

creek joins the river. . . . Father allowed me to accom-
pany Oconio, my Indian friend, to Watson's Creek, that
we might gather wild fowl, after the Indian manner.
With great eagerness I accompanied Oconio, and thus
happened it. We did reach the widest part of that
creek early in the morning. I think the sun was scarce-
ly an half-hour high. Oconio straightway hid himself
in the tall grass by the water, while I was bidden to
lie in the tall grass at a little distance. With his bow
and arrows, Oconio quickly shot a duck that came near
by, swimming within a short space from him. I mar-
velled much with what skill he shot, for his arrow
pierced the head of the duck, which gave no alarming
cry. Then, with a second arrow, he struck down an-
other, but not so quickly, at which the great company
of fowl flew away, with great clamor. Very many re-
turned quickly, much to our pleasure. Oconio did now
fashion a circlet of green boughs, and so placed them
about his head and shoulders that I saw not his face,
and, thus arrayed, he otherwise disrobed and walked
into the stream. He held in one hand a shotten duck,
so that it swam lustily, and, so equipped, was in the
midst of a cluster of fowl, of which he deftly seized
several so quickly that its fellows took no alarm.
These he strangled beneath the water, and, when he
had three of them, came back, with caution, to where
the thick bushes concealed him. He desired that I
should do the same, and with much hesitation I dis-
robed and assumed the disguise Oconio had fashioned ;
then I put forth boldly towards the gathered fowl, at
which they did rise with a great clamor, and were gone.

4 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

I marvel much why this should have been, but Oconio
did not make it clear, and I forbore, through foolish
pride, to ask of him. And let it not be borne against me
that, when I reached my home, I wandered to the barn,
and writing an ugly word upon the door, sat long and
gazed at it. Chagrin doth make one feel very weak, I
find, but I set no one an example by speech or act, in
thus soothing my feelings in so worldly a manner.

"While I do yet write of our wild beestes of this
country, let me here remark, that while we rejoice tliat
great bears have mostly gone far towards the unsettled
mountains, still a few do linger with us ; and Oconio re-
cently did assure me that he knoweth of a small one
that liveth in a great chestnut-tree, not far within the
great east woods. . . . With much misgiving that we
were to go without my parents' knowledge, but hoping
success would secure forgiveness — for a longing heart
offers tid-bits to our scruples — we set out, while it was
yet dark, on third day ; and it was f restful and stingy
for so early in the ninth month. As we passed the
growth of dwarf chestnuts bordering the common road,
I marvelled at the great companies of squirrels that
were then gathering the harvest of nuts; but Oconio
chided me for lingering, and, following chiefly his foot-
steps, we strode straightway and silently through the
wood. There was yet a proper pathway that was read-
ily to be seen, which, as I have learned, was that used
by the Indians when they passed to Amboy, where they
gathered the bounty of the sea. When we had gone so
far as an hour's walk taketh one, suddenly Oconio turned
into a dense and trackless thicket ; first looking at his

AT THE OUTSET. 6

giinne, and the flint and priming thereof. I could not
readily keep to him in the midst of the bushes, and la-
bored much to force my way where he moved silently.
But it rejoiced me to know we had but a short distance
to go, for suddenly he turned about and pointed to a
great tree. It was the greatest of all trees that I have
seen. I confess to being puzzled to know what Oconio
was to do, that a bear should come from the tree and
be shotten. I ventured a question, but it was only an-
swered by an impatient 'See,' so I remained standing,
eager to know, yet doubtful of my safety should there
be even a small bear in the great tree. Oconio directly
gathered a bundle of sticks and of crisp leaves, and the
store thereof he placed at the foot of the tree, where I
saw was a hole that even he could have entered. With
his tinder and flint in a moment he added fire to
the leaves, and with a great roaring the smoke rushed
through the trunk of that tree. This was answered by
a louder murmur, which I took to be the voice of the
enraged bear, and Oconio stood bravely with his gunne
should it appear. Account it not against me that I de-
sired to flee, and I should have turned had I known
just where to seek safety ; and then came a greater ter-
ror as the enraged bear growled with fiercer anger. I
turned, and Oconio exclaimed ' Ugh !' as I did so. The
bear was upon us — not as one creature, but as thou-
sands; for we had driven from the tree a hiving of
bees. I turned so quickly that I fell, and the maddened
bees were quickly covering me, as I thought ; but I
regained my feet, and was soon fleeing from their tor-
ment. Whether Oconio did lead or follow I knew not,

6 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

but we met at a brook, where I batlied my smarting
flesh.

"We walked home in silence; and to this day I feel
chagrined when my father talketh of bears ; nor is honey
a sweet morsel to me."

Almost my last conversation with my venerable friend
was much the longest. He seemed far more disposed
to talk than walk, and, while sitting in the dense shade
of my three beeches, he remarked, " There was a spice
in livin' when the country was younger you don't get
now that all the big critters are about gone ;" and, point-
ing to a little woodpecker near by, asked, " Do you see
that sapsucker? I can remember when the big log-
cocks were about as plenty as those are nowadays.
Back towards the great Cattail Swamp, where there
was yaller-pine woods, the log-cocks used to run up and
down the trees like mad, and the way they sent the bark
flyin' was a caution. If tliey thought there was a bug
or grub under the bark, they'd lift it out, and, to get it,
sometimes ripped a bit of bark off big as a dinner-plate.
Now you see nothin' of all this, but have come down to
little sapsuckers."

" Not quite," I replied ; " there are flickers and red-
heads left us."

" That's so, but they're not much better, nor many of
'em, and who livin,' but me, ever heard a wolf growl or
a painter screech ?"

" Did you ever see a panther about here ?" I asked.

" Didn't I as much as say so just now ? See one, yes,
once, and that was enough."

" Tell me the circumstance, please," I requested, with
much pleasurable anticipation.

AT THE OUTSET. 7

" Tell you the circumstance ? If you mean the main
p'ints of the matter, I can give 'em to you. It was
during a January thaw, and a big fresh on the lowlands.
It's such times, you know, when all the fun comes in
round here. Well, I'd lost a new boat, and found it
in the woods near the mouth of Crosswicks Creek. It
was left up in the bushes after the water had gone down
a bit. I scrambled out of my skiff to reach to it, when
the critter looked up and grinned right in my face.
He'd been curled up in the boat, and didn't show any
notion of leavin' ; but I did, and, makin' one big jump
for my skiff, the critter follered suit, and made for the
woods. I didn't look behind, thinkin' he was comin'
for ra-e ; but it seems he wasn't, and that was the last
of him."

" Is that all ?" I asked, with a show of disappointment.

" All ? Yes, and if you'd been in my place half the
facts would have satisfied you. Critters like painters
might go, and bears weren't always pleasant to meet
with, but all the others were good in their way, and,
along with the miles of big woods, made it a pleasant
country. I don't say it to tease you none, but you've
got now to take up with small fry, and only think about
them that's gone for good. When I hear the tap-tap of
the sapsuckers I think of the log-cocks, and when there's
a bayin' hound in the fields I can hear the wolves, which,
'long late as '95, used to keep me 'wake o' nights. Things
have littled down since I was a boy, sure enough. What
you call trees we'd say were saplins', and such trees as
I've cut are too scarce to count. Afore you're fairly in
a woods now you're on t'other side of 'em."

8 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

But, in spite of the changes wrought by the deforest-
ing of the country and the increased population, even
in these later days unfrequented corners can be found,
and one niay have a bit of adventure if one chooses.

The average farmer is eminently practical, and quite
properly so, but if an acre cannot be reclaimed for cul-
tivation, or if its wood be not worth cutting for fuel, it
is pretty sure to be abandoned to the few who love to
see nature free from all artificiality. I know of an isl-
and in a creek, planted with swamp-sumac, where I can
roam at will, because this tree does not poison me, and
all my neighbors have to give it a wide berth, or suffer
the consequences ; and here I can sit as much alone as
though in the deepest cafion of the Colorado River of
the "West. But, while I have outgrown the feeling of dis-
appointment that I live in so tame a country, and now
prefer a mouse to a muskrat for a playfellow, very often
finding my interest in animal life to be inversely to the
bulk of its body, still an occasional exciting episode is
not distasteful, as a recent occurrence proved.

Bitter cold though it happened to be. Miles Overfield
moved with deliberation across the snow-clad fields, and
even stopped at times to look backward and meadow-
ward, as though he feared something he had left behind
him might disappear in his absence.

I saw him before he reached the yard, for I had been
out for a ramble on homemade snow-shoes — my first
and last experience of the kind — and we met at the
garden gate.

" St !" he hissed, in a half -whisper, and raised his fore-
finger as he spoke, to suggest that I should stand still and

AT THE OUTSET. . 9

hear him through, though why all this mystery on his
part, is to this day a mystery to me.

"Nobody knows, I guess," Miles continued, "for
they're in a mean quicksandy tangle in the three-corner
meadow. All snug in a hollow tree, and all briers and
stuff about. 'Spose we're in for a hunt ; go along ?"

"Please tell me, first, what are in the hollow tree?"
I replied.

"Why, a couple of big 'coons. I just got a glimpse
of one, but I know there's two of 'em."

" How do you know ?" I asked.

" Can't say ; but I know it, and I'm in for a hunt
to-night; so can't you go?" Miles asked, somewhat im-
patiently.

" If you know where they are, it won't be much of a
hunt. Miles, for you've simply to go to the tree and
take them out, provided they don't give you the slip.
Where will the fun come in, such a cold night as this
will be?"

" All right, if you don't want to go ; I can get 'em
alone, I guess. I wouldn't have hurried over here, but
I thought you would like the fun ;" and he turned about
with a look of mingled disappointment and disgust.
Seeing this, after a moment's reflection I concluded to
go, and called to him to that effect.

He turned about, but did not approach, and said, " All
right, and, as my house is nearer than yours to the mead-
ow, come down by eight o'clock. Put on boots, and,
if the clouds threaten, whistle to 'em on your way over
to keep off the moon ;" and again Miles started for his
home, walking with a brisker step than when he came,

1*

10 • UPLAND AND MEADOW.

because the meadows and the 'coon tree were now in
full view before him.

Before eight o'clock I was ready, and duly reported
at Miles's cottage. In a few minutes we were under
way, he carrying a gun and axe, and I leading a snarl-
ing cur, which Miles thought might be useful.

The full moon made the wintry night a perfect one ;
not a breath of wind sighed through the bare trees ; the
whole earth seemed silent and motionless under the firm
white crust we trod upon. There was merit enough and
beauty enough in the night alone to warrant a moon-
light walk, even though I went home empty-handed.

" The critters are in there," said Miles, pointing to a
big maple.

" Suppose they are, how are you going to get them
ontl Wait for them ?" I asked.

" Root 'em out. The tree hasn't any holler so we can
smoke 'em ; but you get up there and punch 'em out
with a stick, and "when they crawl out on the branches
shake 'em down to me and the dog."

" Oh !" I exclaimed, drawing a long breath, " that's
your plan. Why didn't you tell me before ?"

" Because you might have thought best not to come.
Now you're here, you won't mind the job, will you ?"
he asked, with a grin, that explained the disappointment
I had noticed when I half declined his invitation.

"Your theory, Miles, about punched 'coons coming
out of their holes, and all that, is no doubt good, but
suppose I can't punch them ?" I asked, and, somehow,
my doubts increased as I thought of the bear proving to
be bees, as in my great-great grandfather's case.

AT THE OUTSET. 11

Wliile Miles started a little fire at a short distance
from the tree, I considered the matter, and concluded
to fall in with his plans as soon as my fingers were suffi-
ciently warmed to enable me to climb. Of course,
Miles wouldn't climb the tree and let me catch the fall-
ing 'coon. He always took advantage of his years, and
had that convenient form of rheumatism which prevent-
ed his doing anything he could get others to do. It was
much the same as the boy's nine-o'clock fever, which se-
cures to him an occasional holiday, when the outside of
the schoolhouse is more attractive than the inside.

While we were crouching before a few fiickering
flames, a low growl was heard by both of us, and the
curious antics of the dog at the same time called us at
once to our feet, to discover the precise whereabouts of
the 'coons. Miles stepped back a few paces, and, gazing
intently at the main crotch of the maple, cried out, after
a few seconds, " There it is !" I looked in the direction
indicated by him, and, sure enough,- there was the ani-
mal. From where it sat no amount of shaking could
dislodge it, and to climb the tree would be to put your
hand on the animal before you could secure a firm foot-
ing. I thought we were bafiled, unless we shot it, which
Miles was averse to doing, as he did not wish to have it
known he was able to hunt, or work would be expected
of him.

" What shall we do ?" I asked, impatiently, for the
whole affair was growing monotonous.

"Do?" remarked Miles, "why, I mean to snowball
the critter till it climbs out on a limb, and then you
climb up."

12 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

A dozen big snowballs induced the 'coon to move,
and we got a better view of him. " He's got no tail,"
I remarked, as the animal crept out a short distance on
a nearly horizontal branch.

" Yes, he has ; it's the moonlight blinds you," Miles
replied ; and so, accepting tlie decision that it was a
'coon, I commenced to climb. Securing, at last, a firm
foothold where the 'coon had been, I took a general sur-
vey of the situation. The bright moonlight rendered
every object distinct, and I had a full view of the "crit-
ter." There it sat, staring me full in the face, and with
as wicked a countenance as I ever met ; but it was no
ordinary 'coon. Its broad, blunt face, its gray fur, arched
back, and short tail, told quite another story. I was
facing a wildcat !

There are occasions when a man's thoughts outspeed
the lightning, and this was one of them ; but my actions
could not keep pace. I had a thousand plans, and fol-
lowed none. An angry scream is all I remember now,
as it seemed to hurl me headlong to the ground. Down
into the snow I plunged, burying my arms and legs far
below the frozen crust, and there, for the moment, I lay
helpless. My next remembered thought was that Miles
was attacked, as his rapid ejaculations, mingled with the
yelping of the dog, seemed to indicate. It acted as a
restorative, and, struggling to my feet, I was astonished
to find that the cat had disappeared, and that Miles was
some distance off, rapidly pursuing a homeward course.
I hurried after, but he was safely housed before I could
overtake him. Entering the door he had so recently
slammed behind him, I found the man, pale as a ghost,

AT THE OUTSET. 13

and shivering before the empty andirons. It was a long
time before he could speak intelligibly, but at last he
calmed down sufficiently to tell me his story,

"While I was waitin' to see what you were goin' to do,
I saw you sail out into the air ; and such a yell as that crit-
ter gave ! It took me all aback, and 'fore I knew what
was comin' the thing struck me on the head. I jumped
clear o' my hat, and put for home, but the critter held
on. I cleared fence, ditch, and snowbank without touch-
in' 'em, so it seemed, and not till I teched the garden-gate
did the critter let up. Where it's gone, I don't know."

"Here it is," I replied, and from Miles's coat-collar
I took half a yard of green brier that had been scratch-
ing him at every leap.

Miles looked at the thorny branch a moment in si-
lence, and then found courage to whisper,

"Suppose we don't say anything about this 'coon-
hunt?"

" Suppose we don't ?" I replied, and went home.

To realize what a wealth of animal and vegetable life
is ever at hand for him who chooses to study it, let a
specialist visit you for a few days. Do not have more
than one at a time, or you may be bewildered by their
enthusiasm.

I have had them come in turn — botanists, concholo-
gists, entomologists, microscopists, and even archaeolo-
gists. What an array of names to strike terror to the
breasts of the timid ; yet they were all human, and
talked plain English, and, better than all, were both
instructive and amusing.

14 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

The botanist came. He minded no paths, but darted
from point to point with that delightful uncertainty
that made it a nice study for me to keep at his heels.
What cared he ? Indeed, the cholera may come, and
he will not fret. Has he not found a plant not previ-
ously known to grow in New Jersey ? He was a bit
indignant that I took the whole matter quietly. He
shouted until hoarse, and all because of a little vine
which not one man in a thousand would notice, in
spite of its pretty flowers.

And he of the shells ! How eagerly was the dip-net
thrust into the mud of every little pool in search of a
diminutive bivalve, with a name long enough and high-
sonnding enough for the largest mollusk of the ocean.
I may as well admit it now and here ; I had never be-
fore seen or heard of these baby-clams, as I called them,
although the mud that harbored them was before me
year in and year out. I am thankful that the conchol-
ogist came. If another visits me, how Pisidium and
Sphgerinm will figure as old acquaintances of mine.

My friend's enthusiastic search for still smaller shells
— pup(B he called them — was an excellent illustration of
how earnest a naturalist can and should be. Dirt, sticks,
and stones were carefully passed through liis fingers,
and scrutinized with a lens. The naked eye cannot
readily detect these shells, and so a long summer af-
ternoon passed, and not one pupa rewarded his labo-
rious search. Was he discouraged? Not a bit of it.
He searched for a week, and found them. This, too,
was but the beginning of his work. The tongues of

AT THE OUTSET. 15

those pupae were to be taken out, and the teeth there-
upon counted. To become an accomplished naturalist
is certainly no child's play.

The insect-men are more substantial fellows, for much
depends upon their muscle. Although armed only with
a gauze net, it was a matter of business when they were
afield. A beetle can fly fast, and a dragon-fly dart er-
ratically, but the entomologist is equal to the task, and
skims over the meadow on the tips of his toes. One
that I know could safely board the lightning-express
when under way, and all through practice in gathering
tiger-beetles along the sandy river-shore.

He always had something to show at the end of the
day, and always forced from me the admission that I
had never seen such and such insects before.

The microscopist is a favorite of the few that come.
He has so easy a time of it that a lazy man naturally
envies him. A pint jar, tied up in a newspaper, that
the public may not see the contents, and a tin dipper
on a stick, are the sum of his equipments when he vent-
ures abroad. Watching the clouds, that he may be sure
of pleasant weather, he leisurely takes a stroll to some
wayside pool, dips up a half-pint of muddy water, and,
lo ! his work is done. He has but to go home, enter his
den, and look at that water when the spirit moves him.
There must be an attraction in this apparently monoto-
nous procedure, but it is not one to be shared by an out-
sider. He announces new infusoria, novel forms of im-
perceptible life, and gives to them startling names. We

16 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

stand by in astonishment, and shudder, as the enlarged
portraits of these monsters are held up to our gaze, and,
later, start in oar slumbers, when a nightmare recalls
them. His ill-shaped creatures afford him endless joy ;
our nightmare recollections of them murder sleep. But
the microscopist himself is so good a fellow that we wel-
come him whenever he comes, although his portfolio is
daily filled with a new budget of horrors.

The archaeologist must not be overlooked. His work,
if rightly pursued, is not easy ; but, unfortunately, it is
made a pastime to collect relics, and so the student finds
too often an unfruitful field.

Away back in the indefinite past men who called
themselves Lenapo wandered all the way from the St.
Lawrence to the Delaware River. Why they did so
it is vain to conjecture, but come they did, and tarried
long; centuries too many to number, it would seem,
as judged from their handiwork in stone, which, scarce-
ly two centuries ago, they discarded for metal weap-
ons supplied by outsiders. And now these worked
flints are the quest of the archaeologist. He comes,
he gathers, he advises me to continue in his footsteps,
but after his departure his excellent advice is soon for-
gotten. Relic-hunting has its advantages, to be sure.
There is no danger of bite, sting, or poison ; but then
the excitement is uncertain, for a half-day's tramp may
result in no finds ; and many a mound is nothing, after
all, but dirt from top to bottom ; but when my friend
comes home with a half-hundred of chipped flints, or
some novelty, then I wish I had been a student of the

AT THE OUTSET. 17

subject ; and there it ends. In turn, I resolve to be a
botanist, a conchologist, a student of insect life, a micro-
scopist, an archaeologist ; and then, when each has gone,
very naturally relapse to my normal condition of pro-
crastination and dream-life, lulled by the singing of the
birds that I do love.

CHAPTER II.
POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER.

While bound in icy fetters, and free of the dense
shade that in summer is cast by the overhanging branch-
es of the towering trees that hide the headwaters of the
creek, this quiet nook is by no means lifeless ; it is nev-
er forsaken. However severe the winter, and wliatever
the time of day, I am always a little later than some
other visitor. The brave kinglets find it a pleasant
resting-place, and clamber about the grapevine that has
now reached to the topmost branches of the great elm.
The song-sparrows know the spot of old, and, cheered
by fitful glimmerings of winter sunshine, sing a few
liquid notes that are sweetly accompanied by the rip-
pling waters that, issuing from a cavern beneath the
elm-tree roots, glide smoothly over a few glistening
pebbles, and are lost in a mat of evergreen grasses. I
take it that about every spring there remains a trace of
the past summer; just enough to recall the glories of
the dead year, and to keep alive our faith that another
such good time will come again. Does not this, of
itself, warrant our wandering about Poaetquissings'
headwaters even in winter?

Bluebirds, too, that now remain with us all the year,
whatever they may have done in years past, are always
coming and going at the elm-spring, however dull or

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 19

stormy the day, finding food in or near its waters, I
doubt not, and flitting among the drooping branches of
the trees, they warble suggestively of spring. Although
the ground may be snow-clad, and ice may cover all the
creek beyond, the bluebird's warble so warms one's
blood and banishes the nippings of Jack Frost, that,
half-forgetful of the time of year, we glance about for
pink arbutus or blue houstonia. Recently, although the
air was thick with snow, I rambled hitherward in search
of saw-whet owls that I thought were hiding in the
dense cedars that dot the hillside. Perhaps they were
there, but I could not find them, and, weary with my
tramp, I paused by the spring, as usual, and found good
company, as I expected.

A song-sparrow near by twittered, "Good-morning;"
a pair of bluebirds whistled, and repeated comments on
the weather, or what I accepted as such, but I, rather
uncivilly, took but little notice of their greetings, and
centred my attention upon a winter- wren, that stood
upon a projecting pebble in the basin of the spring.
My sudden presence startled the bird, and it flew to a
neighboring spring a few yards distant. As it seemed
so partial to the water, I was induced to follow, as I
did, cautiously, and to observe the bird closely, remain-
ing myself unseen by it.

This second spring, near which the wren was now sit-
ting, differs from the other, in that it issues from a slight-
ly higher level, and, passing over a broad slab of iron-
cemented pebbles, falls, as a sheet of water a foot in
height, and twice that measurement in breadth. Be-
hind this pretty little cataract is a mossy, dripping

80 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

cave, a cubic yard in extent, and a great rendezvous for
many forms of semi-aquatic life. Over the floor creep
insect larvae, in their tubular homes of cemented sticks
and pebbles; scores of a small black spider hide in the
moss on the sides, and, wherever there is even partial
cover, little salamanders may be fonnd. How the ex-
istence of this cave was known to the wren I cannot
imagine, for I am sure the bird could not see into it
through the falling water. Bat the wren knew of it,
for, after a moment's tarrying in the storm, with a chirp
it folded its wings, and, diving, passed out of sight. Im-
mediately stooping before the spring, and leading the
waters to one side by a cedar branch held obliquely
against them, I peered into the recess. There, sure
enough, was the restless bird, moving swiftly over the
mossy patches on the sides of the cave, engaged, I sup-
pose, in spider-hunting.

I have seen swallows dart through the spray of a
mill-dam, and watched wagtails dart about rapid waters
in ways suggestive of the water-ouzel, but never have
seen either deliberately dive, as did the wren, or pass
entirely through an unbroken sheet of water, however
thin. The movement of the winter -wren, just men-
tioned, was 80 ouzel-like that it was of great interest, as
illustrating how readily a slight change of habit may
take place, these changes, of course, sooner or later,
leading to corresponding ones in anatomical structure.
The ouzel not only dives, but can remain for a long
time under water, and can walk " about on the pebbles
or gravel at the bottoms of streams or pools, in search of
larvae and aquatic insects, just as -a man in a diving-

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 31

dress seeks for lost treasure round the hull of a sunken
ship." The late John Keast Lord, from whose charm-
ing "Naturalist in British Columbia" I have quoted
the above, further says of this bird, " I once found the
nest of the American dipper built among the roots of a
large cedar-tree that had floated down the stream and
got jammed against the mill-dam. . . . The water, rush-
ing over a jutting ledge of rocks, formed a small cas-
cade, that fell like a veil of water before the dipper's nest,
and it was most curious to see the birds dash through
the waterfall rather than go in at the sides, and in that
way get behind it."

In the case of our winter- wren, which is by no means
an aquatic bird, we have an instance of the same thing,
so far as water proving no obstacle before the entrance
of a place guarded and, indeed, concealed by it.

The uniform temperature of spring water and of the
atmosphere immediately in contact therewith is sure to
keep green the rank growth of hardy grasses that mark
the spot, and in this there are many forms of active life
to be found, even in the depths of winter. The day of
my adventure with the winter-wren was marked, also,
by another interesting phase of bird-life. Scarcely a
rod from the spring proper, in such green grass as I
have mentioned, I found a yellow rail, which, by its vig-
orous flight and readiness to start on being disturbed,
was evidently not a wounded bird, that had been unable
to join in the usual autumnal migration of these and the
other species of rail-birds that, from May to October,
are so abundant in our meadows.

32 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

Tlie occurrence of migratory birds under such cir-
cumstances is by no means uncommon ; and there are
probably few birds, if they so willed it, but could stand
the severest winters, so far as temperature alone is con-
cerned, and but little ingenuity would be required to
enable them to find a sufficiency of food. The wrens,
as a family, illustrate this. There are three species that
may be said to be strictly migratory, and two which are
resident, and winter visitants. The food, in air cases, is'
the same. The common house-wren finds insects enough
from April to November, and from November to April
the winter-wren replaces the former species, and proba-
bly never goes hungry for a day. If the plucky house-
wren could but be made to believe it, it could comfort-
ably live in its summer haunts from the falling of the
leaves to the bursting of the buds. Some of our delicate
summer warblers have found this out, and one species,
in particular, has become as hardy as a snow-bird, and
sings merrily, be it ever so cold.

It is not until we get fifty yards away from the ter-
race from which gush the springs that, collectively, go
to make up the stream proper, that a boat can be floated,
and even here the water is too shallow and the banks
too near each other to allow the use of a paddle. " Only
a decent ditch " has been said of it by a travelled compan-
ion, who could see nothing attractive about it. Only a
decent ditch, indeed ! Thank the powers that be that
such decent ditches are accessible to a lover of nature.
What with its patches of water-plants, hiding innumer-
able fishes ; its burrowed banks, harboring muskrats,

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 33

shrews, and star-nosed moles ; its banks, thick-set with
birches, that tempt the red-wing blackbirds in Febru-
ary, and the stretches of level meadow that, even in
winter, may be studied to advantage — this "decent
ditch" may well tempt any one abroad, and, if not a
wholly unreasonable person, such a doubtfully compli-
mentary name will be dropped forthwith, and my fa-
vorite rambling-ground will, with due respect, be called
Poaetquissings henceforth and forever.

My friend, the microscopist, takes Poaetquissings
home by the tumblerful, and has recorded species and
genera of strange animals that, until then, were unknown
to science. He holds it a very respectable ditch, I am
sure. My well-read friend, who supposed all life to hi-
bernate with mathematical precision, if it hibernated at
all, found, in January, under ice a foot thick, the ma-
jority of the fishes that he had seen with delight during
his summer vacation. I coaxed a lover of spring birds
to take a winter walk along the banks of the stream,
and a boyish romp of run and slide over its frozen sur-
face, and how puzzled, yet pleased, was he to hear the
song-sparrows, the pine-finches, linnets, crossbills, foxy
sparrows, and a cardinal grosbeak all singing at once.
How quickly he forgot where the thermometer was
ranging as he bared his mufiled ears, that he might
catch the clear notes that came so crisply through the
keen air from the birches hard by. Poaetquissings is
something more than a " decent ditch " to him.

Pushing through the shallows for a hundred rods or
more, the creek suddenly widens to a respectable extent,
and the canoeist at last feels that he is fairly afloat.

34 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

But now, in midwinter, the water is not sufficiently
open to navigate, even in the line of the "bottom
springs," which, bubbling up with much force, prevent
the ice from wholly covering them. A good substitute,
however, is now available. We can walk on the creek,
and have the banks in full view. This is a great advan-
tage. To ramble along the shore of a stream, in sum-
mer or winter, is never satisfactory to the naturalist.
Do what he will, he is always unable to see much that
is going on, and is himself seen and shunned by every
creature that ho most wishes to observe. From the
middle of the stream the familiar banks present an un-
usual aspect ; it is like visiting a new locality ; and, as
every creature living on the bank of a stream has the
entrance to its home facing the water, we can now, be-
ing on the creek, look into their front doors. The
pleasant path on shore may be the roofs of innumera-
ble homes of cunning creatures, whose presence we do
not suspect while walking over them.

During the memorably cold and snowy winter of
1883-84 I was much struck with the abundance of
Jiawks that congregated in the meadows drained by the
Poaetquissings Creek.

The red-tailed buzzard, the rough-legged falcon, the
broad-winged buzzard, the peregrine, the goshawk, the
merlin, the winter falcon, and a stray eagle were all
here, and their various screams, as they circled the air,
when the weather was clear, were attractive, if not ex-
actly musical. There can be no doubt but that the
abundance of meadow-mice was the one great attraction

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 26

to most of them ; and I could not but comment on the
unreasonableness of the farmers who so relentlessly per-
secute hawks. Here, for weeks, these birds had poultry
in abundance in full view, yet I doubt if a single pullet
was destroyed ; and I do know that these same hawks
were busy, while daylight lasted, in capturing the mice,
creatures many fold more destructive to grass and grain
than all the hawks in New Jersey are to poultry. Even
when the snow was too deep to enable them to find mice,
I saw no evidence that the poultry was molested. The
thousands of snow-birds supplied the hawks, at such
times, with all needed food.

I will not discuss the matter at this time, but venture
to dogmatically assert that all birds are useful, includ-
ing the owls, hawks, and crows. Even if they were
not, I would be willing to share the expense with my
neighbors, and pay in poultry, in the case of the hawks,
for the satisfaction of watching them soaring in wide
circles over the meadows ; of hearing their wild cries,
that restore to us a bit of the wildness that was once a
feature of even these tame lands ; and for the pleasure
of puzzling over the mystery of their flight, as with un-
moved wings they sail upward, or hover for seconds,
motionless as statues.

The several species of hawks that I mentioned are
very different in their dispositions, and merit considera-
tion in this respect. I believe I can always recognize
the several species by their manner, both when on the
wing and when at rest. Not that their methods of flight
vary a great deal — they do to some extent — but there
are peculiarities which are very uniform. Collectively

2

36 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

considered, the eight species that I have mentioned may
be called "meditative" hawks, in contradistinction to
the three small falcons, which may be classed as " im-
petuous." The latter, to which reference will be made
hereafter, are visitors only to the banks of Poaetquis-
sings Creek, but the meditative hawks are characteristic
wi"nter features of the stream. Many of these birds are
migratory, and those that are resident are busy with
their nests, and haunt the thick woods, except from No-
vember to March, and it is then only that we find thenc.
perched in the tall trees along the creek, or sailing for
hours over the broad expanse of meadows far beneath
them.

As I walk along the frozen creek I mark them as
they appear in the course of my progress down the
stream, and generally recognize the several species by
the positions they assume. A "red-tail" sits with more
extended neck, and is more alert, than the less common
broad - winged buzzard ; which hawk sits in what my
Bon calls a " scrouged - up " manner. As I draw near,
these birds become alarmed and take flight, the red-
tailed hawk when I am within a hundred yards of it ;
but its broad-winged cousin is willing to take a some-
what greater risk, and I can cover half the distance be-
fore it, too, sails away, usually with an impatient scream.
Quite differently, too, do these birds start from their
perches. The wary "red-tail" tumbles off the limb,
and flaps in a hurried and evidently frightened manner,
while the other, with deliberation, literally sails away,
moving the wings as little as possible.

Thus we see that the broad- winged hawk is not only

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 37

meditative but deliberate. Like a wise man, it rel-
ishes seasonable fun, but permits no nonsense. The
crows, quick-witted as they are, have not yet learned
this fact, and often suffer, therefore, for want of knowl-
edge. Recently I saw excellent evidence of this. A
troop of wandering crows came lazily along the creek,
just skimming the tree -tops. They discovered the
broad -winged hawk that was sitting directly in the
course of their flight. With a shrill ka kaw he ke the
leader announced the hawk's presence, and the whole
troop, twenty or more, halted in their flight. One,
more eager or less experienced than the rest, boldly
dashed at the hawk, and pecked it, for aught I know.
At all events, a second onset was more than the quiet
hawk would suffer, and, meeting his boasting, noisy as-
sailant in mid -air, he gave it one stroke with his talons
and a nip with his beak that sent the impudent crow
reeling earthwards, and screaming, I presume for help.
The hawk straightway resumed its perch, while the as-
tonished crows reversed their tactics and fled in dismay,
wholly unmindful of their afllicted companion, which
could barely keep itself in the air.

What I have said of these two hawks may be repeated
of the others. Some are quick to suspect danger ; oth-
ers are less timid, or, at least, are slower to perceive the
approach of a suspicious object. The black hawk, or
rough-legged falcon, is, perhaps, of our larger species,
the very laziest. It does not even hold up its wings
when sitting in the birches, but lets them hang so loose-
ly that the bird looks like a wet skin hung out to dry ;
nevertheless, it is not often that you catch it napping.

28 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

Sitting, as these large hawks do, often for hours at a
time, what is passing through their minds the while ?
They can scarcely be supposed to be sleeping, and are
not weakened from hunger at any time. I have called
them meditative because they appear to be thinking
while they sit on their elevated perches. Perhaps, Mi-
cawber-like, they are waiting for something to turn up.
But they cannot even do this without thought. There
is nothing simply " instinctive," whatever that may be,
in the meditative hawks that I watch, as they sit in the
trees along Poaetqiiissings Creek. Still, I am forced to
confess that the matter of their thoughts is past finding
out.

When the black hawk acquires its black plumage —
when, save a bit of white on the tail, it is jet black, then
it is less timid than the blotchy- brown, rough-legged
hawks that so largely represent this family. Why it
should be for a long time puzzled me, but I am inclined
now to believe that it passes itself off for a crow, and so
considers itself in less danger than its browny- white
brother. I recently saw a fine specimen, black as the
ace of spades, quietly walking through the tangled dead
grass on the banks of Poaetquissings. It even waddled
like a crow, and appeared to be industriously in search
of mice. Halting behind a convenient birch, I watched
the hawk for some minutes. Presently it came to where
a net had been recently drawn from the water, and
where a few small fish were lying, left by the fisherman.
These it ate greedily. Placing one foot upon the fish
to hold it down, the head was seized, and swallowed in
good-sized pieces. Not a morsel was discarded. Three

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 29

fishes were thus eaten, when I suddenly appeared upon
the scene. With a hurried grasp the startled hawk,
with a fish in its talons, flew off, uttering a tri-syllabic
scream that evidently meant, " You be — hanged !"

How different from all this is the method and man-
ner of the three little hawks that I have referred to as
impetuous — the sharp -shinned, Cooper's, and the spar-
rowhawk. The first of these is feathered lightning.
He ceases to be before you realize that he is, and Coop-
er's hawk is almost his equal. The smallest of all, the
sparrowhawk, jpar excellence^ is quick enough in all con-
science, but you can follow his movements, neverthe-
less. These three hawks are not common at Poaet-
quissings. They come and go. At least, certain blue
streaks that flash in mid -air are supposed to be sharp-
shinned hawks. The little sparrowhawk knows that
tree sparrows, by hundreds, roost in the shelter afforded
by Poaetquissings' clustered cedars, and, suddenly ap-
pearing at the day's close, picks up an unlucky sparrow,
as it is settling down for the night — picks it up, and is
gone. One need but pass a single afternoon on the
creek bank to witness this and be sure of the little
hawk's identity, but the blue streaks are a matter of
doubt. That they 'are hawks is eminently probable, but
none dare make a positive assertion to that effect.

The creek cuts through a long, artificial bank in its
riverward course, and the bisected ridge is now partially
covered with a vigorous growth of cedars. The junc-
tion of the creek and cedar-grown knoll is a pleasant
spot at all times, but is peculiarly so during those bright,
sunny December days of which we occasionally can

80 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

boast. Frequent visits have shown that it, then, is a
great haunt for winter birds, and then it was, during
the past winter, that I happened upon a flock of cross-
bills.

Any bird of pluck, if wounded, will be found to be
cross-billed, when carelessly handled. Even a hen, with
young chickens, may be classed as a crossbill. Faith-
ful retrievers have learned, to their sorrow, that a
wounded bittern is a veritable crossbill. Spaniels have
been stabbed to death by them. None such were the
little birds I saw last December. On the contrary, they
were the gentlest wild birds I have ever met, and their
" crossness " lay only in the twist of their beaks. There
were hundreds of them, and their black and red plum-
age showed admirably against the deep blue of the
cloudless sky, or the wide-spread whiteness of the snow-
clad meadows. These birds did not confine themselves
to the cedars, but wandered to the scattered birches as
well, and clambered, in a curiously parrot-like manner,
over every limb and twig. They were as much at ease,
when head down and tail up, as in the normal position,
and were never still for a second. I walked directly up
to them, and they simply kept a little beyond arm's
length. With a butterfly net I could have caught a
dozen. When on the trees they scarcely uttered a
sound. Possibly a faint chirp now and then, but of
this I cannot be positive ; when fairly upon the wing,
however, they warbled with much animation. Later,
when, with common consent, they formed a dense flock,
and flew away, the united songs of the happy company
were clear, loud, and melodious.

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 81

Crossbills cannot be said to be rare winter visitors,
and jet a winter or two may pass without our seeing
them. This signifies nothing, however. These birds
are eminently social, and always, I believe, live in flocks
during the winter. This being true, how natural that
when you chance to go out of your front door, cross-
bills may be clambering over the pines in the back yard ;
and if you chance to go out by the rear entrance, these
birds may be seed-hunting in the evergreens in front.

" I saw horned larks, as I came down the lane," re-
marked a friend to me, some years ago.

" That's odd," I replied, "I've been looking for them
all winter."-

I know now that there was nothing strange about it.
Luck simply had favored my friend and had not fa-
vored me. Never, T advise, venture to say a bird is rare,
or absolutely wanting to the fauna of your neighbor-
hood, because you have failed to find it.

An old farmer once assured me that there were no
skunks in the neighborhood. That same winter, his
next-door neighbor trapped seven, and spoke of others
who had had even better luck. The fact is, that as
crossbills are generally seen every winter, it is merely
by chance that they occasionally escape notice. Their
visits are probably as regular as the ceaseless round of
the seasons.

Another arctic bird that lends a chartn to our mead-
ows and Poaetquissings-Creek bank, is the diminutive
lesser red-poll linnet. Too long a name for so small a
bird ; but they are so full of glee, and sing so merrily,

32 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

that we lose sight of the fact that they are such mid-
gets. Like the crossbills, the linnets are social, and are
seen only in flocks, when here. A peculiarity, too, is the
great elevation at which they fly, when passing to any
point at a considerable distance. They usually, it would
seem, fly at a height beyond the range of our vision,
and so, when they suddenly appear, it is not from some
adjacent tree, or around a corner. They appear rather
to drop from the clouds. More than once, while watch-
ing the crows on their way to their roosts, I have de-
tected minute black dots in the sky, which, as I watched
them, grew rapidly larger and more abundant. Down,
down, down they came, and, reaching the top of some
tall tree, spread over it, and reminded me of the empty-
ing of a feather pillow in the wind.

Unlike the crossbills, the linnets keep up a continual
chatter when they alight, and all the time that they
tarry in the trees. While apparently without a leader,
they act much as though they were regularly drilled by
a strict disciplinarian. I suppose, in this case, that it is
mutually agreed that whoever, for the time, takes the
lead, that all will follow. At all events, by some sub-
tle telegraphy, the like impulse moves them all at the
same second, and as suddenly as they appeared, so they
depart.

Poaetquissings Creek is not an aviary. Let us look
at something belonging to it that is not feathered and
flighty. There are still some noble trees upon its banks ;
but, alas ! far nobler ones have been gathered for fire-
wood. What a pity there are not forests in the moon,

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 33

and that from thence we might derive our supplies of
fuel. Prominent among the big trees still remaining is
an enormous buttonwood or sjcamore, that towers near-
ly one hundred feet above the creek. Much, I take it,
to the satisfaction of every passing bird, this tree is dead
at the top. There is one twisted and nearly horizontal
branch that reaches beyond the uppermost leaf-bearing
twig, which is now worn smooth by the feet of thou-
sands of travel- weary birds, that halt here on their jour-
neys. All birds that deign to leave the ground at all
love such grand outlooks as this mighty tree affords.
Even diminutive fly-catchers sing with greater unction
when perched upon it ; and there are migratory warblers
that, settling there, sing to the clouds, but never vouch-
safe a twitter to the earth-bound creatures below.

Whenever the lightning strikes a tall tree, I believe
there is rejoicing in the hearts of the birds. They can-
not build observatories, but give them credit for thank-
fulness that Nature provides them with very many. I
confess to envying the birds that can sit on the topmost
twig of a tall tree, which the lightning has bared of all
foliage and superfluous branches. What a prospect lies
before them ! Be it even a crow or a blackbird, it is all
the same. They cry out in unmistakable terms, see/
see! see! Only the meditative hawks enjoy the out-
look in silence. Perhaps, were I living in a hilly coun-
try, my enthusiasm would be less pronounced. My
mountain experiences are limited to the garret windows,
and an occasional climb to the cupola of the barn.

To return to the trees ; if we cannot say of any tracts
of woodland still remaining, " This is the forest prime-

2*

34 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

val," it is some satisfaction to know that we can still
stand in the shade of single trees and say of such, " This
is a remnant of the primeval woods." Such a tree, it
may be, is this lone button wood on Poaetquissings' bank.
It measures nearly seven feet in diameter at the base;
and so long ago as 1750 was the " big buttonwood "
of the neighborhood. There are others still standing
which are even larger, but none of equal height and
general massiveness. Poaetquissings' buttonwood is the
tree, according to local tradition, wliich was used by the
Lenap6 Indians as a stake, when they tortured Iroquois
prisoners. They bound the victim to the creek side of
the tree, so that the sight of the water would increase
his agony, while the flames licked his limbs. There is
even a slight hollow or dent in the trunk at its base,
which, it is said, was burned out gradually, as prisoners
were tortured. This is nonsense, I believe, for so long
ago as the Indian daj^s, when such tilings occurred, the
tree was too small for any such purpose, and stakes, in
the centres of villages, were used. Still, such a tale, once
heard, invests a tree with an unusual interest, and every
black speck at the roots we imagine is charcoal or
burned bones, while, at the same time, we laugh at the
absurdity of such an idea. Stories of this tree, in con-
nection with the Indians, were told me nearly forty years
ago, and to me it must remain an "Indian tree," while
I know that the possibilities are, to say the least, that no
Indian was ever aware of its existence.

The trunk of the tree, for a distance of thirty or forty
feet, is now half hidden with grape-vines, green-brier,
and Virginia creeper, and in winter it looks like a ship's

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 85

inast, covered with broken and tangled rigging. This,
in one sense, forlorn appearance has its charm for nest-
ing birds, and the tree and its covering often shelters
a half-dozen broods of as many different kinds of birds.

Squirrels, strangely enough, do not frequent this but-
ton wood. 1 have thought that possibly the shelly bark
caused them too often to lose their foothold, and, there-
fore, they kept aloof. I recall the fact that a pair of red
squirrels, that for a season tenanted a hollow locust in the
yard, seemed to avoid the one small sycamore that stood
near by.

Seeing birds, and particularly the hawks, on the top
of the big buttonwood so frequently, during the winter,
roused in me the desire to see the surrounding country
from so advantageous a point, and at last I was able to
gratify the whim. It is true

" We have not wings, we cannot soar.
But we have feet to scale and climb,"

and, aided by cross-slats that I nailed upon the tree as I
proceeded, I finally reached as near the top as I deemed
it prudent to go. What a jolly spot was that cross-limb
whereon I rested, seventy feet or more from the ground.
I could take in, at one glance, a wide range of familiar
country, known heretofore only by sections. Poaetquis-
sings' springs, the straight ditch, the old bank, the great-
spring meadow, the floodgates, the main creek, the past-
ure-lands, and the river — all that goes to make up my
little world — was visible at once. Such experiences are
red-letter days to a rambler, and tree-climbing I have
since held should be more cultivated. Little wonder is
it to me now that the meditative hawks love to sit by

86 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

the hour in just such places. At the time of my first
visit to the tree-top, I put myself in the place of a hawk,
and hunted, from where I sat, for a mouse in the dead
grass seventy feet below me. Did I see one ? Emphat-
ically, No ! and I have my doubts as to the ability of
any hawk to see at that distance so small an object ; and
I say this, bearing in mind that Mr. Eomanes, in his in-
valuable work on " Mental Evolution in Animals," has
remarked, " The eye of a hawk ... is able to distin-
guish from a great height a protectively colored animal
from the surface of the ground which it so closely imi-
tates." Perhaps, if a mouse ventured over the snow,
or even moved slowly over bare ground, it would be
seen, but when we consider how seldom the running
mouse is really exposed, and how closely it hugs the
ground, and creeps under or among the grass and weeds,
rather than on them, it becomes far more probable that a
perched hawk is not on the lookout for prey, but is
cither asleep or absorbed in contemplation. Certainly
there is no better place in which to pass a meditative
half-liour than when perched in a high tree. There is
much to be gained, sometimes, in being even fifty feet
above the common level of your fellow-mortals. To see
what your neighbor fails to discover gives you the ad-
vantage over him that you can tell him something that
he did not know, and so pass for a bit of a philosopher,
although, in fact, you may be much nearer a fool than
he is. "We all know how the village ladies look only to
the dominie for information on every subject, yet how
frequently are these very men profoundly ignorant of
natural history.

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 37

There are several pin-oaks growing on the banks of
Poaetquissings, some of which were more than saplings
when Penn juggled the Delawares out of their lands.
The largest of them was fortunate enough to get an
ugly twist in its sapling days, and being too crooked for
timber, has been spared by the greedy wood-choppers
of the past century. This tree is on the decline now —
standing on a sloping bank, it always was — and only a
small portion of its branches now bear leaves. Better
than all, it has a great, cavernous interior ; a hollow that
one approaches with caution, as though it contained a
hibernating bear, or sheltered a crouching panther. The
happy days when such things were possible are gone
forever ; but during one winter ramble over the frozen
creek I stopped, as usual, to peep into the hollow tree
— I never before had seen so much as a mouse in it —
and in the uncertain light I caught a glimpse of two
bright eyes that glared most wildly at me. The sur-
prise was great, and the withdrawal of my head instan-
taneous. I doubt not, but wdiat little hair I have was
visibly affected, and I am sure my scalp wrinkled with
innumerable ridges. What could it be ? Opossum, 'coon,
cat, or my imagination ? I listened, but no sound could
be detected. I thumped upon the hollow trunk, but it
caused no commotion within. I thrust a long stick into
the tree and whirled it around as best I could. It dis-
turbed the mysterious creature, but did not bring him
out. Finally I tried smoke, and, in time, my efforts
were partially successful. With a faint squeak, out
sprang my neighbor's Maltese cat, and its rate of speed,
as it bounded homeward, was indeed astonishing. I

88 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

have never seen any animal, not even a frightened fox,
that ran as this persecuted cat did, upon this occasion.
The occurrence was not simply an amusing incident. I
learned soon after that this cat had partly returned to
a feral state, and vt'as often gone from home for weeks
at a time. It was known by its owner to live along the
creek, and prey upon the snow-birds and wild mice; and
when it did deign to return to its former home it was
quite unsocial, and finally became dangerously savage.
Since my adventure with tabby, I have found a lazy and
indifferent 'coon in the same tree. On being forced to
show itself, it started for the creek and trotted across
the ice-bound surface at a rattling rate. Once across, it
climbed a maple-tree with great ease, and so snugly en-
sconced itself where several branches met that I had
much difficulty in finding it while standing at the foot
of the tree. Probably a hundred times, since then, I
have halted by this old tree to see if some animal was
occupying it, but never have I found anything larger
than a mouse. A common house-monse I took this
creature to be, but it may have been a different species.
It did not show its teeth, nor give ine the chance to
measure its tail ; so I cannot be certain. Still, is it not
true that rnus musculus is truly wild, and at home far
away from any house? The impression among house-
wives is, that after harvest the mice become more
numerous and troublesome ; that they leave the house
in June, or earlier, and return in October. This is very
probably true, for certainly a mouse no way distinguish-
able from the semi-domesticated species is all too com-
mon in our corn-fields. That another mouse, generically

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 39

distinct, is-also to be found in the fields, I have recently
been led to believe. It is one of more active habits, an
excellent climber, and nests in the corn-shocks, instead
of on the ground. It is probably the Southern harvest
mouse, but may be different ; perhaps a " geographical
variety."

A curious tree is the crooked maple near the first
bend in the creek. It is the first object to strike one's
attention, as we pass the splendid elms on the "fourteen
acre" piece, of which more hereafter. As a boy I
knew it best as the N tree, and I still call it by that
name. The thrifty sapling has evidently met with an
accident in early life, and the main stem has been bent,
if not broken, until it fell forward and downward tow-
ards the water. Bent or broken, it was not beyond
partial recovery, and the wound has healed after a
fashion, and growth continued. The top, now growing
waterwards, at last has met the surface of the stream,
and, checked in this direction, has turned again and
made a vigorous skyward growth. The result is a
trunk that has acquired the shape of a letter IST — hence
tlie local and expressive name. As in the case of the
twisted pin-oak, the unusual shape has proved the salva-
tion of the tree, and the shivering fuel-cntters of past
generations have spared it. Growing over the creek,
too, added to its chances ; for so crooked a tree would
have been troublesome to fish out of the deep waters
that flow beneath it. It is, I am sure, a relic of the pre-
ceding century ; and now is not only old, but past its
maturity, and partly decayed. Near the upper or first
acute angle in its trunk there is a hollow of small

40 XJPLAND AND MEADOW.

diameter but considerable depth, and here an escaped
swann of bees from some neighbor's garden have been
making honey on their own account, in blissful ignorance
of patent combs, imported queens, or fumes of burning
sulpliur. Having escaped the attentions of man, tliese
bees have not been allowed to go scot free nevertheless.
Honey is a toothsome morsel to many quadrupeds as
well as bipeds, and a family of flying squirrels, that live
in a hollow tree hard by, are constant visitors during
autumn, and, for aught I know, in winter, unless the
weather is unusually severe.

When I found the bees' nest, in November, the squir-
rels had been for some time raiding upon it, and, cunning
creatures that they were — I had heretofore looked upon
them as rather stupid — they did not waste the precious
store of food, or publish its whereabouts by dropping
morsels of it, as they passed to and fro. They came and
went with proper circumspection, and perhaps surveyed
the ground about their nest- tree before each visit, to
see that no spy was near them. Before Christmas the
hive was empty, and now the foolishness of the squirrels
was as evident as was their cunning of a short time be-
fore. By too great greediness they had killed the goose
that laid the golden e^i^g', they had not only eaten the
honey, but the bees. Is it not strange that the idea does
not dawn upon them, to leave so much of the hive in-
tact as to secure a supply of honey each succeeding
winter? We have harvesting ants, and food-hoarding
mammals ; so why should not these flying squirrels, in
time, become more provident? Squirrels have been
robbing bee-hives so far back in time, that the years

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 41

cannot be numbered, yet it does not appear that they
have gained one whit of wisdom in this important di-
rection. It is a matter of feast and famine, so far as
honey is concerned, and this checkered experience has
yet to give that additional twist to their cerebral convolu-
tions that shall make them wiser. This is no fanciful
matter. The storing of nuts by gray squirrels, of small
grains by white-footed mice, and of seeds by ants, had
its commencement, and was the ultimate result of a
protracted series of experiences ; the habit grew, and
was not established at the outset, by creative fiat. Con-
sidered in this light, the thoughtlessness, if we may call
it such, of the flying squirrels is much to be wondered
at.

The sheltering bluff near by will tempt a botanist to
linger here, when elsewhere, for miles around, there is
nothing but the frost-blackened bloom of the past sum-
mer spread before him. Here, even in January, the
witcli-hazel, a thrifty shrub ten feet high or more, is
starred w'ith yellow blossoms that laugh at the north
winds shrieking in the tops of the towering oaks. A
veritable witch, it liides in sheltered nooks that no frosty
breath can reach, and from November until February
invites its flowering friends to be less timid, and seems
to assure them that here, at least, winter is no great
drawback after all. Usually this is quite true, but if
the season of '84-'85 was not discouraging to the witch-
hazel, it has, indeed, a brave heart. It may have been
blooming lately, but, if so, I overlooked it.

Bent twigs of this plant are still used by the "gifted"
to find water, lost farming tools, and, by one enthusiast,

42 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

Indian graves. The faithful still claim it as efficacious,
and he who doubts is sneered at if he expresses his opin-
ion. All that the rambler can ask is that the plant be
not exterminated, and that the fools may be.

While lingering by the witch-hazel, or standing under
a cedar, through whose dense foliage no snow ever drift-
ed, the botanist has an humble plant to attract him, all
through the winter, in the pretty star-chickweed. Give
it but a few rays of genial sunsliine daily, and let the
south wind sweep the dead oak-leaves away, and this
little plant will blossom as freely as in early June. The
flower, of itself, can scarcely be called pretty, yet in mid-
winter, when so little is to be found, small favors, such
as thi?, are most thankfully received. Again, beneath
some near-by sheltering cluster of trees, where the mid-
day sun meets with no obstruction, and the north wind
cannot reach us, a goodly space may be whitened with
blooming whitlow -grass, and lead us, when a little dis-
tance from it, to think that snow has been slyly scat-
tered there by some passing cloud.

While it is yet winter and bitterly cold, the hillside
sassafrasses are often in bloom, when taller trees afford
them shelter. Their yellow flowers are quite pretty,
and a winter nosegay can be gathered that is worth the
carrying by blending them with twigs of holly, brilliant
with red berries. It is only the smaller bushes that
bloom so early. Not far from the creek towers a tree,
sixty feet high, and with a sturdy trunk two feet in di-
ameter. This giant sassafras patiently waits until April,
or March, if the spring happens to be an early one.

Another midwinter bloom, and also yellow, is the

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 43

graceful, hanging catkin of the smootli alder. These
are too pretty to be passed by unheeded, and yet but
few are familiar with them. I have had them scattered
among roses from the hothouse, and they were stared
at and toyed with as some rare exotic.

Because of its raephitic odor we are apt to shun it,
and it is not to be carelessly handled, nor will any be-
come enthusiastic over it; yet the despised skunk-cab-
bage must be considered in the list of the winter-bloom-
ing plants of Poaetquissings. Its purple-tinted, shell-
shaped spathe will bear examination, and the ball of
flowers it contains will be found in full bloom always
in February, and sometimes earlier.

However disparagingly this vigorous plant is spoken
of by most of those who know it at all, it is kindly
thought of by many naturalists, for it harbors at its
roots the earliest salamanders, the pretty Maryland yel-
lowthroat nests in the hollows of its broad leaves, and
rare beetles find a congenial home in the shelter it af-
fords.

Back to the hillside, from the swampy ground where
we found the cabbage, let us look among the drifted
leaves for more yellow bloom. It will not require long
to make the search. In every nook that the frost has
spared the dandelion has flourished, and is even now, in
midwinter, in bloom.

We can justly claim at least two thirds of March as
strictly winter, and so the bloom of the first three weeks
of the month may be considered here as the botanical
attractions of Poaetquissings at that season.

Already seven blooming plants have been named that

44 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

add to the interest of a winter's walk. If the weather
stajs open, even in February, and usually in March,
bine violets peep from beneath sheltering leaves. There
is one interesting point with reference to early violets.
Tliey are always more advanced where there is a com-
parative absence of oak-leaves. I have so often found
this to be the case that it would seem as though there
were in the leaves something inimical to the flowers.
Throughout the summer, however, violets flourish in
oak woods. The explanation may be that the thick
covering of broad leaves prevents the frost from " com-
ing out," and the growth of the plant is checked in con-
sequence. Whatever the reason, under any other leaves
than those of the oak are winter violets more likely to
be found in bloom.

On Washington's birthday, in a distant upland woods,
a friend claims he can always find, at least, one blossom
of trailing arbutus ; and so, too, on the bluff that guards
Poaetquissings and shields it from the north winds, he
can always find the liver-leaf, with its beautiful white,
pink, and purple flowers. It grows at the bases of tall
trees, where the shelter is effectual in protecting it from
all the assaults of Jack Frost. My own experience is
not equal to my friend's. I find it only in March, and
then, when there has been a week of sunshine and an
absence of frosty nights.

Lastly, even as early as the middle of March, one may
gather eardrops. These are the most striking of all the
flowers of winter, and, as they hang from a smooth,
naked scape, six or eight inches high, are quite sure to
attract the botanist's attention.

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 45

Whether one must wade through the deep snows of
the uplands, or labor through the deeper mud during a
January thaw, there is sure to be ample recompense for
the exertion required to reach Poaetquissings in winter.
The animal life will be so far abundant that the natu-
ralist will find the time to pass all too quickly, and the
botanist will, perhaps, not think his labor has been in
vain. If, indeed, he can find no flowers, there are still
trees in abundance, and their winter aspects merit more
attention than they have yet received.

Shillings and pence — shillings and pence. This was
the ever uppermost thought of the thrifty Quakers who
succeeded the Indians, and no bit of nature was allowed
to remain undisturbed, if, by any possibility, a little
more grass, or any grain, could be coaxed from it. The
tide was too much of an encroachment upon available
pasture, and, by an ungainly floodgate, was shut out
from its ancient domain. Poafetquissings once gloried
in a tide that swept its channel clean, and brought a
wealth of lusty fishes to its depths. This must needs
be changed. INature, as provided at first hand, is never
good enough for the white man. Even when on top of
a mountain man longs for stilts, or frets for higher heels
to his boots. The floodgates were built. Great oak
logs were hewn, squared, jointed, and placed in proper
position, and planks set upon them, to let the creek wa-
ter flow over, but keep on the other side every drop of
tide water that might come up so far. The disgraced
creek fretted at the insult, but could do nothing more
than fret ; not even when reinforced by many a winter
freshet could it move those ponderous gates. At times.

4ft UPLAND AND MEADOW.

indeed, it bore great trees against them, and held theui
open for a while. Then its courage rose. The river
rushed in and made a raid upon its former territory ;
but this was but for a few days at most. The greedy
landlord reset the gates, and the baffled river could only
fret and submit. But a worse fate was in store for Po-
aetquissings. Little creeks, it seems, like poor men,
have few rights that rich men are bound to respect. It
so happened that the canal must replace the river as a
highway. Nature blundered, as usual, and made the
river too broad and shallow. Man, therefore, must
needs make a canal, deep and narrow; and this passes
directly over the outlet of Poaetquissings. Then and
Now — think of it ! Then, meandering leisurely through
a forest of hickories, maples, and elms, and joining the
river with unruffled flow — now, forced to crawl through
a wooden trough, with a battered barndoor at one end,
and under the canal at that ! The tide is still shut out,
it is true; but in all these changes the creek has had
some little satisfaction for past indignities, for the old
floodgates are in ruins.

Although not a natural feature of the stream, these
ruined floodgates are not unsightly. Where they are
the creek is very wide, pondlike, and even boasts of a
little island. Here, in midwinter, there is a beautiful
skating- ground, but one that cannot be coursed over
carelessly. Devote one eye, at least, to air-holes, or
come to grief. When the thermometer suggests that
the arctic circle is out of place, that it ])a8 slipped south-
ward a thousand miles, look upon yourself as an Esqui-
mau, and visit Poaetquissings by moonlight. "It will

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 47

pay," as my practical neighbors remark continually,
when offering advice. The more striking features of the
creek are congregated about the floodgates. The largest
trees along the banks are at or near them, and the little
island, with its one great oak, is a feature of wondrous
beauty, when the snowclad limbs of the tree stand out
against the blue-black sky. I have found, when skat-
ing, it is something to have a little wildness about me,
and if a neighbor's dog barks it recalls the hungry
wolves that chased the benighted Quakers — if they ever
did. I once was startled by a stray cow that liad wan-
dered from the barnyard, and straiglitway took aim at
it, with my cane, with all the eagerness tiiat the hunter
knows when levelling his rifle at the unexpected game
he has suddenly discovered. This is childish, I am told.
True, but is it not worth something to be able to be a
child again — to forget for the moment the vexations of
manhood, and recall the experience of "having fun"?
For me, at least, sucli childishness is far preferable to
the ceaseless round in a skating-rink, where even the ice
is unnaturally rough, and the skater can only boast of
tired legs when he walks home. Give me an hour of
Poaetquissings by moonlight, with its shadows of the
elms that fringe its banks, with its starry sky above,
and dim distance mournful with the hootine: of owls
that fitfully fret when their domain is invaded; give
me these, and the world is welcome to the modern rinks,
with their gas-jets, stuffy atmosphere, and crowds. Zo-
ology, too, can be studied to advantage when we are on
skates. If a venturesome weasel bounds over the ice
or a startled rabbit courses along the frozen surface, we

48 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

can have an exhilarating race with the frightened creat-
ure. All of our non -hibernating mammals venture
abroad at night, and know full well the new highway
that firm ice ofifers them. The 'coon, opossum, otter,
mink, and weasel all make short-cuts over the frozen
creek, and no better chance to see them is ever afforded
than now. Exception should be made of the skunk.
He is uncertain, and my rule is to skate backward when
he puts in an appearance.

There is a deep hole above the floodgates, where, in
winter, hosts of fishes congregate, instead of hibernat-
ing; where to fish throngh the ice is no child's play.
It is, in part, a question between fighting frost or mos-
quitoes ; and the former is, I think, the less formidable
foe. It is always practicable to have a fire either on
the ice or on shore, and numb fingers can there be
quickly restored ; much more quickly, indeed, than the
blotched and bitten digits that vex the gentle angler in
June. It is wonderful how full of spirit is the winter
pike, perch, or sucker. They seem to have acquired
additional strength with the increase of cold — to draw a
two-pound pike through a hole in the ice is a different
matter from switching him to land in midsummer. The
fact is, we have only the short line to hold, and have
but little advantage over the fish. At times I have had
them whirl round with astonishing rapidity and wear
away the cord as it pressed the sharp edge of the ice,
before I could draw them from the water.

This little creek is at its best in winter, when the ice
is blue and without air-bubbles. At the old floodgates,
where the stream is of considerable width, I have often

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 49

lain down upon the frozen creek, and, covering myself
with a blanket to exclude the light, peered down into
the depths, when the sun was brightly shining, to watch
the movements of such life as was active at the time.

After many repetitions of these observations on suc-
cessive days the terrestrial life on the creek banks be-
came quite accustomed to my presence, and soon inquis-
itiveness replaced fear. This was amusingly illustrated
in one instance by a weasel, in crossing the creek on the
ice, stopping to investigate the peculiar something lying
in its path. Peering under the blanket, it either heard
my blood circulating or smelled it. At all events, it gave
my ankle a nip which brought me quickly to my feet,
and sent the bloodthirsty wretch scudding over the ice
with marvellous rapidity. How the crows laughed ! I
had noticed a flock of these birds when I went to the
creek, and had been wondering if their incessant cawing
was not a discussion of ujy curious movements. They
were, possibly, disposed to think me a trap laid for
them, but were astonished or amused at my sudden re-
gaining of the perpendicular when the weasel offered to
investigate the matter.

To return to the infra-crystic life. This proves to be
nearly as abundant as in summer, and the changes of
habits necessitated by the difference in the season is
exceedingly instructive. Even the restless gyrinus, or
scuttle-bug, that keeps the summer surface of the creek
in constant commotion, is now active as ever, deep down
in the water, each glistening with its bubble of air which
it carries along with it. Where it gets a fresh supply
when this becomes exhausted is easily determined ; for,

3

60 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

however severe the -winter, there are always some air-
holes. These they seek, undoubtedly. They must know
of them, and, remembering their whereabouts, are able
to go to them ; a little fact showing, I think, that even
these whirligigs have a modicum of intelligence. But
what do gyrini find to eat at such a time? I leave the
subject, without reply or suggestion, for others to de-
termine. But, while we are straining our eyes to fol-
low the mazy threadings of the gyrinus, a fish or turtle
passes leisurely by, and the insect is at once forgotten.
Why are these greater animals not tucked away in the
mud? Have we not been taught this in the books? It
is a somewhat painful sensation to have preconceived
notions and statements in print so emphatically contra-
dicted ; but, if 3'ou wish to know nature through books
only, don't wander to Poaetquissings. I cannot find
that any of our animals live strictly up to the rules laid
down for them in the library ; and, surely, it cannot be
that this small creek's tenantry are exceptions, for the
creek " is by nature provided with everytliing that man
can desire," and man does not desire to continually find
himself mistaken. Be this as it may, Poaetquissings'
fishes are full of life in winter, and so, too, are many of
her turtles, and even a small proportion of her many
frogs. On the 12th of February, 1875, 1 visited Poaet-
quissings, and experimented in fishing with a net placed
under the ice. There were no means of disturbing the
fishes, if at rest in or on the mud, and any that might be
caught would be such as were voluntarily moving about.
After a lapse of half an hour the net was removed, and
I found seventeen fish had been " gilled " — sunfish, cat-

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 51

fish, lazy suckers, and little minnows. The creek here is
shallow, and with a weed-choked bottom ; at this time
of the year, however, it is comparatively clear, as the
frost has long since wilted the nuphar, pontederia, sag-
ittaria, and nymphsea, until only blackened masses of
their rank summer-growth remained. Just where the
net was placed there was a different condition from that
obtaining in the immediate vicinity. It was a little ba-
sin, from four to five feet in depth, and fully three feet
deeper than the surrounding bed of the stream. This
deeper water was warmer than that in the shallower
places, and there was the added advantage of a constant
supply of fresh water from two lively springs which bub-
bled up with great energy, keeping the sand in a con-
stant whirl. About these springs the vegetation was
green, and appeared vigorous, if not really growing.
Here was a winter haunt of the fishes; the one that
first led me to study their winter life more closely than
heretofore ; and ever since I have found in just such
places a fair representation, during winter, of Poaet-
quissings' ichthyic fauna.

Indeed, I doubt if hibernation is so fixed a habit
with any creature as is supposed. That many animals
can strictly hibernate is unquestionable; that they al-
ways do is quite another matter. I am free to say that
I believe the element of regularity in this matter is
wholly wanting.

How quickly crows learn to know when the ice will
bear them ! Their keen eyes detect the first lacelike
tissue of frost over the creek, and the steady growth of

62 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

needle-like crystals from the shores outward. I have
even seen them play at " tickle-y benders," but with tlie
advantage over boys in that they can stay up always,
even if the ice goes down ; and later, when the creek is
frostbound from shore to shore, these birds enjoy wan-
dering over it fully as much as I do. They are ever on
the hunt for food, and during deep snows their ingenu-
ity fails them, and many starve to death. They appear
to have grown so over-cautious of late that, rather than
incur the merest ghost of possible danger, they will
suffer for food in the midst of plenty. Poor crows!
Really useful, and to the lover of nature an unfailing
source of interest, they have suffered so much and so
long that it would not be strange if they often won-
dered why, indeed, they were created. I have said they
are useful, and I stand by the unqualified assertion.
I admit their fondness for corn ; I know that they love
watermelons, and are excellent judges of them, always
pecking a destructive hole in the choicest of the patch.
Wliat of it? The same crows have eaten grubs and
young mice for ten months, and have paid thereby bet-
ter prices for the corn and melons than ever farmer got
from any purchaser. Frighten the crows, if you will,
from the cornfields and melon-patches, but do not kill
them. This is not the whim of a crank, but the advice
of a farmer.

Poaetquissings is worthy of consideration in yet an-
other aspect, during and after a snow-storm. When
the creek is frozen, prior to a fall of snow, the outlook
is even better ; for the surface of the stream, particu-
larly near the river, is then a trackless expanse of glit-

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 68

tering white that is tempting to the lover of a winter
walk. The crooked elms and bending birches, droop-
ing beneath burdens of snow-lined branches, hem in on
either side the hidden stream, and nothing that vent-
ures abroad can well escape our notice. But what does
venture abroad ? A few winter birds, of course, and it
well repays one to watch such when the ground is cov-
ered with a foot of snow. The nuthatches are probably
the most prominent bird-feature of the tall trees. These,
with the brown tree-creeper, scatter the snow from the
rough bark, and, peeping beneath the upturned edges
of semi-detached pieces, find food, and chatter about it
almost incessantly. During such snowy days great
flocks of cedar-birds settle on the tall trees near Poaet-
quissings, and add an attractive feature to the scene.
They are called chatterers by some, but they make lit-
tle noise, and only when they take flight do they call
attention to themselves by the lisping twitter that they
utter as they start. But if the woods appear compara-
tively deserted after a deep snow, it does not follow that
they are really so. During a recent ramble, I purposely
left the monotonous surface of the creek, and clambered
about the bushes that clustered between the trees upon
the creek bank. Looking up into the branches of every
tree as I passed it, I soon spied something worth miles
of walking to catch a sight of. On a thrifty maple, sit-
ting close to the main stem of the tree, sat a great gray
owl, the largest of all our birds of this family. I stood
and stared ■ he sat and blinked ; and then, roused by
ray demonstrations of attack, the great bird spread his
wings, and, without a trace of sound, sailed majestically

54 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

across the creek and over the meadows. Before, tlie
meadows were comparatively deserted, bnt not now.
From every bush there came a sparrow, winter-wren,
nuthatch, or kinglet, and, giving chase, screamed as they
followed in the wake of the great gray owl. Would
they pursue it closely ? I think not ; but each must en-
ter a protest that this supposed enemy should so boldly
appear among them. I could not follow this owl, he
flew so far; but, later in the day, I found him again.
A family of jays, blue as the sky above them, and rest-
less as the feathery clouds that scudded by, had stum-
bled upon him as he sat in a dense cedar, and forthwith
they sought to dislodge him by ceaseless jabbering. In
this they failed, but their clamor drew hither the crows
of the neighborhood, and all the small fry whose curios-
ity was greater than their fear. Such a din from asso-
ciated birds I have seldom heard, and yet, probably, not
one in a dozen knew why it was there, or why it was
making such a noise. I climbed part way up the cedar,
to scare the owl. It flew as I approached, and the noisy
jays, I noticed, were straightway mum, and soon sneaked
away. The little birds, as before, followed a short dis-
tance, scolding this unwelcome visitor, but never vent-
uring very near. This is the third specimen of these
great owls I have seen in New Jersey.

While it is clear, therefore, that Poaetquissings has
bird-life enough to render it attractive even in midwin-
ter, such is not its only charm. Southward from the old
floodgates the creek has but a short reach of meadow to
pass through before it joins the river. This short course,
however, has many merits, prominent among which is

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 55

tlie fringe of maples that, in single file, stand guard
upon the banks of the stream. How beautifully, be-
tween these opposite rows of great maples, Poaetquis-
sings at one time glided into the river! how prosa-
ically now ! A little more than half a century ago the
creek had an ample flow of clear, evenly mpving water,
and passed its boundaries with becoming grace. Now,
confined to an unsightly wooden trough, and that, too,
beneath the bank of a canal, it sobs as it seeks its proper
home through this dark passage.

The necessities of man are innumerable and inexora-
ble, but who cannot regret that they ever necessitate the
blotting out forever of the choicest bits of scenery.
Think of the transition from the maple-guarded banks
of a clear stream, a hundred yards in breadth, to a
cramped wooden trough sunk in the mud. This eye-
sore passed, the canal crossed, and it, with all its un-
welcome accessories, behind our backs, and we sight the
Delaware, here more than half a mile wide, within the
limits of tide-water, and deep enough for craft of con-
siderable tonnage.

Unless cursed or blessed, as one chances to view it,
with an open winter, the Delaware, in mid-winter, is an
arctic - looking, desolate place, indeed. Often have I
seen it, choked with great masses of ice piled up on
edge, and so inextricably jammed that the boundaries
of no one mass were clearly distinguishable. Here and
there, in the wide expanse of ice-masses, shows a blue
line that marks a brief space where the water reaches
the surface, and in it, it may be, that a seal, with head
well up, may be seen swimming. A volume might be

56 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

written on the fauna of a frozen river. Every winter it
happens that the river, sooner or later, becomes, first,
dotted with cakes of floating ice. These, in part, be-
come stranded along the shore and over the sand-bars.
Once fast, they check the progress of other masses, un-
til, finally, the open water is reduced to a narrow stream
that threads its chilly way through a glittering expanse
of tilted, jagged, towering, toppling ice-cakes.

To wander over such a surface is necessarily too dan-
gerous to warrant venturing over deep water; but it
sometimes happens that nooks and crannies near shore
may be reached, wherefrom, in safety, a broad expanse
of the river may be viewed ; and there is little proba-
bility that such a ramble will prove profitless.

I once stood behind a tilted cake of ice to avoid a cut-
ting east wind, and into the little pool in front a long
line of beautiful "squaw" ducks came with a rush, and
rested upon the water so lightly as scarcely to cause a
ripple. A slight movement on my part startled them,
and, with a grace aud rapidity of movement unequalled
by any grebe, they dived. To this day I am puzzled to
know what became of them. I waited long for them to
reappear, but in vain. An under-ice passage to the
nearest open water could scarcely have been found, and
yet I am loath to believe they were drowned.

It is when the river is thus choked with ice that the
sharp eyes of some hunter, every winter, finds one or
more seals in the river. I have never been so fortunate
as to discover the first seal of the season ; but have had
to take my chances of a subsequent view, when the creat-

POAETQUISSTNGS IN WINTER. 57

tire was being hunted by an army of idlers, armed with
every conceivable weapon, from a Queen Anne musket
to a hickory club.

Within historic times, seals do not appear to have
ever been abundant, and yet every one who has occa-
sion to be much about the water in winter has either
seen or heard of them. In going over my note-books I
find I have recorded in them the occurrence of seals at
Trenton, which is at the head of tide- water, in Decem-
ber, 1861 ; January, 1864; December, 1866 ; February,
1870; and December, 1877. If the newspapers did not
report the same seal more than once, there were five
taken in the river in the winter of 1878-79 ; and they
were more than usually abundant in the other rivers of
the state and along the coast.

My impression is that during very cold winters they
are really much more abundant in the Delaware than is
supposed. Considering how small a chance there is of
their being seen when the river is choked with ice, I am
disposed to believe that an occasional pair or more come
up the river, even as high as Trenton, nearly one hun-
dred and fifty miles from the capes, every winter.

On examination of old local histories I find reference
to the seals as not uncommon along our coasts, and as
frequently wandering far up the rivers.

As the capture of a seal is usually noised abroad, I
have examined with some care the files of local news-
papers, for a period of fifty years, and not without some
rather interesting results. I have found no notice earlier
than November 20 or later than March 25, so it is fair-
ly safe to conclude that in the five months from Oc-

3*

68 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

tober to April seals are to be found in the Delaware,
when found at all. The additional fact gathered is,' that
during the past fifty years seals have been seen or capt-
ured every year, in the state, and in thirty-two years of
the half century one to ten have been taken in the Del-
aware River.

In the memorable winter of 1836, when the snow was
fully four feet in depth, on a level, there were seven
harpooned in the river, between Trenton and Borden-
town, a reach of but five miles ; and two were found to
have wandered up Crosswicks Creek to where that
stream makes a sudden bend at the base of the bluff,
and there, in a deep hole, they thrived admirably on the
bountiful supply of chubs and suckers that the deep
water contained. These two seals were seen by many
people, and various attempts to capture them alive were
made; but I cannot discover that they were ever taken.
Local gossip does not mention this fact, and there are
several old hunters still living who would probably have
heard of it, had some one been lucky enough to catch
or kill them.

Although this occurrence of seals was beyond the
boundary by a mile or more, and the circumstances were
very unusual in every respect, still I think it but fair to
claim that the animal is to be included in the fauna of
my farm. Indeed, were it not that they are shut off by
a high canal bank, it is probable that whenever a winter
freshet occurred these animals would appear on the
meadows; but I am pained to admit I have never seen
one there.

It must be confessed that the stray seal, as it appears

POAETQUISSINGS IN WINTER. 59

in the river, is not an interesting object. Possiblj,
aware that to be seen is to be persecuted, it keeps out
of sight as much as possible, and it has puzzled me to
know how the animal was recognized. I have never
seen them clamber up on the firm ice, or show an inch
more of their bodies than their round heads, that bobbed
about like cocoanuts, and then were gone for a long
time. Possibly the old fishermen that linger about the
river, long after any chance for fishing has gone by, con-
stantly bear in mind the possibility of their finding a
seal, and so report every seal -like object to be one.
In such a case, if there does happen to be one about, it
is pretty sure to be recognized, reported, persecuted, and
killed.

Other mammals also wander into and over the frozen
river, and it is no unlikely occurrence to meet with ot-
ters, musk-rats, minks, and even meadow-mice, that have
wandered far from the river shore and seem bent on some
important errand. Of course, the presence of the otter is
readily explained, for there is often a vast number of
fishes in the patches of open water, upon which the ani-
mals feed. The same may be said of the mink ; but
why mice should undertake to cross the river on the ice
is by no means clear; unless it be the peculiar disposi-
tion of these creatures to migrate in bodies, from one
spot to another.

It is when the river is frozen that, in all probability,
grebes will be seen swimming on and diving into the pools
that dot the frozen surface of the stream. Would these
birds be content to act with some deliberation, it would

60 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

be a pleasure to observe them ; but, as it is, they aggra-
vate rather than entertain. You say to yourself, there
is a grebe ; but before the assertion is finished, the bird
is not there, and you stand with a vague impression that
you did see something, but cannot be sure. Between
winks, it reappears, and your doubt is redoubled, for
now you cannot be sure that it ever disappeared. This
feathered uncertainty I was accustomed to call a crested
grebe, but it now proves that I was mistaken. On the
contrary, there are two, not one, and neither is crested.
One is the red-necked grebe, the other the eared diver.
This is a pleasant mistake, whereby I have added a bird
to the previously large list found in this valley. Along
the sea-coast, and probably in the bay, these divers are
numerous from early autumn till spring ; but this does
not appear to be true of them as frequenting the river
at this point. I have seen none except when there was
an abundance of ice and snow ; yet, after all, why should
I be so positive ? A near neighbor, last summer, had a
pair of mocking-birds nesting in his garden, and I never
knew of it until long after they had gone south again.
I must often have heard them sing, and I must have
given to cat-birds and brown thrushes all the credit.

Such, in brief, are the suggestions of a walk in winter,
when the Delaware and Poaetquissings are alike ice-
bound; when, as yet, no trace of spring is to be found ;
when, for all that greets the eye, we might as well be
miles within the arctic circle, rather than hundreds of
leagues below it.

CHAPTER m.
'TWIXT COLD AND HEAT.

Typical spring is one of the lost arts : actual spring
is the mother of disappointments. Since the February
sun began rising more and more to the east, and edged
westward along the horizon in the afternoons, I have
been looking for some evidence of spring, with her re-
puted ethereal mildness ; and I have not found it. The
difference between March and December has not been
one of importance, even as regards temperature. In-
deed, December proved far the more springlike of
the two, and during its closing hours the frogs piped
merrily.

And all through March, that month of broken prom-
ises, I was lulled to sleep, time and again, by a gentle
south wind murmuring in the pines, and dreamed of
frogs croaking their satisfaction that there shall be no
more winter — for a season. I awoke, and only to find
the north wind roaring in those same pines, and the
fields snowclad.

Days of impatient waiting pass ; the thawing of the
snow is tardy ; but finally the fields are bare. Surely,
now, spring will come. It is near the twentieth day
and the well-thumbed almanac says that upon that day
spring commences. The sun crosses the line, but who,
except astronomers, would imagine anything unusual iu

63 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

that? Tlie mercury in the thermometer runs up and
down, with all the precision of a pendulum's side-wise
course. It is winter at night and, faintly, something else
at noon. The month comes and goes, at least this last
one came and went, with ice, snow, north winds, and all
the plagues of winter, yet it is said not to be that sea-
son, but something else. Just what, it would be hard
to say.

As some lifelong wanderer, returning to the scenes of
his childhood, expects to find green the grave of his
grandsire, but, instead, meets the gentleman, still hale
and hearty, although a centenarian, so now, after a
night-long ramble in the land of dreams, I awake, not
to find flowers covering the grave of winter, but his
frosty grimness still overshadowing the land.

If we have spring at all, it is limited to a brief part
of April, and is as little prominent as a season of the
year as is mortar between bricks or the thin layer of
cement between the dressed stones of the building.

Even limiting the mythical season to half a month,
what are the distinctive evidences of its arrival? It is
not, as we have seen, a matter of temperature. To be
doubly sure of this, I asked a practical farmer when he
thought the season had fairly set in. " When it's too
warm to smoke on the south side of the barn," he re-
plied, and here, I found, he sat, half the winter, to enjoy
his post-prandial pipe. I asked him again, about bloom-
ing flowers; and he told me of dandelions and green
grass that had amused him " by their pluck, seein' some-
times they were covered with snow."

Is spring the date of the reviving of hibernating

'TWIXT COLD AND HEAT. 63

animals ? If so, how is it that the January thaw rouses
even the most methodical of thera all, the jumping
mouse ? The fishes have been in the deep waters since
last November, and active too, as when you saw them
last, during an October ramble. A few have been lying
dormant, in the nmd, bnt their rousing from such
slumber may occur at any time, and so the significance
is wanting.

Is it the batrachians that, by their united chorus, pro-
claim the advent of spring? Then how explain their
full-voiced chorus on December 31 and on New Year's
Day?

As to the birds : it is not the fish-hawk, which did
not come on the 21st of March, this year ; nor yet the
kill-deer plovers, for sometimes they appear on the
meadows in February ; nor can we say that pee-wees
bring spring with them. They are sometimes at their
haunts of tiie past year as early as February 22, and
have been called " Washington birds ;" " cherry-tree
fly-catchers " would be better, for the cherry is a favor-
ite tree with them, particularly when its fruit attracts
the flies.

As long ago as 1799, Dr. Benjamin S. Barton, of
Philadelphia, wrote of our spring birds as follows:
" Although, in Pennsylvania, and many other parts of
the United States, the arrival of our birds does not ap-
pear to be as uniform as it is in many of the countries
of the Old World ; the arrival of several species is,
nevertheless, so regular, that it may be considered as
the signal for commencing certain agricultural opera-
tions. Thus, the Muscicapa fusca, which we call Pewe,

M UPLAND AND MEADOW.

is one of the earliest spring birds of passage, visiting
the neighborhood of Philadelphia about the middle of
March. We have seldom hard frosts after the arrival
of this bird, which seems to give a pretty confident as-
surance to the farmer that he may very soon begin to
open the ground and plant."

Not so accommodating are the pee-wees of to-day.
They have a trick of coming even in February, and, if
there be sunshine, sing suggestively of early spring; but
I have never known their cheery j9ee loee to escape the
sad change to dreary Ah^ me! before the ethereal mild-
ness of the poet's spring proved a matter of fact. Tliere
lives no farmer now that holds the pee-wee either a
weather-prophet or a barometer.

I do not know how often the learned doctor was
about, in winter, to see, but I suspect tliat then, as now,
there were pee-wees beyond the city's limits at earlier
dates than he mentions; if not, there has been wrought
a curious change in their habits.

For years it has been a source of amusement to see
how promptly the early pee-wees accommodate them-
selves to that change to wintry conditions which is sure,
sooner or later, to follow their arrival. March frosts or
a snowstorm drives them from their perches on the leaf-
less branches to the roomy shelter of empty out-build-
ings, and here they find a suflficiency of food by hunting
the ever-present spiders and various forms of dormant
insect life.

Of course such a change brings them into conflict
with the quick-tempered Carolina wrens, and the battles
are both long and loud. The wrens scream their dis-

'TWIXT COLD AND HEAT. 65

pleasure, the iBly-catehers screech their indignation, and
neither appears to gain a decisive victory.

Nevertheless, to hear these birds for the first time
does suggest that winter draws to a close. The late
T. A. Conrad, the geologist, always dated spring in New
Jersey from the pee-wee's arrival, ignoring the fact that
often the bird's appearance was followed by a foot of
snow. Once, when fossil-hunting, away from home, the
notes of this bird fell unexpectedly upon his ear, and he
recorded his impressions as follows, on the spur of the
moment:

" Sweet promise of the sunny days,
Thy restless form is dear to me;
Though homely are thy plaintive lays,
Thy simple carol, brown pee- wee.

*' I see thee build thy rustic fort

Beneath the bridge's mouldering arch;
And joy to hear thy love's report
Above the boisterous breath of March.

** Thou comest from distant wood or bower
To scenes which smiled upon thy birth,
While trees are bare, and scarce a flower
Is scattered o'er the cold, moist earth.

•* While Spring is in her changeful moods.
And now unlocks the icy rill;
When in the hollows of the woods
The unsunned snow is lingering still,

** Thou living memory of the days

When I was young and gay like thee,
Thou lead'st me thro' the gathering haze
Back to the light of infancy.

W UPLAND AND MEADOW.

*' To morning hours when oft I trod
The spongy fields in search of thee,
When Draba starred the chilly sod
In a pale, tiny galaxy.

" Once, in a kindly winter day,
By Alabama's waters rude,
I saw thee on the mossy spray
That stretched in leafless solitude,

" Upon the steep bank's crumbling side.
Enriched with many a fossil shell;
And truly, 'twas with joy and pride
I saw thee in my precinct dwell :

" For then it lost its alien face.

And Fancy dwelt in home once more;
I seemed in early Spring's embrace.
Beside my far ancestral door.

"And when shall come the fatal night,
Amid my weakness, grief, and pain,
I would behold thy circling flight.
And die while listening to thy strain."

Of our migratory birds collectively, it may be said
that they come so near the first of May, when the foliage
is at least one third grown, that they really mark the
commencement of summer ; for, after all, what is sum-
mer but green leaves and torrid sunshine, both of which
are often as marked a feature of May as of any of the
four succeeding months. Of course, this remark does
not apply to the so-called " pioneer " birds, which, as
stragglers, sometimes appear a week or even two weeks
in advance of the main flight. Dr. Barton, in the essay
already quoted, referring to summer in May, remarks :
" It is an old observation in Pennsylvania, that when

'TWIXT COLD AND HEAT. 67

the whip-poor-will (Caprimulgus Yirginianus) arrives,
it is time to go bare-footed ; that is, the spring season
is pretty far advanced, and sufficiently warm to admit
of laying aside the use of shoes, without much incon-
venience. This adage originated in the days of greater
simplicity than the present (1T91). Some of our Indians
believe that this bird is a messenger sent to call their
attention to the planting of the ground. Accordingly,
upon the arrival of the whip-poor-will, they say to one
another, ' The wee-co-lis is come : it is planting-time ;'
and, while the bird is uttering the sound of whip-poor-
will, or wee-co-lis, they will repeat the word 'hackibeck,'
which is, ' plant the ground.' "

This holds good to-day. The whip-poor-will cannot, or
will not, accommodate itself to circumstances, and either
the weather must be warm or the bird tarries southward ;
and if, as is so apt to be the case, a cold rain-storm occurs
in May, these birds leave their haunts and return to
warmer quarters. At least, they disappear, and I can-
not believe, even temporarily, hibernate, as the writer
quoted considers as possible, but not actually demon-
strated.

Unfortunately the whip-poor-wills are comparatively
scarce, and the opportunity of closely observing them
does not offer. They, like their cousins the night-hawks,
have greatly decreased in numbers during the past half-
century.

Let us return and consider the scattered April flowers
that bloom on the beautiful north bank of Poaetquis-
sings. Under favorable circumstances, the delicate
flowers of the yellow corydalis, a cousin of the ear-

68 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

drop, that bloomed last month, will be apt to catch the
eye of the plant-hunter. If we do not mind a few
scratches from the gordian knots of smilax, a little hunt-
ing will discover another yellow blossom, the erythro-
nium; a gracefully nodding, lily-like flower, perched
upon a stem six inches high, which, in turn, springs from
between two mottled brown leaves, that are themselves
quite pretty. Yellow buttercups, too, are now ready to
be gathered ; and who does not love them for the recol-
lections they bring up of those irrecoverable days as full
of sunshine as are these flowers' golden chalices.

Again, a little closer search discloses the beautiful tri-
colored violet, often starring grassy spaces between the
larger trees, and crowding out even the grass that strug-
gles to maintain itself in the same places. It almost
causes the recollection of the past winter to vanish, to
be able to gather violets ; and resting at the foot of a
tall tree, basking in noontide sunshine, and holding a
nosegay of these pretty flowers, one can almost say,
" Spring has come ;" but when we reach the top of the
blnfP, and a breath of searching north wind whistles in
our ears, we laugh at such a thought as a childish fancy,
and resign ourselves to further waiting for the departure
of winter.

But the botanist cannot rest here. There is early
saxifrage, with its large cluster of white flowers on a
scape high above the dead leaves of the overarching
trees, and its hairy spatulate leaves at the base of the
stem. Blood-root, too, with its single white flower, will
not escape notice ; and better than all, as we venture
out upon the meadow, are the beautiful " Quaker girls."

'TWIXT COLD AND HEAT. 69

Conrad, whose verses on the pee-wee have been quoted,
calls them " beloved Houstonias " in his " Wissahickon
in April," and, referring to this very bank and meadow
of Poaetquissings, writes :

" In other scenes,
O'er starry meads they court the sun and gather
In loving groups, robed by the breath of Spring
In azure-tinted mantles — they so pure,
So exquisitely simple in attire.
Merit the endearing name of 'Quaker Girls' —
On tearful April's bosom none more lovely ;
None whose fair multitudinous crowds recall
More vividly the idols of our youth.
When our free hearts exultantly went forth,
Beating beneath the touch of April joys.
Born of the illimitable blue and fanned
By zephyrs dallying with Viola's breath,
And rioting in the freedom of the hours.
When the song sparrow's airy notes are blending
With the Eolian music of the pines."

And the end is not yet. In the same ramble that has
disclosed all that have been named there may also be
gathered bright yellow blossoms of the marsh mari-
gold; purple-red bloom of the spotted geranium; jack-
in-the-pulpit, grape hyacinth, with flowers as blue as the
cloudless sky above them ; Jacob's ladder, and daffodils.
Are you not satisfied with these, oh ! lover of plants?
Then wander still farther, and if the month be well ad-
vanced, you may chance upon rue anemone and wind-
flowers; and although

"climbing columbines
In niches of the tall, precipitous rocks,
Reserve their banners for victorious May,"

it may chance to be your fortune to find them blowing

70 UPLAND AND MEADOW,

now, and the same may be said of the bellworts and
Solomon's seal. In one nook, sheltered by cedars and
a noble beech, there is also to be found, more beautiful
than all, a roseate bush of blooming azalea. Before its
leaves are grown, and a week or more in advance of its
kind elsewhere, this "wild honeysuckle" anticipates
May, and gives us a pleasant foretaste of the coming
month.

Nevertheless, April along Poaetquissings is not like
the April on the Wissahickon, only thirty miles away,
of which it has been written :

" Oh, Spring! how lovely is thy garlanded
And fresh young brow! how sweet thy varying voice 1
What a glad music rings in every note
Of love aerial ! Brilliant is thy green
New robe! and far along the rippling waters,
How breaks the blue into a myriad stars —
The glittering river, which is sprinkled o'er
With diamonds of the sun. Swift Progne bathes
In that blue radiance of reflected heaven
Her ardent breast a moment ere she speeds
In twittering joy on her aCrial course.
Here is an Eden for the young and gay,
For hearts unshadowed by the raven wing,
For the fresh, roseate cheeks Hygeia loves;
For the defiant laugli, the careless carol,
And the free tread of angel feet o'er flowers
As pure and bright as only childhood knows —
O'er moss-embowered trailing epigaea.
Clear as Diana's alabaster brow.
The gem of April's robe — sweet epigaeal
Thy purity is stamped upon my heart
In "angel whiteness," and thy odorate breath
Redeems the grossness of the earth and links
Our senses to the spirit world beyond!"

'TWIXT COLD AND HEAT. 71

Animal life, in April, must not be ignored. Many
creatures that have been comparatively inactive dnring
the winter are now gradually assuming their summer
restlessness. Among the countless hundreds of objects
worthy of the rambler's attention, perhaps none are so
beautiful and full of interest as the fairy shrimps that
throng the dark waters of an upland sink-hole. This
hollow in the field has a foot or more of water in it
from November to June, and during the past winter
it was frozen to the bottom until the 1st of April. A
hard time, therefore, thought I, have these fairy shrimps
had, with not a drop of water to move in ; but they are
not to be judged by the delicacy of their anatomy.
There was a soft spot in the mud, somewhere, and when,
later in the month, I waded between cakes of ice, and
looked long into the depths of this upland pool, finally
I found the fairies in abundance, a few well grown, but
mostly mere babies. They were earlier in '84. On
the 22d of the month I gathered a great many, and all
fully grown.

To describe them is impracticable. They are lilipu-
tian lobsters, pearly white, picked with crimson ; and
with eleven pairs of feathery legs that move with the
perfection of grace. They swim upon their backs, and
the movement of these legs or paddles is the very poetry
of motion. While the water remains cool, they will
dart, float, and ramble among the dead twigs and leaves
in the bottom of the pool, but disappear promptly, after
a few hot days, or more gradually, as the waters soak
away, if the weather is cool. Dr. Packard says of them :
'jAt Seekonk, Mass., they occurred abundantly May 2,

78 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

in a large pond which completely dried up in summer ;
. . . when I visited the pond . . . May 13, none were to
be found. It seems from this quite evident that the
animal probably dies off at the approach of warm
weather and does not reappear until after cool weather
sets in late in the autumn, being represented in the sum-
mer by the eggs alone; and thus the appearance and
disappearance of this Phyllopod is apparently deter-
mined mainly by the temperature."

Bearing this in mind, I took several lumps of the
dried mud, last summer, and placed them in ice-water,
hoping to have the eggs, if there were any, hatch, and
80 puzzle the doctor with midsummer specimens, but
the plan did not work. Either I got no eggs with the
mud, or the water was too cold ; at any rate, my plan
was a failure, and, as it was intended to be a joke, de-
served no better fate. Returning to pure science, I
waded the waters of that upland pond faithfully until
it froze. I could find no specimens. Even in March
of '84 there were none to be seen ; and this year,
'85, they were apparently but a few days old, as late
as April 1.

In an aquarium they are very beautiful, but must be
kept by themselves. A dozen were placed in a small
tank containing mud-minnows and sunfish. The latter
ate the beautiful fairies as though they were an ordinary
article of their diet ; but the mud-minnows would not
touch them. Later, I placed innumerable minute leeches
in the same tank, and these the minnows greedily de-
voured, but the sunfish ignored them completely.

The fact that during the month of May nest-building

'TWIXT COLD AND HEAT. 78

is at its height, makes it a busy and instructive time for
the practical naturalist.

Birds when nesting, more than at any other time,
sliow what they really are, intellectually. If one is
lazy, stupid, or disabled in any manner, the fact will then
become patent, and leads, at times, to divorce among
mated birds. Among catbirds, wrens, and orioles I have
known quarrels to occur, arising from such causes as I
have mentioned, and which led to permanent separation,
abandonment of half-constructed nests, and even a full
complement of eggs.

Having met, in the summer of '84, with many in-
stances wherein birds have shown considerable ingenuity
in overcoming tlie ill-results of accidents to their nests,
such as often arise during violent storms, I determined
to test their intellectual powers generally, by a series of
simple experiments, hoping thereby to be able to deter-
mine to what extent birds exercise their reasoning facul-
ties.

My experiments, and the inferences I drew, are as fol-
lows : Noting the material being gathered for the partly
constructed nest of a chipping-sparrow, I placed a small
quantity of the same in a conspicuous position near by.
It was seen by the sparrows, and examined, but none
was removed. I placed a portion of it upon the margin
of the unfinished nest : it was promptly removed by the
male bird, who used only such materials as were brought
to him by his mate. The following day the task of
lining the nest with hair was commenced. I placed a
quantity of this material on a branch near by, but it
was passed unnoticed. I next placed a few hairs on the

4

74 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

margin of the nest: these were promptly removed. Ou
replacing many of these in the nest, the entire lining
was thrown out. I replaced it, and the nest was aban-
doned.

A week later, finding another nest with three eggs, I
added a few white cat-hairs to the lining : these were
removed. Others of dark colors were added : they, also,
were removed. I replaced both dark and white hairs :
the eggs were broken, and the nest abandoned.

Did the sense of smell, in this case, lead them to sus-
pect that a cat was prowling about? Birds are not al-
ways, perhaps not usually, disturbed by the chance oc-
currence of a foreign object in their nest. Stray
feathers, bits of thread, a piece of paper, any such ob-
jects carried by the wind may settle upon a nest, and
will simply be pushed aside. In this case, it would
seem that the hair was recognized as something not so
likely to be carried by a passing breeze, and only the
near proximity of the cat could explain its presence,
therefore danger threatened them. Have we not here
a complicated process of reasoning and a logical conclu-
sion drawn by these birds ?

Four eggs found in a third nest were removed with-
out touching the nest, a wooden spoon whittled for the
purpose being used. In three days the female com-
menced laying again : four days later three eggs had
been laid. I replaced the four I had removed : they
were promptly thrown out. I then removed the nest,
and, substituting another, carefully replaced the eggs
without handling them. After what appeared to be a
serious consultation, the new nest was accepted. These

'TWIXT COLD AND HEAT. 75

birds suffered no further annoyance, and reared their
brood without mishap.

Why should not these sparrows, iq^ the first two in-
stances, have utilized the material for their nest which
I offered, rather than gather similar stuff from distant
points? They could not have been frightened by any
odor attached to the material through my handling, as
I was careful not to touch a particle of it, using a pair
of wooden tweezers in every case. Neither did they see
me carrying anything to or from their nests. As these,
in all cases, were nearly or quite completed, the birds
had necessarily become thoroughly familiar with the
surroundings, and doubtless recognized the fact that
these offered twigs and the hair were brought by unusual
agencies to the spot, thus arousing suspicion, as I have
pointed out. When a nest not of their building was
substituted for their own, the sparrows were sorely per-
plexed and exhibited fear, and only after a strong men-
tal effort — of itself a telling evidence of intelligence —
the maternal instinct overcame the timidity of the fe-
male, and she resolved to brave the danger or solve the
mystery, and cared for her eggs as usual. The male
bird kept aloof for several days, I think ; but of this I
am not positive. These several incidents, collectively
considered, clearly demonstrate that this social sparrow,
which under other circumstances is so tame and unsus-
picious, when nesting is wisely cautious, never acting
without due consideration of the probable results.

But it is not every bird that is so particular as to the
origin or location of suitable nesting materials. Only
a few days ago I found a pair of English sparrows and

76 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

mated Carolina wrens building within ten paces of each
other. Both nests were but just begun, and anticipating
a row before many days, I was consequently constantly
on hand. To precipitate it, I placed a tempting roll of
threads and carpet ravellings in a conspicuous position,
and lingered near until they were discovered by the
birds. As luck would have it, the sparrow and the
wren spied the mass at the same moment, and both,
with hawk-like rapidity, darted at it. They met. " The
deuce!" chirped the sparrow. "Who's afraid?" twit-
tered the wren ; and there they sat, facing each other.
But sitting still is not an accomplishment of the wren
family, and this one thrust his beak into the mass to
carry it o£E. "No you don't," ejaculated the sparrow,
and he put his foot in it, in both senses of the phrase.
The interference was too much for the wren, and he
" went for" that sparrow. Head over heels through the
air and over the ground went these angry birds, and
their noise called out the other birds, who had been
waiting for more nest-building materials. These new-
comers took matters very philosophically. The sparrow
followed her mate, to see which would whip ; the wren,
with full faith in her husband's prowess, glanced about
for nesting-stuffs, and, spying the " bone of contention,"
lifted it up, although as large as herself, and bore it off
to her home.

Tired of fighting, or having agreed to compromise,
the combatants separated, and shortly returned to the
wood-pile, where the coveted materials had been lying.
Were they going to divide it? They hopped to the
very spot, and lo ! it was gone. I imagined those birds

'TWIXT COLD AND HEAT. 77

looked foolish. The sparrow twittered to its mate that
it was only fun between them ; the wren whistled
" mighty queer," and departed.

Another series of experiments were as follows: find-
ing a nest of the summer warbler in a low alder, the
foliage of which was about one third grown, I girdled
the supporting growths a few inches below the nest.
The leaf-buds withered, and the nest, which under or-
dinary circumstances would have been quite concealed
from view by the full-grown leaves, was now exposed.
The nest was abandoned.

The next girdling experiment was made on the nest
of a white-eyed vireo found attached to a low limb of
a small beech. The leaves quickly shrivelled, and the
nest, although just finished, was abandoned.

A second experiment of the same sort was tried, with
identical result.

A nest of the summer warbler was found in a low
shrub, containing young birds, and the supporting
branches were girdled. The leaves witliered and fell,
exposing the nest to full view. The parent birds re-
mained and successfully reared their brood.

In these cases we have evidence of mental operations
of a more complicated character than any exhibited by
the sparrows. It is evident that, in every case, these
birds, in selecting the position for their nests, knew that
the growth of the foliage would afford a desirable, if
not necessary, protection. Finding that the growth of
the foliage had been checked, that the little shelter at
first afforded was daily growing less, they foresaw that
the nests, under these circumstances, would be too much

78 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

exposed to be safe from molestation, and they were
abandoned, even after a full complement of eggs had
been laid. Can we explain this bj any other means
than by using that very suggestive term "foresight"?
But mark : when the same circumstance occurred after
the yonng had appeared, the claims of the brood upon
the parents were too strong to be overcome, and the
danger of occupying an exposed nest was deliberately
braved.

Other pairs of nesting birds were experimented upon
that I might determine their intellectual status; first,
by placing a nearly life-size chrotno of a cat near the
nest, when unoccupied, and watching the result. This
depended much upon the character of the bird, whether
naturally timid or brave. When a song-sparrow found
itself stared at by the cat, it rushed precipitately from
the nest and did not return until the picture had been
removed. When the chromo was left for several hours
near a nest, it was permanently abandoned. In no case
did these birds offer to attack the animal, or express
alarm, and so call other birds to their aid. It was other-
wise with thrushes. I placed the same picture near
nests of catbirds, song-thrushes, and the brown thrush.
Immediately a cry of alarm was uttered that brought
birds of the same and allied species to the rescue, and
the excitement steadily increased, as it was found that
no amount of scolding caused the intruding cat to retire.
It was particularly amusing to see their puzzled expres-
sions when they chanced behind the picture. Then, of
course, there was nothing to frighten, and they were
proportionately bold. In one instance a catbird, com-

'TWIXT COLD AND HEAT. 79

ing from behind, alighted upon the top of the picture,
notwithstanding the warnings of the other birds. Chanc-
ing to look down, it saw the cat, and with a scream gave
a double backward somersault and left. This, however,
seemed to open the eyes of the other birds, and they
gradually became accustomed to its presence, as though
they believed the animal to be dead. In no cases were
the nests abandoned.

"When the same chromo, although now rather dilapi-
dated, was placed near a wren box, the occupants took
matters very coolly, and after finding the cat showed no
disposition to leave, determined to drive it off. With
impetuous fury they assaulted it, and struck it about the
ears and eyes several times. Of course, this experience
soon told the quick-witted wrens that the cat was harm-
less, if a cat at all, and they paid no further attention to
it. I found this to be true of both Carolina and com-
mon house wrens, in every case. Taking the battered
picture to the muddy meadows, the marsh-wrens merely
glanced at it, as they would at any unusual object, and
passed by. They, at least, are not troubled by cats in
the marshes.

A small mirror placed near a nest produced conflict-
ing emotions. The bird was usually indisposed to leave
her nest, and yet was much annoyed by the apparent in-
truder, I do not think in any case the bird learned to
recognize it as but a very vivid shadow of itself. Spar-
rows and warblers were rendered timid, and expressed
their alarm so frequently as to keep their mates near
by, but in no instance was the supposed intruder as-
saulted. As I expected, the case was very different

80 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

when wrens were tested. These immediately became
very angry, and finally, an over -excited house -wren
pitched headlong at the supposed interloper, with the
doubly fatal result of killing itself and breaking the
glass. Subsequently, taking a larger glass, that was
thick enough to withstand ordinary attacks by wrens or
larger birds, I placed it on the ground, and soon found
that it was supposed to be water. Chickens tried in
vain to drink, as did small wild birds ; and none seemed
to be surprised at seeing their own reflections. It would
seem, from this, that such reflection in water is a com-
mon occurrence, and they gave it no thought, but recog-
nized a difference when they found the glass in a per-
pendicular position, near their nests. Did they realize
that in this latter instance it could not be water? If so,
birds have gotten so far as to have some knowledge of
physics; which, after all, is not much to be wondered
at, when they are, all of them, excellent mechanics.

Experiments of another character were as follows : I
placed a series of short pieces of woollen yarn, fastened
together at one end, near the tree containing a partly
constructed nest of a Baltimore oriole. These yarns
were red, yellow, purple, green, and gray. An equal
number of strands of each color were thus offered to the
orioles as building-materials. I purposely placed the
red and yellow strands on the outside of the tassel-shaped
mass, so that these would be first taken, if the color was
not objectionable. To my complete surprise, the gray
strands only were taken, until the nest was nearly fin-
ished, when a few of the purple and blue yarns were
used. Not a red, yellow, or green strand was disturbed.

'TWIXT COLD AND HEAT. 81

Here we have an instance of the exercise of choice, on
the part of a bird, which is full of interest. The wool-
len threads being otherwise identical, it was the color
only that influenced the choice of the birds : they real-
ized that the red or yellow yarns would render the nest
conspicuous, although well protected by the foliage of
the branch to which it was attached. Why the green
threads were not taken I cannot imagine. As a result
of this experiment, I anticipated that the orioles would
reserve the brightly colored yarns for the lining of the
nest, and the gray and green for the exterior. This was
a result obtained two years ago, when I tried a similar
experiment ; but the use of red yarn as a lining may
have been merely accidental.

Out of mere curiosity, for I could not anticipate what
might be the result, I made a few transfers of the eggs
of one species into the nest of another bird. The results
were not, however, particularly suggestive. I placed
the eggs of a catbird in the nest of a song thrush, and
vice versa. The eggs of the former are dark green ; of
the latter, light blue. No act indicative of recognition
of the change was observed. I placed eggs of the song
sparrow in the nest of a pee-wee, and vice versa. The
fly-catchers rejected the eggs of the sparrow; but the
latter accepted the situation, although disturbed by
it. Many other changes were made, with similar results ;
and I concluded that, unless the eggs were greatly dif-
ferent in size and color, about one half would be ac-
cepted ; but when a single eg^ was placed in the nest
of another bird, it was destroyed in nearly every case.
This I found to be true, even when I tested such birds

4*

82 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

as are subjected to the annoyance of the cowpen bird's
egg being deposited in their nests. I was surprised at
this result, and am led to believe that large numbers of
the eggs of this bird are destroyed. It is well-known
that our summer warbler frequently outwits the cowpen
bird by building a new nest directly above the old — a
two-story nest, in fact — leaving the egg that has been
left to her care to rot in the basement, while she rears
her young on the floor above. It will be seen that from
these experiments no very positive results were obtained.
I did note, however, that, where the change was accept-
ed, it was not because it passed unnoticed, but was sub-
mitted to, notwithstanding the evidences of much mis-
giving on the part of the birds. In one case, the nest
was practically deserted for twenty-four hours, and the
eggs were chilled in consequence. The birds sat upon
them for five days, when, as they did not hatch, the
nest was abandoned. In previous years I have made
these changes occasionally with success, but was not
able to determine that the young were recognized as
not the offspring of the attendant birds. In such cases
the young were tended with the usual care up to the
time for leaving the nest. This may possibly be indica-
tive of stupidity. It appeared so to me at the time;
but I am now disposed to see in it an indication that
the maternal instincts here, as in other cases I have men-
tioned, overcame all other feelings, and that the fact
was accepted by the birds with as good grace as they
could command.

The co-operation of birds, when constructing their
nests, is a subject that demands a good deal of close at-

'TWIXT COLD AND HEAT. 88

tention, and is one surely worthy of more systematic
observation than has as yet been given it. The many
ways in which birds assist each other in nest-building
offer, perhaps, the clearest evidence that they have a
very intelligent notion of what they are doing, or pro-
pose to do. I feel warranted at the outset in making the
somewhat startling assertion that the choice of location
for a nest is made only after protracted joint examina-
tion of suitable sites, and is the choice of both birds. I
doubt if it ever happens that one of a pair of birds
"gives in " to its mate. Certainly, such a thing as ma-
dam giving in to her lord is unknown in the bird-world.
My impression is, that the female birds of every species
are exacting, obstinate, and tyrannical. I have seen
marked instances of this among house-wrens, pee-wees,
and even known a cooing turtle-dove to exhibit unmis-
takable evidences of a quick temper. These may seem to
be trivial matters, and not within the range of the scien-
tific study of animal intelligence ; but it is an error to
look upon such proofs of individuality in this light;
they are among the most convincing evidences of a high
degree of intelligence.

So much for quiet studies during May ; but it is not
a month that suggests a minimum of physical exertion,
and often the days are too beautiful to make a roof de-
sirable. One longs not only to be out, but active, ar.d
then to go a-birds'-nesting is the very acme of a natural-
ist's enjoyment. Not to gather eggs or even frighten
the birds do we go, but simply to see how many can be
found nesting, and, better, to find some that had not
been found in previous years. This, at least in my

84 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

tree-climbing days, was the height of my ambition ; it
was a red-letter day when I could add a new bird to the
list. And how often, when on such excursions, would
inaccessible nests be found. How often have I vainly
attempted to climb some neighboring tree, that I might
look down upon the contents of a nest far out of reach.
It was a satisfaction to verify the statements made in the
books, although there was no reason to doubt them. At
such a time one longs for the surely coming days of aerial
locomotion, although it will be a sorry time for many a
timid fly-catcher, now living in remote tree-tops, when,
with a balloon in one hand, we can sail above the topmost
branches and inspect the contents of what now are usu-
ally inaccessible nests. The sight of such nests and a
glimpse of the builders is really all that one needs ; to
shoot the birds that they may be identified is an abomi-
nation ; but it takes years often to overcome the mania
for tree-top scrambles. Every naturalist must at least
risk life and limb once in his time, although others have
done so suflBciently often to settle every important point
in North American oology. Happily one desperate ad-
venture sometimes cures — as it did me.

A few years ago, in one of the big elms at the " bend "
in Poaetquissings, far out over the water, was the nest
of a yellow-throated vireo. I contemplated that nest
for half a day. I dreamed of it that night. Have it I
must, and, telling no one — another proof of insanity — I
went alone to the quiet corner of the creek. To reach
the nest I must not only climb the tree to a considerable
height, but must then creep along an overarching limb,
with no supporting branches near. Once tliere, the

TWIXT COLD AND HEAT. 85

creek only would be beneath me, except a single outreacli-
ing branch of a large raaple that stood opposite the elm.
If I fell, this might catch me ; if not, a plunge into the
creek, twenty or more feet below, was the only alterna-
tive. Foolhardy as it was, I resolved to try, and up that
elm I clambered, with, I must admit, mixed feelings of
determination and doubt. The upward climb alone was
easily accomplished, but that outward creep — ah! it
makes me shudder to recall it. Needing all the grasp-
ing power I possessed, I took o£E my shoes, and found
that bared feet were far more available as claspers than
one might suppose. So effectively did they cling to the
rough bark that I was forcibly and favorably impressed
with the derivative theory of man's descent from an ar-
boreal, simian ancestry. The outward creep was com-
menced, and a yard brought me fairly over the black,
deep water. I dared not look at it, but keeping my
eye steadily fixed upon the nest, slowly crept forward.
I was my length from the base of the limb, and over
the middle of the creek. A half length was yet to be
accomplished and I was within reach of the nest. Care-
fully I moved forward yet a little farther, and trem-
blingly put out my right hand and took up an egg. I
placed it in my mouth ; then another was secured, and
now I was content to withdraw — but how? I tried
creeping backward, but it was not practicable. My
clothes caught in the bark and held me fast. I must
go forward or drop ; but the former was, of course, im-
possible. Must I drop, then, into the water? At this
moment the birds returned, or, if hitherto silent specta-
tors, were now emboldened to attack me. That they

86 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

recognized my utter helplessness I do not doubt. The
little feathered furies dashed at my face with wonderful
vehemence, snapping their beaks viciously in my very
ears. I feared for the safety of my eyes. I was forced
to continually move my head from side to side to avoid
them, and finally, in so doing, relaxed ray grasp so far as
to slip from the upper to the under side. Here was a
dilemma I had not foreseen. Hitherto my weight was
equally distributed along the limb of the tree, and the
necessity for exertion at a minimum ; now I was forced
■ to cling by my arms and legs crossed over the branch,
and to remain in such a position long was impossible.
There seemed no alternative but to let go and drop into
the creek. I was in utter despair, and then, it seems,
the brain puts forth its best efforts. I suddenly thought
of the maple branch beneath. Could I reach it with
my feet ? A downward glance showed me that I might,
but how the deep waters sparkled with glee at the prob-
ability of receiving me! Could I not baffle them?
Grasping, with all the energy of despair, the elm bough
with my hands alone, I let my feet drop, and they both
pressed the branch. What a relief ! But, alas ! the
maple bough could not sustain the pressure without
some yielding, and I was swung between the two, with
a firm hold upon neither. There was but one way to
proceed. I could not regain the elm — I must trust
wholly to the maple. Even when one has but a single
chance he often hesitates, hoping, like a fool, for impos-
sible aid. In spite of the strain, I faltered, as though I
had full faith in Campanius' statement that the creek
below me was really "provided with everything that

'TWIXT COLD AND HEAT. 87

man can desire," and so would provide me a comforta-
ble means of getting to the ground. But very soon my
arms rebelled and I was forced to relinquish my hold.
It was, to be sure, a matter of one chance in a hundred,
but, as it happened, proved a success. I fell forward
flatly upon the bough, and secured a firm hold, without
a scratch or bruise. Slowly I dragged myself forward
towards the trunk of the tree, and, once grasping it, was
so eager to feel tlie firm earth under me that I could
not take time to clamber down. I gave a jump, and
touched Mother Earth with a cry of joy. But the eggs
— alas ! I had swallowed them.

May, then, becomes a full month to the rambler.
What with animal life, then exhibiting its most striking
features, the vegetable world in the climax of its activity,
and archaeological researches then prosecuted to the best
advantage, time will not hang heavily on the hands of
him who loves a quiet stroll along the bluff that guards,
the woods that conceal, and the meadows that bound
Poaetquissings.

CHAPTER IV.
MARSH-WRENS.

In localities beyond the range of the average pedes-
trian, and unheeded by tlie boatmen, as they hurry by,
intent upon mere progress, and all unmindful of the
half-hidden beauties of reed-grown sliores, there lives,
in perfect content, a countless colony of little birds,
the very existence of which is known only to a few.
The little birds to whicii I refer are the marsh-wrens,
the long-billed and the short-billed species. They are
strictly aquatic birds, yet never get their feet wet, if
they can help it.

One of the charms of studying the habits of our birds
is the well-grounded hope that we may discover some
feature of their lives that has been overlooked ; but the
marsh-wrens do not vary from what has been written of
them. There is no variation from their .ordinary habits
— no wandering from the spots they are accustomed to
frequent. They live in reeds and rushes growing in
and about the water, and, except when migrating, do not
wander so far from their home as to have dry land be-
neath them. They hold in horror any approach to an
anhydrous condition of their habitat ; and along Cross-
wicks Creek and in the muddy meadow are as sure to be
over water as fishes are to be in it. Here, the reeds grow
with such rankness that no foe can follow them ; there-

MARSH-WRENS. 89

fore they are happy as they fitfully flit above the tall
weeds or clamber through them. To be appreciated,
these birds must be seen in just such spots as I have
named : neglected nooks, rankly overgrown, and daily
washed by the creeping tides — at times a widespread
lake, then a stretch of seething, slimy, bubbling mud.
I know not if it holds good elsewhere^ but as these wrens
have been observed along Crosswicks flats, I have never
seen one leave the reeds in which it was nesting and fly
half a dozen yards in any direction. They come to the
tops of the waving vegetation, twitter, and, closing their
wings, sink back into the cover. I have tried to drive
them from such clusters of weeds, but never succeeded.
They could be flushed easily, but never forced to leave
their chosen haunt. Wilson remarks of the long-billed
wren, it " arrives in Pennsylvania about the middle of
May, or as soon as the reeds and a species of nymphaea,
usually called splatter-docks, which grow in great luxu-
riance along the tide-water of our rivers, are sufiiciently
high to shelter it."

This brings up a very interesting feature of bird mi-
gration. These wrens arrive very irregularly, but in
accordance with the season. They require a given con-
dition of aquatic vegetation, and when that obtains these
birds appear in and about it. It is, indeed, scarcely to
be wondered that the crude idea of the hibernation of
birds should have arisen. It is apparently true of the
marsh- wrens, yet I believe they have escaped the charge.
In the past eleven years, the reeds and other water-plants
have been moderately grown as early as April 15, and
often not earlier than May 10, and these birds have

90 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

been found in abundance as early as the middle of April,
but sometimes not until nearly a month later. And
they come at once. Yesterday, not a wren was to be
seen or heard ; none were to be flushed, however care-
fully the search was made — to-day, their united voices
make the reedy growths of the riverside fairly to ring.
By what means could they know just when to come ?
Do they send out an advance guard to explore, return,
and make a report? This has been seriously suggested,
but is too much to believe of a bird's wit and wisdom.
It is more reasonable to ask, do they judge of the ad-
vance of vegetation in one river valley by the condition
of tliat in the next ? The reeds in the Chesapeake are
earlier than those of the Delaware ; the Potomac is
earlier than the Susquehanna ; very little, to be sure, but
still there is ordinarily an appreciable difference ; and
if the migratory birds do go upon such guess-work, they
appear never to make a blunder. The wrens come when
the reeds are ready, and as soon as they are ready.
Never a week too early or too late. The weather after-
wards, whether cold or hot, matters nothing. The birds
have but two needs, food and shelter ; and given these,
they will laugh at ice and snow, both of which have
caught them in the Jersey marshes. The reeds must be
killed outright by severe weather, under such circum-
stances, to drive the birds away, and I have known this
to happen but once. As a general thing, April ice and
May snow-storms do no serious damage, except to culti-
vated plants.

The careful collating of facts with reference to the
presence of the birds and condition of the weather after

MARSH-WRENS. 91

tlieir arrival, shows conclusively that temperature alone
has almost or quite nothing to do with a bird's move-
ments. I know of no one of our birds that cannp^t with-
stand a low temperature ; and were the food supply kept
up, whether it was hot or cold, the migratory birds in
New Jersey would become resident with scarcely an ex-
ception ; and when we come to compare the accounts of
our birds as recorded by Wilson, seventy years ago, and
the habits of these birds as they now are, it is remarkable
how variable are certain features which Wilson sets
down as governed by fixed rules.

Evidence of this is, of course, readily obtained by daily
observations made throughout the year, and continued
for years, in given localities. The results of a single
year will have but little bearing upon the regularity or
want of it in a bird's movements. The observations of
the same person in the same locality must extend over
at least a decade before it is safe to arrive at any general
conclusions. My own conviction, that summer birds can
withstand a winter climate, is based on the fact that I
have now a record of nearly thirty instances where sen-
sitive summer birds have been slightly injured, and, un-
able to undertake a migratory flight, have wisely not at-
tempted it, but seeking a sheltered nook for protection
against severe storms, have wandered about in search of
food in a thoroughly cheerful and contented manner;
even singing at times, with much of their springtime
earnestness. Such single birds wintering on my hill-
side were several cat -birds, a brown thrush, two in-
digo birds, several orchard and Baltimore orioles, a sum-
mer warbler, and a golden-crowned wagtail.

93 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

It is necessary to presume, of course, that Wilson was
correct in his statements to make my own conclusions
wortiiy of consideration ; but the later authors, Audu-
bon and Nuttall, follow so closely in their remarks upon
the same birds, it is not probable that any serious blun-
ders were committed. At present, the irregularities in
migration are most noticeable in autumn ; and one
potent fact that the return southward is then under
protest, is that the action of frost is very variable, and
sheltered nooks, of perhaps an acre or two, may escape
for several weeks, while the marshes elsewhere have
only wilted weeds to cover them ; and these sheltered
nooks are often so densely overcrowded with the birds,
and birds, too, of other species, that it is difficult to con-
ceive how they keep alive. This occurs, at times, among
the strictly upland birds, but much less frequently.
They, on the other hand, I suppose, often find food be-
coming less and less abundant, and leave before tiiere is
any apparent reason. I have known some of our birds,
notably thrushes, to quit a neighborhood directly after
nesting, or early in July, and not one again to be seen
until the following spring, when they returned, as usual,
and remained in abundance until there was not only
hoar-frost, but thin ice. Temperature and migration
are largely coincident, but cannot be considered as cause
and effect. Whether the bird is an insect eater or
granivorous, it matters not. The food, in either case,
has its allotted time of growth, and while this continues
the birds are sure of a supply, for premature frosts do
not affect either animal or vegetable life so far as to
cut off the food supply suddenly, and thus the bird has

MARSH-WRENS. 93

simply the inconvenience of a lower temperature to
contend against, if it really is an inconvenience. We
are too apt to measure the efiEects of frost by what is
seen in our gardens among cultivated vegetables and
flowers, which is no criterion whatever. The occurrence
of a drought — an irregularity in nature, from which it
has not yet evolved self-protection — is far more disas-
trous to the comfort of birds, and influences their move-
ments more than cool evenings, shortened days, and the
oarly frosts of autumn. The contemplative rambler, as
much as the farmer, has cause to dread a midsummer
drought.

Be it April or May, sooner or later, the marsh-wrens
will be with us, and their many curious habits are well
worthy of even closer study than they have as yet re-
ceived. Speaking now exclusively of the more abun-
dant species, the long-billed wren, it may be stated at
the outset that they are not shy, but have not that fear-
lessness characteristic of the upland species. Still they
will resent interference, sometimes, and express their dis-
pleasure with all that impetuosity so very generally dis-
played by the house-wrens of our dooryards. Let us
consider, now, two prominent features of this abundant
species, its song and its nest.

Wilson remarks of the notes of the long-billed marsh-
wren, " it would be mere burlesque to call tbem by the
name of song. Standing on the reedy borders of . . .
the Delaware, in the month of June, you hear a low,
crackling sound, something similar to that produced by
air bubbles forcing their way through mud or boggy
ground when trod upon ; this is the song of the marsh-

d4 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

wren." I rejoice in not being so critical, and I cannot
see why the joyous utterances of these wrens should not
be. spoken of as songs. Under what circumstances do
these birds sing? Up from the tall reeds, " with many
a flirt and flutter," a moment in mid-air on trembling
wings, out from its panting breast rolls a short, sweet
series of mellow notes, without one trace of harshness.
" Air bubbles through mud," indeed ! They are rather
flute-notes through the sparkling waters, which the bird
tarries to catch as they float away, and then sinks back
into the reeds. Another and another wren comes into
view in like manner until often half a hundred of them
have, in quick succession, taken their turn; then for a
few minutes silence intervenes. It would seem as
though Wilson had but seldom heard these birds, or, pre-
occupied at the time, not lent an attentive ear ; or could
he have heard a whole colony suffering at the time with
sore throat? I can tiiink of no other reason. The most
recent accounts of this bird follow Wilson closely, but
may it not be that such copy merely his statements?
All the world to the contrary, the Crosswicks wrens
sing sweetly. Wilson, however, does the nest-building
of this bird full credit. He remarks : " As, among the
human race, it is not given to one man to excel in every-
thing, and yet each, perhaps, has something peculiarly
his own ; so among birds we find a like distribution of
talents and peculiarities. The little bird now before us
— marsh-wren — if deficient and contemptible in singing,
excels in the art of design^ and constructs a nest which,
in durability, warmth, and convenience, is scarcely in-
ferior to one, and far superior to many, of its more

MARSH-WRENS. 95

musical bretliren. This is formed outwardly of wet
rushes, mixed with mud, well intertwisted, and fashioned
into the form of a cocoanut. A small hole is left two
thirds up, for entrance, the upper edge of which projects
like a penthouse over the lower, to prevent the admis-
sion of rain. The inside is lined with fine, soft grass,
and sometimes with feathers; and the outside, when
hardened by the sun, resists every kind of weather.
This nest is generally suspended among the reeds, above
the reach of the highest tides, and is tied so fast in every
part to the surrounding reeds as to bid defiance to the
winds and the \vaves."

This elaborate description is but partly correct of the
thousands of nests annually built in the Crosswicks
marshes. Wilson, it will be noticed, refers to excellence
"in the art of design;" let me add, that, during the
construction of the nest, there is also abundant evidence
of the possession of conversational powers. Indeed, it
would be impossible for these birds to build such nests
unless they possessed the power of communicating their
thoughts. In this case, it is by spoken and not gesture
language. As I have had occasion, in another connec-
tion, to remark, I have seen one of these birds adjust-
ing one end of a long blade of rush-grass, while its
mate held the other, until the former had completed
the task to his satisfaction. It was evident that the
weight of the ribbon -like growth, quite a metre in
length, was too heavy to be moved to and fro, and at
the same time prevented from slipping from the un-
finished nest. Only by assistance could such materials
be utilized, and only by intelligent joint labor could

96 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

these little birds build such large and complete globular
nests. Now these birds were not silent, nor yet did
they sing, while at work ; but uttered frequently short,
sharp, sibilant chirps and twitterings, such as I have
never heard at any other time. It was plainly their
conversation.

Wilson's description does not agree with my experi-
ence in the study of these nests, in two particulars ;
and this suggests either a change of custom, as has
taken place with other birds, in nest-building; or that
the nest may vary in different localities, and has always
done so. First, in regard to the cover over the entrance.
I have found but one such projection, and that was by
no means suflBciently prominent to effectually shield
the interior from rain. During the past summer I ex-
amined a very large series of nests, but found nothing
that could be likened to Wilson's description ; not even
a single strand of rush projecting more at the top than
the bottom. As so much stress is laid upon this feat-
ure, by Wilson, I visited the marshes during a "driv-
ing " rain, to see if, in lieu of such projection, temporary
provision for protection against rain was now adopted,
but could discover nothing. A very few of the nests
were so placed as to face the rain, and were apparently
fated to be thoroughly wetted, but I could not find that
any were penetrated by the rain to any important ex-
tent. One of the old birds was, in every case, in each
nest examined, and in eleven of twenty -three nests
visited, the mate was sitting in the entrance. In every
instance, therefore, the eggs were wholly out of harm's
way ; for what little rain might enter the open en-

MARSH-WRENS. 97

trances the sitting bird would receive on its back, and
either retain or cause to trickle beyond the eggs ; and
in those nests where the mate sat in the entrance, of
course no rain could enter. I do not know that this
has become a common habit, taking the place of a nest
built as Wilson describes, but such is probably the case.
A general survey of the nests then found and all such
seen since then bear me out in saying that, as a rule, the
nests are not built so as to be exposed to wind or rain.
They are placed sufficiently low in the reeds to be
sheltered quite effectually by the overtopping growths,
which, of course, bend over them and become sheltering
roofs during high winds and driving rain-storms.

The mud cementing the outer materials of which the
nest is composed is the second feature, mentioned by
Wilson and subsequent writers, which I have usually
found wanting. I have never, indeed, found much
mud in the walls of any nest, and in others so little
that it might readily be only the still adherent particles
that were on the leaves when they were gathered for the
structure. In by far the great majority of the nests
there was not a particle of foreign material clinging to
the rushes and grass that formed them.

A curious feature of the lives of these wrens is, that
they seem to be always nest-building. After the sec-
ond brood is on the Mung I have found new nests in
course of construction ; nests which were finished in
August, and probably never occupied, even as roosting-
places. Furthermore, I have been inclined, at times, to
believe that polygamy was practised by these wrens. I
have watched a colony of the birds, by the hour, and I

5

98 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

am sure I have seen the same bird, presumably a male,
enter first one nest and then another, carrying food to
the young that they contained. The liability to err in
such observations is obviously great, but it would be no
surprise were it to be determined beyond question that
some super-gallant wren had the responsibilities of two
mates and two nests resting upon him. Considering
the energy, restlessness, and wealth of animal spirits,
nothing that a wren does need excite surprise.

A few words in conclusion about the far less com-
mon, short-billed species. Occasionally, I have had the
good-fortune to find an isolated cluster of rank, aquatic
growth tenanted by a colony of these birds. They are
true wrens, every inch of them ; quick, restless, high-
tempered, and brimming over with botli song and chat-
ter. Of the song, perhaps more can be said than of
that of the preceding. It is fairly soft, varied, and to
a certain extent wren-like ; but is certainly not fully ex-
pressive of that wealth of energy characterizing the
bird, or its kindred, the house and Carolina wrens. So
far as I have had opportunity to observe, these wrens
are more retiring than their long -billed cousins, and
stay closer to their nests and the surrounding reeds;
often singing while clambering through them, some-
thing the other species never appears to do. This,
possibly, may have arisen from the proximity of a much
larger colony of the allied species ; and there certainly
is no surplus of good-feeling existing between them. 1
have seen them quarrel, and never found the nests of
the two species in the same cluster of rushes.

The nests of these short - billed wrens do not differ

MAKSH-WRENS. 99

essentially from those of the long-bills. Those I have
found were all in similar localities, and if the birds were
not seen, could only be recognized by the fact that the
eggs are white.

What I take to be a curious error in Barton's " Frag-
ments of Natural History" reads as follows: "Mota-
cilla Troglodytes? (marsh - wren) commonly continues
with us the whole year; in the winder -time taking
shelter in our houses, stables, etc." Certainly both spe-
cies of marsh-wrens are strictly aquatic, and we have
seen that they are migratory. Here we have no evi-
dence of a change of habits, but a confounding of the
marsh-wren with the Carolina wren. This is the more
interesting, inasmuch as, in Wilson's time, and later,
when Audubon wrote, the latter was held to be a rare
bird in this vicinity, and my own inference that a re-
cent colony liad become established as far north as
Philadelphia, falls. Certainly, Carolina wrens are resi-
dent species in the strictest sense ; and how they could
have been confounded with the aquatic marsh-wrens is
not readily comprehended.

A word with reference to a feature common to both
marsh-wrens. Given clear skies, as the moon fulls in
May, June, July, and August, these birds forego sleep,
unless they take short diurnal naps, and with that same
restlessness that marks their movements "from the
rising of the sun even unto the going down of the
same," these wrens are ready to greet the rising moon
and sing to her a sweet sibilant serenade until the day
dawns. With singing -birds generally, such perform-
ances at night are occasional or uttered while dreaming,

100 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

for I have seen a caged canary sing for several seconds
while certainly sound asleep ; but it is otherwise witli
the marsh - wrens. They are fully conscious of their
singing, and, indeed, fly up from the reeds, as in broad
daylight ; and to him who has not heard this concert
by moonlight, with its pleasing accompaniment of rip-
pling waters, booming of bitterns, far-ofiE cry of the
whippoor-will, and the sudden qnok ! of the night heron,
a pleasing experience of out-of-doors yet remains.

CHAPTER V.
A COLONY OF GRAKLES.

Fifteen pine-trees, in negligent array, shade three
sides of the house. They are at various distances apart,
yet in nearly every case the branches interlock with
those of the next tree, and thus give to the dwellers of
their needle-y tops a chance to hop from the front yard
to the back without flying more than a yard or two at
any one time. Of course, the birds generally like such
a cluster of tall trees, none of them less than fifty feet
high, but of these various small birds I have nothing now
to say. It is to a colony of grakles, or crow-blackbirds,
that yearly make of these trees a home, from March to
August, that I wish to call attention.

Grakles are both migratory and resident, for never a
winter passes that a few are not seen along the river
shore. Indeed, when the usual January thaw arrives,
quite a host of them are to be found feeding on the
mud-flats, when these are not covered with ice. The
sudden coming and going of the grakles, abrupt as the
changes from frosty to mild weather, has given rise to
the supposition that, like swallows and rail-birds, they
hibernate, and respond even more promptly to any de-
cided change from cold to comparative warmth. The
truth is, of course, that no birds hibernate, but, in the
case of the grakles, a limited number of hardy individ-

102 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

uals, finding sufficient food, prefer the discomforts of
remaining throughout winter to the exertion of migra-
tion, and so tarry with us the year througli. In March,
however, those that did migrate come slowly trooping
up this way, and, congregated in considerable flocks,
chatter of good times coming, as they crowd the bare
branches of the meadow hickories. No severity of
weather, in March, disheartens them. Even such a
March as that of 1885 was not sufficient to send them
southward.

Pleasant as it is to have the grakles among our win-
ter birds, it is in April that interest particularly centres
in them, and when one is seen bearing a twig in its
beak you may rest assured that it has had a hint of the
coming summer the discouraged farmer has failed to
recognize.

While noisy at all times, it is in April that they most
frequently essay to sing. Perched where he knows his
mate will see him, with partly uplifted wings and
spreading tail, he gurgles a few notes that have, at
least, the merit of good intention. It is a pleasant
sound, because suggestive of longed-for seasonal changes.
Particularly was this the case during the past winter,
for winter lasted until late in April. The forest was
gray until after May 1, when it should have been green,
and the frost-nipped anemones, bluets, and arbutus were
all hidden in the heaped-up leaves of a year ago. Ex-
cept that the spicewood sparkled with scattered gold,
and the Draba was starring last year's mould, there was
no hint of coining summer; yet the grakles were full
of faith, and chattered the day long never bo merrily.

A COLONY OF GRAKLES. 108

How do these grakles recognize their mates ? If we
could have placed those that nested in 1884 in one long
row, the most that could have been determined was that
there were eleven males and as many female birds.
Certainly, to human eyes, there was no difference of ex-
pression. This is no proof that the birds themselves
could not recognize distinguishing marks, and it is as-
sumed by ornithologists that they do so; but is there
no other way, and one equally probable? I refer to
their power of communicating their thoughts by vocal
sounds. It may be said that if these birds presented no
individual characteristics, the possession of such a power
would be of little value. A continual mistaking of one
individual for another would undoubtedly lead to no
end of direful results ; but, on the other hand, the pe-
culiarities might as readily be in the voice as in the
features, and just as we can recognize our friends by
their voices, when we cannot see them, so grakles may
possibly know their mates from others by vocal peculi-
arities, their features presenting no recognizable differ-
ences. -■■: , i- I'' •'■hr.'-^-' ii. t.

As a further test of this, I transferred the broods
from one nest to another, the young in each case being
of exactly the same age. The parent birds, I am sure,
recognized the difference immediately, and each pair
sought for, found, and fed their own young, and the
change of broods was accepted in good part by both
parties concerned. It is possible that I confounded the
parent birds, but I think not ; but, if so, then these birds
could see no difference between their own young and
those of their neighbors, which renders it the more

104 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

probable that their power of distinguishing adults ia
not from individual peculiarities of expression, but of
voice. When I changed a single bird, a few days
younger, for one of another brood, there was a commo-
tion at once, but in no instance was the changeling in-
jured or forced from the nest ; and I did not detect any
searching for the missing one by the old birds, or any
discussion between the persecuted parents as to what
should be done. They simply discovered the change,
and made the best of what they doubtless considered an
inexplicable circumstance.

In the spring of 1884 there were eleven pairs of gra-
kles nesting in the pines, seven pairs of which raised
two broods. In April, 1885, there were seven pairs
busy building their nests, and the backwardness of the
season made them ludicrously in haste, when, on the
20th, it became suddenly very warm. Prior to that
date the cold winds and daily prevalence of ice and
frost kept the poor birds in a constant state of bewilder-
ment ; they located their nests, marking their claims by
a few sticks, and waited. Shivering and chattering,
they waited for three weeks, and then, literally in hot
haste, with the thermometer over 80° in the shade, ran
up their rude structures in so short a time that their
strength to withstand high winds is a matter of doubt.

Let me particularize the grakles of '84, for these
were more closely observed than any previous colony.
They came early in February, and held many consulta-
tions as to the best localities for the nests. The three

A COLONY OF GRAKLES. 105

beeches, sole survivors of the forest primeval, are large
enough to hold a thousand nests, and have often held
all that a colony has built. The elm and lindens could
hold a hundred without crowding. These trees were
considered, I thought, for they apparently underwent a
very searching inspection, but during February there
was nothing to indicate that a choice of locality had
been made. Making no sign, they left on the approach
of a "cold snap," and were gone for weeks; and when,
in March, they came again, the whole proceeding was
repeated, and the pines were elected the nesting-trees of
'84. They lingered about them much of every day.
They tore away the rubbish that marked last year's
nests, a proceeding I never witnessed before ; and then,
although no active operations were commenced, these
grakles stayed about the trees until the time for build-
ing had arrived. Any one to whose attention the mat-
ter was called would prophesj'- without hesitation that
the grakles, even early in March, had decided upon
nesting in the pines — and so they did.

The nest is usually a bulky and stronglj'^-built struct-
ure, every twig and blade of grass being well inter-
twined with the others ; but there is one very prevalent
defect in the architecture of these nests : they are inse-
curely anchored to the supporting branches of the tree.
It is no uncommon occurrence, during a high wind, for
the nests to become loosened from their places and fall
to the ground. They always come down bodily and
remain intact, and it is seldom that enough twigs remain
in the tree to point out the former sites of the nests that
have met with such irreparable disaster.

5*

106 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

One such nest that fell late in the summer I took
pains to unravel twig by twig. It was a tedious task.
There were four hundred and eighty-two twigs, and two
hundred and four blades of grass, used as a lining.
With these were bits of inner bark of certain plants, a
number of chicken feathers, and a long, black shoelace.

Another nest was lined with many feathers, some
hair, ravellings of rope, and bits of lead-colored muslin ;
and over all these, as though they had not been found
as comfortable as it was thought they would be, was
quite a thick layer of long grass, beautifully wound
about the sides of the nest, and here and there placed
among the twigs so that each should retain its proper
place. It was the most ingeniously finished grakle's
nest I have ever examined. Indeed, were it not that
they trust too much to luck, as to the force of winds,
grakles would be very fair nest- builders. But this is
not asserted with the intention of conveying the idea
that a parallelism obtains between intelligence and nest-
building. The latter is a much less intricate proceeding
than has been supposed, and the labor of collecting the
materials is greater than the skill required to make a
comfortable nest with them.

Every colony, I think, commences nest -building at
the same time, and there is little difference in the num-
ber of days required to finish the structures. Certainly
some pairs are quicker motioned than others, and so get
ahead with their work. This is true of all birds, just
as it is true of mankind; but the difference in the case
of the colony of grakles, in 1884, w^as but five days, and
this was kept up in all that subsequently transpired.

A COLONY OF GRAKLES. 107

Tlie last brood departed from the nest jnst five days
later than the first.

The nests are built at last, and straightway the eggs
are laid, five or six in each nest; but five is the usual
number, and the odd one generally does not hatch.
They are as ugly as eggs well can be: dirty green,
streaked with dirtier brown ; dull, rough emeralds rolled
in the mud. ^'--i '**'

And all this while, although there is nothing much
to do until after incubation, an incessant chattering
keeps up. I have tried to fathom the secret of such
ceaseless jabberings, but without result. It can scarcely
be the scolding of ill-tempered wives, and the efforts of
impatient husbands to check the clamor; for, if so,
there is not a patient, easy-going grakle in existence.
At any rate, as is always the case with birds, and so on
up, madam has the most to say, and also, that sweetest
solace of female existence, the last word. Still, there is
no quarrelling, either among mated birds, or between
near neighbors. So far as the colony in the pines truly
pictures grakle life, they are exceedingly well-behaved,
a fact which does not shield them from much unmerit-
ed persecution at the hands of prejudiced agriculturists,
of all people those that should be practical ornitholo-
gists, and who, as a class, are most ignorant of the sub-
ject.

The eggs once hatched, something like work com-
mences. From early morning until late in the evening
— so long, indeed, as there is suflScient light to enable
them to see a worm — the male bird for the first week,

108 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

and then both parents, hunt for and carry to the five
hungry infants their food. To get an approximate idea
of the amount of food required to keep these young
birds in growing condition, I timed the movements of
a pair. I chose the hours from 10 to 11 a. m., and 2 to
3 p. M. In these hours each bird made thirteen trips to
and fro, carrying in every case a worm, larva, or large
insect — living animal food in every case. The five
young birds were supplied, therefore, with food at a
rate nearly equal to every other minute ; but, as there
were five of them, each bird got a " square meal " at
least once in every ten minutes. This feeding was kept
up for fully ten hours of each day, tiiere being less ac-
tivity in the matter towards evening, when the parent
birds were probably taking their own meals; but, at
this rate, it is a matter of two hundred and sixty worms
a day, or fifty-two for eacli young bird every twenty-
four hours. What digestion ! Of course, this must be
active, and the fact is evident, as, in every departure
from the nest, ejecta are carried away in the beaks of
the parent birds, and dropped often at a distance of a
hundred yards from the nesting-tree.

The young birds are twenty-five days old when they
leave the nest, and are supposed to shift for themselves.
In the meantime each has been supplied with fifty-two
worms a day, or thirteen hundred during its life in the
nest ; and the five, collectively, have consumed sixty-five
hundred worms, larvae, or insects. But there were
eleven of these nests, which, therefore, means the de-
struction of seventy-one thousand five hundred worms
or insects. Again, seven pairs of the colony of twenty-

A COLONY OF GRAKLES. 109

two birds raised a second brood, which means a further
check upon insect life of some forty-five thousand five
hundred more worms and grubs, or a total of one hun-
dred and seventeen thousands of insect life, in larval or
mature state. The food of the parent birds has not
been considered in the above calculation ; this added,
and we have a grand total of about one hundred and
fifty thousands of forms of insect life destroyed, all of
which would have proved more or less destructive to
the growing crops.

Grakles early attracted the attention of the settlers in
this country, not only because of their great numbers,
but from an unfortunate habit which they then had of
eating too much corn. The Swedes called them maize-
thieves, and considered that, of all birds, they did " the
greatest mischief in this country." Peter Kalm, writ-
ing from Swedesboro, N. J., in February, 1749, says:
"They have given them that name because they eat
maize, both publicly and secretly, just after it is sown
and covered with the ground, and when it is ripe. . . .
As soon as the leaf comes out they take hold of it with
their bills and pluck it up, together with the corn or
grain, and thus give a great deal of trouble to country
people, even so early in spring. . . . When the maize
grows ripe . . . they are continually feasting. They
assemble by thousands in the maize-fields, and live at
discretion. ... As they are so destructive to maize, the
odium of the inhabitants against them is carried so far
that the laws of Pennsylvania and New Jersey have
settled a premium of threepence a dozen for dead

110 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

maize - thieves. In New England the people are still
greater enemies to them ; for Dr. Franklin told me, in
the spring of the year 1750, that, b}'^ means of the pre-
miums which have been settled for killing them in New
England^ they have been so extirpated that they are
very rarely seen, and in a few places only. But as, in
the summer of the year 1749, an immense quantity of
worms appeared on the meadows, which devoured the
grass and did great damage, the people have abated their
enmity against the maize-thieves; for they thought they
had observed that those birds lived chiefly on these
worms before the maize is ripe." '-' r -)« ? ^■^,

And the people did right in allowing their enmity to
abate. The grakles did far more good than evil, even
then ; and now, and for years, they no longer molest the
cornfields when the grain is ripe. The habit of opening
the husks at the ends of the ears, and so blasting them
for half their length, is no longer characteristic of these
birds. They have cured themselves of their greatest
fault, and now what little corn they take is that which
has been recently planted. But even in this case the birds
do not 80 much seek for the corn as for worms, and find-
ing the former, as it were by accident, devour it. An
examination of the stomach contents of grakles killed
while foraging in a newly-planted cornfield tells the
whole story. Place them in the worst light, and still
their good qualities far exceed the evil, so-called, of
their natures.

The fact, already alluded to, of a change in their hab-
its is of much interest, as showing how altered environ-
ment affects the modes of living. Grakles, in the west-

A COLONY OF GRAKLES. Ill

ern states, I am informed, still damage the ripened and
ripening ears, as has been described. Audubon figures
this bird as tearing away the husks that the ear might
be exposed and the juicy kernels pecked off. This was
true of the grakles about here, but is true no longer.
We have as many acres of corn as formerly. It matures
at the same time as in early colonial days, but the gra-
kles still prefer animal food, and through August and
September are still hunting for and feasting upon ani-
mal life in the meadows. I have seen a flock of fully a
thousand, early in October, chasing the untold millions
of grasshoppers over the meadows, and feeding upon
them until they were actually surfeited.

The old Swedish settlers told Kalm, " this part of
America^ formerly called Wew Sweden^ still contained
as many maize-thieves as it did formerly. The cause of
this they derive from the maize, which is now sown in
much greater quantity than formerly ; and they think
that the birds can get their food with more ease at
present."

Here, I think, is an error, for it is not certain that the
Swedes had more acres in corn than did the Indians,
when in the height of their prosperity. I quote here
Lucien Carr's elaborate memoir on " The Indian as an
Agriculturist," from volume ii. of the "Memoirs of
the Kentucky Geological Survey." Speaking of the
Delaware Indians, the writer says : " They occupied both
banks of the Delaware, or ' South,' River, lived in forts,
and raised corn and beans, which they sold to the Swed-
ish and German settlers. Later, about the year 1682,
William Penn found the Delawares and Shawnees still

112 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

occupying this region. . . . Speaking of their manner
of life, he (Peun) says that 'their diet is maize or Ind-
ian corn, divers ways prepared ; sometimes roasted in
the ashes, sometimes beaten and boiled with water,
which they call hominy.' Loskiel, a. d. 1788, takes up
the story, and tells us that corn was the chief product
of their plantations."

Local traditions, old documents, and fragments of
journals dating back nearly two centuries, clearly show
that the ground upon the bluff that forms the eastern
bank of the Delaware, from the head of tide -water to
where Burlington now stands, was, for a considerable
part, a cornfield, and the grakles had as much maize
then as ever since to raid upon. That the Indians were
forced to devise all manner of scarecrows is certain, and
these birds have, probably, not been affected by any
changes that have taken place, so far as their numbers
are concerned. Why they are no longer as destructive
to corn as formerly is not to be explained.

To return to the grakles in the fifteen pines. The
even tenor of their way comes to an abrupt conclusion
when the young are ready to leave the nest. Their last
day at home is their noisiest. The excited parents evi-
dently talk far faster than they think, and neither old
nor young pay any attention to the uproar, but, instead,
add their quota thereto, without knowing why. It
would appear that every bird was asking questions of
its fellows, and never waiting for or receiving a reply;
but, as the day wears on, the exodus takes place. With
scarcely any preliminary trials by the young of wing-

A COLONY OF GRAKLES. 113

strength, the birds, both old and young, mount to the
topmost branches of the pines, and, as though at a given
signal, wing their way, in a compact flock of six or seven
individuals, to the meadows. So superlatively noisy are
these birds when they are about to leave their nest that
the fact is published as unmistakably as the undue ex-
citement among bees shows they are about to leave the
hive. And once the last grakle's nest is vacant, and for
weeks after, each gloomy pine seems silent as the tomb.

CHAPTER VI.
FOUR RED BIRDS.

Red, of any shade, is not a common color among our
birds. Some, like the woodpeckers, have a little patch
on the back of their head, the kingbird a little at the
base of his crest, and the smaller blackbird red-and-gold
shoulders ; bnt, as we walk through the woods, over the
fields, or about the meadows, we certainly see very little
red plumage on any of the many birds hovering about
VLB ; and yet, the year through, we are never without a
wholly red bird, or one with that color greatly predom-
inating. While purposing to speak particularly of but
four, there are really seven such birds, if we include the
two crossbills and the purple finch.

In summer the red-bird, par excellence, is now rare,
but the scarlet tanager is abundant ; in winter we have
the crested cardinal and the pine grosbeak. The former
is quite common all winter long, whether the season is
mild or severe ; and, I believe, only when we have an
arctic winter can we confidently expect the pine gros-
beaks to haunt our cedars. Let us consider these four
birds, as they appear in the same locality — two as sum-
mer visitants, one as resident, and the fourth as a stray
comer, when the thermometer ranges low.

So recently as thirty years ago the summer red-bird
was as regular and almost as abundant as any of our

FOUR RED BIRDS. 115

thrushes. The farmer looked for them wlien the apple-
trees were in bloom, and welcomed them, too, for to
hira they were trustworthy barometers. Did they not
say, " Wet, wet, wet !" and did it not shower sooner or
later? Surely no better weather-prophet could exist.

What has happened in the past thirty years to have
influenced these birds is undeterminable ; but now sum-
mer after summer passes, and not more than one or two
are seen, and sometimes not one. Even when Wilson
wrote, seventy -five years ago, summer red -birds were
rare about Philadelphia, and that author says he had to
cross the river to Jersey to find them. This statement
may seem almost an absurd one at first, but it is really
not so. Jersey could boast of a beautiful bird, in abun-
dance, which was really rare across the river. Why
was this? If the physical geography of the east and
west sides of the river are compared, it will be found
that they are as radically different as they well can be,
from Trenton, or the head of tide -water, southward;
and this was the northern limit of the bird's usual mi-
gration. Now, throughout South Jersey, there is a san-
dy soil and a flora largely similar to that of the southern
seaboard states, while in Pennsylvania the soil is a heavy
clay-loam, and the flora so far different that many trees
which occur singly in New Jersey there are congregated
as forests, and in the smaller growths this also obtains.
Such variation in conditions the bird would be very sure
to recognize, and, in its gradual northward travel, in
May, come as far as it found those conditions obtaining
which characterize its favorite haunts in Virginia and
southward. We all know the peculiar flora of southern

116 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

New Jersey, and how hard and fast the lines are drawn
that mark the habitat of certain plants. Why, then,
should it not be true of animals? Let us see if other
equally marked instances cannot be readily pointed out
as occurring in the same locality. Late in February,
1885, I spent a few days on the Pennsylvania shore of
the Delaware, at Bristol, ten miles away, as the crow
flies, and there, in the thrifty evergreens along that
beautiful river- bank, were purple finches. Not one
finch, but many. Now, here there are pine-trees as
tall, cedars as dense, cosey nooks as sunny, food, I sup-
pose, as abundant, yet not once this long winter has the
song of the purple finch enlivened my rambles about
home. If they come at all, it is but to look about in
disgust, and soon, with a loud twittering of discontent,
away they go. I am told that about Bristol these birds
are common winter residents. I know that about the
same river, some ten miles up the stream, they are never
abundant.

Again, the black-throated buntings, on the higher
grounds and colder clay-soils, above the limits of tide-
water, are abundant year after year. The sandy soils
of the region south of the rocky ridge upon which the
clay-soils rest offer these buntings no attraction, and it
is a rare experience to see one of them there.

In a lesser degree the same is true of the arctic snow-
bird and the horned larks. These birds are often com-
mon on clay-soil areas, and very rare in the lower-lying
sandy fields. They prefer as low a temperature as we
can offer, and their preference for the localities men-
tioned is explained, at least in part, by the fact that it

FOUR RED BIRDS. 117

often snows on the clay when it is raining on the sand.
Indeed, this may be the sole reason for all such marked
peculiarities in the distribution of our birds.

To return to the red-bird. I have heard it stated that
their disappearance was largely due to the destruction
of the old apple-orchards. To prove this, it would have
to be shown that the introduction of the apple and gen-
eral planting of orchards caused a decided increase in
their numbers. This cannot be done ; and yet it is not
improbable that extensive orchards have, in a measure,
modified the habits of some birds. Ornithologists well
know that, in these extensive collections of fruit-trees,
certain species of birds are more surely found than in
the ordinary tracts of woodland ; and many birds show
a marked preference for apple-trees as nest-sites.

The summer red-bird, although so conspicuous a spe-
cies, was not seen by Kalm, who mentions at length the
cardinal grosbeak. Might it have been a rare visitor
then, and subsequently become abundant? If so, it may
again come back to us as the years roll by. So may it
be! The same has happened with reference to the
mocking-bird. In 1734, and for many years after, these
outnumbered the brown-thrushes here in New Jersey.
We all know how rare they now are.

The few glimpses that we now get of the summer
red-bird make him the more interesting, because they
afford us all the pleasure of a genuine discovery. So
unreasonable are we, generally, that we demand the fla-
vor of novelty in all that kindly nature vouchsafes to
offer us, and often affect weariness because there may
be* only the attractions offered by our most common

118 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

birds for the time being. The summer of '84 proved
delightfully novel, however; for a pair of red-birds
spent half the summer within walking distance. They
came in May, nested in June, and, scared by the sense-
less snapping of fireworks on the 4th of July, quitted in
disgust on the 5th.

While watching the many birds that were in the
woods and thickets, on May 11, I saw a large gray-
green bird start up beforj me, uttering a loud cluck as
it flew. I took it to be a female tanager, but was not
sure. I followed a few paces through the briers, and
then saw the mate of the stranger. It was a splendid
specimen of a summer red-bird. I stood perfectly still,
with my arms behind me — birds fear men's arms more
than their faces — waiting for him to sing. Presently
his head was thrown back, the neck swelled, the beak
slowly opened, and that "strong and sonorous whistle,"
of which Wilson speaks, sounded through the woods.
It recalled familiar scenes of thirty years ago. The old
orchard reoccupied the now open, sunny field, and the
merry days spent there came trooping back, but wrapped
in mist, not sunshine. I could not, unhappily, forget,
even for the moment, that it was but a day-dream ; and
while I stood there the bird, as if in pity, ceased to sing.

Day after day I watched this pair of birds. A week
later I found them building a nest on the extreme end
of a long horizontal branch of an oak growing on the
hillside. This nest was an ordinary twig structure, lined
with grass, and as much like the nests described by Wil-
son as those referred to by Brewer, with so much un-
called-for criticism. The eggs, four in number, were

FOUR RED BIRDS. 119

laid by the 22d, and hatched on June 3. When the
female was sitting the male bird did not remain very
near, and at all times moved in such a manner through
the trees as never to be conspicuous. I never once saw
him out in the open fields, and when occupied in insect-
hunting he remained closely to the tops of the taller
oaks, and seemed to move with reference to the foliage,
60 as to be shielded by it. The bird recalled a remark
of Wilson's about a red-headed woodpecker that nested
within the limits of the city of Philadelphia. This
woodpecker "took in the situation" carefully before
leaving the nest-tree, and made directly for the coun-
try, once upon the wing.

When just four weeks old the young were able to
shift for themselves, although their flight-power was
not fully developed ; and at this time, as I have men-
tioned, both old and young left the neighborhood.

During the stay of this pair of birds the male sang
a great deal, and, as it appeared to me, with much cun-
ning. It joined in with the general chorus far more
frequently than it sang alone, and never sought a con-
spicuous position when whistling its fife -like notes.
This marked shyness could scarcely have arisen from
the mere fact that it was conspicuously colored, for in the
same woods were numbers of tanagers and rose-breasted
grosbeaks, which certainly did not try to conceal their
colors as they passed from tree to tree. They were as
readily seen as catbirds, and did not hesitate to occupy
the most exposed positions. I am forced to be content
with the aggravating fact that the red-bird was inexpli-
cably shy.

120 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

My inquiries among old people about this bird have
not been satisfactory. All seemed to have a confused
idea of it, and the scarlet tanager and the cardinal gros-
beak were so clearly referred to in many of their re-
marks that I practically learned nothing. In local his-
tory, however, I find an unmistakable reference to this
species. There is an entry in a " common-place book,"
under date of May, 1797: "The smooth-headed red-
birds have not appeared this year, as is their wont, and
I much miss their shrill whistling from the walnuts on
the hilltop. Those that have wings and tail of black are,
as usual, in the orchard ; but these whistle not, nor sing,
like any of our smaller birds." Very true, they do not.

Wilson calls attention to a curious statement made by
Du Pratz, to the effect that this bird stores up food for
winter use. If this is a mere " make-up " by that au-
thor, or if he was deceived by some native, then there
the matter ends ; but it is best to examine a little close-
ly into all such apparently absurd statements, for some-
times they have arisen from facts that were unknown,
and the tracing of tlie origin of an erroneous impression
has led to an increase in our common stock of knowl-
edge. Here in New Jersey, certainly, no storing of
food by this bird takes place, and, of course, such a hab-
it would be least likely among migratory species ; but,
on the otlier hand, certain small mammals do have ex-
tensive magazines of nuts and seeds, and it might hap-
pen that a bird should learn this fact, and profit by the
knowledge to the extent of making an occasional raid
upon the animal's stores, particularly if a scarcity of
food arose. These raids do not occur here except in

FOUR RED BIRDS. 121

the case of crows, which often scratch out the less-
carefnlly concealed stores of food laid up by the white-
footed mouse. The summer red bird, when here at all,
does not remain late enough in the season to profit bj
the accumulations of food laid up for winter use by
squirrels and mice ; and, indeed, very rarely would such
stores be accessible to them ; but I have known a cardi-
nal grosbeak to nest near a hollow hickory, and feast,
the summer through, on the insect larvae that were so
abundant among the shells of the nuts stored by the
squirrels during the previous autumn. In the hollow
of this hickory-tree — a great cavern freely exposed to
the weather — there was always an accumulation of nut-
shells, left by the squirrels, and an abundance of fat
white grubs was a feature of the heap at all times.
This rendered life free of care, so far as food-getting
was concerned, and a careless observer, never seeing the
squirrels, might suppose the bird had gathered the nuts
for the sake of the insect-food always found with them.
Perhaps, after all, Du Pratz was simply mistaken. A
little learning is a dangerous thing.

Surely there is little to be said of the scarlet tanager.
Every one knows the bird, and believes he knows all
about it. Although we admit this, mention must at
least be made of it as one of the four red birds ; for such
it is, although its black wings and tail make it less so
than are the others ; but, nevertheless, it is quite as con-
spicuous. The brilliancy of the plumage exceeds that
of the others, and it rather delights than otherwise to
sport in the bright sunshine. \i>',

6

132 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

I have asked a half-dozen observing persons living
near by what were their impressions as to the times of
arrival and departure of tanagers, and, curiously enough,
they all agreed that not until the apple-blossoms were
fully blown did these birds come, and before the hot
week of September was spent they were gone. This
would imply considerable irregularity in the coming
and uniformity in the date of departure, for the first
week of September, for nine years in every decade, is
tlie hottest w^eek of the summer. As has been often
remarked concerning migratory birds, they are frequent-
ly supposed to be absent because not looked for. The
truth is, not a year passes but that I see tanagers ear-
lier than apple-bloom. For instance, in '84 I saw a tan-
ager as early as April 27. It was on the top of a tall
sassafras, and sat there for half an hour, singing, in its
own fashion, " Chip'-pa-ra'-ree!" This bird was fully
sixty feet from the ground, and, seen from below, the
deep-red color of its body was not to be recognized.
The bird appeared to be of a uniform black or brown.
Although I knew it by its song, I waited until it flew
away, when its color was at once apparent, and the iden-
tification no longer a doubt.

It was not until the following Sunday, a week later,
that I saw others, and then the summer birds generally
were here. It is not to be supposed that we have no
summer birds until they have all appeared. There are
always a fair number of early arrivals antedating the
main flight by one or two weeks; and I am convinced
that, since the days of Wilson, these advance birds
have been coming earlier and earlier, and that, decade
after decade, the main body has tarried later and later.

FOUR RED BIRDS. 133

Just as our seasons are becoming more and more
evenly divided into six months of heat and six of cold,
so the birds, as a whole, are likewise prolonging their
stay beyond the fonr months that seems formerly to
have been the limit of their sojourn north.

Tanagers and apple-orchards are as much associated
as bees and flowers. That they are found in scores of
other places is, of course, true ; but, when elsewhere,
they seem quite out of place. Where they tarried in
Indian times we can only conjecture, but probably in
the wild fruit and nut trees that were often planted ex-
tensively near village sites. Indeed, the walnut seems
to be a favorite tree with this bird, and I have knowl-
edge of one being occupied for several summers by a
pair of tanagers, the nest being always on the same
branch. They regularly built a new nest, and re-
moved every trace of the one they had occupied during
the previous summer. To see how far their attachment
to a particular limb of the tree extended, I removed it
after the birds had left us, and in the following spring
discovered that, by so doing, I had lost the company of
one pair of birds. They left the neighborhood in dis-
gust.

Curiously enough, these birds do not appear to have
given rise to any weather-proverbs. At least, I have
not been able to find any reference to them in the scores
of " sayings " I have gathered. This is the more strange,
as these birds do appear to have a fancy for cloudy weath-
er, and sing more frequently then than when it is clear.
Dull, doubtful days in summer, when the question of
a picnic is to be decided, are those when the crude

124 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

Bong is likely to be heard, and I am puzzled to know
how it comes that the country - folk have overlooked
them.

It is a source of regret that tanagers, beautiful as
they are, should offer no peculiarity of voice or habit.
Except in color, they are the very opposite of brilliant.
Their existence seems really whittled down to the one
matter of passing through life with the least possible
exertion, except that they do not, cuckoo - like, use an-
other bird's nest. Had tanagers the quick wits of a
wren, or the general intelligence of a crow, they would
be the most charming feature of our woodlands and or-
chards ; as it is, they would not be known to exist to
others than the professional ornithologist, were it not
that Nature has bedecked them with such gaudy color,
that to escape notice is impossible. Not accepting the
idea that Nature is beyond improvement, and leaving
this gayly colored blunder, as the tanager seems to be,
what a wonderful change for the better do we find in
the cardinal grosbeak, yclept, hereabouts, the winter red-
bird. In him we have a fixture of the farm ; as much
a part of it as the hickories in the meadow, and the
beeches on the hill-side. On the bush that concealed
his nest, in June, he perches and whistles throughout
January. Wilson speaks of them as preferring, in
winter, " sheltered hollows covered with holly, laurel,
and other evergreens." This is misleading, to a cer-
tain extent. They do not seek such situations for shel-
ter from a low temperature so much as from winds.
The latter distress them, as they do most birds ; but if
the day is still, whatever the temperature, they are

FOUR RED BIRDSi ; 125

found as frequently in the most exposed situations as
in sheltered nooks. It too often happens that wh^n
any bird is seen a few times in some one locality, it is
thought that such places are universally its favorite
haunts. In the case of the cardinal, it is only true that
they avoid exposure to the wind. I have often heard
them singing, while perched upon a hyssop or mullein
stalk, when the ground was covered deep with snow,
and the thermometer at zero. Let the wind spring up,
and they are gone in an instant, and a week may pass
without seeing or hearing them again. But to see
them, in winter, to advantage, find a clump of bitter-
sweet bushes on the hill-side, where the sun shines with
some vigor, and not a breath of north wind can reach
you. There the cardinal loves to linger from dawn to
gloaming, and whistle he never so carefully, no notes
excel those of his midwinter days. Wilson says fur-
ther, they are in song from March to September. True,
but they are far more so from September to March.
They are in the height of their glory in the height of
the season, and sing louder and sweeter songs during
the Christmas holidays than in May or June, when the
nest and young occupy their time and attention. Un-
less the matter is an omission on the part of Wilson,
there has evidently a considerable change taken place
in the habits of the cardinal.

On the home hill -side cardinals nest every summer,
choosing generally a tangled clump of blackberry-briers.
They seldom go elsewhere, and always pick out as
tangled and thorny a locality as can be found. It has
sometimes seemed as if they had arranged the briers

126 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

with a view to extra prickiness. This serves, no doubt,
to keep meddlesome creatures away, and probably
neither squirrels, snakes, or blue -jays molest them.
Certainly, all such broods as I have found came to
maturity.

In the latter part of summer these birds are skulkers.
They flit about in tangled bushes, and seldom show
tliemselves or sing during August and the first weeks
of September. They may be moulting at this time,
and, at all events, keep so much out of the way that the
unpractised observer would probably overlook them.
The cool days of the coming winter changes all this.
When titmice and nuthatches aim to monopolize the
woods, and troops of twittering tree-sparrows crowd the
fields, then the cardinal again asserts his supremacy
and out-warbles all the host of winter songsters.

Of course, in leafless woods, the bright red plumage
is a detriment to this bird, or would be, if increased in-
telligence did not enable it to obviate the inconvenience
of being too conspicuous. The smaller hawks are the
principal source of danger, and yet I have never discov-
ered that red -birds suffer more than the dull -colored
sparrows. The truth is — and herein lies the evidence
of the bird's cunning — that it always scans its surround-
ings closely, the moment it alights on the top of a
bunch of briers, and then, satisfied of its safety, sings ;
furthermore, it stays mostly in dense thickets, and
comes up from below, instead of making a considerable
open - air circuit, before alighting. At the first faint
intimation of danger, it will cut short its song and dive
into the tangled depths.

FOUR RED BIRDS. 127

I never saw the attempt made, but I believe it can
baffle a sparrow-hawk, unless the latter has some very
unusual advantage. The red-bird, itself, is not strong
upon the wing, yet, as a dodger, it is nearly equal to a
humming-bird, and this compensates for the danger in-
cident to very bright coloring.

The cardinal did not escape the notice of Peter Kalm,
who, however, tells us very little of the bird as he saw
it, in 1749. He refers to its fine vocal powers and the
fact that many were shipped to London ; also that it
was an enemy of honey-bees, preying largely upon
them. It would be an interesting fact to determine if
there has been any change in habit, in this respect. I
certainly never should have supposed it had any predi-
lection for bees, and never knew it to capture one, al-
though I have known a pair to have a nest within fifty
yards of a bench of beehives. I have no data bearing
on this point, but must express ray doubt as to the
habit being common to them. It is not an uncommon
circumstance for individual birds to develop very pe-
culiar tastes, just as this happens in mankind, but that
all cardinals are bee-eaters is questionable, to say the
least.

Stranger than all, I find in a back volume of " Science
Gossip" (1881), the utterly absurd statement that these
birds are " pests," and should not be introduced into
other countries, and again, that they are "adepts at eat-
ing cherries and shelling peas." These statements are
said to be based upon personal observation. If so, then
the cardinal of New Jersey is greatly different from
the cardinal of Virginia, a fact that has not been re-

128 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

corded by our own ornithologists. The truth is, there
is no more perfectly harmless bird in America than a
cardinal grosbeak.

Wliile in a critical mood, let me call attention to
other statements, made at home. In the elaborate
tomes of Baird, Brewer, and Ridgway, it is stated that
the cardinal is by no means common in Pennsylvania,
and that a prominent ornithologist has but seldom seen
it in New Jersey. This is all utterly, inexplicably ab-
surd. It is true, if not looked for in their favorite
haunts, they would be seldom, perhaps never, seen ;
but systematic search would never fail to discover
them.

As the cardinal is known, at least locally, as the win-
ter red-bird, it is fitting, at such a time, to bid him fare-
well. In the first snow of the season he deliirhts to
disport himself, and when the air is fnll of feathery
flakes he fears no prowling falcon, but, mounting the
topmost twig of his brier -patch, whistles so cheerily
that the dreariness of on-coming winter is forgotten.

Leaving the brave cardinal singing in a snow-storm,
let us now turn to the last of the series of four red
birds, and this the rarest of them all, the pine grosbeak.
The first snow-storm, often in November, fails to bring
him. A steady cold of several weeks must elapse ; the
indications must all point to a severe season, and then, in
January, if on the lookout — for these birds do not flock
to our dooryards — tlie pine grosbeaks may be found.
A winter that is even more than ordinarily cold will
sometimes come and go without these birds appear-

FOUR RED BIRDS. 129

ing. Fortunately, the winter of '83-84 was suited to
their fancy, and they appeared in considerable num-
bers. Wherever there were clusters of pines or cedars,
these birds were a marked feature of our avifauna,
from December 29 to March 2 ; about wliich time they
left us. At least, I saw none after the later date men-
tioned.

I am forced to admit that, although comparative
strangers, these grosbeaks were not particularly inter-
esting. They never sang and seldom chirped. They
were always in companies of three to six, and wandered
but little. Even in bright, clear days, they stuck as
closely to the evergreens as do butterflies to flowers.
A very depressing regret that they had wandered so
far from Canada seemed to possess them.

During a roundabout ramble, after a deep snow, I
chanced, last winter, on a clump of cedars, on my neigh-
bor's hill-side, and

" I tarried a bit,

As a crested tit,
Whistled his call so cheery,

It seemed a tune

In leafy June
Sung by a nesting veery. "

I never saw so many birds congregated in a few trees,
except when flocks of red-wings gather in the meadows.
Sparrows and titmice; linnets, nuthatches and king-
lets ; all, without discord, twittered, chirped, flitted and
hopped through the maze of interlocking branches. I
was puzzled to identify one harsh tship ! which I occa-
sionally heard, and to unravel the mystery I snow-

6*

130 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

balled the trees. A perfect shower of little fellows
flitted into space, and each scolded vehemently at such
thoughtless disturbance, but their protests were of no
avail. I continued throwing soft balls, until finally a
large bird appeared and flew to the fence near by.
This it was that had uttered the loud, harsh chirp:
it was a pine grosbeak. Its tameness was remarkable.
I stood within six paces of it and fully exposed to view ;
yet it sat on the fence, looking towards me, wholly un-
concerned. I threw a handful of loose snow at it and
sent it reeling to the ground, and before it could re-
cover from its astonishment, I had my hat over it.
With a little care I got a safe hold upon it, and
brought it to light. It became quiet in a moment,
and seemed perfectly contented. There was no ex-
ternal evidence that the bird was injured, and in a few
minutes I tossed it into the air, supposing, of course, it
would fly to some near tree. What was my surprise to
hear it utter a shrill chirp, several times repeated, when
out from the cedar came four others, which, joining it,
all rose to a considerable elevation, and taking a north-
ern course, flew off. I trust they were not disgusted
with my rude treatment, and did not report ill of me in
their Northern home. If they will come back, I prom-
ise to snowball them no more.

In December, '76, all Northern birds were unusually
abundant, and several flocks of pine grosbeaks were
seen in the streets of a certain town. Their presence
was explained by the statement that a ship had been
wrecked upon the coast, the cargo of which was made
np, in part, of a large number of Brazilian birds and

FOUR RED BIRDS. 131

mammals ; the birds had escaped, and were now shiv-
ering in the streets : and in all that town there was no
one that knew these birds, and could contradict the ab-
surd statement of that newspaper's imaginative re-
porter.

CHAPTER VII.
THE SPADE-FOOT TOAD.

In a sink-hole in a dry upland field, not far from the
house, on April 10, 1884, there suddenly appeared a
large colony of hermit spade-foot toads, which, by their
remarkable cries, attracted the attention of every one
passing by. So unlike the cries of any other of our
batrachians were their utterances, that all who heard
them were attracted to the spot, and wondered, when
they saw the creatures, that so great a volume of sound
could issue from so small an animal. One need not
wonder, however, on this point if they will but examine
the development of the animal's vocal cords. The ma-
chinery for producing sounds equal to an ordinary steam-
whistle are apparently contained in the throat of this
rare and curious batrachian. Holbrook, in his diagnosis
of the genus Scaphiopus, refers to the "sub-gular vocal
sac " of the males ; but it must not be inferred that the
females are voiceless. That they are not so noisy is
probable, but, occasion requiring, they can readily make
themselves heard.

These spade-foots remained in the shallow waters of
this sink-hole until April 15, when, the weather becom-
ing considerably cooler, *hey as suddenly disappeared as
they had come. In May, 1874, these toads appeared in
like manner in the same locality, remained but a few

THE SPADE-FOOT TOAD. 188

days and were gone. In the intervening ten years not
a specimen was seen or heard, although careful search,
annually, was made. I supposed, when they appeared
in April of the past year, that they spawned previous
to their sudden disappearance, but neglected to investi-
gate the matter, in consequence of a press of work in
other lines of investigation. The spade-foot toads were
soon forgotten. The wealth of bird life that came
trooping in from the South during May, and their sub-
sequent nesting, occupied my thoughts, and were the
prominent objects sought during my daily rambles.

It was not long, however, before the spade-foots again
became the prominent feature of the fauna of the neigh-
borhood. During the night of June 25-26 a violent
northeast storm arose, and rain fell in torrents. The
sink-hole, which for weeks had been nearly dry, was
again flooded, and on the afternoon of the 26th was
literally alive with these rare toads. Sitting upon every
projecting stick or tuft of grass, or swimming with their
heads above the surface of the water, were spade-foots
by the hundred, and every one apparently uttering those
shrill, ear-piercing groans that only these batrachians can
utter. Not only during the day but all night their cries
were kept up. The following day there was no abate-
ment, but during the night the sound decreased. On
the morning of the 28th not a specimen was to be
seen or heard.

During this brief interval these animals spawned, the
eggs being attached to blades of grass and slender twigs.
These eggs hatched on the 2d of July and a large series
was gathered a week later.

134 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

To return to the eggs. During the time that inter-
vened from the laying of tlie eggs until I gathered speci-
mens of the tadpoles, there occurred four moderately
heavy showers, so tliat the water in the sink-hole at no
time disappeared, but was much below the level that
it reached during the protracted rain-fall of June 26.
Very much, therefore, of the spawn that was laid was
high and dry for from two to four days before hatch-
ing, and I suppose was destroyed.

On the evening of July 9,1 found the water in the
sink-hole confined to a few very shallow pools of limited
area, and in these pools were a few hundreds of spade-
foot tadpoles. In comparison with the abundance of
eggs seen June 26, and of young seen a week later, it
is evident that a large portion of the eggs were destroyed
and a vast number of very young tadpoles were killed
by the soaking away of the water.

I have never known any like disparity between the
eggs of frogs or common toads and the young in the
tadpole state ; and it is at once very evident that if the
spade-foot toads habitually or usually deposit their eggs
in temporary pools, then we have an obvious reason for
the positive rarity of the animal, as apparently it is the
rule, rather than the exception, for the egg to be de-
stroyed or the young perish.

The tadpoles gathered July 9, which were then seven
days old, were curious creatures. At this time the
hind -legs were well developed, although small, and
did not interfere with the anmial's natatorial locomo-
tion. The bodies of these young Scaphiopi were short,
stout, and oval, and, when viewed in the water, deep

THE SPADE-FOOT TOAD. 135

velvety black ; but when closely examined it was found
that the two irregularly parallel, yellow dorsal stripes,
that are so prominent a feature in the coloration of the
adult male, were plainly discernible.

The movements of these tadpoles were not different
from that of the young frogs and toads in this stage of
their existence. Those that I had in an aquarium moved
in companies as though following a leader, and occasion-
ally one would drop out of the ranks, come promptly to
the surface, eject a bubble of air, and dive again quickly
to the bottom of the tank. Like all tadpoles, they had
enormous appetites, and when fed with bits of raw meat
quickly attached their sucking mouths to the food of-
fered, and did not remove it, I think, while a particle
of blood remained in the mass.

A week later, July 16, the majority of these tadpoles
had acquired their front legs, and the tail had per-
ceptibly diminished in size, but still was used by them
when moving through the water. At this time, how-
ever, the movements of the animal are far less active
than before or soon after, and for a few days, if exposed
to the attacks of any enemies, they would suffer far more
than at any other period of their lives.

A very curious feature in the growth of these animals
is now to be noticed. Of the specimens I had under
examination, in an aquarium, about five per cent, did
not progress beyond the condition in which all were
on July 9. These " retarded " tadpoles proved to be
voracious cannibals. They seized their more matured
companions by their tails and legs, swallowing the mem-
ber, and thus sustaining their own lives at the expense

136 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

of their fellows. They generally killed their victim in
the course of twenty-four hours, and often in less time,
and then promptly seized another. So bloodthirsty were
these few " retarded " tadpoles that I was compelled to
protect the lives of the little hoppers, their brethren,
which now, in spite of stumps of tails, sat in frog-like
fashion on their haunches, and were in all respects min-
iatures of the adult spade-foots that in April and June
made night hideous with their unearthly cries.

Having tested several specimens, a few days previous-
ly, as to their ability to assume the land-life of adult
Scaphiopi, by placing them upon damp sand, and find-
ing that they throve fairly well, on the 25th of July I
removed the water in the aquarium and put in earth to
about an inch in depth, and very carefully smoothed the
surface. Upon this the young spade-foots were placed,
and in less than one minute many had commenced dig-
ging little burrows, into which they disappeared as the
excavations deepened. In all respects these burrows
were like those made by adult spade-foots, oval in out-
line, oblique in direction, and generally with a slight
angle in the course. In twenty minutes all but two, of
forty-four specimens, were below the surface of the
earth stratum I had placed in the aquarium.

It now became monotonous in the extreme to watch
them. Not a movement occurred that was other than
might be expected of adult toads or frogs of any spe-
cies.

I did not see them eat, but as only living food would
now be accepted by them, it was simply because minute
insect life did not come within reach ; but while yet in

THE SPADE-FOOT TOAD. 187

the water these young spade-foots found some food, as
shown by the examination of the stomachs and intestines
of several specimens. Dr. A. C. Stokes kindly made
this examination, at my request, and reported as follows :
In the stomach of one was found fragments of a fly and
of a small moth, and in the intestine a mass of sand grains
cemented together by dark brown amorphous matter,
with numerous rhizopods (Arcella) and several diatoms.
In the stomach of another a species of Thrips, and a few
diatoms in the intestine.

These two specimens had been thirty-six hours out of
the water when the examination was made. But if my
friend did not find much food in the stomachs of the lit-
tle spade-foots, he did find an abundance of microscop-
ical life. Let him tell us about it in his own words :

"While making a microscopical examination of the
intestinal and stomach contents of young spade-foot
hermit toads, I observed two forms of apparently un-
described endoparasitic Infusoria so crowding the rectum
that it seemed only a thin-walled tube surrounding a
semi-solid, writhing mass which, viewed with a low
power objective, brought to mind the idea of a shimmer-
ing cloud of heated air, or a wavering flame of color-
less fire, through which here and there glistened a yel-
low spark.

" The rectum of toads and frogs has long been a kind
of happy-hunting-ground for endoparasites, especially
for the Opalinse; but so far as I am aware only colorless
species of the genus have been observed. In this in-
stance, however, the yellow points within that living mass
proved to be Opalinse of a lemon-yellow tint. The

138 UPLAND AND MEADOW,

periphery and, to a much less extent, the deeper portion
of the endoplasm are tinged, the color, which appears
to be a stain and not an aggregation of particles, being
collected in a layer near the cnticular surface, with a
quite sharply defined line of demarcation between the
lower margin and the internal body-sarcode.

" Tlieir numbers are not great ; perhaps a dozen were
noted in the contents of the rectum. Neither are they
always to be found. Compared with its more numerous
associates, however, this yellow creature is a giant among
pygmies, and it rotates through the mass with a care-
lessness as to results quite in keeping with its bulk. It
measures from ^^ to g-l^ inch in length.

" The intestinal fluid seemed thickened by the throng
of bacteria, bacilli, vibriones, and spirilla accompanying
the Opalinae ; and associated with them was not only an
undescribed flagellate zooid, but a large species of Opa-
lina, which I have, after some hesitation, identified with
0. ranarum Purk. Their appearance and structure are
those of the latter, but the size is mucli less. They are
quite active. As they pressed each other beneath the
surface or forced each other upward, the aspect of the
field of view was comically like a pool of furiously
boiling soup with big dumplings bobbing about."

During this simple series of observations of young
spade-foots in confinement, I watched also the develop-
ment of those left in the sink-hole. The water there
soon was confined to mere puddles concealed in the
dead leaves, and before the young had their limbs fully
developed the depth was nowhere sufiieient to permit
of swimming. Three days in advance of the maturing

THE SPADE-FOOT TOAD. • 139

of my confined specimens, I saw, in the sink-hole, a
few individuals which had fairly assumed the land-liv-
ing, air-breathing stage of existence. Supposing that,
like those I had at home, they would burrow in the
earth where they were^ I did not visit the locality from
the 21st to the 31st of July, on which date I made an
exhaustive but unsuccessful search for them, j^ot a
trace of either young or adult could I discover. It can-
not be said that they were overlooked. My search was
too careful and comprehensive for this, and I believe
that these spade-foots, both old and young, wander far-
ther from their breeding-grounds than is supposed, or
else dig far deeper into the earth than a depth of six or
eight inches, as stated by Holbrook and DeKay.

Since the above was written I have received a most
interesting letter from Mr. Nicolas Pike, the well-known
naturalist of Brooklyn, L. I., and I take the liberty of
quoting a few lines of his concerning the spade-foot
toad. He remarks, it is a " most interesting and curi-
ous animal, well worth study. It changes its color much
during hibernation. As you must have many around
you, -by looking on sandy, gravelly elevations I think
you would find their holes. They make a turnip-shaped
hole, a few inches deep, leaving an opening at the sur-
face, and in this they live. They are nocturnal, seldom
venturing forth in the day. There is always a secre-
tion around their house to attract insects."

I sincerely wish that I could add that I have found
their subterranean retreats, such as Mr. Pike describes,
but, so far, luck has been against mo. If all the spade-
foots that I saw in the sink-hole had burrows in the ad.

140 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

joining fields, I am puzzled to know why I overlooked
them all. It was not for want of painstaking search
for them.

I have already referred to the wonderful noises made
by these animals when they congregate in pools for the
purpose of spawning. At no other time do they ap-
pear to be vocal, and the question naturally arises, why,
when the animal leads a life that requires no such power
except for two or three days in a year, should its utter-
ances be far louder than any or all the frogs and toads
of the same locality combined ? Although the animal
is strictly crepuscular, and not diurnal, it could readily
find a mate guided by sight, and tlie purpose of the deaf-
ening epithalamium is somewhat hard to determine. If
it could be shown that they call to each other from far-
distant points, the difiiculty would disappear; but this
they are not known to do. Apparently it is not until
they are congregated in some available pool that they
sing, if singing it can be called. No words yet in use in
our language can fairly describe their utterances, which,
it may be presumed, are expressions of delight at meet-
ing.

A word in conclusion with reference to the peculiar
spur-like process which gives the common name to this
batrachian. Holbrook describes it accurately as follows :
" On the internal margin of the metatarsus is a horny,
spade-like process, containing a bone, which moves by
an imperfect joint ; the breadth of this process is about
a line and a half, its length one line ; the cutting edge
is jet black." By viewing the foot from beneath, this
little spade can be readily seen. It will also be noticed

THE SPADE-FOOT TOAD. 141

that tlie little toe terminates also in a horny knob, a fact
which has hitherto, I believe, been overlooked.

I have already mentioned how quickly the young
hoppers dug little tunnels for themselves when placed
upon the earth. At that early age the growth of the
"spade" had commenced. This is now a white, soft,
cartilaginous process, differing greatly from the same
feature on an adult foot. It can scarcely be of use in
digging, at this time, and so leads us to infer that the
young choose more yielding earth and remain nearer
the surface than do the adult spade-foots. In such a
case the older the creature and better developed the
spade the deeper are the subterranean homes wherein
they seem to remain so closely, and from which, moved
by some common impulse, they mysteriously come forth,
in multitudes, to startle the passer-by with their weird
cries, and then as suddenly disappear.

CHAPTER ^III.
TRUMPET-CREEPERS AND THE RUBY-THROATS.

I KNOW of a little garden planted one hundred and
forty years ago, and wholly neglected for the past half-
century. Were it not that the squat wooden fence sur-
rounding it had the stoutest of locust posts for its sup-
port, this would long since have wholly disappeared. As
it is, but a small portion remains, and the few fragments
of lichen-coated and worm-eaten palings that still cling
to the posts will scarcely bear handling. In their place,
however, is a wayward, untrimmed growth of goose-
berry-bushes that conceals what little remains of the old-
time fence. This, even as it now is, forms a pretty
hedge, and is the delight of sundry song-sparrows that
haunt its tangled recesses the year through. I have
often thought that nowhere else have 1 heard as sweet
music from sparrows as when listening to the occupants
of these bushes.

In one corner of this gooseberry -hedge stands a quince-
tree that is a veritable relic of the past. Tradition has
it that it was brouglit from England as far back as
1684, which is probably true. However this may be,
it is now a gnarly, bent, and rheumatic-looking growth,
quite dead at the top, and when at its best so sparsely
covered with leaves that one may well question whether
it is not more dead than alive. So far as can be ascer-

TRUMPET-CREEPERS AND THE RUBY-THROATS. 143

tained, there is no tradition even as to when it last pro-
duced any fruit. I am sure, for twenty years it has
never had a blossom. The tree has one great merit,
however. It is held in good repute by the sparrows,
and is the stage whereon are performed their choicest
concerts. At sunset, and often later, these birds perch
upon the outermost limbs of the tree, where they pro-
ject upward for some distance from the bushes, and sing
as only an old, experienced sparrow can.

Following this gooseberry hedge a distance of some
fifty paces, we come to another corner of the weed-
grown garden, which is even more attractive. What is
here wanting in bird music is made up in wealth of
color, and, with no lack of proper appreciation of the old
quince and the sparrows, I often pass them by, in mid-
summer, and seek this gaudy corner, where, reclining on
an oval mat of ribbon-grass, I gaze by the hour at the
rank growth of an aged trumpet-creeper that monopo-
lizes every vestige of the ancient fence and all other
available supports. The rank growth of tangled vine,
however bloom-laden, is not of itself the attraction. It
is the humming-birds' paradise. Given a warm day in
August, with a clear sky, and the vine in full bloom,
and the fourth feature that completes the picture will
not be wanting.

By the time these old-fashioned flowering vines are in
full bloom the nests of the ruby-throats are deserted,
their young are strong upon the wing, and during the
few remaining weeks of summer no one spot is so much
frequented by these birds as where the trumpet-creepers
grow. I have often seen a dozen, at one time, hovering

141 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

over the wealth of crimson bloom, and witnessed, I am
Borrj to admit, not only remarkable exhibitions of flight-
power, bnt some of the fiercest battles ever fought by
birds.

Perhaps no one of our birds, not even the wren, is
more ready to enter into a fight, has uniformly more
courage, and, when worsted in combat, yields more re-
luctantly. Quite recently, I was forcibly impressed with
the fact of their fiery tempers, by chancing to witness a
free fight between three of these birds, that happened
to meet near the old trumpet-creepers. The day was
absolutely perfect ; warm, without being oppressive ;
sunny, yet without too great a glare; with bees and but-
terflies all astir, and tireless locusts "z — ing" in all the
tall trees near by. The swallows were abroad in unusual
numbers ; the wood-thrushes sang in the shady covers ;
the noisy crows were cawing ceaselessly. In truth, noth-
ing was wanting to induce one to take a good long walk.
Realizing this, I wandered as far as the old garden, and,
fashioning a soft cushion of the rank ribbon-grass, sat
down to watch the restless ruby-throats that were busy
among the blossoms.

There were but three of them when I reached the
spot, and for a few minutes all went well ; but very soon
it became evident that each considered the others as in-
truders, and when by chance two visited adjoining flow-
ers or crossed each other's paths in their short flights, an
ominous buzzing, and at times a sharp squeal, suggested
" bad blood." I left my place and drew nearer, that I
might see the proceedings more distinctly, and it proved
a lucky thought to do so. No sooner was I re-seated in

TRUMrET-CREEPERS AND THE RUBY-THROATS. 145

a more favorable position than the battle began. Minute

description is, of course, impracticable. It was

" Too like the lightning, that doth cease to be
Ere one can say— it lightens!"

Withdrawing from the flowers, the three birds circled
over the spot where I had been sitting, and rushed at
each other with impetuous fury. Turning as quickly as
they passed each other, again each assaulted the other,
and all the while they drew nearer together. A loud
bee-like huinining was clearly audible, and in less than
a minute they were so near each other as to be scarcely
distinguishable. I could only determine that their
method of attack was an effort to stab with their sharp
beaks. This, finally, one succeeded in doing. His beak
was thrust its full length, I thought, into the breast of
another, and the two birds fell together to the ground.
The third, thinking, perhaps, he had vanquished both,
returned to the flowers.

I stepped quickly to the spot where the two birds
were lying on the grass, and as I reached forward to
cover them with my hat, one darted off; the other I
caught, as it was sorely wounded, and for the time dis-
abled. It proved, however, to have simply a flesh-wound,
and in the course of half an hour was able to fly, very
weakly, however, and the blood upon its breast showed
that the hurt was no trivial scratch.

Such occurrences as this are not unusual. So long as
the trumpet-creepers are in bloom the ruby-throats con-
tinue to frequent them ; each desirous of the choicest
blossoms, and angered by every interruption. Bees,
wasps, and hornets they always attack, but not always

7

146 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

successfully. They are not mere honey-suckers, as is
often thought, but tireless fly-catchers, a fact generally
unknown and probably overlooked by the Philadelphia
poet-naturalist, with whose lines I close :

" Thou tiny spirit of the air,
With sylph-like motion, glad and free;
Who can thy meteor presence spare,
Whose childhood passed near thee?
For near our door thou lov'st to dip
Thy bill in the Bignonia's bloom
And of its nectar juices sip
'Mid summer's choice perfume."

CHAPTER IX.
THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE.

There are moments of extreme felicity in the life of
a naturalist, and one of them is at the drawing of the
seine. For how long had I looked at the broad, blue
expanse of Poaetquissings, near the mouth of Back
Creek ! While sitting on the little beach at the Sand
Point, how much I have wondered what strange creatures
might be beneath that glassy surface. To be sure, I
had peered into these depths so often that I knew every
pebble and water-logged tree on the bottom. Still, I
imagined it the home of creatures unknown to me, and
possibly of patriarchs of those that were known. I had
dreamed of ten-pound pike and monster catfish — now
the reality was at hand. A net, such as had never be-
fore been used in the creek, was in place. Encircling a
large and deep portion of the stream, it was being slow-
ly drawn to shore, and steadily narrowing the range
of the life within its contracting boundaries. lEow my
heart leaped as angry pike struck wildly at the cork
line, and a myriad of shiners rippled the muddied
waters. Now and then some black, smooth, shining ob-
ject loomed up, as though a small whale was about to
breach. A bit of wood, merely, but so lifelike in its
movement that to ignore it was impossible. Nearer
and nearer the lines approach the shore, and carefully

148 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

the lower, weighted cord is kept upon the bottom. The
net becomes a great bag in tlie water, and this now
slowly emerges. The water, that, as tangled drops, had
been held by the weeds now rudely dragged ashore, is
again free, and hurries to the pond, wearing threadlike
channels in the sand. With one mighty lift the net,
fairly quivering with the splashing, struggling, sobbing
mass of terror-stricken creatures within its folds, is borne
to the dry land and laid upon the trampled grass and
muddy beach.

The prosaic matter of assorting and gathering the
valued portion of the catch commences. Pike, perch,
bass, catfish, and a few great land-locked gizzard-shad
are picked from the weeds and thrown into a basket ;
the net is gathered, freed from sticks, and placed in a
wagon. The fishermen's work is done, and mine be-
gins.

As I bend over the refuse, what a wealth of small fry
is visible, from which to pick and choose ! The ill-man-
nered fishermen laugh in derision as I wash a soiled
minnow, rescued from the weeds. This is an experience
a naturalist soon becomes accustomed to, and a judicious
show of fight will sometimes prove desirable; but it is
well to take such matters with reasonable good-nature,
for these same men are often good observers in their
way, and may prove the means of securing rare objects
that otherwise would be lost. I do not profess to be
very patient, but self-control has often worked well, and
secured me friends where I least expected to find them.
A bully that once was too troublesome for endurance,
and was thrashed, a month later broutjlit me the first

THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE 149

living gar tiiat I had ever seen. The fishermen
having departed, I was left in peace to pursue my
studies.

Of diminutive cyprinoids, now dead and faded, there
were hundreds; and of the tougher toothed-minnows
nearly as many more. I was at once struck with the
great difference between these two families of fishes.
The slender, silvery cyprinoids made scarcely an effort
to escape, and, gasping a few times, were dying or dead.
Not so the blunt-head toothed-minnows or cyprinodonts.
Their gill-covers shut closely, and retained a supply of
water on their branchiag or breathing apparatus. They
lost no muscular power by exposure to the atmosphere,
and seemed to have so far a sense of direction that all
were making intelligent efforts to reach the open water.
I saw cyprinoids lying within a hand's breadth of water
into which they could have jumped with but little effort,
and yet they remained and died ; while the cyprinodonts,
often two and three yards distant, found their way to it,
and escaped. Their movements recalled what I had
read of the strange periophthalmus, a little fish found
in the Philippine Islands, which, leaving the water,
" skip along the strand with long leaps, evidently seek-
ing their food, which, besides insects, consists principally
of" onchidia, a genus of mollusca. I have never seen
these blunt-headed, hardy minnows leave the creek and
go insect-hunting, it is true, but the pluck and method
of the fish when removed from the water show very
clearly that but little experience and teaching need be
added to make them as hardy and active out of water
as their distant cousins of the Philippines.

150 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

Fingering the mass of wet weeds and its entangled
prisoners, I supposed I iiad gathered a full series of these
small fishes, but a careful inspection, as they circled about
the glass jar, revealed the fact that I had done more, for
one of the cjprinodonts was double-tailed. The vertebrae
branched, a half-dozen joints from their termination,
and each branch was well equipped with bony frame-
work, muscles, nerves, skin, fins, and all the require-
ments of a first-class tail. These deformed minnows,
like deformed trout, are quite common ; but never, I be-
lieve, have I seen any aberrant form so perfectly sym-
metrical as this. It swam with all the ease of normal
specimens, and quite as rapidly.

All deformed fish that I have met with were healthy.
Their mishap resulted in no inconvenience, and every
humpbacked and crooked fish seemed to have as good
times as its associates ; a happy condition of affairs that
usually does not hold good with the higher vertebrates ;
for, with birds and mammals, unfortunates are often os-
tracized, and more frequently killed.

Speaking of the " good times " enjoyed by fishes,
what of such an occurrence as the drawing of the seine ?
I have always insisted npon the fact that fishes were in-
telligent creatures ; probably more so than batrachians,
as a class ; and if so, may it not be that they suffer con-
siderable mental as well as physical discomfort when
tangled in the meshes of the net ? Logically, this should
be so; and when we look an angry pike or bass straight
in the eye, our faith in the logic is strengthened. When
either of these fish makes a lunge for j'our hand, and bites
you severely, theory vanishes, and you arc practically

THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE. 151

convinced that some fishes are no fools, whatever others
may be.

While still peering into the nooks and crannies of
the mat of weeds, I caught a glimpse of one little fellow
that I failed, at the moment, to recognize. It was too
" deeply, darkly, beautifully blue" for any of our cypri-
noids or other small fish found in Poaetquissings Creek.
Carefully bringing it to light, it proved to be a little
four-spined stickleback, such as is often found in creeks
farther down the river, but does not often wander into
this, the uppermost stream aifected by the tide. Every
spring, since the summer of 1870, I have been on the
lookout for their curious nests, but without success.
Every old fisherman to whom I applied for information
made reply to the effect that he had never seen either
such a fish or its nest. In the upper waters of the creek
they were very abundant during the summer of 1865,
and I found several nests; in succeeding years they
were present, but in fewer numbers, and during the
summer of 1869 they had disappeared. Sometimes it
happens that a freshet in summer restocks our streams
with fishes not otherwise occurring here, and so it may
have been in this case.

The little stickleback that I found to-day exhibited a
degree of irascibility that gave it claim to a high degree
of intelligence as a fish. Indeed, they are much among
fishes what the wrens are among birds. My captive re-
sented all interference with promptness and pluck, and
was particularly incensed when jostled by large fishes.
In this, as in all its movements, it reminded me of one
of its kind captured several years ago. This I placed

153 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

in an aquarium with many other fishes, which, while it
lived, it kept in a constant uproar. A more ill-tem-
pered creature, even among snakes, I have never seen.
It was only satisfied when ciiasing small fishes or snarl-
ing at large ones. Its method of attacking even large
fishes, biting such exposed parts as were not covered
with scales, and by tearing the fin membranes, showed
that it comprehended its disadvantage in size, and made
up for it by systematic attack, absolute fearlessness,
and a degree of energy that was inexhaustible. In an-
other and very marked manner this stickleback showed
its intelliirence. It once made bold to attack a half-
grown pirate perch, a fish that will, less than any other
species, tolerate any interference. The stickleback once
darted at the pirate and tore the membrane of one pec-
toral fin. Instantly the attacked fish gave chase, and in
such determined manner that the stickleback saw it
was likely to be worsted, and took refuge in a little
crevice between two stones, where it was safe, and ever
afterwards only issued quickly from this vantage-ground,
and nipped at the pirate as it passed by, never making
an open attack. This betokened a certain amount of
cowardice, I know, but it also showed so much discretion
that this individual stickleback must be credited with
rare good-sense, if such a blessing cannot be accorded to
the family generally. But I think it can.

Having, as I thought, made a complete collection of
the small fry the net had dragged in from the creek, I
carefully turned the wet mat of vegetation and small
sticks, thinking that possibly something had been over-
looked, and such was the case. To my great delight.

THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE. 153

lying unhurt upon the sand were several young pike
and a beautiful bill-fish ; the latter still alive, but not
active, as were the pike. I gathered it up with much
care, and placed it by itself in a large jar. It soon re-
vived, and the wonted brilliancy of its silvery and steel-
blue back and sides returned. This is one of our most
striking fishes, and I have always lingered by the water's
edge when they chanced to show themselves at or near
the surface. These fish do not like still water, and if
they wander into quiet ponds, and do not find the exit
as readily as they found the entrance, they become
amusingly restless, if, indeed, they do not suffer. It
would seem as though they required water that was
thoroughly aerated, and could not live long in the warm
and "dead" waters of a shallow pond.

Recently a bill-fish was found on the sandy shore of
the river, at low tide. It was apparently unhurt, and
twisted and squirmed vigorously, but did not move
towards the receding waters, as doubtless it desired to
do. Why did it not leave with the tide? was the ques-
tion asked by each of those who saw the struggling
creature, but no one offered a solution of the problem.
Reaching the spot, the cause was evident enough. The
inquisitive bill-fish had snapped at the extended soft
parts of an open mussel, and the enraged mollusk had
closed its shell with a snap, and caught the fish by the
lower jaw. The mussel showed no inclination to re-
linquish its hold, and now that the water had gone, was
evidently striving to bury itself in the sand until return
of tide, as is their usual custom. It could not, however,
drag the fish down with it, nor could the captured bill-

/7*

154 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

fish lift the mussel from its bed in the sand. Both were
prisoners, each being the other's jailer, so long as they
chose to remain so. It was a most curious and instruc-
tive sight.

I find that locally this fish is, or has been, called snipe-
pike, from the fancied resemblance of its attenuated
jaws to the bill of a snipe. Now the name is corrupted
to "snippick," and the remark occasionally heard among
the fishermen, " sly as a snippick," shows that this fish
is credited with considerable intelligence by these prac-
tical observers. Asking an experienced shad and lier-
ring fisherman recently about bill-fish, he told me that
they had, to all appearances, a great deal of curiosity, a
mental condition not common to fishes. That when a
number of them were caught in a herring -net they
seldom made any effort to escape, which they could
easily do, by leaping over the cork-line, but followed
the corks and played about them to the very last, and
only when crowded by the lierring, or approached by
man, would they give a leap far over the cork-line and
be off. It seemed, said he, " as tliough they wanted to
see what sort of a muss the herring were in, but felt en-
tirely sure of their own safety," and he added, "it isn't
very often we catch them, unless we take extra pains
to do it."

The few young pike that remained, for many escaped
while I was engaged with the bill-fish, were still alive,
but weakened by exposure to the atmosphere. I no-
ticed particularly how changeable were their colors. A
moment silvery, then dark blue ; the bars and dots visi-
ble at times, and then fading out. Some had escaped.

THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE. 155

These probably liad received no injury, and their un-
clouded senses told them the direction of the water.
They are intelligent fishes. How well I remember the
cunning shown by a number of pike when in danger of
capture. A gilling-net had been placed across the out-
let of a small tributary of Poaetquissings Creek. In
this little spring-brook several large pike had wandered
in search of minnows. Being disturbed, they rushed
with great impetuosity towards the net, and the fore-
most was at once securely entangled in its meshes.
Straightway the others stopped as suddenly as they had
started, and, recognizing that their fellow was in trouble,
"took in the situation" at once. Each pike evidently
realized the true condition of affairs, and reasoned thus :
that pike tried to go through this obstacle in the water,
and is in trouble ; it is necessary for me to avoid it by
some other means. There were five of these fish that
paused close to the net ; and each acted, I believe, as it
thought best. One of them came to the surface, and,
after a moment's pause, turned upon one side and leaped
over the cork-line. Seeing the success of this effort on
the part of one, a second did the same. A third came
to the shore near where I stood, and, discovering a nar-
row space between the brail and the net, passed very
slowly through, as though feeling its way, although the
water was so shallow that its body was fully one third
above the surface as it did so. The others were either
more timid or less cunning. They turned to go up
stream ; but being met by my companion, who was mak-
ing a great noise by whipping the water, they rushed
again towards the net, but checked their course when

156 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

their noses touched the fatal cords. Prompt action
was necessary. They had not confidence in their leap-
ing-powers ; and both, as though struck with tlie same
thought at the same moment, sank suddenly to the bot-
tom of the stream, and burrowed into the sand and be-
neath the lead line, which was in full view. In a mo-
ment they reappeared on the other side of the net, and
were gone. I could have prevented the escape of all of
these fish, but was so much interested in the evidence
of thought exhibited by them that the idea of molesting
them did not occur to me. There was something in
their manner not readily described, but something which
gave an importance to their acts and added materially
to the strength of the evidence that they were thinking
in all that they did.

I have long insisted that fish can only be intelligibly
described by using such terms as "cunning," "fear,"
"grief," " ingenuity," and " anger;" and if their actions
indicate the possession of such emotions and faculties —
and I claim that they do — then there is open to the
practical naturalist a vast field for careful study and
patient observation. Mr. Romanes, in his volume on
"Animal Intelligence," has remarked, " neither in its in-
stincts nor in general intelligence can any fish be com-
pared with an ant or a bee." This I am forced to dis-
pute, when I recall the habits of our fishes ; the posses-
sion of the faculties mentioned surely narrows the gulf
of which Mr. Romanes speaks. Fish collectively may
not be the intellectual equals of ants and bees, but some
species reach nearly, if not quite, to their standard ;
while probably none are so low in the scale of intelli-

THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE. 157

gence as Mr. Romanes believes. This view of the in-
tellectual status of fishes is further strengthened by the
consideration of their possession of a color-sense; and
here I cannot do better than again quote from a recent
work by the same author.

In his " Mental Evolution in Animals," * Mr. Romanes
remarks : " As further proof that a well-developed sense
of color occurs in fish, I may remark that the elaborate
care with which anglers dress their flies, and select this
and that combination of tints for this and that locality,
time of day, etc., shows that those who are practically
acquainted with the habits of trout, salmon, and other
fresh-water fish, regard the presence of a color-sense in
them as axiomatic." As one "practically acquainted"
with some sixty species of fresh-water fishes, represent-
ing a dozen or more distinct groups, I am reminded, by
the above quotation, of many occurrences witnessed dur-
ing my rambles about the Delaware River, or its tribu-
tary creeks, that have a bearing upon the subject. Be-
sides recognizing the differences in insects by their colors,
have fishes any knowledge of the fact that tiieir own
colors may or may not be protective? Are they aware
that it depends upon themselves whether these colors
shall be a safeguard, or a source of danger? That we
are warranted in giving an affirmative reply is shown, I
think, by their habits, and particularly by the fact that
to a certain extent they have the color of their bodies
under their control.

* " Mental Evolution in Animals," by George J. Romanes. New
York, Appleton, 1884. 12mo, 411 pp.

158 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

Relatively speaking, the fishes of the Delaware River
and its tributaries may be classified, iu regard to their
habits, as diurnal and nocturnal. It might almost be
said that there are no "fixed" habits. I have found
marked variations in every one of the most characteristic
habits of our birds ; and can see no reason why the same
degrees of variability should not likewise obtain among
mammals, reptiles, and fishes. In considering fishes as
either nocturnal or diurnal, I mean that they are so to
about the extent that owls are ; i. e., ranging from spe-
cies as diurnal as hawks to those that are nocturnal, or,
properly speaking, crepuscular. How often we hear the
phrase, " as blind as a bat " ! yet these mammals are not
averse to daylight, and only shun the glare of noonday.
In shady woods they are often found insect-hunting by
day ; and fly just as freely, and range abroad as generally,
on cloudy days, as during the gloaming throughout mid-
summer.

Several years ago, when studying our fishes with ref-
erence to detecting supposed traces of voice possessed
by them, I concluded that the nocturnal, dull-colored
species had the power of uttering certain sounds, espe-
cially during the breeding-season ; while the diurnal
fislies were apparently voiceless, and were dependent
upon their gaudy coloration as a sexual attraction.
More recent observations have led me a step further,
and I am convinced that the colors of many species con-
tinue to play an important part in the struggle for ex-
istence throughout the interim from one breeding-season
to the next. It must be remembered that fishes, when
undisturbed by man's presence, are very different from

THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE. 159

the frightened creatures tliat rush hither and thitlier in
the most reckless manner when startled by his sudden
appearance. We have only to take a favorable position,
and, ourselves unseen, to gaze patiently into their accus-
tomed haunts, to realize what animated, cunning, and
mentally well-developed creatures fishes really are.

That curious group known as "darters," or etheosto-
moids, is always to be found, when not in motion, resting
upon the bottoms of streams ; and I have never found
these fishes in localities where their color did not closely
resemble the sand, mud, or pebbles upon which they
rested. I have tested them in this matter in the follow-
ing manner. Finding a spot in a small stream where
many of these fishes congregated, I placed a large num-
ber of white-porcelain plates in the stream on a level with
the surrounding sand. On disturbing the "darters," I
found that they invariably settled between these plates,
and never on them ; and this after the dishes had been
several days in position. Finally the currents covered
the plates with a thin coating of sand, and then occa-
sionally a "darter" would come to rest upon one of the
plates. The motion of his fins in so doing usually dis-
placed the sand, and exposed tlie white surface beneath :
if 80, the fish darted off, and settled between the plates
or beyond them. It is evident, I think, that protection
through their color must be quite essential to them ;
more so in the matter of procuring their food, perhaps,
than as a safeguard against the attacks of enemies.

The mud-minnow depends very largely upon insects
and smaller fishes for food, and the question of color is
a prominent one in its life history. This fisli frequently

160 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

assumes what we may call an " inanimate" position, and,
with a variety of colors streaking and spotting its sides,
has much the appearance of a bit of dead grass, a twig,
or a caddis-worm. Often such unnatural positions will
be retained for many minutes, or until some object suita-
ble for food comes within reach, when it darts at and
seizes it with the rapidity and certainty of a pike. Now,
in all such cases, there is great and constant changing
of color. Often the tints deepen until the fish appears
to be inky-black, then pale, until, from above, we can
scarcely detect the fish. Such changes, of course, are
very significant, and can only be explained as being ser-
viceable to the fishes in rendering them inconspicuous,
both to their enemies and to the wandering animal-life
on which they prey. In precisely what way the ex-
treme variations from very dark to pale are service-
able is not yet known, so far as I am aware ; but the fact
itself can scarcely be used to the disadvantage of the
main proposition, that the color and its changeablencss
are of benefit to the fish, and are under the animal's con-
trol.

During the early spring, when the vigor of these
fishes is at its maximum, the coloration is more pro-
nounced in every particular; and the continual chang-
ing from dark to light, and vice versa^ as seen in con-
nection with its other habits, shows plainly that it is as
much under control as are the folding and spreading of
a peacock's tail.

The cyprinoids, or "shiners," known collectively as
minnows, roach, and dace, so many species of which are
conspicuously colored at least at one time of the year,

THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE. 161

are all essentially diurnal in habit. Their bright colors,
as a sexual attraction, are essential to their welfare, but
are, at the same time, detrimental to their safety. Have
we any reason for believing that these fishes seek to
avoid exposure to enemies when thus arrayed in extra-
conspicuous dress? I think we have, in the fact that
usually they deposit their ova and milt in rapid waters.
Waters with a constantly rippling and troubled surface
certainly protect them from such enemies as the king-
fisher, fish -eating mammals, and probably from frogs
and snakes. By drawing a seine through turbulent
water at the foot of a mill-dam, I have frequently found
scores of splendidly colored cyprinoids ; and finally,
very soon after spawning, all these extra tints fade out
utterly, and the fishes return to their accustomed haunts.
These facts certaiiily seem to indicate that they are
aware of the disadvantage of unusually bright colors,
which, notwithstanding, are essential to the perpetuation
of their kind.

The corninon banded sunfish, a silvery white species,
has a remarkable control over the color of the black
vertical bands that ordinarily form so conspicuous a
feature of the fish. At times when the water is rather
clear, and the amount of vegetation not abundant, this
sunfish will fade out, and show such ashen, faintly
streaked sides, that it might almost pass for a dead leaf;
but roused to action by the approach of other fishes, or
the finding of food, the dull sides glisten like polished
metal, and the faint bands become as black as ebony.
Certainly these great and sudden changes are not in-
voluntary. They cannot be likened to blushing, but are

162 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

evidently under the fish's control, and are intelligently
used to its advantage.

The bony gar is another fish having decided control
over the coloration of its scales. When this fish is at rest
the scales are pale blue, with a pink margin ; and about
the head and gill-covers there is a variety of brilliant
hues. At times all these colors will suddenly disappear,
and the fish has much more the appearance of a water-
soaked stick than of a living animal. Unfortunately, I
have had too few opportunities for observing this species
to determine the reasons for these changes; but it is
evident that they are under the control of the fish,
and therefore advantageous.

The common pike also exhibits a variation of color-
ing, under different circumstances, and suggests the same
facts that have already been stated with regard to other
species.

"When the chief aim of biological science seemed to
be the naming and describing of " species," it was found
that no description of the color of a fish, unless very
unusual and marked, was at all satisfactory. Consider-
ing the subject of color, as I have here done, the cause
is very evident.

A few fishes which had escaped both my first and
second examination of the mass of aquatic plants yet
remained in the refuse left by the fishermen, after the
drawing of the seine. These were very young eels.
These little specimens were enveloped in the slimy
mass of leaves of the Nuphar pumilum; a splatter-dock
which retains its foliage below the water's surface and
which is but a mass of pulp when brought into the air.

THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE. 163

They were strong, active, and apparently wholly unaf-
fected by breathing the atmosphere, or by the slimy
mass to which I have referred. None were six inches
in length, and several scarcely measured four, yet these
eels, evidently very young, were hatched in salt water,
fully one hundred miles distant from the quiet nook in
Poaetquissings from which they had been so rudely
dragged. To reach tliis spot, what a journey they must
have taken ! As I looked at them, it seemed incredible
that they should have been bred in the sea, and yet the
journey hither need not, after all, have taxed them much.
I tested the speed of several, and estimated it at one
yard in two seconds. This is more than a mile in an
hour, and if these eels kept a straight, up-river course
until they reached the mouth of Poaetquissings Creek,
four days would have brought them here; and these in-
dividuals were probably ten times four days old, and
possibly a good deal older.

But why do they come? What impels these young
eels, literally by the million, to go up stream as soon
as born ? Up, up, up, until the mere moist earth of some
far-distant spring is reached. Even here, they do not
always stop, but, leaving every trace of water, travel
overland through the damp grass, and find a check to
their progress only in stretches of dry sand ; nor, by the
way, is this so uncommon an occurrence as is usually
thought. Eels are fish, and, of course, must be con-
sidered as aquatic, yet they are occasionally terrestrial
creatures ; but of this hereafter.

The life-history of the eel is very imperfectly under-
stood. It is certain that such young eels as wander so

164 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

very far inland never, in later years, show any disposi-
tion to retnrn to the sea, and j'et, beyond its boundaries
they never breed. So far as is now known, a certain
proportion of young eels annually ascend our rivers, and
never return. These are barren, whatever age they may
acquire; and why they come and lead a life so different
from their brethren in the sea is an unsolved mystery.
From my own rather limited observations, I judge that
these young eels grow very slowly, even under the most
favorable circumstances. Specimens which were fed
with great regularity and kept under scrutiny for near-
ly two years were but one fourth heavier at the end of
twenty-two months than when caught and placed in con-
finement. Some allowance, possibly, should be made for
the fact that they were not under absolutely natural con-
ditions; but granting this, it is doubtful if they double
their weight every two years, under average conditions.
At such a rate, some of the old five-pound eels of our
mill ponds must be veritable patriarchs.

" If eels are very lively, it is a sign of rain ;" so runs
an old saying; but when, pray, are they not? Being
nocturnal, of course, they are less active during mid-
day than midnight, but I have never found them want-
ing in activity, and the relationship of their movements
to the weather is not apparent in the neighborhood of
Poaetquissings.

A word now as to eels as land-animals. It is not
proper to speak of them as air-breathing fishes, and just
how they get over the difficulty of respiration, when on
land, constructed as they are, I shall not endeavor to
explain ; but the fact exists, that eels not only occasion-

THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE. 165

ally make overland journeys from one body of water to
another, but they leave their proper element, at times,
to feed upon animal matter lying on the shore, but
quite out of the water. My attention was called to this
fact during the past summer. A deep hole in the
creek had had a net drawn through it, and nearly a
bushel of catfish had been taken. These the fishermen
dressed upon the sliore, and left the heads, skins, and
refuse portions lying on the sand, fully twenty feet from
the water. Exposure to the hot sun soon caused de-
composition to set in, and the stench was powerful.
Two days later, having occasion to pass near by, I no-
ticed a series of serpentine lines or channels in the sand,
leading from the putrescent mass to the water. They
were not the tracks of any mammal, batracliian, or insect,
evidently. No mollusk could have worn so deep a path,
and snakes glide too gently over sand to leave a trace
of their passage. What, then, could it be ? Certain that
the visitors to the spot came at night, I hoped the visit
might be repeated, and long after the sun went down I
quietly approached the place, thinking to surprise the
creatures, whatever they might be. In this I was suc-
cessful, and no caution was necessary in making the dis-
covery. I found a dozen small eels apparently feeding
on the decaying fish-heads, and they made no effort to es-
cape, when I reached the spot. These, it proved, were the
animals that had channelled the sand between the, to
them, savory food and the water. It is well-known that
eels swim very near the surface of the water, at night,
and often with the tips of their noses just above it, so
that the surface is rippled as they move rapidly along.

166 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

Is it for the purpose of "locating" the presence of food
upon land, not too far for them to reach ? Doubtless, if
an abundance of food is to be had in the waters, eels pre-
fer to feed upon it then and there; but my observations
indicate tliat the food is not necessarily out of reach
simply because it is on dry land.

Abundant as were the number of fishes found that
morning in the pond-weeds drawn from the creek, ani-
mal life was by no means confined to this family. Crus-
taceans were well represented in individuals, if not in
species; and everywhere in the weeds were crawling,
impatient crayfish, of two kinds, large, half-grown, and
pygmies. The differences between these are not very
apparent at first glance, but are persistent and readily
recognized, after a little schooling. It consists mainly
in the way the snout is pointed ; in one, the slender
crayfish, it is broad, of uniform width, and comes rapidly
to a point ; in the other, Blanding's crayfish, it gradually
tapers from the base to the point. These two species
proved about equally common in the mass of weeds to-
day, but, considering the creek as one locality, probably
the broad-snouted crayfish is somewhat the more abun-
dant. In certain ditches, connected with Crosswicka
Creek, on the other hand, the slender-snouted form is
greatly in excess.

Some years ago I gave a summer to these crayfish,
and learned a very little about them ; but my observa-
tions during subsequent years have necessitated my
unlearning a half of this too quickly acquired knowl-
edge. Probably what little I now know of them will be

THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE. 167

lield as scarcely worth recording. Crayfish are not easily
studied. You may watch them for hours, and the fact
that a crayfish has been before you may be the only one
that you will have to carry away with you. They enjoy
a game of stare, and will ontgaze you, in every contest.

Twelve years ago, 1 felt justified in remarking that
" on carefully approaching clear, running streams, Bland-
ing's crayfish is to be seen resting on the plants, always
with the head directed down stream. If disturbed, they
would dart backwards down to the roots, apparently, of
the plant upon which they were resting. After a lapse
of about ten minutes they would return to their former
resting-place, creeping up the plant down which they
liad so suddenly darted tail foremost." Here let me
add, that if you approach streams that are neither very
clear nor swift, you will probably see Blanding's crayfish
that are less methodical in their movements ; that head
up stream or down, as they see fit, and if you draw a
scoop-net through the weeds, these same crayfish will
be quite as apt to dart into the mud as to dodge behind
a lily stem. To suppose that they were confined to such
beautiful streams as the head-waters of Poaetquissings
was a grievous error.

Twelve years ago, too, I said the slender, broad-
snouted crayfish was only found in the Delaware River,
" usually frequenting the rocky bed, but also, in fewer
numbers, on the mud-bottomed portions of the river."
Here I was " at sea." Those in the river, " usually rest-
ing under fiat stones," are Barton's crayfish ; while the
slender species is as common in the ditches as any spe-
cies of true fish. Oh ! a little learning, what a nuisance

168 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

you are! A well-disposed critic once told me I was
too fond of generalizations. Well, it is true, so far as
these crustaceans are concerned ; but I know now that
I have gotten them straightened out. There are two
species loving the ditch and haunting weedy creeks ;
there is one that prefers rapid water, and is found in the
river above tide-water ; and a fourth, whicli twelve years
ago I knew nothing about, is more interesting than all
the others. This is the burrowing crayfish, a semi-ter-
restrial species. I found none of them in the refuse from
the seine, it is true; but having had so much to say of
Buch as I did gather, it is well to complete the crayfish-
survey of the region.

The burrowing crayfish dififers from the others, in
that it is not strictly an aquatic species, and is a prom-
inent feature of the fauna of the meadows, from the
fact that it has a subterranean retreat, and marks its site
by an elaborate mud structure, popularly known as a
"chimney." The creature itself, in general appearance,
is much like the others, and is distinguished by a pecu-
liarity in the wrinkles on its back, more easily pointed
out than intelligibly described; but the reader can rest
assured that if he digs down in the stiff loam of the
meadows, to a depth of two feet, and finds there, often
hundreds of yards from open water, a pretty little red-
ish- brown crayfish, that it is the chimney builder to
which I have referred.

The burrowing crayfish commence as early as May 1 to
erect their mud chimneys, or towers, as they are often
called. Some of these are large, some insignificant, and a
few, tall, slender, and synmietrically cylindrical. The

THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE. 163

character of the chimney does not depend upon the size
of the builder, but does have something to do with the lo-
cality. Every variation occurs alike, whether along the
bank of a ditch, or far out in the meadow, hundreds of
yards away.

These so-called chimneys have attracted universal
attention wherever this crayjfish is found, and yet but
very little notice has been taten of them by practical
naturalists. Girard, some years ago, described the bur-
rowing habits of the terrestrial crayfish, making one
important statement, to the effect that the chimneys
were usually closed with a ball of clay — this closing of
the top of the structure being the customary completion
of the crayfish's labors. After carefully examining a
very large series of these chimneys, mostly when just
completed, I have been led to the opposite conclusion —
that they are intended to be left open, and become
closed by accident, a ball of the clay from the rim of the
structure being accidentally misplaced. Now this fact
of some chimneys being closed and others open has
given rise to a weather-proverb of this character: that
when the chimneys are open the weather will be clear,
but some hours before the approach of a storm the
crayfish plugs up the chimney, to keep the rain out.

The truth is, the chimneys, as we shall see, are made
up of pellets of carefully puddled clay, and the increas-
ing moisture of the atmosphere sometimes loosens one
or more pellets, on the rim, and they roll inward and
get lodged. This simple fact has given rise to a weather-
proverb, which in some neighborhoods, all the people
swear by. Consider the absurdity of this from another

8

170 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

point of view: of all the burrowings of this crayfish
that I have examined, or that I have had examined by
others, every one terminated in a little pool of water,
scarcely big enough to let " Diogenes" turn around ; and
some of his burrows are on tide-water flats, which are
alternately flooded and exposed. Why, then, should a
passing shower induce the crayfish to close the opening
of its chimney ?

In Ifature, No. 726 (June 5, 1884), Mr. Ralph S.
Tarr gives an interesting account of his observations of
the chimney-building crayfish {Camharua Diogenes). His
conclusions and my own with reference to this crusta-
cean tally, except upon one point. Mr. Tarr remarks,
" I do not think the chimney is a necessary part of the
nest, but simply the result of digging." On the con-
trary, I am convinced that the crayfish huilda his chim-
ney or tower; that he often studies the locality with
care and builds to suit the chosen site. My reasons for
this conclusion are: That a large series observed during
the present year were so placed on a steeply sloping
bank of a ditch, that if the materials of which the
towers were composed had been simply rejected matter
derived from tunnelling, then it could have been rolled
into the ditch without trouble; while in fact an artistic
tower, only two inches in diameter and varying from
eight to eleven inches in height, was erected ; and in
several instances the base of the tower was specially pro-
vided for by having the ground levelled and smoothed
before the foundation masses of puddled clay were put
in position. Of a series of forty towers built by the
Camharus Diogenes that I observed on the banks of a

THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE. 171

ditch, not one could have been the result of accident, as
suggested by Mr. Tarr.

The towers that were found in the meadows, at a con-
siderable distance from open water, were invariably
broader at the base and never so high as those described
as found on the edge of flowing water. These open-
meadow towers or chimneys, however, were all found to
be composed of pellets of clay so arranged as to render
it highly improbable that their positions were fortuitous.
Indeed, in the majority of instances it would have been
practicable to have rolled the little balls of clay to a con-
siderable distance from the opening of the tunnel.

Perhaps there is a bearing on the question of design
in tower-building in the fact that often half-grown or
even smaller crayfish of this species build the most elab-
orate structures. Some of the finest examples, i. e., the
most slender and tallest, were the work of diminutive
little fellows which certainly could have avoided a deal
of labor if the chimneys or towers were not designed.

But how does the burrowing crayfish build these chim-
neys ? I am forced to admit they have, as yet, overtaxed
my patience, and from personal knowledge I can only
assert that the work is done only at night, and that often
in a single night a tall and stately chimney will be
reared.

Others have been more fortunate, and my nephew
informs me that he has seen the crayfish at work. Find-
ing, one evening, the base of a chimney about one and
a half inches in height, he remained for some time to
get a glimpse of the occupant. In this he was unsuc-
cessful; so the following evening he determined to

173 UPLAND AKD MEADOW.

" make a night of it," if necessary, to see the crayfish at
work. Placing a candle, with a mirror behind it, at a
convenient point, he succeeded in getting a light upon
the chiamey about equal to that of the full moon, and
he himself remained in shadow. After the lapse of
some minutes, in perfect silence, my nephew saw the
antennae of the crayfish above the opening of the bur-
row. These were waved in the air, as if to scent or in
some way recognize danger; for experiment showed
that the slightest noise caused the crayfish to fall back
into his burrow "like a lump of lead." An interim of
fully five minutes elapsed, when the crayfish reappeared.
Nothing disturbing it, the animal half-emerged into
view, and brought on the back of its right claw a ball
of clay-mud, which, by a dexterous tilt of the claw, was
placed on the rim of the chimney. Then the crayfish
remained perfectly quiet for a few seconds, when it
suddenly " doubled up " and dropped to the bottom of
its burrow. There elapsed some three or four minutes
between each appearance; but every time it came it
brought a ball of clay and deposited it in the manner I
have described. About two fifths of the balls were not
placed with sufiicient care and rolled down the outside
of the chimney. If all crayfish work as deliberately as
did this one observed by my nephew, then the chim-
neys are not built in one night; but of this fact, how-
ever, I am so positive, that the crayfish that was seen at
work was certainly an exception to the rule.

It being known that these chimneys are designed, and
how they are made, let some one add an important item
to the world's common stock of knowledge by telling it

THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE. 173

why they are built; and determine also whether or not
this crayfish burrows from the nearest open water to
the point inland where the chimney is erected, or does
it travel overland to a convenient spot and burrow
downwards? I believe I have knowledge of upward
burrowing and the subsequent building of the chimney.

Bared fingers must not be thrust too carelessly into
the mass of myriophyllum and lily stems. There are
insignificant aquatic insects sure to be tangled there,
that can bite as sharply as they can swim swiftly ; and
when, by chance, a half-dozen nip at your finger-ends at
once, your ejaculations may startle your own self. It is
remarkable how much emphasis rolls, ready- waiting,
under the tongues of bug-bitten mortals.

The most numerous of the aquatic insects brought up
by the net, and which have bitten me severely more
than once, are everywhere known as water-boatmen, or
Kotonectae, a much prettier name. Let us give them a
moment's consideration. They are perfect insects, and
not larval forms of some aerial creature ; and are strictly
aquatic forms. Still, they have wings, and if they find
their home pond drying up, will take a prolonged flight
in search of more comfortable quarters. A curious feat-
ure of their habits is, that they always swim on their
backs, just as we saw that the little spring-time crusta-
cean, Branchipus, does; and it is only when swimming
that they may be said to be at home. They never know
when to stop. They come to the surface witli a series
of most sprightly jerks, tarry a moment, and dive grace-
fully to the bottom, then up again; and so they con-

174 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

tinue until their appetite prompts them to seek for food,
which it does pretty constantly. They grasp any avail-
able insect that comes within reach, and suck the fluids
from its body. But they are not content with an insec-
tivorous diet. Time and again, like some aquatic beetles,
they seize a small fish, always at the gills, and soon draw
from it most, if not all, the blood the body contains.
Considering how readily they can pierce the thick skin
of a person's finger, it is not strange that a minnow an
inch or two long quickly succumbs when once a water-
boatman has made good his hold.

There are other insects, of about the same size and
general outline as the Notonectse, for which I know of
no common name. In the minds of many they are con-
founded with the preceding, from which they difPer in
habits as well as anatomy. So far as my personal expe-
rience extends, they do not bite, and I have never seen
them attack small fishes.

While resting from my labors for a moment, after
picking out a few water-boatmen for future study, I saw
a single specimen of a long, attenuated, gray insect, with
legs as exaggerated as are those of a " walking-stick" or
Diapheromera. What to call them I do not know. My
entomological friends say Ranatra, and we had better
follow their example. They are apparently as lazy as
water-boatmen are restless. When they do see fit to
move, it is with great deliberation, as when they walk
circumspectly along the edge of the still waters where
sunfish eggs are likely to be. These they seize and suck,
and so quietly that the guarding sunfish does not recog-
nize the depredator from a chance twig that has floated

THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE. 175

thither ; or is the fish afraid of the creature ? They are
bloodthirsty at times, and then attack small fishes. The
specimen I gathered- to-day may have been injured, but
it did not resent handling, and seemed active enough
when I placed him in an aquarium.

There is another of these aquatic bugs fully as inter-
esting as the water-boatman. It is called a water-scorpion,
but there is no sting in its tail or malice in its heart ; it
has the manner of a philosopher, or, at least, of a contem-
plative rambler. Unlike the peaceful (?) Corixa, which
swims with its back up, or the Notonecta, which swims
on its back, this so-called scorpion walks leisurely about
the bottom of the pond or ditch, intent upon its own
business, the character of which, by the way, I have not
been able to determine.

Of course it can swim, and very well too, but this is
not a favorite mode of locomotion, and when a summer
pond nearly dries up, can fly to deeper and more certain
waters. In this respect they have something to learn,
for when they can recognize a temporary pool from per-
manent waters they will be saved the trouble of migra-
tion.

I have intimated that this water-scorpion is a bit of a
philosopher, because I am really convinced that it is,
yet to specify the indications of such a fact is impossible.
I have never seen a single act that demonstrated its in-
tellectual superiority over its associates, insects as quick-
witted, possibly, as they ; but something in the manner
of the creature is certainly suggestive.

This may seem like trifling with the subject, but it is
not. Those who are accustomed to study the lower

176 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

forms of animal life will usually find it very diflBcult to
detect pronounced evidences of cunning or skill, yet
will always, I believe, feel convinced of a difference in
the degree of intelligence among allied forms. Cer-
tainly, in mammals and birds this difference obtains and
has been often commented upon, and, logically, the same
should be true of invertebrates, although it is far more
difficult to demonstrate the fact.

In bees, wasps, and trap-door spiders there is, of
course, much to comment upon as proofs of these creat-
ures' intelligence, but in the case of a water-scorpion
all this is wanting, yet I believe no one can carefully
watch them for an hour or more without being im-
pressed that they are methodical, cautious, and — may I
add ? — contemplative.

And why may not a water-bug think, as well as a
spider ? A German naturalist says of the latter, " that
they reflect is proved by the fact that they despise cer-
tain kinds of tough, chitinous insects which they have
unsuccessfully attacked before. This reflection is to be
distinguished from the instinctive dread which they
have for bee-like flies."

"While I doubt not but that the great majority of
people will scout the idea that a mere impression, and
an apparently very fanciful one, is of value in judging
of an animal's intellectual status, I feel warranted in
offering the suggestion that if such impressions, in the
minds of unprejudiced observers, are uniform, whenever
the animal is under inspection, even if no act can bo
specialized as thoughtful, then they are proper criteria
upon which to base a conclusion.

THE DRAWING OF THE SEIXE. 177

Corixse and water-boatmen are unequalled examples
of tireless animal activity. Even when swimming with
the distinct purpose of securing their prey, we look
upon them in the light of machines rather than living
animals : as self-winding engines wound up and set to
capture diminutive insects and newlj-hatched minnows
— but the water-scorpion walks deliberately along the
bottom of the pond, looking for food, seeking desirable
shelter, and in all things taking the world so easily that
we are led to admire it, while we simply wonder at, and
are bewildered by, the others.

Unlike the other bugs that throughout summer are
its daily companions, the water-scorpion does not appear
to hibernate. However cold the weather, there will al-
ways be found numbers of these " scorpions " taking a
quiet stroll, where the sun, here and there, lights up a
corner in the ice-bound pond. When the ice is very
clear I have often seen them stepping carefully along the
mud, avoiding troublesome obstructions, peeping under
bits of dead leaves, and giving now and then a sly kick
at the caddis- worms that always thickly bestrew the level
reaches of the sand. Perhaps it was accidental in every
case, but the appearances were strongly in favor of the
view that the bug deliberately gave the half-helpless
worm a vigorous kick that sent it whirling end over end
in a ludicrous manner.

One might think that, with these, little fish and all
defenseless forms of aquatic life were quite suflBciently
persecuted, if, indeed, they had not more than their share
of life-destroying insect pests, but, on the fishes' account,

8*

178 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

I am sorry to say there are two more, and one of them
the largest and fiercest of them all. The smaller of the
two is, in Poaetquissings, not at all common, but is a ver-
itable crosspatch, and makes up in ferocity what may be
lacking in numbers. Usually they are recognized as
present by the collector being bitten, and they then
may pass as water-boatmen, which possess the same in-
convenient habit. It is to be presumed, however, that
after years of experience a difference in the bite will be
detected, and the more precise naturalist will proceed to
investigate whether his fingers were nipped by a true
water-boatman or a Pelocoris. For the benefit of the
inexperienced it should be said that the same remedy,
mud, is equally efficacious.

This water-boatman-like Pelocoris has the one good
quality of being an insect-eater ; and will dine off a co-
rixa as readily as a new-born fish. The two insects are
not very closely related, and so perhaps Pelocoris cannot
be considered cannibal ; just as we look upon it as a
mere matter of taste whether or not man eats roast
monkey, but —

The last but one, and largest, of the lot has not re-
ceived a common name, and were not " water-tiger "
preoccupied I would suggest it. Its scientific name, in
English, is spearmouth.

This creature may be crudely described as a giant
water-scorpion, for, instead of being a little more than
half an inch long, it is nearly three inches, and wide in
proportion. As the spearmouth is, in color, much like
the muddy bottom of a pond, it realizes the protection

THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE. 179

afforded by this similarity of tints, as shown by its
stealthy action when it creeps among the stems of water-
plants, or suddenly squats on the bare mud, if the cov-
eted prey approaches.

Here, at all events, we have an aquatic insect that not
only possesses intelligence, but gives abundant evidence
of the fact. There is exhibited by it all the cunning in
hunting displayed by the most sagacious of mammals ;
and as it preys upon fishes of considerable size, seizing
them at the gills, as mammals strike for the throat of
their victims, one has but to place a spearmouth in an
aquarium to see from how terrible a foe our fishes are
called upon to escape, if happily they can.

But there is a much smaller species of these spear-
raouths or Belostomse, which must not be overlooked.
They are hardy, non - hibernating insects, and, with
Nepae, are found all through the winter in the mud of
the ditches, or on it. Perhaps they have not as much
vivacity then as in midsummer, or need no food, but,
even as late as March, numbers of them, kept in an
aquarium, were very peaceful, and lazy too, at times.
Often they would lie flat upon their backs and, to all
appearances, were dead ; but any disturbance roused
them, and away they would walk or swim, as they felt
disposed. During the summer they doubtless cling to
grass or twigs: but having no such support in the aqua-
rium, they seemed to delight in riding about on the
backs of the larger fishes, but not annoying them in
any way ; and one sat for half an hour on the snout of
a small turtle, which seemed careful not to move so as
to disturb the bug; and yet it had but to open its

180 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

mouth to swallow the creature, had it chosen so to
do.

The contrast between these small " spearmouths "
and their larger cousins, as seen in midsummer, was
very marked.

So much for water- bugs; and now a word about
water-beetles. Of course, there were scuttle-bugs in
abundance. Where was there ever a creek, in summer,
that was not rippled by their erratic coursing? Un-
fortunately, they are so very common that they have
aroused no curiosity in the minds of most people,
yet they are curious creatures, and worthy of a passing
notice. We all know they are not easy to catch, except
with a dip-net; nor need we wonder, for they have
eyes on the top of their head, wherewith to watch the
upper regions, and a pair of equally good ones beneath,
to guide them when they dive out of your reach.

These creatures have not escaped incorporation in
local weather-lore, and their unusual abundance is said
to be the sign of a shower. I have been for several
years in quest of the difference between many and a
great many of them ; so, if they are noticeably numer-
ous, do not turn back for an umbrella ; the chances be-
ing there are not quite enough of them to bring up the
shower.

Bearing some resemblance to the whirligigs or scut-
tle-bugs are those much larger, shiny black beetles, the
young of which Packard aptly calls " water - tigers."
They are voracious enough to be called by any blood-

THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE. 181

thirsty name, so water-tiger let it be ; although I have
caught the habit of my entomological acquaintances,
and speak of it generally, to them at least, as the Dytis-
cus. There was one of these beetles in the mass of
weeds. It did not bite me when I picked it up, but it
had jaws that could have brought my blood if the creat-
ure had been disposed to try.

Happily, these large beetles are not very abundant, or
small fish would have a hard time of it. Tliey are quick
as a flash, and seize a fish just as the little water-boat-
men do, and, once seized, there is no hope of escape.

Dr. Packard considers the cylindrical larva of this bee-
tle as voracious as an insect can be, remarking of them
that their " large fiattened heads, armed with scissor-
like jaws with which they seize other insects," are also
used to " snip off the tails of tadpoles," and they " are
even known to attack young fishes, sucking their blood."

This is unquestionably true of these larval water-
tigers. I took a half-dozen of them, some summers
ago, from Poaetquissings, and placed them in an aqua-
rium, where were several choice specimens of small
fishes brought from a distance. During the day all
went well, but next morning I found they had attacked
the fishes and worried them to death. If, therefore,
aquatic beetles are wanted in an aquarium, let them not
be associated with small fishes, if you value the latter.

This, of course, does not close the list of water in-
sects; but what else will be found will prove closely
related to those that I gathered from the weeds after
the drawing of the seine.

Some of these insects, as has been mentioned, prey

182 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

upon fishes, some upon mollusks, others upon insects
not always widely different from themselves, but what
enemies have these water-bugs ? True, a Pelocoris will
devour a Corixa, but this is a trivial matter, and there
seems to be no decided check to their increase ; and it
is not improbable that the countless thousands of water-
boatmen and allied forms may be the cause of the scarc-
ity of fish in ponds apparently well suited to them.
When we consider what defenceless creatures newly
hatched fishes are, and that no sooner do they essay to
lead independent lives than Notonectse, Ranatrae, Be-
lostoraae, or Dytisci, by scores, are lying in wait for
them, it is not to be wondered at that, out of a thou-
sand eggs, so small a percentage live to maturity.

Surely the fauna of that mass of water-weeds must
end here! Does it, indeed? If the entomologist
should take my place, he could give us a score of enter-
taining lectures upon the insect-life that, crawling from
the mass, slowly made its way back to its home in
Poaetquissings. If the microscopist should happen —
but no, I will not let him come. Nothing short of eter-
nity would enable him to get through. For fear of
such a disaster I will kick the weeds back, before they
become too dry to take root and grow again ; only
pausing for a moment over curious masses of amber-
colored jelly, that I see adhering to bits of stick*
What are they ? Jelly-fishes, my neighbors call them ;
and in the books they figure as Pectinatella magnifica.
I am puzzled to describe them in an intelligible way.
To the unaided eye they appear as a structureless gum
or jelly ; but, in fact, every mass is the home of count-

THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE. 183

less thousands of beautiful animals. To describe them,
except as a professional biologist might, is not practica-
ble. Like so much of animate nature, it must be seen,
not merely read about.

Prof. Hyatt says of these " jelly-fish :" " the tropical
aspect and luxuriant growth of the clinging masses,
frequently several feet in diameter, investing the sum-
mits of submerged stumps and the branches of water-
logged timber, are unequalled among the fresh-water,
or even among the marine, Saccata of our climate.

" The communities, assembled in countless profusion
upon the gelatinous ectocyst, are crowded together, and,
being compressed, become irregularly hexagonal in their
outlines. The polypides upon the lobiform branches
adorn the borders of these hexagonal patterns with a
dense, glistening fringe, speckled with the scarlet color-
ing of their oral regions ; and the bare ccenoecial trunks
in the centre shine with a deep opaline lustre, com-
pleting the rich, coralline effect of the fringed outlines.

" In July and August specimens of Pectinatella mag-
nifica are very abundant in shallows and in the depths
of — Poaetquissings ; but as fall advances, those in the
shallows die, and in October they can live only upon
the logs in deep, cool water, or in shaded situations.
These autumnal specimens are old, and being unable to
withstand the direct rays of the sun, disappear from all
exposed positions, where they grow with impunity as
strong and healthy adults earlier in the season. I
have found them fifteen or twenty feet below the sur-
face, showing a marked departure in this respect from
other genera, whose species seldom occur below two or

184 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

three feet, and are almost invariably near the shore
line."

But to realize all that Prof. Hyatt has to say of these
jelly-like masses, it must be remembered that a magni-
fying-glass is necessary ; and further, the trouble neces-
sary to see the beautiful animals included within the
mass is nothing as compared with the delight that will
reward the investigator. I have seldom seen anything
so marvellously beautiful. A word more and I have
done. How, it may be asked, do these animals repro-
duce their kind ? Animals of this class, according to
Prof. Hyatt, " have two modes of reproduction, one by
buds, and the other by eggs. The former occurs in
two ways; by statoblasts, either fixed or free, and by
regular buds, which grow out from the side of each
polypide. The first are the founders of new colonies.
The last merely increase the number of individuals in
each established community."

Let ns follow up briefly the history of these wonder-
ful statoblasts, or eggs, as most people would call them,
although they are not such. On the contrary, they
" bud from the funiculus, a cord - like prolongation of
the outer membranes of the stomach. . . . They arise
within beadlike swellings of the funiculus, and, en-
larging slowly, push out to the surface of the cord,
and upwards towards the stomach, until finally they
hang upon the exterior, arranged alternately on either
side, the youngest being at the lower end."

What do these statoblasts look like ? Truly, they are
not readily described. An oval, slightly double con-
vexed disk, of a yellow -brown color, and about one

THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE. 185

thirty-second of an inch in diameter. By this descrip-
tion alone you might not recognize them, but, besides
the features enumerated, these statoblasts have a series
of hooks ranged about their outer rim which establishes
their identity. Think of fifteen pairs of fish - hooks,
placed back to back, and ranged at uniform distances
from each other, in clusters of two, around a small coin,
and yon will have a fairly good idea of a Pectinatella's
statoblast. These statoblasts are enveloped in gelatine
until after death of the colony, it being needed in order
to protect the parent from laceration by the pointed
booklets, and so is retained until lost by exposure of
the bud to external influences. After the statoblasts
are free from their parents, they still " lie loose in the
ccenoecial cavity from this time until the death and de-
cay of the polypides destroy the upper parts of the
cells. Through the openings thus made, being lighter
than water, they are readily floated off, and pass the
winter unprotected by any other covering than their
cellular casings, although remaining near the surface,
and consequently, in higher latitudes, imbedded in the
ice for several months. " Growth begins at the ap-
proach of spring, and the edges of the sheath are split
apart by the increasing bulk of the polyzoon, which
protrudes between them.

" The organs, when the little animal first makes itself
visible, are well advanced in growth, and the polypide is
already capable of retraction and expansion. For a
time it floats freely in the water, wafted about by the
cilia, which clothe the whole external surface, and in-
creases in size until the sheaths of the statoblasts can

188 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

no longer contain it ; then, in some appropriate locality,
the gelatinous ectocyst adheres to the surface, the cilia
are absorbed, and the polypide enters upon a new
phase of life as the founder of a community."

Of the weeds themselves, there is little to be said.
What some of them are, other pages have made plain,
except that, until now, no mention has been made of
the carnivorous bladderworts. They are light, feathery
plants, delicate as small ferns, and surely very innocent
looking; and yet, insect larvae are often, and baby
fishes, not being born botanists, are sometimes, fatally
entrapped by them.

Some, who have studied these plants, hold that they
are sensitive; others consider the movements of the
valves of the "bladders," that entrap minute animal
life, as merely mechanical. However this may be, they
certainly act as if they meant to accomplish that which
they perform. How do they do this ?

Some of these plants have no roots, and float, unless
there is no current, when they rest against the bottom
of the pond or along the banks, if in a sluggish stream,
such as in our meadow ditches. Scattered thickly
among the little leaflets of the plant are numbers of
very small green vesicles, which entrap various forms of
minute animal life, said to then serve as nourishment
for the plant. The form of these vesicles " is that of a
flattened ovoid sac." Each " has an opening at its free
extremity, somewhat quadrangular in outline.

"On either side of the quadrangular entrance sev-
eral long bristles project outward, and these bristles, to-

THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE. 187

gether with the branches of the ' antennae,' form a sort
of hollow cone surrounding the entrance, and there can-
not be the slightest doubt that thej act as a guide for
the prey.

" The entrance is clobcd by a valve, which, being at-
tached above, slopes into the cavity of the bladder, and
is attached to it on all sides except at its posterior or
lower margin, which is free, and forms one side of the
slit-like opening leading into the bladder."

In other words, it is a mouse - trap arrangement that
is easily entered but does not work both ways, and so,
once in, there is an impassable barrier that bars all
egress.

Of course, such a plant is of exceeding interest,
and one is prompted to gather every specimen, and
scan the bladders; but do not expect to find fish in
them always. In the main ditch of a neighbor's
meadow there is an abundance of the plant, and often
I sweep the hand - net through them for such small fry
as may be lurking in their midst ; and it is very seldom,
even in early spring, when the newly hatched fish are
abundant, that I find any entrapped in the "bladders"
of this plant. Minute larvae are found, and even di-
minutive mollusks, but seldom, indeed, any trace of the
very youngest even of our cyprinoids, which, in fact, are
the only species likely to be caught, as most of the
others do not, when very young, frequent waters where
this plant is likel}' to grow.

So much has been written upon the subject lately,
particularly with reference to the danger of allowing it
to grow in carp ponds, that it is fitting to call especial

188 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

attention to the plant, the more so as it is so abundant
in certain localities ; but to find it feeding on fish will
require much patience, and the collecting of a good
deal of material.

The seine has been drawn. The fishermen and the
student have secured their prey. The troubled waters
have resumed their quiet beneath the overarching elms
and stately birches; the day-dreaming herons are
abroad; the last roostward- flying crow has passed by;
afar in the maple thicket an owl ventures to hint of
the coming night ; and it remains, now, only to record
that for me, at least, to linger so long on the shore of
Poaetquissiiigs has not been to waste my time. Surely
I have had both a pleasant and a profitable ramble.

CHAPTER X.

A SXJMMER AT HOME

" And what is so rare as a day in June ?
Then, if ever, come perfect days ;
Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays."

What is, indeed? but such perfect days do come,
when we have the rose-breasted grosbeak to sing to us.
The month, in '84, came in clear and warm, and with
grosbeaks in abundance. At sunrise they joined in the
day's opening chorus; at noon they sang with unabated
zeal, as if to cheer the weak ones that complain of noon-
tide heat; at sunset, and through the gloaming, they
are the leaders of the evening concert.

It is held by many that the wood-thrush is the finer
songster, but have those that think this heard these
birds as they sang to-day, when the hillside oaks and
mighty beeches were aglow with the last rays of the
setting sun, and happily no heartless robin interrupted?
I trow not.

I love the thrush — no one can be more appreciative
of it — but I worship the grosbeak.

The weather was all that could be wished, and,
armed only with so peaceful a weapon as a spade, my
companion and myself took a leisurely stroll over my
neighbor's meadows, to search for such crayfish as bur-

190 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

row deeply, and then build high towers above their
homes beneath the sod. We found that many had set-
tled down quite near the open ditches, and were too
cunning for us; and, long before we could reach them
by way of their front doors, they had quietly slipped
through a rear entrance into the open water and were
gone. But this safe method was not employed by all.
Others trusted to luck or the tall grass, and, believing
no marauder would disturb them, had homes hundreds
of yards from any ditch or other open water. Patient
search finally rewarded us. Finding two mud towers,
we dug beneath them, following the narrow, tortuous
burrow leading to the terminal chamber, or home. This,
in each case, was just at the water-line, and the animal,
therefore, was either partly or wholly submerged, as it
chose. This terminal compartment — it cannot be called
a nest — was an oval expansion of the burrow leading to
it, and measured, approximately, two inches in its long
diameter, and half that transversely.

What, in such a place, did this crayfish find to eat ?
Whether carnivorous or, as my companion thinks, a
vegetable feeder, it certainly finds no food in such a lo-
cality ; and yet, once settled in these burrows, those
crayfish do not appear ever to leave them. There
are no marks of travel at the summits of the towers,
no tell-tale refuse -heaps in their burrows or about
them.

There is much yet to be learned of its habits, as of
many another common animal.

Interested as we really were to-day, we could not con-
tinue the investigation ; we were bent on other pur-

A SUMMER AT HOME. 191

poses, tlie main one to take a model ramble on this, the
1st of June.

Bagging our game, we botanized, after a fashion, as
we neared the "great elm " — that one possession of my
neighbor that I yearly covet.

To attempt a detailed description of the tree would
be madness. A photograph would tell you its shape, a
cunning artist give you an idea of its summer glory,
but it can only be said that it, like other trees, is made
up of a trunk and branches — but such branches! It
is a tree that invites you. Whether there be a breeze
or not, its long, outstretched boughs ever nod a wel-
come as you near them. Not only this ; they lift you
up tenderly, if you wish, and hold you as carefully and
comfortably as a mother holds her child. It was there
that we sat that long summer morning, discoursing of
birds and flowers. Surely this was a fair beginning of
the anticipated joys of a summer.

Later in the day we took yet another stroll, and made
our goal a sturdy beech. Unlike the elm, it depended
upon the surroundings for its attractions, being, of it-
self, quite like beeches everywhere; yet, had it a tongue,
what pleasant stories of the past it could relate — stories
of naturalists that have paused to drink of the clear wa-
ters rippling at its roots, and often carving an initial or
a date while they tarried. We could decipher but one
name positively, and this was carved sixty-five years ago
— that of Conrad the paleontologist. Here, in the cool
brook, he often placed watermelons, fresh from the
dusty field near by, that they might be chilled to the
very core ; and here he truthfully wrote of them :

192 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

" I make thee, sweet melon, my favorite topic,
Thou chief of the offspring of sun and of dewl
In spite of bananas, the pride of the tropic.
Or famed chirimoyas, the boast of Peru.

" Give us cool ' Mountain Sweets ' from New Jersey, nor ask us
To sigh for the grapes of some Orient land;
The poaches of Persia, the figs of Damascus,
Or the idolized fruits of remote Samarcand.

" I have shaken ripe oranges oft, where they fell on
Floridian flowers; I have dreamed of the date;
But dearer to me is the dew-tempered melon,
Fresh from the sand of my loved native state.

" The poet may sing of the Orient spices.
Or Barbary dates in their palmy array;
But the huge, rosy melon in cold, juicy slices
Is the Helicon fount of a hot summer day,

" Where I bathe the dry wings of the spirit; and sprinkling
Sweet drops on the pathway of dusty old Care,
I hold Father Time from his villainous wrinkling
Of features that never had graces to spare.''

Is it not a common impression tlmt no fruit is so
prized as that which we first gather ? The long waiting
for the return of the season ; the anxious watching of
the budding plant, and then its bloom ; the slowly grow-
ing fruit, hard, insignificant, and green. When will it
be ripe ? Day after day we watch, and, weary at last,
give way to mild despair. It was so this year. A frost
in May surely bodes no good, and we had three of them.
Ah me ! no strawberries ; no strawberries I

How I regretted that my friend knew that there were
any plants upon the farm. Not a syllable escaped me
about fruit. I spoke only of "flowers," lest the word

A SUMMER AT HOME. 193

"bloom" might suggest berries; and only hope was
left that the cunning of the cook might find some pass-
able substitute.

Wearied with long tramping, some climbing, and a
deal of flower-plucking, as the day closed we were again
at home.

Surely, it was sad! The time -honored custom of
strawberries on the first of June to be omitted, and a
guest in the house at that. The hour arrived ; the tin-
kle of the tea-bell was the laugh of imps that mocked
me ; but I took my place with a firm step and serene
countenance. Was I, after all, responsible for the three
frosts? What! Strawberries? Yes ; there in all their
blushing beauty they lie, heaped in a capacious dish.
Kipe, ruddy berries, that will need carving, every one of
them. O ye of little faith ! What wonders, indeed,
had three days of sunshine wrought; and it had been
five since I had seen them, small, white, and unproniis-

I straightway grew enthusiastic, if not eloquent ; and
quiet satisfaction beamed from the countenance of my
friend.

The first week of June is the climax of song-bird life.
Earlier than this, we may always look for some new
songster to join the company ; later, one by one, the
birds drop out from the ranks ; so that what later music
is heard is usually that of single birds. In the first
week of June we have grand concerts — later, solos and
duets.

In a cluster of oaks on the south hillside the birds

9

194 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

congregate, and one by one take their places in the trees.
The thrushes on the lower branches open the concert,
and all goes well, unless too many shrilly chirping robins
interrupt by their incessant clatter. Think of an opera
performed in a cotton-mill, and you have the songs at
sunset, as they sometimes are, with this robin accompani-
ment. Such a time is a sufficient answer to the distorted
notion that birds sing simply to please mankind. I have
heard the statement made in perfect sincerity, even in
these enlightened days. I have often thought how it
must fret a tuneful thrush to be interrupted by a robin
or blue-jay. Indeed, I am positive that they cease to
sing from such a cause.

June S closed a week of perfect summer weather.
An eager botanist rambled with me to Poaetquissings,
and along its shady shores for half their length. His
hands were only empty that he might gather fresh flowers,
at every turn in our path. Purple and yellow oxalis,
and star grass, slim, upright stems topped with yellow-
centred bloom, made his first bouquet ; and, as we left
the creek-side, a handful of forget-me-nots were the fit-
ting memento he carried home.

Stayed by a passing shower, we took shelter under the
dense foliage of thick-set birches, and my friend grew
eloquent as, from our leaf-house, he gazed wistfully at
the dense clusters of arum on the shore, of pontederia
in the shallows, of pond-lilies in bloom, and delicate
Nuphar pumilum, whose leaves never reach beyond the
water's surface, but whose golden, globular bloom peeps
shyly above it.

A SUMMER AT HOME. 195

I joined with him heartily, it was all so beautiful ; yet
my thoughts were with the many birds, now silenced by
the rain. To this silence I referred when his eloquence
was checked, and I prophesied that the robin would
break forth into song the moment the sun struggled
through the parting clouds. It was not so : a song-spar-
row first and then the robin ; but the reverse is true in
almost every instance. Soon the grcenlets, redstarts,
and small finches were all in song.

" What are they saying ?" I asked.

" Singing a hymn, and properly too, seeing it is Sun-
day," he replied.

" Would they not sing the same song, were it Mon-
day?" I asked.

" Certainly ; these birds do not assume to be, on Sun-
day, what they are not through the week," my friend
remarked with much earnestness ; and then added, " and
now they are off for the meadows, all rosy with clover ;
let us follow;" and we did.

Botanists are not such slow fellows after all.

As we walked, we fell to talking about expressing
bird-notes by syllables, and voted it could not be done ;
yet, strangely enough, persisted in trying whenever a
bird chirped or sang near by. Finally, finding we ap-
peared to be differently impressed by the notes of the
same bird, we undertook to express these songs in writ-
ing and then compare.

One chirping sparrow, he remarked, said " phit." I
had it written " tweet." To him there was no " e "
sound, to me no short "i," in the bird's utterance.
When it came to longer songs, which required several

196 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

syllables to express, the differences were very marked,
and sometimes ludicrous. Only a single example need
be given. As we walked, a red-eyed greenlet com-
menced to sing in the top of a tall tree near by. " Let
US take plenty of time," I suggested, and we stood for
several minutes, listening to the tireless little musician.
Then, satisfied we had it correctly written, after several
modifications, onr vereions were compared. One was
wee-to Jdip-a-tee-tee ; the other see-ro tut a tut. One
heard distinctly a syllable uttered by the bird that the
other failed to catch, and the last notes were clear and
ringing to one, while guttural and indistinct to the
other. And each thought his own version much the
more correct.

We did agree that the attempt to describe a bird's
song, except in the most general way, would, in most
cases, prove a failure. The " twittery-twits " and " chec-
ehees" that adorn our ornithological literature, we con-
cluded, very inadequately describe the songs of our
scores of singing-birds ; and later, on reading the efforts
of Nuttall to describe them, we were confirmed in our
opinion, for, with his book in hand, and the birds sing-
ing near by, we could seldom hear the songsters he men-
tioned sing the songs as he described them.

The long-billed marsh-wrens that colonize the muddy
meadow, and also the more melodious swamp-sparrow,
were striking examples of how variously the same ut-
terances impress different persons. My companion
likened the notes of the wren to _phree-ee-ee, and the voice
of the sparrow a little more prolonged, but similar.
This description would certainly not have enabled n)e

A SUMMER AT HOME. 197

to identify the birds to which he referred. In the case
of the wren, there seems to me a longer series of
considerably varied notes, and the sparrow's song is as
marked as an oriole's. I began to think, because plants
were voiceless, botanists had no ears.

Illogical mortals we, verily ! Having concluded it
could not be done, we continued to try. Our last effort,
whatever may be thought of the result, was the most
elaborate. Taking our stands at a considerable distance
from each other, but equally distant from the bird, we
listened carefully to the same rose-breasted grosbeak,
which sang without stopping for just three minutes —
which is an unusually long time for any bird to con-
tinue in song.

Except that I used " ph " and " t," as the initial con-
sonants, where he used "ch" and "d," we were in ac-
cord, using in every instance the same vowels. We con-
cluded that possibly the following might be recognized
as the song of this incomparable performer, Ku-hu^ ta-
wee-a, ta-wee-a ! Chee-che-wee-a ! Phee-ta-td-wee-a !

While discussing the matter in a general way, as we
entered the yard, and admitting it was strange that in
apparently so simple a matter people could not agree, a
Carolina wren screamed at us, curi ous, curi ous, curious /
We agreed that it was.

June 12. — My rambles brought me to the mucky
meadow, and while gathering the beautiful broad leaves
of the arum, I chanced upon the nest of a pair of least
bitterns. Such finds make red-letter days. The nest
itself was a loosely woven mat of twigs and grass, yet

198 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

strong enough to be lifted from the tuft of bulrush upon
which it rested. There were a single dirty blue-white
egg, and four fuzzy baby bitterns, not a week old. They
were clad in pale buff down, scantily dusted over them,
and an abundance of straight white hairs, as long as
their bodies. These young birds were far less awkward,
even now, than herons of the same or even greater age.
As I took one up, it thrust its opened beak at me, but,
becoming quickly reconciled, seemed to take pleasure in
the warmth of my hand. At times it uttered a pecul-
iarly clear, fife-like cry, such as might readily be referred
to a piping hylodes, or any one of several finches. Its
clear voice, free from every trace of harshness, was no-
ticed and remarked upon by all who heard it.

My efforts to rear this little bittern were not success-
ful. Although I strove hard to imitate nature, the little
fellow persistently refused to take food, and to reject all
that was forcibly thrust into his stomach.

The spring -brook passing through several upland
fields widens at one point to form a shallow pond, and
there tlie steep banks are most intricately burrowed in
many places, as though pygmy nmskrats were in great
abundance. I have watched the openings of these un-
derground retreats for hours, as it seemed to me, and
yet liave never seen their occupants, or any creature,
great or small, in the act of burrowing.

There are two ways of solving such a problem as this
in reference to the identity of the burrowing creatures
whose works have been mentioned : by persistent watch-
ing and digging along the course of a tunnel, until you

A SUMMER AT HOME. 199

find the occupant ; and by reference to the proper books.
Of the two methods, the former is much to be preferred ;
the hitter, however, is much the more expeditious. In
this case I combined the two, and the creature proving to
be an insect, the mole-cricket, I then took a spade, and
dug out a half-dozen, to be quite sure, and found the
creature and the book's description to tally.

While, as yet, these burrowing crickets have wrought
no damage, it is very evident that about mill-dams and
permanent embankments they might prove quite de-
structive; as much so, indeed, as mnskrats.

I carefully traced one burrow from the bank of the
pond into the field. It was a trifle more than two feet
in a direct line, at a uniform depth of one foot from
the surface, then, obliquely turning, it sloped slightly
upward, and at a distance of thirteen inches from the
angle the burrow terminated in a capacious chamber.
None of the others that I examined were as long, but
all ended in chambers large enough to permit the cricket
to turn around comfortably. Many were so near the
surface that the roots of the grass had been destroyed
by the cricket's progress. These could be traced along
the sod, by the line of withered grass above them. Some
were very crooked, as though a new course had been
taken by the little burrower, whenever a pebble or root
liad been met with.

Of mole-crickets, themselves, little need be said. Their
enormously developed fore-feet, by which they dig, at
once enables them to be recognized. Excepting these,
their appearance is much that of an ordinary black
cricket. Of course they sing, insect fashion, but 1 have

300 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

never seen them when so engaged. Prof. Riley says :
" The males sing during the warm, still nights of spring
and early summer. The song is a low, continued, rather
pleasant trill, quite similar to that of the common toad,
but more shrill ;" so many a midnight serenade I have
attributed to toads has doubtless been the stridulations
of burrowing mole-crickets.

June 13 and 14 proved to be summer days of quite
another type. A cold northeast rain prevailed. Such a
storm comes, it is said, every summer — but it does not
— and, if a week earlier, is the " strav^^berry storm," if
later, that of some other berry. It is strange that every
tree, flower, bird, and bug has not its particular storm ;
for so frequently have names been given to changes of
the weather, no invidious distinctions should have been
made. Raspberries, blackberries, and huckleberries are
all very good, if not equal to strawberries — why, then,
not give each of them a rain also ?

But such a storm has one pleasant feature. It leaves
ns just before sunset, and there is a chance to see, before
the day closes, what it has accomplished beyond soaking
the surface soil.

During an evening stroll I passed along the main
ditch of the meadow and overtook a stray rauskrat.
There was no water here sufficiently deep to enable it
to swim or dive, nor any hole in the banks in which it
could hide. I headed it off, as it ran, in a clumsy man-
ner, through the shallow water and soft mud ; upon
which it abruptly left the ditch and in a moment hid
in the tall grass. I was struck by the ease with which

A SUMMER AT HOME. 201

BO large a mammal could find secure cover from pursu-
ing foes, if the latter are guided only by sight. Al-
though I was positive the musk rat was within a few
steps, yet, search as I would, I could not see it from
where I stood. In fact, when directly over the animal,
a careful parting of the grass was needed to find it.
The creature had drawn itself up to a mere ball of ap-
parently dull brown earth, so that, if upon bare ground,
it would not be recognized, except after the most care-
ful scrutiny.

On attempting to pick the muskrat up it showed its
teeth, but did not offer to bite. When touched with my
cane, although not in the least hurt, it uttered a faint
squeak, that would not be noticeable if attention were
not directly called to it.

How much nonsense, of late, has been written of
muskrats and fresh-water mussels ! That this rodent is
extravagantly fond of the mollusks named is known to
every one, but lovers of the marvellous have long in-
sisted that a muskrat never injures a mussel's shell, when
extracting the animal it holds, so the question, of course,
arose. How do they accomplish this ? They don't, and
never did. That is the common-sense reply to the whole
matter. Muskrats adopt two methods of procuring
mussels for food. They carry out of the water, in their
mouths, quantities of the mollusks, and leave them to sick-
en on the shore, and when the dying mussels open their
shells, no skill is needed to get at the soft parts of the ani-
mal within. They also, if in a hurry for a meal, nibble at
the hinge or edges of the valves, and so effect an entrance.
The assertion, so often made, that the shells are never

9*

202 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

scarified by the muskrats is absurd. Of course, when'
the mussels die on shore, the scarification of the shells
is reduced to a minimum ; but it needs no patient search-
ing to gather hundreds of shells which as plainly show
the marks of the muskrat's teeth as the nibbled nut- .
shells prove the presence of squirrels.

Probably the most remarkable of the stories is to the
effect that a muskrat was seen to carefully approach a
mussel which at the time had its foot extended. When
sufficiently near, the muskrat put forth one paw very
quickly and transfixed the mussel's foot with one or
more toe-nails; then taking the captured mollusk in its
fore-paws, swam to the shore — of course, using its hind-
limbs only — and then, in a necessarily erect position,
walked up a steep bank, aiid, once on level ground, pro-
ceeded to eat the mussel. Now, even if this muskrat had
accomplished three impossibilities, it never could have
gotten through with the fourth, that of releasing the
mussel from its shell without injury to the latter; yet
this marvellous account was given to a scientific society
as an explanation of the curious phenomenon that the
shells of mussels eaten by muskrats were never broken.

Is there not a suflSciency of wonderful things in the
most commonplace corners of nature, without investing
the most simple of occurrences with a veil of mystery ?

June 15. — I found a cosey seat in the midst of a dense
growth of ferns, many of which were shoulder-high.
This, the largest of these plants, is called Pteris aquilina
by botanists, and certainly a noble plant it is. I could
but think of the tropics, and recall the wonderful pict-

A SUMMER AT HOME. 203

ures of forests during tlie carboniferous era. The
likeness to the tropics was largely strengthened when a
scarlet tanager came, and, resting in a tree just above
me, spread his wealth of color to the sun. Among our
birds, usually so sombre-tinted, he seems out of place ;
yet none would willingly forego his presence. The no-
less-strongly marked rose-breasted grosbeak also came
near, tarried a moment and was gone ; but no birds,
great or small, seem partial to the ferns themselves.
The warblers wander all about them, but seldom rest
among their waving fronds. Do they offer no foot-
hold, or are they actually offensive? In my limited ex-
perience in watching native birds I never associate
them with ferns. This is to me the more strange, when
I remember that the Maryland yellow-throat nests in
the very heart of the odoriferous skunk-cabbage.

In the depths of the woods now there is an almost
monotonous wealth of green, and we hail a contrasting
color with pleasure. Even the trunks of many trees
Iiave a tinge of green, except the birches, which are often
purely white, and many decked with fluttering ribbons
of pale gray bark. Leaving my seat among the ferns
for a more open space near by, one

"Wherein the warblers whistle many a tune
Hid in some leafy hollow, late in June,"

here I came upon an islet of color that was a veritable
treat. The topmost twigs of a post-oak sapling bore
glossy leaves of a deep maroon and scarlet. Constantly
the passing bees hovered over them, and, with a loud
buzz of chagrin, were off like a flash. It was mere color,
not bloom, and offered no sweets to them ; but an abun-

204 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

dance to my sense of sight, seen, as it was, surrounded
by an ocean of green leaves.

And how like the hum of summer seas is the mur-
mur of the wind through the dense foliage. To add to
the likeness, the twittering swallows chirped cheery
'''' peetrweeU^'' so that, with my eyes closed, I saw troops
of sand-pipers tripping on 'the sand, and chasing each
receding breaker on the beach.

But perhaps we can best realize the beauty of vegeta-
tion, other than trees, by standing on the edge of a
marsh. There is needed the deep black peaty soil and
constant moisture to give that perfection to vegetable
growth which is so attractive. In the reach of swampy
meadow where I linger longest in my rambles, for nat-
ure is there a wondrous picture-book, there are clusters
of arums worthy of the tropics, and reedy growths that
tempt certain warblers that I find nowhere else. The
docks, pickerel-weed, and arrow-head here reach per-
fection, and every leaf, if you scan it closely, will be
found a marvel of beauty. It is far too common to
look at such objects collectively, and pass through life
knowing but the bare fact that leaves are green.

June 19. — In the meadows, this evening, there are
apparently thousands of green frogs in every ditch and
pool, so great is the volume of sound that fills the air.
It is a steady, uniform rattle, occasionally ending in a
loud chuck! but the cessation is for a moment only,
when the ringing rattle is resumed. There is heard
with it, at times, the deep bass of the bullfrogs, and it
is a pleasing accompaniment. It may strike one as

A SUMMER AT HOME. 308

strange to call the cry of the bullfrog pleasant ; but this
depends upon the occasion and the time, for there are
times when it fits admirably with the united voices of
frogs, birds, and insects. It is with this frog as with
the little red owl. Lowell has justly remarked that the
screech-owl, despite his ill name, has a cry that is " one
of the sweetest sounds in nature."

The toads also sang until past midnight. They, too,
seemed to be all in the meadows, while through the
day I find them plentifully in every one of the high,
dry, dusty upland fields. More careful observation of
this has led to the fact that directly after sundown a
large number of the toads go to the meadows and re-
main until daybreak. A greater abundance of food, I
suppose, is the impelling cause of this migration, if such
it can be called ; but why, I have asked myself, do not
these upland toads, that sleep all day, stay in the mead-
ows? Surely there is room enough and quiet enough
to enable them to sleep comfortably. I am tired of
guessing, and until a toad can be taught to rise and ex-
plain, it will probably remain a mystery.

My old toad, that for years has had cosey quarters
near the kitchen door, I find goes nightly to the mead-
ows. I followed it yesterday from the doorstep to the
tall weeds at the foot of the hill. As it slowly hopped
meadow-ward, taking a nearly direct course, it called
out at every third or fourth hop, and seemed to wait for
an answer. I should have liked to sit up until he came
home, to see if he really made a night of it, but con-
cluded the value of the fact not equivalent to the ex-
ertion demanded.

S06 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

In the habits of the catbirds that have hitely nested
near the garden gate I have thus far noticed a uniformity
that leads me to believe that these birds whistle "good-
night " at 8 P.M. The yellow-breasted chats, however, re-
peat their "bon nuit" at even a later hour, and often
talk in their sleep the night through. Then again, the
pretty indigo-bird says "good-night" at sunset, but, for-
getting it, repeats it every hour from then until sunrise,
when it whistles " good-morning " as freshly as though it
had had an undisturbed night's rest.

I liave wondered, at times, if this may not have been
one of Thoreau's night warblers.

Lately, as I was about to enter the house, long after
dark, an unseen warbler, hidden in the pines, shrilly
asked, three times in quick succession, " Where-did-you-
get-it?" and then, " Where-did-yoa ?" but before I could
reply, he was silent as the sombre pines in which he sat
dreamily.

June 30. — With what care and circumspection a mam-
mal walks, whether by night or day ! At all times, it
lias its wits about it, and considers not only the actuali-
ties but the possibilities of the moment and the place.
I was much impressed with this, as I had the opportu-
nity this evening of seeing a mink saunter. Judging
from the direction whence it came, it had been survey-
ing the poultry precincts, in anticipation of a midnight
raid ; at any rate, it had no pressing business now on
hand, and was leisurely sauntering towards its home.
I stepped aside in the nick of time, to watch, and no
stump was more noiseless than myself, I scarcely

A SUMMER AT HOME. 207

winked, but, crouching in the angle of a worm fence, I
had for ray pains a good view of His Carefulness, as he
approached. " As he approached," did I say ? Well,
he stopped as if shot when ten paces off, and stared ;
it may be five seconds, it may be ten, and then, without
my distinguishing a movement, the mink was gone.

Til is ended my sight-seeing for the day — for the
month. As the melancholy thrush rounded off the
remnant of the day with song, I turned my steps home-
ward ; but oh ! so reluctantly ; for however kindly nat-
ure might lengthen out these closing hours of June days,
there could come no surfeit of their sweetness.

July 1. — Fireflies, this evening, were unusually abun-
dant, and of two very differest species. The little yel-
low flash-light was that one common everywhere, and
now seen dotted over the upland fields. In the mead-
ows were streaky blue-lights that rose up from the
rank grass, and sailed away over the bushes, like ceru-
lean comets.

The glittering fireflies gild the gathering gloom very
fitfully, and it would appearr that, unless the atmosphere
is moist, they crawl upon the leaves of low bushes, rather
than fly much. This, at least, is true of the " blue-lights "
in the meadow, a species which I have never yet seen
on the upland fields.

The purpose of this flash-light, whether short and
dazzling, or prolonged and less illuminative, is still a
matter of doubt. It has been suggested that it was to
assist it to see in the dark, to enable it to find its com-
panions, or to frighten off its nocturnal enemies. None

208 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

of these suggestions have been demonstrated ; but that
it is a common means by which these beetles seek their
own kind is the most probable. Occasionally the num-
bers of these " lightning-bugs," as they are popularly
called, is phenomenal. On several occasions, and always
preceding a rain-storm, I have seen them so numerous
in tangled thickets that the place was really lit up by
them, and roosting birds were roused and bewildered by
the flickering light. Such instances brought to mind
what travellers liave recorded of tropical species of fire-
beetles, and the lines of Southey are very applicable:

" Sorrowing we beheld
The night come on: but soon did night display
More wonders than it veiled; innumerous tribes
From the wood-cover swarmed, and darkness made
Their beauties visible ; a while they streamed
A bright blue radiance upon flowers that closed
Their gorgeous colors from the eye of day;
Then, motionless and dark, eluded search,
Self-shrouded ; and anon, starring the sky,
Rose like a shower of fire."

July 3. — Whether the warmth of the days, or much
mechanical labor, is the cause, I do not know ; but ram-
bling has suddenly grown distasteful, and I am content
with the garden and the pasture-lot beyond. Have they
any especial attractions now? None that I know of;
but July is not an active month in animal life, and
when we doubt the presence of such creatures as we de-
sire to see, then one incentive to ramble is gone ; but, on
the other hand, idleness prompts to mischief, so I have
been experimenting with the king-birds that are nesting
in the strawberry apple-tree.

A SUMMER AT HOME. 209

These king-birds are excessively saucj. Not a crow
or blackbird can come near but that they rush out and
peck at it and scold, much to its annoyance. Why they
never turn and punish these impudent fly-catchers I
cannot imagine. Their petty attacks upon larger birds
do not really indicate courage, for they are so active on
the wing that unless directly pursued they can dodge
such birds as they follow and snarl at. I have not dis-
turbed those nesting in the apple-tree, although they are
at times a veritable nuisance, but I undertook to re-
taliate for the innumerable attacks upon crows and
grakles.

Purchasing a gaudy red-and-yellow bird-kite, made in
China, as I judged from its appearance, I waited until
the wind was fresh, and then sent it flying over the
meadows, in full view of the nesting king-birds. How
they scolded ! " A hawk so near them, indeed !" they
seemed to exclaim. " That is too much," said pater-
familias to his mate, and away he flew, mounting the air,
several yards above my very peaceful but agitated kite.
As the king-bird swooped down, I gave the string a
violent pull, and thus the kite seemed to be darting
from him. This emboldened him, and, screaming louder
and louder, he swooped nearer and nearer. Now was
my chance. Seeing that he was confident of victory, I
waited until he swooped once more, when, instead of
jerking away the kite, I cut the string. The wind car-
ried it towards the king-bird, which, unable to check
its downward progress, plunged headlong through the
gaudy paper covering. Frightened nearly to death,
down he came, almost to the ground ; then, recovering,

210 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

he bolted westward in a bee-line, and, when last seen,
was like a grain of shot in the distant horizon.

Not until late the next day did I see that valiant
king-bird ; and I doubt if he ever attacks a red hawk
again.

July 4. — The translation of birds' notes into plain
English is sometimes possible, I have thought, when the
birds' actions are a clew to their utterances. This was
suggested early to-day by the excitement among the
house-wrens, caused by the popping of torpedoes. At
every explosion they jumped straight in the air, and
scolded in no unmeasured terms when they came down.
They scarcely believed the noise to be dangerous, but
were not sure whether to tarry in these parts was quite
safe ; but then, there were their young, and could they bo
left unprotected ? Poor wrens, they had to put up with
the racket all the morning, and vent their spite on the
dog, at whose ears they darted now and then, and
snapped viciously, but taking precious good care not to
come too near. I have said the wrens scolded, and upon
this point there will scarcely be any disagreement ; but
can we not go a little further, and classify the utterances
of other birds ? There is quiet satisfaction in the gentle
pee-wee's voice ; and who that hears the half -suppressed
chuckle of a blue-jay but knows that he has dined at
the expense and sorrow of some pair of nesting birds,
unable to drive off the murderous intruder. It is the
boast of one who claims to have been successful. Yes !
but how ? Ah ! that is another matter, which we will
not discuss. A murrain seize all blue-jays that come

A SUMMER AT HOME. 211

to my woods in early summer! Then consider the
crows. Do we not only need to hear them, to guess
their state of mind ? The quarrels, the planning, the cry
of alarm, the assurances to their timid young ; all these
utterances are widely different, and can no more be ex-
pressed by the syllable "caw" than can our language
be said to be the letter " A." It has been said of both
rooks and crows, that they hold courts of justice. Let
me match this by saying that I once saw a crow "spout-
ing poetry ;" at least, it expressed a great variety of
sounds, and accompanied them with gestures of the
head and wings. It certainly had the appearance of
poetical declaration. I afterwards learned that corn
soaked in New Jersey whiskey had been placed for
that crow, in a field near by.

! The cool weather of late has not quieted or driven
off all the tropical birds that venture here in midsum-
mer. The humming-birds, for instance, are active and
high - tempered, as usual. Their nesting is now about
over, and they have more time to pick a quarrel, which
they do on all available occasions.

The difficulty of finding the nests of liumming-birds
is not to be wondered at, when we remember how nicely
they are saddled to the upper side of horizontal
branches; and usually the limbs of trees that have
knotty excrescences, in appearance much like the nests
themselves. Still, the cunning of this bird is apt to be
one-sided. After effectually hiding the nest, so far as
our unaided senses are concerned, they often publish its
whereabouts by unwise actions. If you chance to draw

212 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

very near they lose confidence in their judgment as to
the site selected, and dart, first at you, and then towards
the nest, until you are actually led to the very spot.

When the eggs are laid, the female sits closely and is
looked after by her mate, who brings her food at times,
and occasionally takes her place. The following, clip-
ped from a newspaper, is something very remarkable
for a humming-bird to do; and why she did it does
not seem at all clear. A humming-bird, generally, can
cover her nest very well, and the foliage near by al-
ways affords a moderate protection :

"In front of a window where I worked last summer
was a butternut-tree. A humming-bird built her nest
on a limb that grew near the window, and we had an op-
portunity to watch her closely, as we could look right
into the nest from the window. One day there was a
heavy shower coming up, and we thought we would
see if she covered her young during the storm ; but
when the first drops fell she came and took in her bill
one of two or three large leaves growing close to the
nest, and laid this leaf over so it completely covered the
nest ; then she flew away.

" On looking at the leaf we found a hole in it, and
in the side of the nest was a small stick that the leaf
was fastened to or hooked on. After the storm was
over the old bird came back and unhooked the leaf,
and the nest was perfectly dry."

Quite recently an acquaintance, living near me, has
published the results of his observations on the breed-
ing habits of our humming-bird. They are strangely
different from ray own. lie writes, the female alone

A SUMMER AT HOME. 213

constructed the nest, receiving no assistance from the
male bird, who did not show himself from the day the
nest was commenced to that when the young birds left
it. And also, that during violent thunder-showers the
parent bird did not sit upon her nest, and the unpro-
tected young escaped destruction by thrusting their
needle-like beaks through the sides of the nest, and
grasping the bottom with their long, sharp claws.

On the contrary, I have never found a humming-
bird's nest where the female alone took care of the
eggs and young. The male bird was always about, and
ready to show tight, even when I came too near the
nest.

If the nest usually is abandoned during storms, then
the "pinning on " of a leaf, as quoted above, is not so
marvellous. Few ornithologists, I imagine, however
watchful, are likely to see the occurrence repeated.

July 6. — During the night there was a typical
shower, with the midsummer accompaniment of heavy
thunder and flashing lightning. The latter was very
sharp and blinding, and seemed to rattle among the
trees, some of which were struck. Such a storm, if any
such ever does, ought to have greatly disturbed the
birds, and ruined many a nest; but this morning I ex-
amined a considerable series, and found scarcely a trace
of injury, and no case of abandonment. Song-sparrow
nests on the ground were not flooded. The earth
about them, and the arrangement of their materials,
were such that the water flowed on each side, and left
the nest intact. Nests of the brown thrush, too, which

214 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

are sometimes on the ground, do not seem to suffer from
sudden showers. Is it because they have a bulky, looso
understratum of coarse sticks, which permit the water
to flow by without disturbing the fine lining and the
eggs or young ?

Is it not probable that birds take the subject of
storms into consideration in constructing and locating
their nests?

It was the same with a white-eyed greenlet's nest,
and tiie several second-brood nests of thrushes, catbirds
and fly-catchers, that I visited. Not one was materially
injured ; yet several contained young birds. The trees
wiierein they were placed were violently disturbed, and
it was evident the branches had been lashed in such a
way as to dislodge both leaves and small twigs ; yet no
nest was displaced. Would not, in such a case, a bird be
able to retain her place, and support the eggs or young,
so as to prevent injury thereto? The orioles do this, I
know, and only by such a means could the eggs be pro-
tected, during very high winds. Of course, with nests
as pendent as those of the Baltimore oriole, the mo-
tion and consequent danger increase with the length
of the nest.

July 9. — I had a talk with Miles Overfield to-day, and
have since been on an exploring expedition. To think
that for all these years there has been a mineral spring
in the mucky meadow, and I not know of it! The
truth is, no one can thoroughly exhaust the treasures,
even of a hundred acres.

"Draw a line," said Miles, "from the tall pin-oak in

A SUMMER AT HOME. 215

the corner, out into the meadow, a couple of hundred
yards, leanin' a little towards the house, and another
from the squatty sassyfiax tow'rds the canal, and where
they cross, if you'll look sharp, you'll find the grass sort
of brown and rusty-lookin', and there's the spring."

I followed Miles's directions, which were sufiiciently
clear, and there, sure enough, was the spring — now, in-
deed, all a treacherous semi-quicksand, but the traces of
the mineral water were unmistakable. I dug a little
hole, and waited for the water to settle ; then, dipping
np a cupful, drank it. Phew! Had the birds' eggs
laid in nests about this meadow since the glacial period
rotted and remained in this spot, then the flavor of the
water could not have been more suggestive of sulphu-
retted hydrogen. Nevertheless, being told that it was
wholesome, I drank another cupful of it. " A gallon
of it won't hurt you," Miles had remarked ; but I re-
membered that I was very well, and took no more in
anticipation of future illness.

This spring puzzles me. The water is a degree
warmer' than that of a much larger one of sweet water,
two hundred yards distant. There, a great volume of
water wells up, clear as crystal and cool as any of the
foot-hill springs. Around on every side is a level reach
of marshy meadow. Were these two springs a mile
apart, or among rocks, I would think nothing of it, for
gome four miles distant is a sulphur spring; but here,
on these meadows, built up of mud and gravel hun-
dreds of feet in depth, it is natural to look for a uni-
form character of the water. If the source of the sul-
phur is the distant range of hills, then why should not

216 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

the water in so long a journey have mixed with that
from other mountain spring -heads? If the source of
the sulphur is in the meadow, however deep down,
ought it not to have been exhausted long before
now? Can we conceive of a source of this mineral, or
any combination, generating sulphuretted hydrogen in
quantities large enough to last for centuries, yet not
impregnate every spring within a mile or two, since
they all bubble through a loose mass of sand and coarse
gravel ?

Perhaps this spring has some virtue yet unrecognized.
It is to be hoped so ; but it need not be the fabled
water that perpetuates youth. The songs of birds, the
beauty of flowers, the companionship of animate nat-
ure, prevent the naturalist from growing old, except in
years.

July 16. — Even so early as this there is seen a hint
of the coming autumn. The young red-wings are
strong of wing and are already flocking. Red-winged
blackbirds come in flocks — a few remain all winter —
and depart in clouds rather than flocks, if I may use
the terra. To see a hundred or more now, in the mid-
dle of the month, suggests that the wealth of bird-life
is diminishing. This is true. A scarcity of food, it
may be; or impatience to return to their winter homes.
"Whatever the cause, there is now a comparative scarcity
of birds, and this will become more marked as the sea-
son advances. Thank fortune! other forms of life can-
not get away so easily, and half the afternoon I have
been playing with snakes. There were a pair of them,

A SUMMER AT HOME. 217

both garter- snakes ; one cross and stout, the other,
slender and amiable. The temperaments, as given,
never vary a particle. You never find the short, thick
species otherwise than ill-tempered; nor the slender
one other than gentle. I took them up in my hands,
and tried to explain to them, by action, that they had
nothing to fear. The amiable serpent was soon con-
vinced, although willing to depart if I would pern^t.
Not so the otlier. Every caress was met with a bite,
or an attempt, for the creature's teeth could not get
through my skin. Letting the slender snake wander at
wull, 1 set about taming the ill-natured one; but after
a good two hours' trial, it still was unwilling to be con-
trolled in any way, and I let it go. Turning about,
what was my surprise to see the other, within a few
feet of where I had been sitting. I stooped to pick it
up, and it offered no resistance, but seemed to be
pleased with the attention. Placing it gently upon the
grass, I stepped forward a few paces, and, looking round,
found that it was following me.

It is a curious phenomenon in the psychology of ser-
pents, that this marked difference in disposition should
occur in species of the same genus. These two garter-
snakes are very abundant and do not differ in any dis-
coverable feature in their habits; yet the difference as
pointed out is noticeable to the most casual observer.

Occasionally individuals of ill-tempered species have
been known to be amiable. I was lately told the fol-
lowing incident : A gentleman noticed an enormous
black snake lying stretched out at full length on the top
rail of a fence, sunning himself. Approaching closely,

10

818 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

he surveyed his snakeship carefully, but made no at-
tempt to molest him. A few days later he found the
same snake on the fence, as before, and approaclied a
little nearer. This continued for a couple of weeks,
when the snake permitted itself to be gently stroked
about the head and bod}' ; and from this time an in-
timacy sprang up between the snake and that gentle-
irmn which lasted for several years, when the snake sud-
denly disappeared.

A curious feature of this case was that, even when ac-
companied by the gentleman in whom the snake had so
much confidence, it would never permit a stranger to
touch it. If they persisted, it would dart to its under-
ground retreat.

My own experiences with black snakes are quite lim-
ited, but that they are cunning, and therefore intelligent,
I have no doubt. A chance remark of Ileckewelder's,
in his work on "Indian Nations," seems to indicate tliat
the Indians had long been convinced that it was a cun-
ning serpent, and I am disposed to accept their testi-
mony in such matters as essentially correct. Hecke-
welder says the Indians gave to Gen. Wayne the name
of " Black Snake," because they say he had all the cun-
ning of this animal, who is superior to all other snakes
in the manner of procuring his food. He hides himself
in the grass, with his head only above it, watching all
around to see where the birds are building their nests,
that he may know where to find the young ones when
they are hatched.

Assuming this to be true, we have here an instance
not only of cunning, but of a very excellent memory.

A SUMMER AT HOME. 219

This seems incredible, but Mr. Komanes, in liis volume
on " Animal Intelligence," remarks that snakes " are well
able to distinguish persons, and that they remember
their friends for a period of at least six weeks." If,
therefore, a tamed snake can remember a person for six
weeks, there is nothing very remarkable in its retaining
the localities of birds' nests for a shorter period ; for
between the building of the nest and hatching of the
eggs less than half that time elapses.

Of the eleven species of snakes found about home, it
is sufficient to say that my general impression is that
they are cowardly but cunning. Blessed with acute
hearing and sharp sight, they use both of these faculties
to the best advantage ; so that, while harmless as doves,
as serpents they are wise.

July 20. — It was a pleasant change to be on Cross-
wicks Creek to-day. The whole character of the coun-
try was radically different from that where I am accus-
tomed to ramble, yet, being but two miles away, one can
scarcely call it " foreign parts." Of all that I saw, noth-
ing proved more attractive than a half-dozen beautiful
kill-deer plovers, that tripped over tiie sandy shores of
the creek, just ahead of the boat ; tame enough to let us
see them very plainly, and sufficiently confident to pur-
sue their food, while they kept an eye on us. When a
bird is so wild that it will only watch us, as we stare at it,
then it is as uninteresting as a stuffed specimen. "What
were these birds after ? Why were they there ? Such
are the questions a practical naturalist asks, and delights
in determining, howsoever difficult the task.

220 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

Just what the little kill-deers were feeding upon I
cannot say, but I found that, like woodcocks, they buried
their bills deeply in the sand, and left rows of holes
over its surface, often as regular in appearance as those
encircling an apple-tree, and made by tlie little wood-
pecker. I suppose it will be claimed that I should have
shot one of these birds to learn the character of its food.
This I always intend to do, but defer until the next time ;
hoping in the meanwhile to find out by other means.
And I did get a clue to the matter. A mass of the wet
sand was allowed to trickle through my fingers, and I
fonnd mollusks, crustaceans, and undetermined small
fry in it, all of which would be acceptable to the plover's
palate.

This plover is comparatively rare now, and is a creek-
side and river-shore bird ; yet, half a century ago, these
birds appeared yearly, in abundance, as early as March,
and frequented the upland fields even more than the
meadows. They followed the ploughman at his work,
and, running along the newly turned furrow, gathered
up what insect larvae were exposed. Then, later, they
nested in these same fields, and their cheery kill-dee^
TdUrdee, was a familiar and pleasant bird-note. Now
they are gone. How are the fields changed, that they
should visit them no more ?

In a pebbly shallow, where the waters were nearly
at a standstill, I was delighted to find a pair of stone-
catfish, shovelling the pebbles with their broad, flat noses.
At times, a flat stone three or four inches square would
be found, and under this one or two would work their

A SUMMER AT HOME. 231

way, and there remain for several minutes. These fish
seemed to find food on many of the stones, and nipped
and tugged at objects that offered some resistance. I
found these objects to be small mollusks, known to con-
chologists as Ancylus. These fish had also eaten other
shells in abundance, as proved by an examination of
their stomachs; for after tiring of watching them, a
skilful dip of a hand-net landed them in the boat.

It was here, just as we were about to return home,
that I saw a fish -hawk under peculiar circumstances.
The bird flew over at a considerable height, and then,
suddenly turning, sailed slowly downward towards the
creek. We checked our course in an instant and waited.
The hawk alighted at the very edge of the water, and,
wading in a few inches, searched the bottom carefully,
as it appeared to us. We remained "stock still" for
fully five minutes, watching him, yet the bird did not
find anything to eat, and then, without a sound, walked
to the shore, spread his wings, and was gone. Had it
been a heron or a bittern, there would have been noth-
ing strange in all this, but it was not hawk- like, even
fish-hawk-like. Then, what do these birds eat but fish ?
And do they ever go a-fishing on foot?

The fish-hawk, or osprey, is one of the very few birds
whose appearance, in spring, is at all regular. Along
the sea-coast, it is said to regularly appear on the 21st
of March ; never a day earlier or later. I will not dis-
pute it. I have known them to come to the river and
Poaetquissings- on that date, and never earlier ; but are
they never later? It has appeared to me, that if they

222 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

always came on the 2l8t, they kept themselves hidden
for a few days. It is quite certain that those who live
alonjr the sea-shore are as a rule far better observers of
animal life than the benighted inland folk ; and as they
are positive of the fish-hawk's regular habits, let no in-
lander dare dispute it.

July 24. — Among the fruit-trees in the garden sat an
indigo-bird that sang sweetly for a long time; but in
spite of the shower of last evening, it seemed to have in
its throat the dust of the past desiccated week.

How quickly our pleasant places might be converted
into deserts, were rain withheld, is to be realized in sum-
mer when a dry week occurs. Nature does not store
up a reserve supply of moisture, to provide against
drought, and vegetation, in particular, suffers first and
most. The leaves, of late, have rattled as I touched
them ; but now their May-day elasticity has come back,
thanks to the passing shower.

A nest of white-eyed greenlets has been in sight, but
out of reach, for a week past, and to-night I determined
to see the contents. Young birds, by this time, of
course, and ready to fly, perhaps. After a scramble
through briers and some climbing, I got a view of the
nest from above. The contents, a young cowpen-bird.
I removed it, out of spite, and sat the shivering chick
on the top rail of the fence. The silly greenlets scolded,
instead of thanking me, and fed the fraud with as much
care as though it had not murdered their own offspring.

It is strange that these birds should be so intelligent

A SUMMER AT HOME. 223

and yet should be so easily fooled by the lazy cow-
bunting.

July 31. — There is something delightfully cool and
refreshing in the very mention of fern-clad nooks ; but
the coolness and all that, which wooes you thither, has
a charm for a few mosquitoes and a bloodthirsty gnat,
which for persistent persecution exceeds the former, so
it is not always a bed of roses upon which you recline,
if you seek a shady retreat among ferns.

But there are ferns and ferns ; some, lovers of swamps ;
others, content with a little dampness, and growing
where the rambler may go dry-shod. There are twenty
species, at least, of these pretty plants, and I wandered
into a dense cluster of the largest of them all to-daj'.
It is the bracken, and as I stood I drew their waving
tops above my head, and was completely hidden. All
was deeply, darkly, beautifully green, and the rippling
of the brook, near by, added to the coolness of the nook.
Dry, dusty, and parched midsummer was, for the time,
forgotten.

This bracken is a common fern ; but several others
are as prominent features of the damper parts of the
woods. Leaving the bracken, I had to walk scarcely
one hundred yards to find cinnamon fern in abundance.
I^ot so stately, it is true, but yet nothing insignificant
about it ; and now it is seen at its best. The fruit pani-
cle, a vigorous growth, with a curiously curled end, dot-
ted with sporangia and clothed with a bright cinnamon-
colored wool, is the more beautiful for the setting of
dark green that surrounds it late in May.

224 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

There are two other varieties of this fern, but neither
80 common in this vicinity ; for I am speaking of the
flora of a farm, not a county or even a township.

Not right among them, yet not far away, are spleen-
worts and shield-ferns, handsome always, but not so
striking to the average rambler, unless he is something
of a botanist. Tiiese common names refer to the char-
acter of the seed-growths, and perhaps those who have
seen a human spleen can trace a resemblance between it
and them, in the case of those ferns called spleen-worts.
The resemblance is a very fanciful one. The others
are more intelligibly named ; but, after all, what folly it
is to continue the use of such names for plants when
far better ones are known to a few and accessible to
all. Wliy not call the bracken, pteris, as the botanist
does ; and speak of the osmunda, asplenium, or aspidium,
as the case may be. Let nomenclature be simple and
intelligible, so far as possible; even descriptive, when
practicable; and then let such names stand for common
use the wide world over. Why professional botanists
should monopolize the proper names, and the common
crowd rest satisfied with meaningless nicknames or noth-
ing, I have never been able to determine ; unless it be
that this common crowd, in all that pertains to natural
history, either glories in its ignorance or is influenced
by teachings, not yet unknown among us, that such
knowledge is dangerous. How dangerous no one knows.
Only yesterday, the mother of a promising youth boasted
of her son's taste for natural history. "Nip it in the
bud," was the advice of a — well, let us say, mistaken man ;
but I harbor harsher thoughts as I write the words.

A SUMMER AT HOME. 225

Leaving my botanical thoughts with the ferns in the
gully and along the hillside, I grew enthusiastic on
reaching the pasture -fields. Up from the red -clover
aftermath there arose a dozen or more beautiful upland
plover, as they are usually called, and whistled in their
peculiarly charming manner.

To hear these birds, far overhead, whistling among
the clouds, is no uncommon occurrence, but they seldom
visit our fields. A few miles away, in Pennsylvania,
they have favorite feeding-grounds, and eastward, near
the sea-coast, they deign to alight. With us, it is their
custom to pass over and leave the rambler thankful even
for their song and the sportsman chagrined that they
see no merit in our acres.

Having botanized a very little in the morning, and
given at least one bird a passing thought, later in the
day, I looked for shells along the river-shore as the sun
was setting. It was the abundance of mussel-shells that
led my thoughts towards molhiscan life. If we have
not an abundance of species, certainly there is compensa-
tion in the number of individuals. But after all, the
different kinds are not so very few. There are seven,
if not others. Three are true unios, as I prefer to call
them, for " mussel " is an ugly word ; then there are
two of another genus, but of same general appearance.
Open one, and you will find the arrangement of the
hinge quite dift'erent. There are no long, slender denta-
tions at one side of the broad cardinal teeth ; hence they
are not true unios, but Margaritanse, or pearl-bearers;
but do not expect a pearl in every one you find ; at

10*

226 tIPLAND AND MEADOW.

least, in those of the Delaware River. Then there are
two mussels with toothless hinges, and prettily called
anodons, a name which would do credit to our language,
and should pass into common use. These are, collect-
ively, our largest shells. While a family likeness runs
through the series, they vary considerably in outline,
from nearly globular to an elongated oval ; and as much
in color. "While many are a dirty green or brown,
others are almost straw-yellow with broad bands of dark
green. These are very pretty, and yet, as they lie in the
water among pebbles, they do not show to advantage;
80 why should these colors have been evolved ? Are
they protective ? Color is not confined to the outer sur-
faces of the shells ; the interior is often beautiful. The
purple anodon is so-called because of the rich coloring
of the inner surface of the shell. Here again, the ori-
gin and object of color is a puzzling problem. Neither
the animal itself, nor any of its kind, nor any associated
form of life, can enjoy or be profited by the wealth of
color that during the lifetime of the animal is wrapped in
utter darkness. If the colors of these shells are of any
use, the world has yet to learn the fact ; and young
naturalists need never despair of making a discovery.

Perhaps you cannot say that mussels are intelligent,
yet they have a common -sense way of doing things,
which is entertaining. I watched them walking about
the sand this evening, and was surprised at the progress
they made. Projecting their foot a short distance be-
yond the slightly opened valves or shells, they thrust it
into the sand, and, giving themselves a jerky twist, were
hinge up and valve-edge down, and so they travelled ;

A SUMMER AT HOME. 237

the foot taking a new hold conartantlj and pulling botli
the creature and his house, leaving in the sand a slightly
tortuous furrow. Many were moving about in this way,
yet they seemed never to collide ; nor did any couple
stop and talk. There are very many animals that have
observable means of inter-communication of ideas, but
mussels are not to be classed with them. Unios may
have something in advance of mere consciousness, but
it is not demonstrable.

They know, of course, when the tide falls and rises.
As the tide fell, and these sands became bare, the mus-
sels rested from their journeying and sank slowly out
of sight, leaving no trace behind. I found them to go
as deep as eighteen inches ; and at other times — for I
could not wait to see it repeated this evening — I have
watched them returning, as the waters slowly crept over
the sand. They came with it. No sooner was there a
trace of clear water above the river-shore, than a point
of shells could be seen peeping through, and minute
after minute this shell kept pace with the steadily deep-
ening waters, until the whole surface was once more ex-
posed.

At such times, the least unusual motion will startle
them, and back again into the loose sand they go, re-
maining for several minutes. If by this time the water
has materially deepened, and they have had their fears
allayed, they are less deliberate in their movements, and
with two or three jumps, if I may call them so, they
come again to the smooth surface of the sand.

These mussels of the river and Crosswicks Creek are
not the only bivalves that are found here. If we dip

228 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

up a handful of mud from the bottom of the meadow
ditch, and let it pass through a fine sieve, there will
probably be left a few white or whitey-brown little mol-
lusks, that I can best describe in a general way as baby
clams. Certainly, as compared with a hard-shelled ma-
rine clant or qnahog, these little fellows from the meadow
ditches are very babyish in size. They vary from about
one fifth to one quarter of an inch in length, and a little
less in breadth. We might live for a century on the
very bank of a ditch, yet never see one, so secluded do
they keep themselves. It is to be hoped they enjoy life ;
but how hard it is to realize that such creatures are con-
scious.

There are two genera of these little baby clams, called
Pisidium and Sphoerium, the former having one siphon,
the latter two. To the untutored eye they look much
alike, and the conchologist must be questioned, if you
would know more about them.

August 2. — I am puzzled to know how the law of
evolution operates in regard to the various utterances
of birds. Yesterday a pair of chipping sparrows were
greatly excited over the departure of their third brood.
These little birds were fairly strong on the wing, and
able to fly promptly, even from the ground to branches
high overhead. Yet the parent birds were not satisfied,
and, by a series of chirps and cries of alarm, which every
bird-eating animal could readily interpret, they invited
every snake, mink, weasel, and other foe of birds to
hasten to the spot. Most snakes and certain mammals,
and probably sparrow-hawks, are attracted by these

A SUMMER AT HOME. 229

cries of birds, and, hurrying to the spot, often seize the
young which otherwise would have escaped. It is gen-
erally supposed that tliese cries of distress indicate that
the parent birds have already detected a lurking enemy,
and their anxiety overcomes their discretion, so that they
too loudly caution their inexperienced young. This is
certainly not always the case. Yesterday there was no
foe near, but a cat was drawn to the spot, and would
have remained, had I permitted it. Very often I have
noticed the same thing, both near the house, when cats
were brought to the scene, and in the woods, where
other enemies responded.

It is not always necessary to be abroad to know what
transpires in the bird-world of the house-yard. The
family all know when a brood of Carolina wrens leave
the nest. The old birds get so excited over it, they
endanger not only their offspring, but themselves.

When once danger really threatens, to sound an
alarm, as do the robins and other thrushes, is the part
of wisdom ; but the credit due for this amount of in-
telligence is quite offset by the habit of proclaiming a
brood's departure, as so many birds do. This is the
climax of absurdity, yet the birds seem as yet to have
gained no wisdom from experience, although this has
often been sad enough. It is but natural to suppose
that evolution should operate in such cases, that these
birds would acquire such power of discrimination be-
tween utterances that endanger and those that indicate
its actual presence. The ordinary song of a bird cer-
tainly is unheeded by the lurking foes of the songster,
for at such a time the bird's attention is not so wrapped

230 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

in some one circumstance that it could not heed all else
that transpired. If I am not greatlj in error, when our
sparrows, wrens, and other small birds give their young
a silent send-ofE, there will be a large gain in their
numbers. Invited destruction, at present, works sad
havoc among many species.

August 3. — In rambling about to-day, twelve miles
from home, but still on the banks of Crosswicks Creek,
I found many snails of two or three species. Their
abundance led me to institute a careful search for them,
and I soon found that my cousin's hillside was far more
favored with terrestrial mollusca than is the hillside at
home. Why ? I asked myself, and have not yet found the
reason. Here, as at home, were chestnuts, oaks, birch,
beech, and sassafras, rotten logs and dead leaves in
abundance, damp ground and scattered springs in like
manner characterizing the surface soil, and the outlook
the same.

The prominent form was a true snail, that was readily
recognized as to the "species," by its white, porcelain-
like lip. The others were smaller, and inconspicuous, in
comparison. There are six species of these mollusks that
the rambler can look for with some confidence. Three of
them are nearly or quite an inch in diameter, when full-
grown, and so are readily seen ; the others, smaller, and
must be sought for with more care; but snail-hunting,
let it be said, is not exhilarating. As Prof. Morse has
truly stated, "certainly a more unassuming subject could
not well be studied, for aside from the soothing pleas-
ure of lying down, dorsal region uppermost, in some se-

A SUMMER AT HOME. 231

eluded grove, and liunting for half a day among the
decaying leaves, upturning the different layers of suc-
cessive autumnal deposits of withered foliage, . . . aside
from this quieting pursuit, we have no stirring incidents
in their life to contemplate, no frantic hops, skips, and
jumps of the insect tribe, no terrible bites to dread, or
poisonous stings to shrink from, no enemy of our hus-
bandry to baffle, no giant stride or rapid speed to won-
der at, for the snail is proverbially slow in every respect.
When disturbed, it does not, like many other animals,
struggle violently to escape, but ceases motion, or quiet-
ly withdraws itself within its shell. Even the heart,
which in higher animals, when agitated, pulsates with
increasing energy, in a snail, under similar excitement,
throbs with a slower motion."

Two of the six true snails are known as the hairy
and long-toothed species, and these are not usually found
where the larger species occur. In this neighborhood
they seek nooks and crannies about roots of large trees,
where there is sure to be collected a considerable amount
of decayed wood, in the form of a coarse powder. Into
this, if it is at all damp, these little snails love to bur-
row.

Besides the snails proper, there are snail-like shells
also to be found, but they will need more care in the
search, as their smaller size renders them Inconspicuous,
unless, as sometimes occurs, you happen upon a colony.

One species is known as the arboreal snail, the other
as the cellar snail ; of the first. Prof. Morse says, " In
New England there is hardly an old log by the road-
side but that shelters them." Here, they are not so

2S3 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

common, perhaps. The cellar snail must be looked for in
localities such as the common name suggests. Here it is
difficult to find, but that they do occur is unquestiona-
ble. " This species is not a native of this country. It
has been imported from Europe to our shores through
the medium of commerce. As these snails are general-
ly confined to cellars and gardens, their eggs have prob-
ably been brought to this country on wine-casks or on
the roots of hothouse plants ;" this their history, as given
by Prof. Morse, who adds, " a lady in Portland, in whose
cellar the writer collected a great many, stated that the
snails annoyed her by crawling into her pans of milk.
We can well imagine an enthusiastic collector delighted
in being able to dredge specimens from the bottom of
his coffee-cup at the breakfast-table !"

A third form of these land-snails is very different
in tlie form of its shell, " being ovate-conic, and not
rolled in a plane." There is no marked difference in its
habits, beyond the fact that they are more frequently
found in large numbers. Thus, on the last day of May,
in a limited spot in the meadows, were hundreds of
them, of all sizes, apparently sunning themselves.

I have noticed none doing so very lately, but our
pretty checkered snail has no fancy for an approach
even to an anhydrous condition, and migrates to damper
localities, as the often-mentioned midsummer drought
begins to assert itself.

Such processions of these pretty snails always remind
me of how slight is one's ability to find any small creat-
ures, wlien scattered through the woods. One need
scarcely expect to capture more than half a dozen in an

A SUMMER AT HOME. 23*

acre of woods, and yet, from some leafy hollow of half
that area, which, in the eyes of a snail, has for months
been delightfully damp, often a hundred or more will
issue forth together, directing their course towards the
nearest water, either a bubbling spring or a moist bed
of fern-embowered mosses.

It would be inconsistent to add one word to our local
weather-lore, having held it in such profound contempt
for years ; but when snails are seen migrating from dead
leaves to green moss, expect a continuance of dry weath-
er. I purposely say " expect," for I have known the one
incident not to be followed by the other.

August 7. — We have had a series of hard rains, gen-
tle showers, pour-downs, Scotch mists, and wet fogs. It
ought to have washed the dust from the birds' throats,
but it has not. The clear ring of a June morning is
wanting.

The most noticeable bird-features of the present are
the flockings of various species. The bobolinks of last
May are now russet-coated reed-birds, and associated
with them are numbers of last spring's orioles, with
much the same colored plumage. Are the orioles de-
ceived by this, and think the reed-birds are their cousins,
near or remote ? The flight of the two species is quite
similar, and many a sportsman, eager for the first "reed"
of the season, has brought down an oriole, to his dis-
gust.

August 8. — The wild cherries are ripening, and the
robins are happy. They devour every cherry witl; evi-

284 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

dent relish, and twitter their satisfaction between each
morsel swallowed. As to the pits, they rain down upon
the grass, and before winter the ground will be well
strewn with them. On the hillside, these fruit-stones
sprout in May, and, if not browsed by the cattle, form a
dense thicket, waist-high, by early autumn. The rapidi-
ty with which a country may become covered with trees,
if left undisturbed, is realized when we see that what,
last summer, was smooth grass, is now a plantation of
cherry sprouts. Startling as it may seem, it takes but
three years to have a cherry grove, with trees ten feet
in height. After that their growth is slower; but a
decade is only needed to convert a farm into a forest.

After the cherries come the purple berries of the poke,
and the robins again have a feast. These berries are so
full of juice that the ground beneath the bushes is
sometimes stained by it, and the muscles of the birds
are darkened with it ; yet, although the fruit is poison-
ous to man, it does not affect the birds ; but, on the oth-
er hand, people have suffered slight toxic effects from
eating freely of poke-gorged robins.

August 10.— A half-cloudy day — "warm, cool, and
pleasant," as Uz Gaunt would say — I was out early for
a long ramble. Following the hillside, and raiding the
meadows at times, for some supposed treasure, dimly
discerned from a distance, at length I found myself in
a village. A brief encounter with a fool made village-
life distasteful, and I hurried back to Crosswicks Creek,
which here tarries to move the machinery of three mills,
and then moves on, unconscious of the blessings it has be-

A SUMMER AT HOME. 235

stowed upon mankind. A way to do good, by the way,
which mankind should imitate. The creek here had one
merit, not common to all its bends, there were numbers
of beautiful trees upon the banks — elms, liquid-ambar,
hickories, oaks. Let him be pitied who cannot enjoy a
perfect tree, and here were some that grew up among
the Indians, and looked upon white men as strangers.
This was a pleasing thought, and I was painted and
feathered, and paddled a canoe, while I rested under the
shade of a spreading white oak, gazing with unwearied
eyes over

"Meadows trim with daisies pied
Shallow brooks and Grosswicks wide."

There were wanting towers and battlements, but high
overhead, " bosom'd high in tufted trees," were war-
bling greenlets, that sang as sweetly as ever did any

"high-born maiden
In a palace tower,
Soothing her love-laden
Soul in secret hour
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower."

Whenever a philosophical rambler comes to a tall tree,
he should feel it desirable to pause and make its ac-
quaintance. If the trees cannot be said to be sociable,
they, at least, do not immediatelj' make known all their
merits ; and to tarry an hour in their shade is to learn
much that would not be expected when hurrying by.'
Then, be it remembered to the credit of the trees, they
do not begrudge their shade ; the traveller is welcome
always ; but when we ask for a cup of water at the
neighboring house, how often is it given with a feeling

286 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

of fear that we may bite a piece from the Clip's rim.
I have often been tempted to do so.

When homeward bound, I gathered a handful of
meadow bloom. To specify it botanically I am sorry I
cannot, but I can be intelligible, perhaps, while yet so
ignorant. There was scarlet lobelia and white feathery
bloom of sweet odor, and snowy globes from the elder ;
primroses, and bits of pink, purple, and red from among
the tall grasses in the meadow. As a gathering of bloom,
it was rich in color, sweet in fragrance, and dainty in out-
line— so much so that I was charmed with it, and scarce-
ly felt my ignorance of botany, a subject that should be
in the range of every countryman's knowledge.

Birds again in plenty ! and how little seems needed
to make any place complete, if there be birds and birds I
Even should they quarrel, we are entertained, and rush
through tangled briers and over quicksands to see
which whips. I have seen more than one wildly ex-
cited mortal following a pair of fighting humming-birds,
through trouser-tearing thickets; yet they would grow
indignant were they invited to a cock-pit. There is a
difference, I suppose ; but, after all, is it so very great ?

Of all animal life, startling and strange as so much of
it is, there is no one form that is so marvellously incon-
sistent and unfathomable as a human being.

Soon after reaching home, and while dining, sudden-
ly the windows rattled, then the Jiouse shook, and every
one stared at his neighbor. Each demanded of all the
others, " What is it ?" and no one thought of an earth-
quake until it was over ; but such it was. It lasted ten
seconds, and it is astonishing how much may transpire

A SUMMER AT HOME. 237

in that brief time. How rapidly, for instance, we
thought. Once a thing of the past, I ran out of doors, in
hopes of a repetition of the phenomenon, so as to have
a more satisfactory experience of the sensation which a
mild earthquake produces ; but no second quaking oc-
curred. Going to the meadows, I found no water
spilled from the ditches, and the happy-go-lucky fishes
were moving about as unconcernedly as ever.

After it had been thoroughly discussed, we all con-
cluded it was as much of an earthquake as we cared to
experience, and unlike John Gilpin, if another occurs,
may we not be there to see.

August 12. — Again, this morning, I heard the charm-
ing whistling of the upland plover. The birds were
high overhead and flying westward, as usual. It is
curious that I never see them flying eastward, and, as
they must necessarily come and go across the state, why
should they be silent on their eastward trips ; do they
pass over in that direction only at night ?

When pasturing sheep was much more usual than
now, the golden plover was, during this month, a com-
mon bird on our closely cropped fields. They were sure
to be found where the sheep were grazing, and it was
often sorely vexatious to the gunner that, manoeuvre as
he would, he could get no shots, on account of the prox-
imity of the sheep. The plover, if flushed at all, would
skim the ground, about as high as a sheep's back, and
twist in and out among them, until beyond range, when
away they would go, with a shrill whistling laugh of
defiance.

288 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

But these birds have years ago sought fresh fields and
pastures new.

Crows, as all the world knows, are cunning birds, and
tliey are excellent judges of watermelons. Of late, they
•watch the patches very carefully, as they have sometimes
been outwitted and captured ; but when the coast is
clear and they have the field to themselves, how system-
atically they work ! Their part of the melon is the
seeds, and they consider the flavor of them to be in pro-
portion to the thrifty and plump condition of the fruit.
They know, too, when the melon is ripe ; for then the
seeds are full-grown, oily, and delicious. The farmer
boasts of the "thirty-pounders" and larger ones even,
of wliich he has so many. He slaps his trousers pocket
and hears the jingling of the dollars he is to g-et. Has
Jie not rags, tin-pans, and a scarecrow in the patch ?
He can rest easy ; his melons are safe ; Monday, they
will be ready to pick. But Saturday is more convenient
to the crow, and, with sentinels posted, in a stray bird
or two enter at a time, and plug these noble melons for
their seeds. The little ones are all ignored ; the green
ones passed by ; the melons ripe on Monday are the
crow's favorites, and on Saturday he gathers his portion.
Ask no favor of the farmer on Monday morning.

As a matter of fact, the seeds of a small melon are
as good as those of fruit ten times the weight, and are
more easily reached by the crows ; yet they always, I be-
lieve, destroy the largest melons. I have observed this
very frequently, and, as a loser by their depredations,
speak from unpleasant experience. Still, I am a friend
to the crow.

A SUMMER AT HOME. 239

Katydids are singing to-niglit for the first time. This
I record as my experience ; but others have heard them
for a week past. It is very strange. I am a profes-
sional listener. My business with nature is to catch the
firstlings of every phenomenon, but I never do it. I
have never mentioned hearing a bird's song or an insect's
stridulation, or caught a glimpse of an early snake, or
carried home a first blossom, but that some one claims
to have been ahead. It was so to-night, with the katy-
dids. I heard them for the first time this season, and
the whole family assure me I am late in tlie matter,
late by a week ; yet for the past f ortniglit I have been
listening for them. It is discouraging, to say the
least.

First or not first, there is to be frost in six weeks, or
a week earlier. Such is the common belief, and gener-
ally it proves true. There is sure to be a little frost in
September, but it is so very local it leaves no impres-
sion upon any frequented spots. No growing crop is
likely to be injured. Some extra-early riser may spy it
out in some low-lying swamp, and he duly reports it.
Generally it is thin ice by the time it reaches the village
paper ; when, in fact, what little there was is gone be-
fore sunrise, and the average mortal would never expect
such a thing had been. I have heard it said the most
trying droughts are when it rains every day; and so
with the early September frosts, they come often during
the hottest weather.

A curious whim, too, about katydids is that you have
but to put your hand against the tree on which one
sits, while he stridulates, and immediately the pea-green

240 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

musician is silent. My practical grandfather nsed, in
this way, to quiet all that were near the house, before re-
tiring. He did cause some to quit their racket, as I
remember the matter; but long before the old gentle-
man was asleep they were singing again. He thought
not, but was it not because the sound was less distinct
in-doors, and hearing less acute, as sleepiness came on ?
With him, imagination met the requirements of the
case, and confirmed him as to the efficacy of the remedy.
Scores of experiments, of late, do not tend to confirm
one's faith in the matter. If the trees are very large,
the mere" fact of touching them is insufficient, and a
hearty kick will often do nothing towards stopping the
noise. A decided thrill must be sent through the tree,
which, being felt by tlie insect, quiets it for a time.
The old notion of an electrical influence being exerted
cannot be verified. Judging from my labors of last
summer, nothing short of blows from a sledge-hammer,
frequently repeated, will keep the creatures still ; but
then, how long would a tree stand such hammer-
ing?

August 17. — At sunrise, and for two hours after,
there was a dense fog covering all the meadows, and
a pale, creamy fog half veiled the uplands. Nature
was quiet.

Without waiting for the air to clear, I walked to the
elms that overhang Poaetquissings, at the great bend,
and there hunted for shells until my back ached. Did
I find any? Shall I say hundreds or thousands? If it
did not take too much of a day, I could gather a million.

A SUMMER AT HOME. 241

Not in a great variety, it is time, but in individuals,
literally countless. ^i

These mollusks were elongate and twisted to the right ;
oval and twisted to the left; flat and rolled on them-
selves, like an old-fashioned ginger-cake. They crawled
over the stems of the lilies, the projecting trunks of
the trees, stones, mud, dead leaves, and even came a
little way out of the water, at times, although strictly
aquatic animals.

These shells were not beautiful, and I can scarcely say
why I hunted them so eagerly ; unless to be able to de-
termine just how many kinds were to be found. This
I by no means accomplished, but was content to have
a fine series of three genera, which were found in one
limited spot. It is hard to describe their differences,
except by giving anatomical details; so suffice it to say,
I had Limngeas that were twisted to the right, and
Physas, twisted to the left, and Planorbes, that were
flat and curled like a watch-spring. Collectively we can
call them " water-snails."

" These snails have the power of crawling or floating
along the surface of the water, the creeping disk being
just level with the surface and the shell hanging be-
neath. When they wish to sink, a portion of the air
contained in the lung-cavity is expelled, and a sliglit
clicking sound is heard accompanying this movement."

I had almost forgotten a fourth form. From blades of
broad grass that were waving in the current I gathered
a quantity of little shells, that had no twist about them,
but were more like little bowls turned bottom upward.
They are water-snails too, but let us say Ancylns, and be

11

24S UPLAND AXD MEADOW.

done with it. The naturalist has no special right to the
nse of these names, to the exclusion of the contemplative
rambler, who also loves to see these creatures.

Having reported the result of my collecting to the
schoolmaster, lie bestowed upon me such a pitying smile.
"And didn't you find any Goniobases, Valvatse, Melan-,
thos, or Lioplax?" he asked, with a frown or a look of
disgust. Find them ! I'm glad I did not. Had I
known the probability of encountering such creatures I
should have stayed at home.

Tiie schoolmaster cooled ; his disgust became sym-
pathy, and I learned that these startling names were of
other water-snails, pretty and innocent as those I had
gathered. They are not found, however, in Poaetquis-
sings; the water is too quiet, the bottom too muddy.
It needs a river-bank stroll or a row on Crosswicks
Creek at low tide. Then we can find them also, per-
haps as abundantly as I found the others. And a word
here. If you show a friend a river-snail, do not shout
Goniobasis in his ear; break it to him gently.

A mid-August day is apt to be a lazy one. What
birds I heard sang only in the most listless manner.
One fly-catcher, in particular, drawled out pee and post-
poned the wee until cooler weather. It even raised its
wings at times, to dart after a fly, concluded it was too
hot, and sat still.

The bobolinks are now reed-birds, and flocks of them
are gathering on the reedy meadows that line the west
bank of Crosswicks Creek. The seed of these tall

A SUMMER AT HOME. 243

grasses is not yet ripe, but they find a substitute, I sup-
pose, and never go hungry. The marsh-harriers know
just as well as does the gunner that the birds are there,
and to-day several of these broad-winged hawks were
dipping over the reeds, beating their tops, that the
frightened birds might show themselves. I do not be-
lieve they gain much for their trouble, as the cover is
too dense and easily entered for ever so large a falcon
to catch so small a finch. Such sights are said to be in-
dications of the close of summer; and yet we have had
but a part of summer weather, as yet ; and it may be
weeks before there are chilly nights, that quiet the hum
of insects, bid the frogs and toads cease their drowsy
monotones, and favor us with a leaf-painting frost.

The swamp rose-mallow is now in bloom, and the
prettiest spots are where the congregated white and red
blossoms bedeck the scene. Here is an admirable in-
stance of where distance lends enchantment to the view.
These flowers are not pretty when closely examined.
They are coarse in texture, rude in arrangement, harsh
in coloring ; yet, collectively and from afar, they equal
the frost's best efforts to variegate the forest.

A cool, wet summer has the advantage of preserving
the foliage until September. To-day I could count nine
distinct shades of green on the hillside, which spread
out as a beautiful panorama before me, as I sat on the
edge of the marsh. It was living two lives in one to sit
there. A turn of the head was only needed to pass
from forest to fen ; and two more dissimilar aspects of

B44 UPLAND AND MEADOW,

nature, yet so close together, could not be conceived.
Of the two, the marsh or mucky meadow was the more
attractive. The dense growth concealed so much that
piqued the curiosity. Every unfamiliar sound sug-
gested some strange creature, and I anticipated monsters
lifting their heads above the reeds, as the sea-serpents
sometimes do for the benefit of a favored few. I half-
dreamed of monstrous serpents, gigantic turtles, and
elephantine batrachians ; recalled the wondrous beasts
of tertiary times, and with their images, as restored by
the genius of Cope, before me — fell asleep. Perhaps
for half an hour; possibly for but a moment, but I can
realize, in thought, how finally 1 did come to my proper
senses with a bound, as my dreams seemed about to
prove true. A booming bittern, that had been napping
near by, arose from the marsh with a " barbaric yawp,"
that shook me with more vigor than the petty earthquake
of a week ago. Did that unseen bittern give the turn
to my thoughts, by its presence, when I had taken my
seat by the edge of the marsh ? Experiences suggestive
of such a fact are of so common occurrence that I half
believe it. Half believe ; for wholly believing anything
we cannot fathom is scarcely a wise thing to do. It is
easy to learn, but a task to unlearn, and to reconstruct
our modes of thought.

The flicker lias ceased to be a woodpecker. I found
liim to-day running over the closely cropped meadow
with as much ease as ever a robin possessed. He was
chasing black beetles, and, ever and anon, overturned
chips that were likely to harbor them. After a meal of

A SUMMER AT HOME. 245

a dozen or more (Phoebus! what digestion !) off he flew
to a tall hickory, and forthwith flicker was a true wood-
pecker again.

From this time until frosts have driven the crickets
into winter-quarters, the flickers will depend upon these
insects for food. I believe I have never seen any other
of our woodpeckers run about on the ground. If the
country should become treeless, this bird might remain,
and would only be required to build its nest, like a sand
martin, in a cliff, to be perfectly at home.

Where the bank of Poaetquissings Creek suddenly
rises to form a pretty knoll, that adds mflch beauty to
the intervale, there have been muskrats or raccoons dig-
ging with vigor, and there is now loose earth from the
summit to the base. Poking into it, I brought a beauti-
ful stone gorget to view; then an arrowhead, and an-
other, and anotlier, until, thanks to the burrowing
mammal, I had a series of weapons, ornaments, and
implements that sufficed to recall the life-history of the
unfortunate Indians that once possessed the land, gave
to Poaetquissings its name, and lived happy lives, if our
old historian was not mistaken when he said this creek
is by nature supplied with everything man can de-
sire.

August 31 was beautifully bright and clear, and so it
should be. All through the night it rained with suf-
ficient violence, I thought, to wash all nature away ; but
when I awoke, at sunrise, I found everything as I had
left it, but cleaner. Every pebble in the path was free

S46 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

of grit ; not a vestige of dust on any leaf, and by some
means, I know not what, the flowers of yesterday had
not been battered or their colors washed out. Rose-
mallow in the meadows ; golden-rod along the road ; a
cluster of crimson sumac on the hillside, and scattered
patches of color everywhere, greeted the eye. " Sum-
mer, this year, means to leave a good impression, for to-
day she abandons us," I remarked to the winds. A
Carolina wren heard me, and yelled indignantly, "No,
she doesn't ! No, she doesn't !" " Yes, she does," I re-
plied, and the excitable wren grew more indignant and
emphatic; and half that morning screamed, as it flew
along the hillside, " No, she doesn't ! No, she doesn't I"

CHAPTER XI.
SEPTEMBER SUNSHINE.

My first ramble for the month was on the 12th. As
I passed down tlie clay-pit road a red squirrel stopped
and stared, sang sibilantly for ten seconds, and con-
cluded the utterance with a sharp twang, like the snap-
ping of a fiddle-string. This, I thought, was made by
stamping its hind-feet on the bark of the tree; at least
a movement of the limbs accompanied the sound. Then
the sibilant noise was repeated, followed by the trem-
bling legs and the abrupt twang! The whole perform-
ance was far more like the sound of machinery than
any caused by an animal, either vocally or mechanicallj'.

It would need a botanist to determine the time of
year, judging by the surroundings. The animal life
certainly has, as yet, assumed no autumnal aspects. I
can find nothing to intimate that in a few weeks, per-
haps a few days, there will be a chilly northwest wind,
and then a frost. What preparation is being made goes
on very secretly.

It is five days since I was last on the meadows and
took a hillside ramble, but five days can work a great
change. To-day the first of the large hawks made its
appearance. High overhead a pair of red-tailed buz-
zards floated, with apparently motionless wings, for
hours. They described gigantic circles without the quiv-

248 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

ering of a feather, but why keep this up so long ? I am
positive, careful watch having been kept, that this pair
of hawks hovered, circled, and floated, if I may use the
expression, from seven in the morning until after four
in the afternoon. If they left their elevated outlook at
all it could have been but for a minute or two at most,
and in so short a time could have captured and eaten no
food. Do September hawks never get tired or hun-
gry?

In the course of convereation with a conservative nat-
uralist, ten days ago, I expressed the opinion, which I
liave long held, that salamanders needed no tails. My
friend dissented at once. " If they do not need them,"
said he, " they would long since have lost them." It
was, I admit, one of those assertions man is so often
heard to make, and then labors hard to recall it. Aquatic
salamanders, of course, need their tails quite as fully as
do fishes, and terrestrial species only were in my mind
when I spoke.

Two years ago, when studying three species of land
salamanders, or semi-aquatic ones, I was surprised to
find so great a number with lacerated tails, or that
had lost a greater or less portion of the member. Dur-
ing the months of April and May, whenever opportu-
nity ofiFered, I watched the dusky and red "water liz-
ards," as the farmers call them, and while I could not
discover that the tails of the creatures were of any use,
I did witness n)any incidents that showed they were
frequently the direct cause of the animal's death or
maiming; and also that scores of them, with but mere
stumps of tails, were as active, as well conditioned, and,

SEPTEMBER SUNSHINE. 249

to all appearances, as liappy as any of their longicaudate
brethren. ,.-

My first effort was to determine what animals were
given to nipping the caudal appendages of these inof-
fensive salamanders. In this endeavor I soon became
discouraged ; but such a feeling only increases one's de-
sire to know the truth, and I continued to watch. It
was not long before I found that these creatures were
constantly biting each other's tails ; and this is one rea-
son why so many are found with their caudal appen-
dages in a mutilated condition. At times an adult sala-
mander will completely detach the tail of a half-grown
specimen. Subsequently I was fortunate enough to find
a meadow mouse with the tail of a dusky triton in its
jaws. The frantic efforts to escape on the part of the
batrachian resulted in the tail giving way, and the mouse
had but a meagre breakfast if this was all he ate. I
think, from this fact, that as all rodents are eminently
carnivorous, that mice and squirrels are also largely the
offenders ; but, to even a greater extent, the amputation
of tails may be attributed to the hundreds of turtles
which, during the summer, leave the creek, often going
far inland to deposit their eggs. The mud turtle, the
stinking turtle, the painted and the spotted species, all
will seize any salamander that crosses their path ; and,
from experiments in an aquarium, I am confident that
the quick movements of the salamanders very generally
result in their saving their lives, but at the expense of a
greater or less portion of their tails.

And, again, only look at a dusky salamander as he
scuttles away from you, and hides under a stone I The

11*

250 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

chances are nine in ten that the stone will conceal only
his body, and there he remains, in fancied security, with
two inches of tail in broad daylight. Let a turtle see
and snap at it. What is the result ? Why, in most in-
stances, the salamander will hold on like grim death,
and the sharp jaws of the turtle cut off the tail ; but if
the captured creature looses his hold, then the turtle
makes a meal of him.

Having learned so much of the miseries of a salaman-
der's life, and being satisfied that the smaller the tail the
less the woe, were I to become one of these creatures I
should choose to be three inches of timidity rather than
five of fearfulness. To further satisfy myself that these
tails were of more harm than good, I captured a hun-
dred or more dusky salamanders, and endeavored to
learn to what use they put their tails. This was an ut-
ter failure. Were they a guide in running? I insti-
tuted an elaborate series of races, and those whose tails
I had amputated generally made the better time; on
the principle, I suppose, of having less weight to carry.

Finally, I amputated the tails of all my captives, and
only four per cent, succumbed to the operation. The
others were soon set free, and some are even yet in full
health and vigor, and neither suffer fear of attacks in
the rear, nor show the least disposition to be jealous of
their elongated brethren, with whom they associate on
the most friendly terms.

It was for these reasons that I spoke so disparagingly
of salamanders' tails, and suppressed the reasons them-
selves, through fear of the Society for the Prevention of
Cruelty to Animals.

SEPTEMBER SUNSHINE. 251

Let me here add reference to a kindly criticism of the
same remark, published some months after the above
was written. My critical friend says the assertion of
the undesirability of tails, so far as salamanders are con-
cerned, is unsubstantiated. If he will bear in mind that
I meant only the terrestrial species, I feel sure that the
substantiation given above will satisfy him. I have re-
cently repeated some of my experiments, and it is a
lucky salamander that has its tail reduced to a minimum.

This, too, is a fitting opportunity to refer to the sub-
ject of regrowth of lost limbs and other portions of the
body of a salamander. I have not found such repro-
duction to occur with the regularity that is claimed.
Certainly, in the case of amputated tails, it is often more
than a year before this regrowth occurs. I find it stated
in Packard's "Zoology" that "experiments made in Eu-
rope show that the legs and tail of the axolotl, as of
other larval salamanders, may be reproduced. We cut
off a leg of an axolotl the 1st of November ; it was
fully reproduced, though of smaller size than the others,
a month later. The tail, according to Mr. L. A. Lee, if
partly removed, will grow out again as perfect as ever,
vertebrae and all."

In the hundreds of experiments I have made, I am
positive a very large proportion remained tailless from
two to twelve months, and all that I have found that
have appeared as second growths were never more than
one third the original size of the lost member. And so
it has been with amputated limbs. No regrowth took
place in many cases, and often, when it did, it was but
a mere fleshy outgrowth, with not sufficient strength in

253 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

it to take the place of the original limb. If experimen-
tation in this direction conld be kept up for a century
or two, I doubt not but that, at least, a race of tailless
terrestrial salamanders could be produced.

A student of nature needs good ears as well as eyes;
and when, after long practice, he can identify the in-
numerable sounds that he hears — name to himself the
owner of every voice — he has acquired the faculty sec-
ond only in importance to sight, in thoroughly enjoying
a country ramble. To-day, September 21, autumn really
begins, and as I entered the woods the first bird-notes
heard were those of a characteristic winter songster,
the crested tit. Then the complaint of the nuthatches
sounded among the hickories. This, the meagre list ;
but the day was hot, dry, and dusty, as have been each
of the twenty days before it. A third bird-note would
have been remarked upon by many — a most monotonous
chirp or squeak — but it was, in fact, the alarm-cry of a
chipmunk, that, watching every movement, uttered its
quickly repeated warning a dozen times to every rod I
progressed. The cries of small mammals have not re-
ceived the attention of naturalists as they should have
done. My attention was recently called to this in watch-
ing a pair of meadow-mice. Now, when one of these
lazy creatures is picked up it will give only a faint
squeak, that, in all probability, you will not notice. But
the pair I have mentioned proved that they can speak
loudly when occasion requires. They were busily en-
gaged among the dead leaves, nibbling at some particle
of food, I thought at the time. Presently one of them

SEPTEMBER SUNSHINE. 253

ran off a distance of five or six yards, and commenced
rummaging among the leaves, as it had been doing.
Possibly they were in search of some particular object.
It certainly appeared so ; but, whatever they were at,
the one who had been left by its mate presently stopped
its search, stood upon its hind-feet, and gave a shrill,
bird-like call, which was plainly audible for a rod or
more. The mouse that was called to straightway stood
up, as the other had done, replied by uttering the same
sound, and then hurriedly rejoined its mate. Of all
our mammals, probably the moles are nearest to being
mute, yet they, too, can utter a faint squeak, but I sup-
pose seldom do so voluntarily ; perhaps only when
roughly handled by man or dog.

He who doubts that fish have some intelligence, and
perhaps a language, should have been with me to-day.
I passed over one of the bubbling bottom-springs in Po-
aetquissings,and lingered long to watch the great number
of fishes that had congregated in the clear, cool waters.
There, for a space of some five yards square, there was
nothing in the water save the fishes ; but all about them
was a dense wall of water-milfoil and other aquatic plants.
The fish were accustomed to the boat, and moved to and
fro leisurely, from side to side of the weedless space, or
were stationary. Suddenly a large roach dashed into
the midst of them, and instantly every fish was still as a
stone. The roach hesitated but for a moment and was
gone, and with it vanished every fish in that open space.
The others, somehow, learned of danger from this
roach ; and, as it proved, none too soon, for no sooner

264 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

had the many small fishes disappeared than a dozen
large white perch made their appearance, and roamed
about the clear space above the spring, evidently in sur-
prise or disappointment. As plainly as a man might
startle a crowd by a cry of "fire" or "murder," that
roach informed the fishes that were gathered in the clear
waters below me that they must seek safety by flight.

If such incidents are explained as we would explain
similar ones occurring among men, they are wholly in-
telligible, but otherwise they are not. Stress has been
laid upon memory and experience as the mental condi-
tions explaining certain acts of our fishes : that a few
cyprinoids, seeing one of their number chased by a
pike or perch, and perhaps seized by it, would remem-
ber the fact, and ever after, when seeing a fish evi-
dently avoiding a foe, would themselves seek safety
by flight and concealment. If so, then fishes are
far more intelligent than even I consider them to be,
and, whether it accords or not with the conclusions
of others, makes them far more intelligent than are
batrachians.

Any animal that profits by experience is intelligent,
and no one need wonder at its acts, any more than one
need wonder at those of a human being.

It is the beginning of the fourth week of the drought.
Not a returning warbler that should be tarrying here be-
fore going south has deigned to appear. Scenting the
dusty, dried-up country from afar, have they passed over
in the night ? These have been so clear that the starlight
would, of itself, show them the courses of the rivers.

SEPTEMBER SUNSHINE. 355

Which are all the guide thej need. As Thoreau has
suggested, an elevation that gives a general idea of a
river's course or the trend of a mountain range would
meet every requirement of a migrating bird.

Deep in a tangled thicket of greenbrier and black-
berry I heard an unusual humming, late this afternoon
and, after a good deal of rough climbing, determined
the cause. By some happy chance, three years or more
ago a peach-stone had fallen in this thicket, sprouted
and grown to a tree ; all so quickly that none suspected
Its presence. Even the bloom must have been of a
quiet color, as no one seems to have seen it. At all
events, this unobtrusive tree was now well loaded with
rich, yellow peaches, small, but of excellent flavor- and
above every peacli were humming bees and wiiirring
wasps, that stood guard over the fruit and enjoyed an
occasional taste of its sweets.

At no little risk, but without mishaps, I gathered
many peaches, with the righteous intention of taking
them home. The line of peach-stones lying in my path
tells a sad tale of how those good intentions came to
naught. I was eating the last one as I passed througii
the yard gate ; but is it not something to my credit that
1 eft many more upon the tree, and straightway pub-
lished my discovery ?

The frequent occurrence of the unexpected is an ex-
hilarating element in country rambles. I do not believe
those peaches would take a prize at a fair, or be popular
in the^market, but I hold to the strong adjective "deli-
cious." To gather peaches in such a manner is to en-

256 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

joy them at their very best ; and when, after a tiresome
tramp over a dusty field, one comes upon such juicy
growths, his surprise and delight will render his palate
uncritical, and ready to say of such fruit, "delicious."
For me, it was far preferable to the mussy slices, gritty
with sandy sugar and slippery with cream, that are of-
fered on many tables and accounted a luxury of the
season. They may be a luxury, but not so spirit-reviv-
ing and restorative generally as the unlooked-for fruit
that overhangs the path of the weary rambler as he
nears his home.

Every peach that I may pluck in the future will re-
call the peaches of to-day. Wild peaches, wild plums,
wild grapes, eaten in the woods, or along the shady
banks of Poaetquissings, trifling experiences of wild life
though they may be, still make, for me, the artificial life
of to-day stale, flat, and unprofitable indeed.

September 24. — How very common is dreaming and
somnambulism among animals, and particularly among
birds ! One might imagine that such restless birds as
wrens would be most disposed thereto, but my observa-
tions have not verified this natural supposition. Cat-
birds are not only great dreamers, but often execute
somnambulistic dances on a tight twig. Were it not
for the great difficulty of watching birds during the
night, I believe many curious circumstances might be
recorded, some of which would prove valuable to stu-
dents of animal psychology. Thus, besides the instance
of the catbird, wood pee-wees will sometimes sally out
into comparative darkness, and snap their beaks at im-

SEPTEMBER SUNSHINE. 257

aginary insects. Humming-birds will dart from their
perches, and, hovering in space for several seconds, as
though before a flower, will then return to the identical
spot they left. What mental condition is it that en-
ables them to do this ? I look upon it as the greatest
mystery in animal psychology. Not always, however,
are these somnambulistic performances free of danger
to the birds. I once saw a purple grakle pitch from its
perch, as though pursued by a hawk, and, striking the
branch of a tree, fall to the ground with its neck broken.
Crows, also, often perform the most curious antics when
asleep; and even the more staid woodpeckers run two
or three times around the trunk of the tree in which
they are roosting, and then quietly resume their slum-
bers.

Although so abundant and prominent in the mam-
malian fauna, particularly now and later, the rabbit sel-
dom attracts my attention. I trap them, of course, in
proper season ; but they seem, even then, more like do-
mesticated than wild animals. In my rambles now, I
see them dart by, or, scenting danger, stand well up, lift
their long ears, and then speed away, until they find
close cover. While yet in sight, one naturally gazes
after them, but once out of sight they are equally out
of mind. A consistent naturalist should try to become
as enthusiastic over a rabbit as a mink or muskrat, but,
in this, I imagine, most signally fail. A " cotton-tail "
is as near a nonentity as any creature well can be. Why ?
Because they are, or appear to be, stupid ; for Uncle
Remus's "Brer Rabbit" never wanders as far north as

268 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

New Jersey. In the early summers I often find their
nests. The litter of four or five are always without
their dam, and one only wonders why dogs or rats do
not find them oftener. They are always where people
are surest to go, if in the woods at all ; and never are
so hidden as to have any chance of escape from the
schoolboy or his prying cur. Rabbits provoke by their
unparalleled stupidity ; they never exercise one whit of
ingenuity, but ever and forever trust to luck. Perhaps,
in this matter, they resemble many people far more than
some of our wiser mammals.

But I did see an exhibition of pluck and common-
sense on the part of a rabbit, this day, and I am half
led to cancel what I have written. An eagle has been
frequenting the hillside since August — that is, he has
been reported to me, from time to time. To-day I saw
him for the first. While comfortably resting at the
foot of a tall tulip- tree, and leisurely scanning the mead-
ows, a rabbit very deliberately came towards me, hop-
ping over the short grass, and occasionally looking back,
as though in doubt as to whether it was being followed
or not. In a moment a shadow crossed the rabbit's
path ; and with one great leap, none too quickly made,
the terror-stricken creature reached the ditch and
crouched in the soft mud underneath the overhanging
banks. It was certainly safe, for the time being. Al-
most at the same instant down swooped the eagle, and
struck the ground within a foot of where the rabbit had
last paused, when it made its leap for life. Once on
the ground, the eagle gave a searching glance immedi-
ately about, and then saw me within ten paces of him.

SEPTEMBER SUNSHINE. 259

A look that I shall never forget, an angry cry of disgust
or astonishment, and up the bird rose, with but one
movement of the wings, until he was beyond the tree-
tops. It was a rare opportunity, and I was thoughtful
enough to take advantage of it ; and if my eyesight was
not defective at the time, the eagle certainly made use
of its wings by a quivering motion of the feathers, which
seemed to open and shut, and not by a uniform motion
of the wings as a whole. Are there muscles in the
wings that will enable an eagle to do as I thought this
one did?

The rabbit knew when to leave its hiding-place, but
was so chilled and stiff, from tarrying even for a minute
in its wet quarters, that now an eagle without wings
could have overtaken it. I tried to do so, and was
moderately successful. Just as I put forth my hand to
seize the creature, it gave a frantic leap into the briers
near by, and my efforts were repaid by a thorn-stuck
thumb. So one rabbit, at least, that I have seen, showed
some common-sense, in an effectual endeavor to avoid
being captured. Not very much, to be sure, but still a
little.

Seeing a fish-hawk fly over, with a monstrous chub in
its talons, I wondered if these birds find fish sleeping,
or are always quick enough to catch them when wide-
awake.

In the article "Ichthyology," by Dr. Gunther, in
the " Encyclopedia Britannica," 9th edition, that author
quotes Aristotle to the effect that fishes " sleep like other
animals." If so, could not a fish-hawk find such slum-

260 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

berers, at least, at times? But do fishes sleep like other
animals ? He who wanders along a slnggish creek or
any still water, in pursuit of them, knows full well how
seldom they are caught napping; and it is a difficult
matter to say when a fish is asleep. Certainly, they do
not give just such evidence of it as do mammals or
birds; and while in a physiological sense it is true, the
statement, as it stands, is somewhat misleading.

Fish that habitually or occasionally rest upon the bot-
tom of the stream might readily go to sleep, and no
one suspect their condition ; but this is not true of fishes
that never rest in this way. How do they sleep ? Take
so restless a species as the little silver-finned minnow.
It must sleep, it seems ; but how ? Do the fins that pre-
serve the upright position of the fish move involunta-
rily, just as we breathe without being conscious of the
effort ? If so, then such sleeping fish would be drifted by
the current and be hopelessly exposed to many dangers.
This, therefore, cannot be true ; and yet these fish can-
not go into quiet waters, for here they perish in a short
time. If, on the other hand, their entire muscular ac-
tivity is kept at its maximum, and they can still sleep,
then it is slumbering in a manner quite unlike that of
other animals.

Of such fishes as I have observed, while they were
confined in aquaria, there did seem to be a listless con-
dition at times, coupled with a lack-lustre expression of
the eyes, which suggested sleep. This was the more
noticeable when I aroused them, for the eye suddenly
lighted up, and was very different in its general appear-
ance from what it had been.

SEPTEMBER SUNSHINE. 261

Fishes, are, I believe, unlike other animals, in that
they sleep with great irregularity, and in their ability to
go an indefinite time without any slumber or rest what-
ever.

September 28. — The pits of the ant-lions, to-day, were
very abundant in the thin grass on the edge of the ter-
race. The little engineers had excavated their circular
pits with wonderful nicety, and the grass was gray with
the sand thrown out. I teased the occupant of one pit
for some time, by dropping a seed of giant hyssop into
the depression, and no sooner had it touched the centre
of the conical pit than the ant-lion seized and threw it
out with great force. My astonishment was very great to
find that larger seeds were thrown out with proportion-
ately greater force, as shown by the increased activity
of the animal. It seemed to test the weight of the ob-
jects I dropped in, and sent them spinning to such a
distance that they could not roll back again. By great
good luck I caught, at this time, a little black beetle not
larger than a pin's head. This I disabled and then let
slowly roll into the pit. The ant-lion seized it at once,
but not finding it available as food, or disliking the
flavor, first gave it a tremendous shaking, moving it
back and forth with a vehemence that evidently shook
out its life, before it received the final toss which sent
it an inch or more beyond the outer rim of the pit.

I tried yet again to tease this ant-lion, by suspending
a good-sized ant by a fine thread, just out of reach, yet
60 near that in its struggles it rolled the sand down to
the centre. This was thrown back for a time, but soon

262 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

became an intolerable nuisance, and the enraged ant-
lion emerged, and, seizing the suspended ant, gave it one
toss that sent it far beyond the pit. But the thread
controlled its motions, and in a second it was back again,
aided by a little movement that I gave it. The ant-lion
again seized it, and, apparently realizing the situation,
gave it a jerk which tore it from the thread, and then
dragged it out of sight, beneath the bottom of the pit.

Do not accord to ants and bees all the intelligence of
the insect world.

September 30. — Wandering southward, along the
hillside, interest centred in the absence of usual occur-
rences and sights. The drought has even affected the
flocking of certain birds, for the scattered companies of
grakles and red-wings are poor apologies for the autum-
nal gatherings of thousands, that are so marked a feature
of the meadow landscape in September.

Speaking of flocking blackbirds, I have wondered if it
were true that the pin-feather birds bring up the rear, in
all large flocks. I have often been told so, and market
gunners say they always fire into the end of a flock, be-
cause it contains the young birds, and these sell Tnore
readily as reed-birds! How good a thing would it be
if English sparrows could be made palatable by some
cunning of the cook's art. I have made trials, but these
foreign disintegrators of equine ejecta were bitter, bitter,
bitter !

But if the flockidg red-wings miserably maintained
their old-time reputation, the bluebirds did not fail to
preserve theirs. From stake to stake, along the zigzag

SEPTEMBER SUNSHINE, 263

worm-fence, they seemed to be carried by the breeze
rather than to be flying, and each, as it floated, bubbled
over with music. Dear as the warbling bluebird is in
spring, cheery as is his presence in midwinter, it is in
the hazy September mornings that we see him at his
best. A score of his kind associate to bid farewell to
summer, and sing their regrets with touching eloquence;
or is it that they are welcoming the coming season,
sounding its praises with becoming unction ? Be this
as it may, the bluebird is an all-important feature of
our early autumn, and chimes well with the snappy
flavor of golden pippins and the mellow richness of
the yellow peach.

As I look hack on the past four weeks, what a beg-
garly array of birds for sweet, sunny September ! Not
half a dozen warblers ! This, the month that should
have brought the birds that nested even in Labrador —
that has brought them by the hundreds, every other
year for the past twenty — this month, none !

In the pale moonlight have they passed by, or, know-
ing how the summer sunshine has lingered, have they
delayed their coming? I can scarcely think the latter
to be true; and so sad and silent has been the month, I
trust none like it will come again.

Animate nature, here, has not yet wholly accustomed
itself to droughts; a^nd the glory of this month is surely
not maintained, when it proves to be nothing more than
a desiccated August.

CHAPTER XII.
AN OCTOBER DIARY.

October 1. — The first bit of color to be seen, as I
entered the woods at sunrise, were the purple asters,
that, like a fallen sunset cloud, lay tangled among the
dwai-fed bushes by the wayside. The beginning of
October, this, and it should be cool and snappy, and
marked by a thread of hoar-frost on the topmost rails
of the worm-fences — some of this should be, yet it is
all wanting. Asters clustered in nooks along the hill-
side road and offered the only contrast to the dingy
green of this fifth week of the drought.

A little later, however, I chanced upon a thrifty
growth of crimson poison ivy reaching to the very top
of the tall sassafras, a tree over sixty feet in height.
This was, indeed, a wealth of rich color that could not
fail to charm the rambler. Why is it that this vino
has such a predilection for these trees? I find it pre-
fers them, not only in the woods, but along the creek,
where but few of the trees are growing. In the course
of my morning's walk I found twenty -seven vines
growing upon trees, and all but six were wrapped about
the stately stems of the sassafras. Does this hold good
elsewhere ?

It is a whim to gather a walking-stick at the out
set, and leave it at the garden -gate on my return.

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 266

By the end of the month I shall have good ki:i-
dling for the frosty November evenings, when the
andirons will come into use. To-day I choose a stout
stem of the giant hyssop. How oddly shaped it is !
Accurately square, and with sharp, projecting angles, it
is possibly safe from the hungry cows that nibble at
every growth at this time of year. The text-books are
careful to state the fact of the stem being square, but
give us no reason why it is so ? Is such a fact past
finding out ? Still deeper in the woods, color-hunting
as I walked,! came upon gum-trees with an abundance
of berries, the robins and flickers associating very good-
naturedly, as they fed upon the sour fruit. Collec-
tively, they numbered more birds than I had seen in
a week, and even their monotonous chatter was not un-
welcome. It seems a little strange that the flicker, or
pigeon woodpecker, which for eleven months is insec-
tivorous, should be so fond of these sour berries. It is
not attracted merely by wormy berries, as I have tested.
The fruit is eaten as such, and not as insect-traps.

The meadows at sunrise, and even now, an hour later,
lay hidden in a fog. Not a thin mist that moved
with the wind, but a tough, tangible, semi-liquid cloud.
Once or twice each year I see just such ; bathe in them,
and therefrom date my malarial aches and pains.
From the brow of the bluff, to which this fog did not
ascend by several yards, that part of the landscape
usually filled by an expanse of meadow now appears
as a placid lake, with here and there a projecting rock ;
for such the tops of the nearest tall shag-bark hickories
appeared to be. I walk to the sharply defined edge of

12

•SM UPLAND AND MEADOW.

tlie mist, sharply defined as air is from water, and place
my ear at the surface. All is deathly still. Whatever
sound was heard falls from above ; not a tremor in the
fog-bound area of the meadows I know are before me.
Down deep into the cloud I go, but there is nothing to
be heard even then, and little to be seen. Every twig
is dripping, cold, and clammy. Such an atmosphere
could scarcely attract even a water-bird, and I caught
no glimpse of any songster. Again upward into the
more cheerful air and sunlight, I was met by a Carolina
wren, that whistled cheerily " You wretch you," " You
wretch you," following it with complaining chirps be-
cause I had encroached too far into its domain. Find-
ing a cosey seat at the root of a tall oak, I sat quietly ;
the wren looked me squarely in the face and then
■whistled "Right welcome," "Right welcome," twenty-
nine times, without stopping. I was greatly honored
by this attention, and I trust, not unduly grateful.

No sooner had the bird left me to my own devices,
than two chipmunks come running rapidly towards each
other, and, meeting directly in front of me, stop sud-
denly. I could hear not a word they said, but I saw
them put their noses together for a second ; after
which one drew back, scratched his left ear, and
whistled. His companion barked, and both, turning
about, retraced their steps as rapidly as they had come.

He who doubts that these creatures can talk with
one another should have seen them.

When nearly at the garden gate, on my return, I
saw the first great flock of red-wings of the season.
They passed as a cloud over the sun, throwing down

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 267

wide dashes of shadow. Each chattered to its neighbor,
and their united voices, as the birds flew over the trees,
sounded strangely like hail falling through the leaves.
I half held out my hand to catch the ice-drops,

October 2. — This is the first respectably rainy day
since August. When the rain, at last, does come, plant-
life promptly responds; but not so the animal world.
Tired of waiting for a shower, the birds generally
wander to within the nearest rain-belt. Of course, our
small mammals cannot migrate to this extent, but they
do have a curious habit, during these "dry spells," of
leaving their summer homes and taking up temporary
abodes in swampy nooks and about bubbling springs.
Even field mice will leave the uplands, at such a time,
and settle by the ditches. There they come in contact
with the resident meadow mice, and jolly rows occur at
times. Indeed, I have known a regular pitched battle
to be the result. When it comes to a contest between
the feral " domestic " mice and the true meadow mouse,
the former seldom hold their own, in spite of their
greater agility, but are usually driven off. On the
other hand, when an army of upland meadow mice in-
trude upon the quarters of their cousins in the low-
lands, then the result is undeterminable, for the indi-
viduals cannot be distinguished. It is, however, war to
the knife, and many are killed.

The milder-mannered white-footed Hesperorays are
less affected by dry weather, but still have no fancy for
a practically anhydrous condition. It may, of course,
be merely a coincidence, but is far more probably a de-

268 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

liberate change of haunt from the uplands to the mead-
ows, brought about by the excessive dryness of the
earth ; for often there is no appreciable moisture even
at a depth thrice that of their deepest burrow. At
such a time, these creatures have one other means of
escaping the discomfort of a drought — they can sesti-
vate, or become torpid during the excessive heat; just
as they would hibernate under certain conditions, dur-
ing winter. Such an occurrence is probably very rare
in this latitude, as compared with hibernation ; but
that many a poor mouse has been picked up, or trodden
under foot, in midsummer, which was supposed to be
dead, but w^as simply in an sestivating condition, is un-
questionably true.

While rambling about, I have found certain limited
spots which were overcrowded with field mice ; but
find no reference in tlje books to the migrations of
these mammals, if, indeed, they come in one body to
such places. Something strongly suggestive of collec-
tive migration I have but once witnessed. It was late
in the month of June. No rain had fallen for tliree
weeks, and the upland fields were dusty, the surface
soil was hot to the touch, and the grass was as brown as
well-cured hay. Passing along the brow of the bluff,
shortly before sunrise, my attention was called to a
black mass moving in a wavy line towards the meadow.
I at once thought of a large snake, and hastened to
overtake it, but it proved to be a column containing
perhaps a hundred of wild house mice, each one run-
ning slowly in an irregular way, sometimes singl}',
sometimes two abreast. At my near approach they

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 269

scattered and successfully Lid themselves; but confi-
dence being restored by my remaining quiet, tliey re-
collected and, at greater speed, hurried to the meadows
near by. They were evidently influenced by excessive
dryness of the upland fields ; but they cannot reasonably
be supposed to have anticipated the drought that fol-
lowed. Even a house mouse is no fool, but it is an injus-
tice to intimate that it ever poses as a weather-prophet.

October 3. — The rain continues, and by this time has
washed the dust from the throats of the robins, which
are now singing as merrily as of a "bright May day in
the morning ;" but I fail to see or hear another bird,
bearing the creek, sparrows are heard, and some unrec-
ognized songster warbles a few sweet notes that are
quite new. What an experience! How the heart
leaps at novelty! For an hour I stooped among low
bushes, and craned my neck to scan the topmost
branches of tall trees. High, low, and through inter-
vening space, but to no purpose. Something, some-
where, sweetly sang, and I was forced to give up the
search and go away unsatisfied.

Poaetquissings is vastly improved, I find, by the rain.
The broad lily leaves and upright growths of splatter-
docks have been gray for weeks, and now are cheer-
fully green again. The creek itself, heretofore too
lazy to carry off the scum that flourishes in midsummer,
now bears it riverward in haste, and the broken shad-
ows of overhanging elms darken the waters from shore
to shore.

It is strange how far-reaching is a drought in its ef-

270 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

fects npon bird-life. The many herons even stay close
to the river, and Poaetquissings is absolutely deserted.
The rain of yesterday and to-day has remedied all these
defects, and again I find the great blue heron winging
its way up the creek, and the little green ones are here,
and everywhere. A bittern, too, I have heard booming
in the maple-swamp hard by. Kingfishers are chatter-
ing, crows are cawing ; fishes leap above the water, and
nature, keeping time to the patter of the rain, makes
Poaetquissings her beautiful self again.

October 4. — Still dull and rainy, but the birds sing
notwithstanding, and even the gray squirrels barked
and chattered, as I sought their haunts at sunrise; but I
am thrilled and my pulse leaps at the sound of a bell-
like note that vibrates for just a moment in the tall
hyssops in front of me. I looked for the musician that
pipes on the single reed, but could not find him.
Safely hidden in some little cranny, it is by chance
alone that I am likely to discover him. Urged by my
hopes, I sat down in the clump of weeds, remaining
long, and as quietly as the stump on which I sit. Then,
to mock me, every bird in the neighborhood set up a
chatter. An inquisitive jay screeched to the full ex-
tent of its powers ; this startles the crows, and they
caw incessantly. So the sounds are diffused abroad,
one creature exciting another, until even the house-dog
barked and the hens cackled — and I alone was still.

The birds then seemed to take the hint and silently
busied themselves with securing a breakfast. To be
sure, one inquisitive titmouse came within a foot of my

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 271

face, looked at me sharply, and went off abruptly, with
a knowing twitter meant only for me. Soon came an-
other of its kind, chirped "good-morning," and was
gone — but still that bell-like vibration was not repeated.
Had I imagined it, after all? I was about to come
away, and, half -rising, was suddenly startled by the
shrill peep ! that surely came from the bushes near by.
I looked in every direction, scanned every leaf, but
nothing visible could have uttered it. I rose to ex-
tend the search, and instantly the note was repeated.
" Where is the creature ?" I exclaimed, and, shading my
eyes to see more clearly towards the rising sun, I
touched a cold object on the rim of my hat. I took it
in my hand, with a startled movement. It was a Pick-
ering's Hyla that I had brushed from the hyssops, and
had borne all this while so near me without suspicion.
I have seen men look for their spectacles, which were
the while resting upon their foreheads; and this was
much the same thing. This little tree-toad, which is
a diminutive frog with disks on his toes, and an arboreal
batrachian, is not abundant with us, its place being
taken by the exceedingly abundant peeper, or Savan-
nah cricket. Their vocal powers, however, are so ad-
mirably developed that they make up for want of num-
bers by their ringing notes, that, heard among the trees,
give one the impression of many chirping birds. This
note is unlike the harsher "kweep" of the Savannah
cricket, or Hylodes, and the two will never be con-
founded, when both have been heard and recognized.
It is a difference readily appreciated, when the two are
compared, but not easily described. It may be said

272 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

tliat the Hyla Las a short, clear, bell-like "peep!" the
Hylodes a harsher, more prolonged "kw-eep!" Al-
though the true frogs have practically ceased their sing-
ing, it is no uncommon occurrence to hear the rattling
green frog, or clamiians, and the burly bull-frog clack
and rattle for an hour or more, if the weather is fairly
summerlike. The spotted fellows are done croaking.
Even by pinching them, you can seldom force a pro-
testing squeak. There was no dust to annoy, and
dozens were found far from the water, active as in mid-
summer, and, as I believe, hunting small grasshoppers.

Both the spring and pickerel frogs are gathered in
company about the pools, for never is the one seen
without the other. This constant association might
lead one to suspect that here was a case of dimorphism ;
for, except in the matter of color, the two species are
really one. The minutest details of the habits of a
spring frog would equally well apply to the pickerel
frog ; and it has been labor lost to discover a differ-
ence of habit between the fellow with two rows of
spots and him of four.

October 5. — The country is now at its best, glow-
ing, as it does, with the freshness following a two days'
bath. The low shrubbery and grass are decked with
dewdrops — nature's matchless jewels. With a hope of
finding some novelty, I seek the least-frequented nook
on the farm, thinking its fauna would be all astir, and
the tamer, it might be, for that I had been absent for
a month. Reaching the tangled corner where my
neighbor's fence is supposed to be, but which the wild

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 273

growth renders somewhat problematical, the brilliant
crimson of the gum-tree's foliage at once strikes me as
the prominent feature of the spot, so far as the eye is
concerned. If there could be but music with this, I
thought — and straightway a Carolina wren, up from
gome leafy depth, mounted a dead branch of an oak
near by and whistled "welcome" in wren-like fashion.
Except for us two the place seemed deserted. The
moaning tree-tops, waving in the wind, the crisp clatter
of dry leaves as they fell singly on the thicket below,
the hum of a few bees fretting for the absent flowers,
were the only sounds that disturbed the quiet of this
long-neglected nook. Desirous of better luck, I gazed
searchingly through the trees, hoping that something
was as quietly watching me as I was hunting for it ;
and it proved so. As is often the case, when disappoint-
ment began to tell heavily, I saw move slowly a sliort
distance an object that seemed unlike the mere wind-
tossed trembling of leafy twigs. Drawing still nearer, I
readily recognized it. There, in a tall gum-tree, largely
overgrown by a fox-grapevine, sat a small raccoon.

Probably no one of our few remaining mammals has
figured more extensively in recent literature than the
raccoon, and none is more accurately known, perhaps,
as to its habits ; and yet, when I chance upon one in
wild woods, and see it going about its business, in an
unconcerned way, it is pretty sure to attract my atten-
tion and check my progress. This was the case to-day.
While scarcely larger than an opossum, with habits
not more fraught with danger from men or dogs ; good
climbers and excellent burrowers, raccoons seem steadily

12*

274 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

to have lessened in numbers, until now one is rarely
seen in this vicinity. One would think that, being tar
more intelligent than either the opossum or skunk,
they should have outwitted man as readily, and so have
held their own, even in thickly settled districts ; but they
have not. Here is a case where theory and fact are at
loggerheads. Foolish creatures, like opossums, thrive,
while cunning 'coons are forced to quit or die.

When Kalm,the Swedish naturalist, was travelling in
New Jersey, a century and a half ago, these animals
were fairly abundant. His description of their habits,
as he observed them then, holds good to-day; but what
does he mean by asserting that " the raccoon is frequent-
ly the food of snakes " ? What manner of snake, even
in his time, could have managed to swallow a raccoon ?
To-day, snakes are sometimes the food of raccoons, and
possibly this is what Kalm meant to say.

The young coon in the vine-draped gum-tree was
wholly undisturbed by my presence, and simply stared
without winking, as I gradually approached. When
within a dozen paces I saw that its chaps were literally
dripping with gore. There were no feathers at the foot
of the tree or caught in the tangled undergrowth, and
no bits of fur ; but drops of blood were spattered every-
where. The poor thing must be wounded, I thought.
Hoping, therefore, to put the creature out of its misery,
I planned to reach it ; but as I had no gun, I could only
climb. This failed, but, as I was looking up the straight
stem of the tree, the coon moved a little upward and
outward, as though determined to keep the space be-
tween us unchanged. The ease of its movements did

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 275

not suggest a wound or a weakness from loss of blood,
and I was again at sea in the matter, but only for a mo-
ment. Scattered about the vine were single grapes
and bunches of two and three. A beggarly show for
grapes ; but then their size made up for lack of numbers.
Each grape was black as anthracite, a perfect sphere an
inch in diameter. Such grapes! No wonder the rac-
coon had jaws dripping with gore ; no wonder the leaves
below were spattered with purple blotches. Every grape
was nigh to bursting with the richest of ruddy wild-
fruit juices, crimson and blood-thick. My little 'coon
was an epicure, I thought, and deserved his liberty. I
left him unmolested, with many wishes for his welfare,
hoping no dog or hunter might find him. Perhaps,
two months later, if he raids upon the hen-roost, I may
change my mind, and then be willing to hunt him my-
self beneath a full moon, when this same bare tree and
leafless vine are mantled deep with snow.

While letting the raccoon depart in peace, I could
not so readily betake myself from the luscious grapes.
Their odor, of itself, called for critical inspection, and 1
own to a governing passion for what odors, as well as
sights and sounds, my rambling grounds offer. Nor
was the flavor less enticing. Nature's best effort, with
her present surroundings, it would be ungrateful to be-
little. I ate heartily ; stained my hands with the ruddy
juices, and carried away with me a full realization of
how good a thing may be within our reach, unseen and
unsuspected, enjoyed by the lower animals — so called.
Lower, indeed ! but happier in their better knowledge
of the man-neglected nooks and crannies of the wild-

278 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

wood. It is no mean experience to end an October
raml)le with cool grapes, a cluster of hazel-nuts, and the
rosy cheek of a spicy apple.

Leaving the hillside, on my return homeward, I
passed along the main meadow ditch, and was delighted
to find a star-nosed mole. Its branched snout and long
tail at once distinguished it from the other species found
here ; for we have three of them, and these are even
generically distinct — one a Scalops, another a /Scapanus,
and the one fonnd this morning a Condylura. These
moles cannot be confounded by the most careless observ-
er, although I once did hear a man say of one, " It's too
small for a rat and too big for a mouse. What is it,
any way?"

The star-nosed mole that I had found had no appar-
ent business on the surface of the meadow, and no pry-
ing cur had dug him out of his subterranean home, for
the ground was everywhere intact.

So closely do these moles keep to their burrows that
many people have never seen them,, even where they
are really abundant. In my meadows, I generally find
that the burrows open into the ditch banks below the
water-level, or but an inch or two above the water's usual
height. Into the water, therefore, with little or no dis-
turbance, these moles can plunge, on occasion, and swim
off without being noticed. It is probable, however, that
they seldom do take to the open water ; for when sur-
prised in their tunnels, they usually, I think, retreat to
that portion of the burrow most distant from the ditch
bank. Such, at least, has been my experience in observ-

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 277

ing them. Were it not for the destruction to meadow
pastures caused by star-nosed moles, they would be about
the most inoffensive of our mammals. As it is, they
often cause a deal of mischief, which is usually attrib-
uted to muskrats. During the spring freshets the
waters fill the mole's burrowings and loosen up the soil,
so that when they have wholly subsided the ground
settles, yields unduly to the tread of the cattle, and the
sod cracks. A rain ensuing enlarges every crack to a
gully and a little land-slide then follows. It takes but
few such seemingly trivial occurrences to ruin an acre
of pasture-land.

The winter habits of the star-nosed mole merit con-
siderable attention, the more so in that my inferences
have been challenged as very incorrect. After a trivial
matter of some twenty years' familiarity with these ani-
mals, I have ventured to state that they dwell in com-
plicated burrows, and at some point in their tangled
tunnellings these moles make commodious nests, formed
of a good deal of fine grass. Here, indifferent to freshets,
they remain all winter, and, as they can lay up no food,
sleep, I suppose, through the entire season. The fact
that they are unaffected by being submerged during the
spring freshets is an interesting one. So far as I have
examined their nests, there was nothing to show that
they were water-tiglit, and I think that the animals must
have been thoroughly soaked for from forty-eight to
seventy-two hours, the ordinary duration of the high-
water. If through any cause the period of submergence
was prolonged, it is probable that it would prove fatal
to the moles.

278 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

Now it is objected by Dr. Merriam, that it would be
" a very easy matter for these semi-aqnatic animals to
betake themselves to higher ground when driven from
their usual haunts by freshets ; and this is exactly what
usually takes place, as I have ascertained by personal
observation;" and my friend adds, "in the Adirondack
region, where snow covers the ground for five or six
months of the year, the star-nosed mole does not hiber-
nate. At the approach of winter it sinks its galleries
below the depth to which frost penetrates, and still
finds an abundance of earth-worms, which at all sea-
sons constitute a large share of its food. When the
snow has attained the depth of a metre or a metre and
a half, as it commonly does here during January and
February, the frost gradually leaves the ground, and
both moles and earth-worms again approach the surface.
The moles sometimes burrow up through the snow ; and
I have captured them while running about on a stiff
crust, through which they were unable to bore in time
to make good their escape."

In reply to my friend's criticism, I have stated that
it was probable that these moles closed their burrows in
such a manner as to exclude the water; but I take it
back. The fact is that the star-nosed mole is rather
an aquatic animal than " semi-aquatic," as stated by Dr.
Merriam, and is better adopted to prolonged submerg-
ence, even when fully active, than an otter or a musk-
rat. It is certainly true of them that they coil up in
a corner of their burrows and sleep through a freshet,
not keeping dry at the time, either ; and when winter
has "set in," they do not see fit to follow earth-worms

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 2l9

at indefinite depths, but sleep ; being in March or early
in April " thin as snakes," instead of " sleek as a mole.'*

But let us consider, for a moment, the star-nosed moles
of the Adirondack region. Dr. Merriam says they sink
below the frost line and there pursue earth-worms, com-
ing nearer the surface after the snow is three to five
feet deep. Now, is it not probable that, at such a depth
and under such circumstances, there would be so little
atmosphere that the mole could not retain the activity
necessary to follow earth-worms? I believe so, and am
forced to conclude that the activity claimed for them,
under such circumstances, is an assumption. It would
be very strange if this mammal should in all respects
be the same in its habits, in two regions so different as
the Adirondacks and Central New Jersey ; but that it
is a difference as wide as Dr. Merriam claims, I doubt.
Who is in error, let the world decide; but in my mead-
ows star-nosed moles show no disposition to live during
winter in the manner described by my friend.

The common mole is justly hated by the farmers, nor
do I wonder at it. How persistently they pass through
a "hill" of sweet potatoes or watermelons, must be seen
to be realized. I cannot bring these farmer folk to be-
lieve that they are not after the seed or plant they have
destroyed. The plant is destroyed, and the mole was
the destroyer. This is enough ; these moles are vege-
tarians certainly, so my neighbors insist, and set me
down as a crank. Nevertheless, I am right. Probably,
in many cases, the loosening of the soil, in planting, at-
tracts the prey of the mole, the earth-worm ; but oftener
the whole matter is accidental, the earth-worms and moles

280 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

passing to and fro in quite a haphazard manner. One
instance, during the past summer, of the mole's unfort-
unate choice of locality, was amusing to me, but quite
otherwise to the farmer. This mole had passed down a
line of lima beans, uprooting every one, and then, turn-
ing about, moved sufficiently far to one side to strike
the line of beans adjoining those uprooted, and with
equal skill he passed down them, destroying every
plant. Is it strange, after all, that a farmer should
think beans, and not earth-worms, were the food of
moles ?

For several mornings, before I was fairly awake, I
have heard the nuthatches in the wild cherry that
stands just beyond ray windows. " Quank-quank," calls
the white-bellied species; " Ta-ta- tat," replies its rudci}--
bellied cousin. The two seem to be always associated.
These little birds are worthy of careful study, for they
have a host of pretty ways ; and this habit of the two
species being always together is curious. It might be
thought that hybrids would occasionally be found ; but
I have no knowledge of such having been met with.
Even in the stormiest weather, as blithesome as to-day,
these birds forage without a moment's rest, and move
about the trees with equal ease and more grace than
mice move over level surfaces. The cracked and cran-
nied bark of the cherry-tree was hunted in the most
systematic tnanner, and I judge an abundance of food
was found, for the birds tarried on it for fully half an
hour. Indeed, I am not sure that they left the tree
then, for they often persistently remain on the opposite

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 281

side of the trunk, when yon make a business of watch-
ing them closely, and to snppose them gone, when, in
fact, they were merely hiding, would be a most natural
mistake.

I believe, if I were asked to name a literally resident
bird, one that could be readily found any day and at
all times of day, I should, at least, think of the nut-
hatches. Certainly, in the past ten years, I have seen
individuals every week of the year — possibly every
day. Quank-quank — Tat-a-tat ! I hear them now, al-
thougli it is past sundown, and even the wood pee-wees
sing in their sleep. In May and June one might readi-
ly suppose tliat tliese birds were wanting, as their voices
are lost in the great volume of bird-music that resounds
through the woods ; but tliey are here, nevertheless, and
gather up insects with the same assiduity, and repeat
their monotonous song with the same painfully monot-
onous regularity as in autumn or winter. Yet, strange
to say, these stay-at-homes, with all their conspicuous
ways, have never guided me to their nests. Of course,
they breed here ; we have dead trees and nest linings in
sufficiency, and all the surroundings that they require,
and, too, I have seen the young, with pin-feathers more
abundant than full spread plumage ; but no nest or eggs.
This is one of the pleasant experiences in store for me
— to find a nest.

The nuthatches should have a better name with us.
They have absolutely nothing to do with nuts; never
hatched or hatcheted one in their lives, nor yet fooled
with a wormy one, to get out the grub; but spend their
days in insect-hunting, in so tireless a manner that they

SJ83 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

pnt to the blush the best efforts of a wren, a kinglet, or
any warbler. Nuthatches never quarrel. I have watched,
during excessively stormy weather, a pair of these birds
running around and around the trunk of the wild cherry
near my windows. Occasionally, spinning around in hot
haste, they would collide, but it resulted onlj' in a cheery
chirp, a half lifting of the wings, with an "excuse me"
air, and then they separated.

For some reason, perhaps easily guessed, nuthatches
are annoyed by the presence of squirrels, red or gray.
Not that these animals ever molest them, when they meet
in trees ; but they are either interfered with, at the time,
indirectly, or, what is more probable, it is hereditary
hatred, caused by the villainous egg-stealing habits of
the squirrel. Only the other day, the nuthatches on
the cherry awoke me by an unusually animated chirp-
ing. I very naturally thought of an English sparrow;
but the cause of the disturbance proved to be that a
little red squirrel that nests in a hollow locust near
by was wandering about the cherry in an aimless sort
of way, as though enjoying the rage of the scolding nut-
hatches; but his enjoyment proved of short duration.
Tired, at last, of his impudence, the birds, with wren-
like rapidity, darted simultaneously at the intruder, with
outstretched necks, which meant two vicious stabs from
their sharp beaks. The squirrel squeaked and winced,
but stood his ground. Again the birds darted at him,
with like results. It was too much for him. The birds
made the fur fly, and he flew with it.

There is another little tree-climbing bird that is seen
both winter and summer, of tener alone than in company ;

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 288

but not unfrequently is associated with the two nut-
hatches. It is the brown tree-creeper. A bird of another
genus, differing in many ways from a nuthatch, yet in its
habits essentially the same. In like manner, it searches
every nook and cranny of the bark of trees, for insects,
and chirps a whole-souled " tweet- tweet " whenever any
super-luscious morsel has been found. This leads me to
recall another fact. A simple chirp is not the entire
range of the creeper's vocal powers. Tliey can sing
sweetly when they choose, but are too busy, or do not
choose very often.

Perhaps, less than any other bird, these creepers are
affected by extremes of heat and cold. I remember
seeing them in full activity during one of the hottest
days on record. "When, in the sun, tlie thermometer
ranged from 110° to 115° Fahrenheit, and all animate
creation was at least resting in the shade, these tree-
creepers were running full tilt about the trees, and as
often on the sunny as the shady side. Then again, when
the thermometer stood at —12° Fahrenheit, and with a
cutting northeast wind blowing, these same creepers
were not only busy in their searching for insects, but
once one of them sang as merrily as though it were a
May morning. The bird is a marvel in more ways than
one.

Bats are unusually abundant this evening. Perhaps
they are looking for winter- quarters more anxiously
than for insects. While standing in the shadows of my
three beeches, I tried to count the creatures as they
passed. It was evident, in this case, that figures might
lie. Every one of these bats darted in and out in so

284 UPLAXD AND MEADOW.

erratic a fashion that the first, second, and last might
have been the same individual ; so I gave up counting,
when once I saw, as I think, half a dozen darkly limned
against the sunset sky. There are four species to be
found along my hillside : the brown, red, black, and
dusky. Tlie first two mentioned are common; the
others are less so. Even if we have but a single speci-
men, it is never difficult to determine the species, and
learn his long Latin or Greek name. Sometimes this
proves vastly easier than to handle the fellow with safety
to one's fingers. The little differences of color, in the
wings, teeth, and even in their ears and cheeks, are safe
guides. For those who do not care to be thus particular,
but are interested in a very general way, there lies no
difficulty in recognizing a bat. No other mammal flies ;
not even a flying squirrel. Then, they are not over-
loaded with a multitude of meaningless names, as are so
many of our birds. To be sure, one obstinate old man,
who fishes in the meadows every day in the year, and
catches next to nothing, says they are "flittermice." I
asked him if a house mouse was the same thing with-
out wings.

" Jus' 's like's not," he grumbled.

Everybody else says a bat is a bat, and we can afford
to ignore the crabbed old angler.

Much as bats have been written about, there seems to
have been no attention paid to the degree of intelligence
they possess — for I suppose they have a trace.

Have they a voice ? Can they be tamed ? Are they
cunning? Some of the sub-tropical species are said to
scream ; but never a sound from any of our four bats,

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 285

save a clickinof sound, which is a uniform noise, made I
know not how, but certainly not with the teeth, although
it gives that impression invariably to the listener. The
mouth is always widely opened when the sound is ut-
tered, and if the jaws were rapidly closed and opened,
the movement could be seen. Not depending on sight,
I have placed a strip of thin paper in their mouths, at
the time, but it was not perforated. It is, therefore, a
guttural, not a dental, click.

Can our little bats be tamed ? Romanes, in his volume
on "Mental Evolution in Animals," gives an instance
of a large bat in the Mauritius, which was both tame
and intelligent; but the little bats in New Jersey do not
appear to ever become so, however kindly they are
treated, or however young they may be when the tam-
ing process begins.

In studying the habits of our few remaining mam-
mals, I have always found that the character of the
voice has much to do with the degree of the creature's
intelligence. The animal need not be noisy ; but if it
is able to utter a considerable series of quite different
sounds in quick succession, then the more pronounced
are all the characteristics of the animal, and its cunning
will be quite apparent. For instance, it is commonly
supposed that a rat merely squeaks; but it has really an
elaborate series of utterances, some of which are quite
musical, and no one who has suffered " a plague of rats "
can doubt that they are very cunning creatures. Even
mice are more cunning than is supposed, but they suffer
in comparison with rats, in this regard, because of their
excessive timidity. Let a mouse feel assured there is no

286 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

danger lurking near, and it will readily prove itself no
fool.

Probably no law can be laid down in this matter of
correlation between voice and intelligence, but the fact,
as stated, still remains, that a many-voiced animal will
be found to be more intelligent than a, comparatively
speaking, dumb one. So far as I have been able to de-
termine, our bats are practically voiceless. I have found
them under all circumstances, summer and winter; when
the sexes were together, when apart ; when the females
carried young, and when, childless and alone, they pur-
sued their ceaseless rounds for insect prey, and never
yet have I been able to detect any sound that could be
taken as evidence of their voluntarily making any noise,
excepting that uniform clicking, when they are cap-
tured.

It is natural, on the other hand, to suppose that so
active an animal should be cunning or intelligent; but
nothing indicative of it has come under my notice. I
have tried in every way to tame them, but they success-
fully resisted every effort. They would never take food
from my hands ; and insects forcibly placed in their
mouths were instantly rejected.

-. ; I would be glad to know if ever a little brown bat had
an idea flit through its diminutive brain. Perhaps such
an occurrence is common enough, but what external
evidence have we that it ever takes place ? They take
excellent care of their young, it is true ; but all is done
in such a mechanical way that the whole appearance
was that of a machine rather than of living, conscious
beings. Years ago, I detected evidence of common-

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 287

sense on the part of a butterfly, and have ever since
had hopes of equal good-fortune in the case of bats-
have had these hopes for twenty years, and still have
them.

Of all our mammals, bats are the most sensitive to
cold, and avoid exposure to it with the greatest care ;
and yet I find that the little red bat is very late in re-
tiring for the season, and reappears with great regular-
ity early in February. Their actions at this time indi-
cate that considerable food is to be had — that flying
insects are abundant. While this bat's ordinary habits
do not differ noticeably from those of the other species,
it is apparently less sensitive to low temperature, and
needs but the least encouragement to arouse from its
hibernating sleep. It is also less crepuscular in habit
than the others; but I do not know that this fact has
any bearing upon tlie irregularity of its hibernation.

Bats disappear in November or December, immedi-
ately after the formation of ice, but do not seem affected
by a mere succession of hard frosts. As insect-life is
not materially affected by the first few frosts, there does
not seem any reason for their withdrawal from active
life, and therefore it is not surprising that even up to
Christmas bats should be seen flying, at sunset, in con-
siderable numbers. When the steady cold of an average
winter fairly reaches us, bats hibernate in two ways. If
they resort to the ordinary shelter of a hollow tree, or
similar locality, that is considerably exposed to the wind,
then many individuals cluster together; and contact is
mutually beneficial, for the torpor of hibernation is not
rapidly, but rather gradually acquired. Such clusters of

288 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

bats, if disturbed i in mediately after gathering togetlier,
are as resentful as when captured during raidsuiniuer ;
and not until three or four days have elapsed do they be-
come insensible to disturbance. If this be very violent,
and the creatures roused suddenly, a curious condition
of aimless activity ensues, but lasts for a short time
only, and often ends in death.

On the other hand, I have very frequently found soli-
tary bats in curiously out-of-the-way places, where they
were so protected that they could not have suffered from
the severity of the season, however intense. In such
cases the torpor was never profound, the temperature
of the body but little reduced, and the heart's action
almost normal. For instance : a single dusky bat slept,
or hibernated, as described, for thirteen weeks in the
attic of my house. It clung to a nail driven into the
wall of the chimney, and was protected by a piece of
woollen cloth hanging from a beam above it. The
chimney retained a little of the warmth derived from
the three smoke-flues which passed through it, and
which were in constant use during the time. This bat
could be taken down and hung up as readily as an in-
animate object, yet clearly showed that it was conscious
of the disturbance to which it was subjected. Once I
brought it into a warm room, when it revived, in thirty
minutes, and flew about the apartment, but not with a
very steady, well-directed flight. When taken again to
the attic it responded to the effects of the lower tem-
perature by resuming its former position, after a steady
to-and-fro flight from end to end of the attic for nearly
an hour. The bat seemed to be wholly aware of the

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 289

position of the nail in the chimney, and, when wearied
of its flight, turned to it directly, and, folding its wings
about it, seized the nail with a tighter grip, and hung,
head down, as it had previously done. In two hours I
went to it again, and found it as indifferent to handling
as before.

October 6. — Although the thermometer reached 80°
Fahr. in the shade, I took an upland walk this morning,
to see if the " old-barn " apples were ripe. They should
be, according to the ancient rule ; but my grandfather
never could tell why these apples were never ready be-
fore the sixth of the month.

"Tenth month, sixth; or clear or dull,
Of old-barn apples, pick a barrel full ;
But leave it longer, ere you gather them.
And they are rotten, core and stem."

To be sure, now that the old barn is gone, these apples
do not seem quite the same. It really needed the shade
of the old building; the moaning of the wind through
its loose weather-boards, and the smell of the hay within,
to bring out the full flavor of the fruit ; which, after all,
was nothing to the stranger. It is just ten years since
the barn was removed, and the tree has been dying
slowly ever since. The traditional barrelful measured
scarcely a peck, and these were sorry specimens of the
old-time fruit; nor were they ripe, mj'- grandfather's
rhymed rule notwithstanding. They need at least one
stinging white frost to finish the ripening process, and
that is yet to come.
While I sat on the top rail of the bars, at the corner
13

280 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

of the field, I spied Miles Overfield coming towards me.
" Straight as an arrow, active as a sparrow, tough to the
marrow," so he described himself, and, altliough over
seventy, it is true of him. Miles has always lived in
the neighborhood; can turn his hand to anything in the
way of farm-work ; spends as few days at labor as pos-
sible, and always has just enough for his very few wants.
He knows everybody living, and knows of tlieir parents
and grandparents, unless they are recent comers ; and
these he cares nothing about. That a farm should go
out of the possession of the descendants of the original
settlers he looked upon as half criminal, and bemoaned
the number of such instances that had occurred in his
time. "The world was just about right when I was
young ; why couldn't it stand still V This was a com-
mon remark with him, and I always replied " Why not ?"
to please him.

Miles Overfield was usually looked upon as a bore by
my neighbors ; but this was because they were strangers
in the land, as he looked upon them, and, of course, did
not sympathize with him. I was not; and so became
the chosen one to whom he would talk by the half-day,
provided I was willing. It was never necessary to ask
any questions. But give him a hint and he took up the
subject without any preliminaries; always carrying his
hearer from the present to the past, to " when he was
young," and the world perfect.

"Eatin' old-barn apples, eh?" Miles remarked as he
came to where I sat, and, without waiting for any reply,
continued : " Powerful sorry the old barn's gone ; miss it
more than any one thing about here. You see, nigh sixty

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 201

years ago, father and I did the thrashin' for your grand-
pap — Uncle Josie we called him — and we had the thrash-
in' every winter, till father died. Seems to me we must
liave hammered one floor clean through; yet I don't re-
member any new one. But the fun was to knock off at
noon, and go out in the old orchard. The nigh field was
an orchard then, and this old-barn apple is a seedlin' from
it, and all that's left to show apples ever grew here. That
old orchard — let's see; there were "Winter Pearmains,
Yanderveers, Summer Priestleys, yellow as gold and witii
a twang of their own. Cat-heads, that your grandmother
used for dumplings always, Michael Henrys, Hollow-
cores, Ked-streaks, Sheep-noses, and a big tree of Sour-
sweets. These were my bait for rabbits always ; for you
see I'd a notion that rabbits might differ in their tastes, so
I'd take a Sour-sweet and cut a piece so half would be one
taste and half t'other ; then the rabbit was sure to be
suited. No, you don't see any such orchards nowadays.
Why those trees were big. You couldn't get your arms
around some of them, and they towered up like trees in
the woods ; and then sometimes, when a big limb would
die, a black log-cock, such as hasn't been about for fifty
years, as I know of, would come out of Long Swamp, and
hammer away at it, till you'd think a man was choppin'.
There are no such orchards now, and, sure as shootin',
your modern apples don't come up to the old kinds.
Why, man alive, when you'd open a barrel of Bell-
flowers, you could smell 'em all over the house."

" Are there none of these old apples left ?" 1 finally
got a chance to ask.

"Left? yes; but they've lost their flavor. Now and

293 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

then jon find an old tree in bearing; but the vigor's
gone and the apples only have the look of old times."

"But talking about the old barn," resumed Miles,
after a brief pause, " reminds me how diflEerent it is now
from what it used to be, as to the quails. When father
and I would be thrashin', in winter, the quails would
come down from the swamp every afternoon, about an
hour before sunset. They came just as regular as clock-
work, and we always calculated on just one more fioorin'
after the quails came. These quails stayed up in the
swamps all day, but had a notion of roostin' in the gully ;
to keep clearer of varmints I suppose ; for weasels and
such were common enough in those days. However,
come they did ; and your folks, when boys, used to have
a great old time in trappin' them. They hadn't a gun,
and couldn't shoot so near the building, any way ; so,
after thinking it over, your father planned a dead-fall
out of a little side-door of the barn. He and your un-
cles tied a long string to a figger-o'-four set of sticks,
and sprinkled a little grain out from the door, and a
deal more of it under the door. The string ran through
a knot-hole in the barn, and the boys scrouched down
and peeped through, waitin' for the quails. Tore long
a lot of 'era came, and began pickin' round like chickens,
and some ran under the door. The boys pulled the
string, and, by cracky ! they got seven or eight of 'em.
Well, now, it vt^as a sight to behold, to see how those
boys carried on. They didn't know which way to turn,
and kept up such a racket that it brought their father
down from the house, to see what was the matter.
Well, it sort of tickled him too, to see the quails ; for

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 293

bein' old Quaker stock, he thought a deal of good livin',
but didn't saj much. Fact is, good livin' seems to be a
sort of understood necessity among Quakers, which they
practise but don't preach. But the boys didn't see it in
the same way at all. They'd just as lief stuck to plainer
meat, and carried out a plan of sellin' the quails to Ben
South, up at the tavern ; and didn't feel so sure of
sixpence apiece, if they got into the home kitchen. I
don't remember how it turned out, but next day tliey
were at it again, and just at the same time down came
the quails; but when they got up to the trap, they ate
all round it, and then one old bird flew up on the door
and whistled 'not quite,' and away they flew. How
father laughed, and the boys somehow wandered off,
without sayiu' nothin' to nobody. After that, we could
only catch quails by hair snoods."

When Miles concluded his narrative I endeavored to
turn his attention to other matters, by a bewildering
broadside of point-blank questions.

One of these was concerning wild turkeys.

" No, I never saw wild turkeys about here ; but they
were common, in my young days, up in the mountains;
but I've often heard my father say that when he was
young, along about 1800, the turkeys often came out of
the swamps and ate the young corn ; sometimes doin' a
good deal of damage; but they were so much hunted
that they took to the big woods, up in the mountains,
and left these parts."

" Then in the Indian times, I suppose, they were com-
mon," I remarked.
, "Must liave been, from what I've heard. Father

394 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

once told me that he was out near Cat-tail one Christ-
mas, and some Injuns came to the house where he was.
They got to banteriu' one another about shootin' and
hnntin', and one said he'd kill more turkeys before
mornin' tlian t'otlier Injun would, and so, about noon,
they went into the woods. About sunrise, next mornin',
one of the fellows came in with six old gobblers, and
the other Injun followed with only two. They sold 'em
then and there ; but it turned out the six gobblers be-
longed to one of the neighbors, and the Injun had picked
'em, 80 you couldn't tell they were tame."

The moon fulled on the fourth ; the fifth was a warm
autumn day, and tliis, the sixth, is simply summer re-
turned. To be sure, the leaves are falling ; the poison-
ivy is crimson, the maples yellow, and gum-trees of every
hue — still, the great mass of foliage, as you look over
the country, is green. On such a day the autumn fliglit
of home-returning warblers arrived. Perhaps they trav-
elled wholly by moonlight, or were guided by some un-
recognized power, for there cannot be traced a posi-
tive connection between the phases of the moon and the
migration of birds. If bright, clear nights are followed
by a great accession of birds in the morning, it seems
very probable that the migrants travelled by night ; but
certainly birds do not always wait for the moon to suit
them, and often arrive when it is very cloudy ; or can
it be said that they flew above the clouds ? If so, how
could they know just when to drop beneath them ?
Yesterday not a warbler was to be seen along the hill-
side. I looked for them, morning and evening, but in

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 295

vain. To-day, an hour before sunrise, many of the trees
were crowded with them. There was a multitude of
black-throated blues, beautiful spotted ones, and others
of duller coloring. From the north and west, down the
valley of tlie river, I suppose, these little birds came
as a cloud, and happily chose the tall pines about the
house for a resting-place. Still, it cannot be said that
they rested much. All were active as in spring, evi-
dently unwearied by their journey, and were themselves
in all respects save song, for scarcely one deigned even
to feebly chirp.

The nuthatches and their accompanying tree-creeper
did not take kindly to the warblers in such vast num-
bers. They remained nearer the ground than usual,
venturing only to the lowest branches ; but when a
warbler came that low, the nuthatches pursued it in hot
haste, and sent it flying to its kindred in the sky-parlors
of the pines.

At the close of day I watched these myriads of rest-
less birds for an hour or more, and when it was almost
too dark to distinguish them, a great chirping, twitter-
ing, and shrill whistling was set up, and more suddenly
than this commenced, these warblers took flight, mount-
ing upward, I thought, for I could not see ; and then, as
a few favoring rays of light lit up the southern horizon,
I saw minute black dots, for a moment, against the pale
gray clouds, which were, I doubt not, these southward-
travelling birds. They evidently intended to travel by
night, as they had done on the previous one ; but surely
they took no rest while they tarried in tlie pines ; and
this ability to remain constantly active for so long a

296 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

period is, to me, far more wonderful than any feature
of the habit of migration.

Much to my surprise I heard and then saw a spotted
sandpiper. It came from over the fields and flew tow-
ards the river. I very much question if the elaborate
songs of some of our birds are always those that are
most enjoyed. Delightful as is bird-music to the con-
templative raml)ler, those notes, however brief, which
call np some pleasant spring morning of long ago will
ever rank highest in his estimation. To hear the first
"peet-weet" of these spotted sandpipers in April is one
of those delightful experiences which make for me a
red-letter day. Hearing it, I am thirty years younger
and abroad for the first time alone. The creek seemed
vastly wider then than now; the trees, taller; the flow-
ers, brighter; the turtles, monsters ; the stately herons,
veritable giants, and the restless "teeter" that startled
my timid footsteps, as I ventured to the water's edge —
that bird was, indeed, a wonder to my untrained eyes,
that as yet had learned to know but the sparrows in the
garden. I have heard all of our birds since then, but no
song, however elaborate, charms as does the first spring
notes of the spotted sandpiper.

Unlike the great family of wading water-birds that
haunt the sea-coast and frequent the shores of inland
rivers, the "teeter," as I early learned to call him, is
well content with the most meagre of pools, ditches,
and temporary puddles of rain-water. Indeed, it can
slake its thirst with the dew and take kindly to the
highest and dryest of upland fields. It at once be-

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 297

comes a land-bird, if it chooses, without apparent effort,
and is cheerful withal. I have seen it perch upon fences
and tops of dead trees with all the grace and ease of a
hawk, and thread its way, in and out, among tangled
bushes, with all the skill of a sparrow-hunting shrike.
Then, suddenly longing for its old-time haunts, it would
rise to a considerable height, and with steady, snipelike
flight, wend its way to the nearest water, and straight-
way become as aquatic as any of its cousins. I am not
quite sure where I better like to see these birds, in the
upland or on the meadow. Beautiful anywhere, at ease
under all circumstances, there is pleasure in watching
them wherever they may be. They lend a charm to the
river-shore, the weedy banks of creeks, or wooded slopes
that guard the forest brooks; but with greater interest,
perhaps, do I watch them as they curve, with pendent,
pointed wings, over upland fields, skimming the waving
grain with the same grace that marks their progress
over rippling waters.

As there are some inland birds that have become es-
sentially aquatic in their habits, so this little sandpiper
is now more than half a land-bird. It offers us an ad-
mirable opportunity for studying that profoundest of all
matters in biology, the origin and instability of habits ;
for these, like specific differences, cannot be asserted as
fixed. No bird, no creature, be it higher or lower, but is
something different from its ancestors of a few centuries
ago. During the past summer, as for ten years past, a
pair of these sandpipers have nested in a weedy corner
of a dusty field, and have been as truly land-birds as
the song-sparrows, with which they were much asso-

13*

288 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

dated. Even during the annual summer drought they
stuck closely to their nest, and if they or their young
suffered from want of water, they kept the matter to
themselves. They raised two broods successfully, and
the bird that I saw this evening was probably one of
the parent birds, leaving its upland home for the last
time, until the early flowers and warm sunshine of April
tempts him back again.

October 7. — It by no means follows, because I have
seen no coots during tlie summer, that none were here.
I think it strange, of course, for I have been thinking
of late that nothing escaped my notice, inasmuch as I
have seen so much ; but this is one of those unfortunate
blunders, common to all mankind. I find my brotlier-
naturalists are all inclined to overrate their powers of
observation. The truth is, if one's mind is on objects
of a wholly different character, coots might be directly
in one's path and not be seen. Looking for arrowheads,
one morning, I was startled by a shrill " Look out !" that
a neighbor kindly shouted. Looking up, I saw an es-
caped bull coming towards me. Since then I am never
sure that I have seen everything that was to be seen in
the course of my walk. Had that bull been of a peace-
ful disposition I might have passed him by without
knowing it. To-day I did see a half-dozen wild geese
flying down tlie river, and so, at the very outset, was
prepared to see water -fowl of all sorts, if such were
about. This explains the fact that no sooner had I
reached " Birch Point," on Poaetquissings, than I saw a
coot — for me, the flrst coot of the season. It stared

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 29&

back, as though I was tlie first man of the season, for it
uttered a cracked cackle of derision, and, diving sud-
denly, disappeared. Not for long, though. I had ex-
cited the bird's curiosity, and back it came. On the
opposite side of the creek, of course, but where it could
see me plainly enough. Then, as it floated on the still
waters, it took me in from top to toe, again laughed de-
risively, and disappeared. I waited for half an hour,
but the coot failed to return.

Coots, or "crow-ducks" as my neighbors persist in
calling them, are curious creatures. They never give
one, in this locality, sufficient opportunity to study them ;
coming and going, as they do, in the most erratic man-
ner. I am moderately confident of but one fact con-
cerning them : they migrate at night ; and at such a
time, if they choose, can fly with great rapidity. Some
years ago, while spending the night upon Poaetquis-
fiings, for the double purpose of studying certain fishes
and the night herons, I was, at one time, considerably
frightened by a coot. While experimenting with a lan-
tern in illuminating deep water, that I might observe
the fishes, a body, falling directly from above, struck
the water within a few feet of me, with the force of a
cannon-ball, and disappeared. It was after midnight,
dark as pitch, and in as lonely a spot as any in the county.
I. was more than merely startled, I was frightened;
but consoled myself directly that the falling object was
probably a meteorite, and a second was not likely to fol-
low ; and while slowly gathering my scattered senses, I
was again shocked by a sudden commotion beneath the
surface, the disarrangement of my illuminating apparatus.

800 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

and extinguishing of the light in ray submerged lantern^
Hastily lighting a little bull's-eye lamp, to determine the
cause (and to effect my escape, if matters grew worse), I
found that my submarine illuminator, the careful work
of weeks, had been struck a terrific blow by a coot, that
tore away a gauze netting and shattered the glass globe.
The coot was a prisoner, and I learned something of
his nocturnal habits, to be sure; but the fishes, that
night, escaped a searching investigation, to which I had
planned to treat them.

October 8. — Not unlike the coot in its methods, but
less graceful, perhaps, and so less attractive, is that lit-
tle brown -gray diver that has just five local names,
all meaningless, and four indelicate and objectionable.
Three of these names indicate that, for some strange
reason, this bird has been coupled with popular ideas of
the infernal regions, and one of them associates him
with Inferno's principal occupant. I have often asked
the old fishermen why they called this diver by snch
foul names, but could never get a satisfactory reply.
There certainly is nothing, either in their manner or ap-
pearance, that savors of devilrj', unless it be that they
scare the herring away from deep pools, as I have heard
it asserted of them. Such a habit might prejudice the
fishermen.

As the little brown diver, like the coot, comes and goes
with such irregularity, I have gathered nothing of in-
terest concerning it, beyond the fact of its cunning and
that it can stay under water a much longer time than ig
generally supposed. Whether life is sustained by any

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 801

process of skin respiration as in frogs, I do not know,
but suppose not ; still the fact remains that the birds
have been found tangled in nets, and brought to the
surface uninjured. The length of time thej were
thus imprisoned could not be determined, beyond the
fact that it was much longer than any usual voluntary
submergence.

On questioning certain observing old fishermen, who
had taken these divers from their nets, I found the
impression to prevail that all the divers, loons, and the
coot took down a volume of air under their wings and
remained beneath the surface as long as this lasted.
This absurdity was their means of explaining the phe-
nomenon of their remaining so long out of sight, after
diving, coupled with the fact that they were so often
taken from nets, in which they were presumed to have
been entangled for hours.

The statement, often made, that these birds will stay
under the stern of a boat and follow it for an indefinite
time is certainly true. These divers, associated with
ducks, will, when startled by the discharge of a gun,
hide in this way; at least all the circumstances point to
the belief that they were afraid of being shot at, and in-
stead of flying or simply diving, only to reappear, they
took this means of escaping further notice. This is a rath-
er startling statement, but is rendered less so when it is
remembered that they can be made very tame, and soon
learn to distinguish between those who feed them and
strangers. This brings it quite within the bounds of
possibility that the diver is as cunning as he has been
represented.

302 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

October 9. — This is the first typical antunin day. It
is cold, not cool, and, but for a higii wind through the
night, there would have been frost. To-morrow, if the
wind falls, there will be an abundance of it — a carni-
val of needle-points that will cause one's face to tingle,
if out before sunrise, and bring the red leaves of the
maples, in a reluctant shower, to the ground. I antici-
pate waiting but one day longer, before the shady wood-
path will be carpeted with crimson and gold, and the
rustling of the fallen leaves, as I walk to the creek, will
do fairly well for the death-song of summer.

But what of to-day ? The wind chilled even the blue-
jays, and the woods were silent. In quiet nooks along
the banks of the creek the crested titmice whistled,
perhaps because their toes were cold, on the principle
that small boys whistle when their fingers are numb.
The prominent feature of the morning was the remark-
able abundance of spiders' webs. Geometrically ar-
ranged webs were on all the fences, and every available
projecting limb of a tree supported one. The grass was
starred with dewy circles of gossamer, and even the
nooks, crannies, and corners of woodpiles and brush-
heaps were tenanted with spiders, whose banner-like
webs spread over every entrance to their dens. I saw
no insects anywhere. Not a web was disturbed, save
by the crowding dewdrops waiting for kindly sunbeams
to return them to the clouds. This at sunrise — but afl
the morning wore away, and insect-life was warmed into
activity, there was a marked change, and, before noon,
every spider had broken its fast. Insects were tangled
in every web, and the spiders, at noon, were not aroused
by fresh victims becoming entangled therein.

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 808

Except the turret-bnilding spider, so common in cer-
tain of our upland fields, these creatures, as a class, have
not been closely studied, so far as to determine the dif-
ferences in their habits. In a very general way they
are the same — they spin lace webs, in which insects are
caught, and these the spiders feed upon — so far, so good ;
but there is a great mouse-colored spider in the garret,
as large as a mouse, I believe, of which I long to know
more. She is big enough to be a bird-killer, such as
Bates describes in his incomparable "Naturalist on the
Amazons," but finds other food, I suppose, in the garret,
that suits as well. I have never been able to find her
hiding-place, nor seen her feeding upon any animal.
She darts across the floor, occasionally, and once I cor-
nered her, but, am free to confess, I had not the courage
to do more. Her abundant eyes shone with such fiery in-
dignation at being disturbed, and her general attitude was
so threatening, I held back. She showed fight too plain-
ly to be misunderstood ; but I have no reason to believe
could inflict any serious injury. Certainly mere size is
no indication of it. I have seen this mammoth spider
twenty times, and, unless there are more than one in the
garret, which I very much doubt, she is fully ten years
old, and still living. This, of itself, is an unusual cir-
cumstance. Speaking of the ages of these creatures,
Emerton remarks: "Blackwall observed nine moults
in Tegenaria civilis,Si spider that lives several years.
Many species, and among them some of the largest, live
only one year, hatching in the winter, leaving the cocoon
in early summer, and laying eggs and dying in autumn.
. . . Some species are found adult at all seasons, and

804 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

may live several years." From tliis it would seem that
spiders are generally not long-lived, and my garret spec-
imen is an exception to rule. I Lope to learn her whole
life-history before another year.

A rattling, noisy kingfisher finally disturbed the quiet,
and I followed his flight, up stream, till he alighted on
a projecting dead limb of an overhanging elm. Here
he sat, watching for small fishes, with one eye on me, I
suppose, for as I changed my seat to get a better view,
oflf he darted, with a repetition of his disagreeable scream-
ing rattle. I have no disposition to question the con-
clusion that every habit and peculiarity of an animal is
derived through some evolutionary process, and all with
the result of a survival of the fittest; still I cannot but
marvel that such discordant cries should ever have been
evolved, and of what use they now are is past finding
out.

Fairly attentive to each other, as are mated kingfishers,
it does seem as if they would be more amiable could
they speak in pleasanter tones ; for in their subterranean
nests, or near them, indeed, whenever together, they rat-
tle and scream with all the harshness, although less loud-
ly, than when alone, busy at fishing.

The kingfisher that I had lately seen and could still
hear, far up the creek, recalled one of its kind that years
ago I experimented upon, as to its bump of locality, as
the phrenologists call it. A pair had burrowed into a
clay-sand cliff near the creek, and were constantly seen
going to and fro between their nest and the stream.
During their absence I filled the opening to the nest
with a ball of clay, and obliterated all traces of the

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 305

original opening. I then made a hole in the cliff, just
three feet to the left of the nest. The whole act was
but the work of a moment and I was out of sight, I
think, before either bird saw what I was at. I had but
to wait for a minute before one of the birds came back
and was making a bee-line for the nest. Although fly-
ing at a high rate of speed, it stopped suddenly in mid-
air when within six or eight feet of the bluff, gave a
shrill cry, presumably of disgust, and turned awa3\ It
sailed along the bluff for a few yards in each direction,
but took no notice, apparently, of the hole I had made.
Then it flew back to the creek, as if to survey the cliff
from a distance, and then returned to the very spot
where I had been at work. Supporting itself both by
claws and wings, much as a chimney-swift holds to the
bricks near its nest, the kingfisher used its bill as a
shovel and soon removed the ball of clay. It entered
the nest, remained about one minute, and flew away
towards the creek. Joining its mate there, it told her,
I suppose, of what had happened. At all events, neither
came back, but in a few days made a new nest, half a
mile away.

One of the charms of a country ramble is the pos-
sibility of a wholly unexpected occurrence, a sort of
gathering grapes from thistles. I lately read that a
foolish woodcock flew directly to the doorstep of Del-
monico's. A friend, not long since, captured a lovely
ring-snake in town, as it was crossing the pavement ; so
I, to-day, wandering in the gully, watching the robins
feast upon chicken-grapes, saw a crow act the part of a

306 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

humming-bird, and act it well. Something, I know not
what, away np in a tall oak, was found by the crow, but
could not be reached. It climbed above, below, and around
it, but all to no purpose. That unknown something was
safe, I concluded ; but the crow was not so readily con-
vinced. Baffled in every other way, the bird took a
short outward flight, turned, and, maintaining itself in
humming- bird-like position for several seconds, at last
secured the coveted morsel. Then it sought the near-
est perch, held the object, about the size of a hen's egg,
a moment in its beak — and swtillowed it. It was evident-
ly a dainty tidbit, for ere the crow took flight it chuckled
to itself in a very meaning way.

That crows are cunning all the world knows ; but I
liave never seen the fact more clearly demonstrated than
by the bird I saw this morning.

Equally intelligent, probably, is the following, which
I take from my note-book: The crows had assembled
on Duck Island, in the Delaware River, and were busily
engaged in running along the edges of the sand-bars,
exposed at low tide. Every few moments one of them
would rise up to a height of fully fifty feet, carrying a
mussel in its beak, and flying inland, to a distance of one
hundred yards, would let the mollusk fall on the mead-
ow. Usually the force of the fall was sufficient to break
the shell. The crows, as soon as they had let fall their
burden, immediately returned to the island and bars,
and gathered more mussels. This was continued until
the returning tide made mussel-hunting impracticable.
In no instance did the crows carry the food they were
gathering by their feet; a method said to be adopted

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 307

occasionally by these birds. There is one fact with
reference to this mnssel-hunting by the crows which is,
I think, indicative of greater intelligence than the mere
fact of lifting an object and dropping it in order to break
it. This is, that all the mussels so dropped were left
undisturbed until the returning waters made further
fishing impracticable, when the birds hastened to feast
on the results of their intelligent labor. Marvellous as
it may seem, these crows recognized the nature of tides,
and, knowing their time was short, made as good use of
it as possible.

The crow is, beyond all question, the most intelligent
of our birds, more so, indeed, than the average parrot.

CHAPTER Xin.
AN OCTOBER DIARY— CONTINUED.

October 10. — The predicted frost has come. Not in
uncertain patches that needed a glass to detect them,
but as a generous gift to everything tliat looked up-
ward to the star-lit sky. Before sunrise I heard a song-
sparrow rejoicing, " Good, good, good, autumn's coming."

It was charming to hear the meadow-larks this morn-
ing. From the top of a tall oak that stands alone in
the fields an old bird whistled, " I see you — you can't
see me," and I could not. The cunning bird knew well
how to arrange himself with reference to the surround-
ing leaves, and, with perfect security, whistled to his
heart's content, and with just a suspicion of banter in
his tones. Nearer and nearer I drew towards the tree,
and still he sang, " I see you — you can't see me." Final-
ly I reached the long shadow of the tree, and the lark
probably had this as his guide, for, once there, he arose
directly upward from the tree's topmost twig, and, as if
to ridicule my eyesight, whistled with redoubled energy,
"You can't see me;" but I did, and heard him so plain-
ly that the music of his early morning song still lingers
clearly in my memory, so clearly that I have but to
close my eyes to see again the field, the tree, the rising
sun, and the lark.

The meadow-lark is one of several birds that are usu-

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 309

ally considered as migratory, bnt which are strictly
resident in this neighborhood. Indeed, I have always
classed them among our winter birds, because it is from
autumn to early spring that they sing most frequently
and become most prominent among the birds seen dur-
ing the rambles of this time of year. I would not have
it understood that they are silent during summer, but
then they are lost in the multitude, from not possessing
sufficiently strong features of shape or song to attract
particular attention. Curiously enough, these birds are
not partial to our meadows as formerly. The great
majority of all that I have seen of late years have been
in the upland fields, and no longer do I find them in
flocks. A dozen at most, and these scattered, is what
one usually sees, and oftener a single pair.

How often I have been told that the swallows gather
in force in some good convening ground, and, after dis-
cussing the subject on the 10th of September, depart on
the 11th. It is an old woman's story, which I know
dates back to the seventeenth century in my own fam-
ily, and, like nine tenths of these sayings, unfortunately
indestructible, it is absolutely false. Not even a hard
frost sends them off. At least, I saw thousands to-day —
just a month later than they should be — merry and ac-
tive as in June, and I do not believe they will go for a
week or more, if the weather moderates. So long as the
food supply keeps up swallows are happy, and will not
worry about possible cold snaps. If these come, then it
will be time enough for them to go. The swallows
seen to-day were not all of one species.

310 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

"How long will a wren live?" I was asked to-day.
I replied, " Ten years ;" for I know of one, or think so,
that summered a decade in the back-yard. My friend
mentioned a lame one that for nine consecutive years
nested in the same place. There is probably a good
deal of variation among small birds in this respect, but I
have failed to gather satisfactory data bearing upon this
point. I believe that the warblers, as a class, are
shorter lived than the finches, yet cannot say how or
when I became so impressed. But I do know of a little
chipping sparrow that certainly was ten years old when
it died, and probably older; and canaries are known to
have lived a much longer time. A partially albino
humming-bird nested in the same tree for seven sum-
mers, the albinism being my sure guide to the bird's
identity.

I went nutting to-day for the first time this season,
choosing the finest of the trees in the pasture meadows
for my grounds, a stately shell-bark, towering up just
eighty-two feet, and as symmetrical as a scissor-trimmed
evergreen. The wind and the frost during the night
conspired to rob the tree of its fruit, and scattered over
the grass beneath were the white-shelled nuts. I stooped
and gathered until my back ached, and then, choosing a
seat from which I could see the tree to advantage, sat
down to contemplate it. I know every tree within
three miles of it this side of the river, and there is not
one that, for beauty, can compare with it. The droop-
ing elms, the enormous beeches, the commanding oaks,
all bid us pause, and it is no belittling worship to bow
down to them ; but I yield not in my original declara-

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 311

tion. The meadow shell-bark is the chiefest of them
all. However otherwise opinions may differ, my neigh-
bors are one with rae in this. It is always mentioned
with an emphasized the.

When, in midwinter, a year ago, the meadows were
snowclad, and scarcely afforded shelter to a wandering
rabbit, this splendid tree was the resting-place — the ob-
servatory— of an eagle that spent a month with us, in
spite of persecution. In the early spring the branches
were often black with the clouds of grakles and star-
lings. In summer, when every twig spread its leafy
banner to the breeze, this same stately tree was the
home of more warblers than all the surrounding thick-
ets contained. The preference shown by these birds to
this tree over others near by was very marked, and I
believe I saw no species of warbler elsewhere not also
seen upon it. In September the associated king-birds
and bluebirds made it their principal rendezvous; and
to-day, as it is dropping its fruit, it harbors birds of half
a dozen kinds. The crows are on its topmost branches,
a flicker is but little lower down, nuthatches are every-
where, a crested tit announces its presence with its clear
voice, and restless kinglets chase spiders along the out-
ermost twigs.

October 11. — The air was full of birds, mostly chat-
tering robins, but with others fairly represented ; and
it was an unusual experience to hear so very much and
see next to nothing. The fog, as usual, was most dense
over the meadows, and when I plunged into it, bushes
a dozen yards distant were no longer to be seen. Do

813 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

meadow mice know that the hawks cannot see them,
and so have a good time on the wet grass ? I saw scores
of them scampering about, and their united squeaks
were not altogether unlike the chirping of birds. A
star-nosed mole, too, was taking an airing on the ditch
banks; but it heard me before I could reach it, and
plunged into the water. Thej are freer of foot than
common moles, and swim with grace and rapidity.

It is during such a fog as that of to-day that birds
prove their possession of a spoken language. I saw a
few crows, perhaps twenty, that were scattered among
the tree-tops at the mouth of the gully. These birds
seldom uttered the same sound twice consecutively. No
two of them uttered similar sounds. They were so far
scattered that they could not see each other. To me,
standing beneath them, it was precisely similar to a
gathering of foreigners discoursing earnestly in an (to
me) unknown tongue. Certainly the loud and varied
cries of each individual crow could not have been ut-
tered for his own edification merely, as is true of the
songs of certain birds; and, to prove that this view of
the matter is correct, it was not long before these birds
came to a conclusion upon an important subject they
had been discussing; for, with a unity of movement not
otherwise explicable, they all came to the ground. Un-
fortunately I did not conceal myself quickly enough,
and they all went back again with unceremonious haste.
Still, they did not take flight until after brief consul-
tation, when they started towards the river as a little
flock, keeping as near each other as practicable. Such
little incidents must be witnessed to be appreciated;

AN OCTOBER DIARY, 313

but, even without their occurrence, the evidence is abun-
dant, not merely to lead one to suspect, but to practi-
cally demonstrate to him, that crows have a spoken lan-
guage.

The clear, white, icy casing tliat enveloped every
blade of grass and twisted twig they call a " killing
frost;" but what does it kill? The nights are still as
noisy as before it came, so a certain range of animal life
is unaffected. The grass is yet green as in midsummer.
There is a sickening something in the air of August
that poisons one who lingers too late afield, which is
now wanting ; this the frost killed, and the rambler can
realize its absence. Nature otherwise remains the same.
We hear no evening chorus of frogs, it is true ; but
even they are not altogether silent, and the toad by the
kitchen door still rattles his vesper thanks for the noon-
day feast of flies. Tliere is no sure guide to the effects
of frost; it comes too often after nature has put on her
autumn aspect to say that it is the cause of any change
other than the one I have mentioned.

At the bend of the hill or terrace, among a few young
native trees, I found a Lombardy poplar that has been
making a vigorous growth for several summers, and is
now ten or twelve feet high. Straightway I sat down
to look at it leisurely. It was a tree to contemplate.
Some thirty years ago my house, my neighbors house,
and my neighbor's neighbor's, east, north, and south,
had a double row of tall poplars in front of them — tall,
straight, dignified, unbending poplars; strict, orthodox
Quakers turned to trees. As I sat looking at the taper-

U

814 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

ing top of this lone tree, still in full leaf, the old front-
yard of my earliest recollection came back to me very
vividly. The little paling that surrounded the trees
marked my playground, and beyond all was terra incog-
nita. In later years, when I dared venture in tlie
branches of the apple-trees in the lane, I longed to ex-
plore these poplare also, but to reach their tops, or even
to near them, proved impracticable. This the wary
crow-blackbirds seemed to know, for a colony nested
among them every summer. How I longed to secure a
nest, with its complement of eggs ! Day after day tliose
tantalizing nests, far out of reach, were watched, in
hopes, V)y some lucky mishap, one of them might be
dislodged. Still later, from some unknown cause, these
poplars sickened. Dead, leafless branches for a while
pointed skyward, rattled in the wind, and bit by bit
were scattered over the grass; and so, in a few brief
summers, these old trees were dead — not only the
home trees, but those of my neighbors — and now I know
of none within the range of my rambles, save the young
sapling that I found this morning.

October 12. — The haze, the quiet, the soft south wind,
and towering trees, still green of leaf, and ribboned
with scarlet creepers, twining from trunk to twig, give
this perfect day that combination of color in perfection
which is the great seal of the month of October. The
harsh scream of the blue-jay waxes musical at such a
time; nothing seems crude or out of place. The squat,
broad-leaved oaks now show the deepest green. So
tough and leathery are their leaves that the late frost

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 315

could not affect them. The white, pin, swamp-white,
red, and chestnut oaks all cluster here, either on the
elope of the hill or in tlie level meadow, and show
the effect of frost, if that it was which changed the col-
or of their leaves ; but this sturdy Quercus ohtusiloha
laughs at all such cold snaps, and will wave green leaves
until November, perhaps later, and then drop them
down to Mother Earth, tough, shining, unbroken, and
brown as the polished chinkapins upon which they fall.

Tlie increasing warmth towards noon brings out myr-
iads of wasps, that congregate on the south side of the
house and of all the outbuildings. I dare venture into
no sunny nook regardless of them. They are not teach-
able, at least at short notice, as Sir John Lubbock's
wasp was trained, and respect no lover of nature and
admirer of hymenoptera. It is all one with them :
touch, and they touch back with emphasis. I sat upon
one this morning while in the meadow, and how quickly
lie unseated me. Now, safe from their assaults, I hear
their horny heads bring up against the window-panes
like rattling hail. They retire undiscouraged, and re-
turn as impetuously. Lively little battering-rams, al-
ways ready for action, never tiring of this butting pro-
cess, and never learning that they cannot get in. They
give us every evidence of stupidity, yet are really teach-
able creatures.

Cabbage-butterflies and fritillaries floated over the
frostbitten grass, active as in August, stooping now and
then to suck some sweet the October frost has spared ;
but not a flower was to be seen in acres of meadow. A
more striking insect phenomenon was the myriads of

816 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

grasshoppers. Tliej weighed down every blade of grass,
and yet there was not a bird in sight to feed upon them.
These hoppers were not eating the grass. Had they
been, not a blade wonld have been left by sundown. I
chased a cloud of them into the widest portion of the
main meadow-ditch, but all, I think, swam safely across.
Not a frog or fish appeared to rise to the surface and
seize one.

I pushed one well down the tall clay chimney of a
Diogenes crayfish, but it promptly returned, none the
worse for its subterranean journey. I placed another
in the dark den of a villainous -looking spider, but it
was simply ordered out, and not harmed. It would
seem as if these grasshoppers have no enemies, or was
it that all carnivorous creatures hereabouts were sur-
feited with their flesh ?

Passing to another lower, weedier, wetter meadow,
the number of dragon-flies was the most marked feature
of the locality. A few were black as polished jet; oth-
ers gray, green, red, barred, and indefinitely varied. I
did not stop to count the varieties, but to learn wliy so
many gathered in so small a space. The cause proved
to be the decomposing remains of a calf, of which but
little beyond the bones were left. Not a square inch
of the exposed surfaces of these but was covered with
the flies. I knew they were carnivorous, but not to the
extent suggested by their hovering over nearly dry
bones.

I was not ranch surprised, on a closer inspection of
the remains of the calf, to see half a dozen meadow-
mice scuttle off through the tall grass, for they are fonder

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 317

of a flesh than vegetable diet, in spite of their anatomy;
but I was surprised to find large numbers of humble-
bees creeping over the ground, in and out among the
bones, reaching to where the dragon-flies could not go.
Tainted flesh, it would seem, has a host of admirers in
many orders of the animal kingdom. On moving some
of the loose bones I found beetles of several sorts, and
ants, white, black, and red, and at times disturbed whole
clouds of minute flies of no name known to me. What
a wealth of animal life to be found in so unsavory a
place ! Mice, bees, beetles, dragon-flies, and minute in-
sects by the million ; all feeding quietly on the shreds
of skin and tendons left by greedy vultures a month or
more ago.

The threatening bank of dull gray clouds that all day
long had been lying along the Western horizon roused
itself to action an hour or more before sunset, and, over-
spreading the unflecked blue sky of the morning, prac-
tically closed the day. Without further warning it
rained, suddenly, steadily, penetratingly. The thickest
foliage could not ward it off, and the steady dripping
of dislodged raindrops was heard all through the woods
long after the shower had passed by. Without a fare-
well ray to gild the tree-tops on the eastern slopes, the
sun went down, and a gloomy night followed what so
lately had been a rare, ripe autumn day, full to the brim
w'ith all of October's glories.

Gloomy out-of-doors, but none the less worthy of be-
ing studied. What of the wealth of life seen earlier
in the day? IIow and where did it take shelter? It
would be hard, indeed, to determine this in every case ;

818 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

but of a few forms something may be said. The myr-
iads of grasshoppers, strange as it may seem, cunningly
sought the broader blades of grass, and, securing a firm
hold on the under side, stood, head downward, comfort-
ably roofed and safe from any ordinary rain. 1 found
thousands sheltered in this simple manner.

The meadow mice apparently anticipate a soaking
rain, and their tortuous tunnels, shallow as they are,
were so arranged that the rain did not flow through
them. In little, hay-lined anterooms I found several,
and all were dry as chips. The roofs of these snugger-
ies were waterproof, and the rain was warded off from
the paths that led to them. These mice were prepared
for any ordinary dash of rain, but I suppose had other
shelter during and after protracted storms. My studies
were here interrupted by a second shower, and I was
forced to seek shelter for myself, rather than look for
the dragon-flies, as I intended.

The tangled clumps of wild roses, so lately rich with
pink blossoms, and showing the brightest of green
leaves, were, to-day, strangely different. Every leaf
was in place, but marred by brown splotches that gave
them an aged and worn-out look ; but, to compensate
them for the loss of both green leaves and pink blos-
soms, the seed capsules were beautifully polished and
bright red. No berry - bearing bush ever shone with
crimson fruit to better advantage. While I stood by
a thicket of these roses, in the meadow, birds from the
marshes, sparrows, blackbirds and robins came and
went continually, yet not one touched the brilliant seed-

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 819

vessels of the wild roses. Do none of our resident
birds ever eat them ? If so, their brilliant color goes
for naught, unless evolved to attract those irregular
visitors from the north that are fond of rose seeds the
cross-bills.

I opened scores of these seed-vessels and found but
one that was wormy ; the seeds have a pleasant sub-acid
flavor, and it seemed very strange that not a bird was
there to feast upon them. Surely they are preferable
to the berries of the poke and the sour fruit of the
gum-tree; and yet the omnivorous crow passes them
by when starving during snow-storms.

The ash does not flourish on the hillside. It grows
in moderate abundance, but never becomes a marked
tree. Ashes, with us, are always to be sought — never,
like oaks, elms, or hickories, do they intrude upon you.
The leaves of one that I saw to-day were a bright
chrome yellow ; the foliage of another was maroon ;
the leaves of a third were scarlet, and a half-dozen sap-
lings were unaltered in hue, being brightly green as in
early June. So little difference appeared in the sur-
roundings that I was puzzled to know why there
should be so great a variation in the color of the leaves.
I studied other trees in this respect, but saw no differ-
ence at all equal to it.

By referring to notes, jotted down in years past, I
find great irregularity in the time of the leaves appear-
ing in spring. Of every half-dozen trees, some were
late, some early ; and therefore the well-known couplet,

" The oak before the ash — there'll be a splash;
The ash before the oak — there'll be a soak,"

820 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

suited the season, in all cases ; for we hud only to refer
to the proper tree, later in the season, to prove that the
tree was, at least for once, a true prophet.

As weather proverbs will alwa^'s be in vogue, it is
desirable to have some meaningless ones that are appli-
cable to any season, and this is one of them.

The Indians, it would appear, were accustomed to
cut off the ash-trees as soon as they were large enough
for " basket stuff," and used but a very small portion of
each. For this reason they soon became scarce, and
now, in post -Indian times, as the tree is one of slow
growth, the oaks, elms, and hickories have gotten the
start, and are all found of much larger size than any
ash-tree I have ever seen.

October 13. — Fog. How much this little word sug-
gests to the rambler, when, up at sunrise, he finds that
he can see nothing but the very nearest objects. The
blotting -out of the familiar landscape is, in effect, to
transport one to unfamiliar regions, and to-day the fog
was so dense, and the range of vision so limited, it was
like standing on a rock in mid-ocean. Still, a fog has
its merits. It lends a pleasing sense of distance to the
sounds heard, and muffling, as it seems, the lower tones,
give the higher ones an unfamiliar character. I could
hear few of the notes of distant song-birds, and recog-
nized none of them. The scream of an impatient buz-
zard was unlike any sound I have ever heard, and only
the fact of the hawk swooping within sight gave me
opportunity of ever knowing whence came the weird
sounds it uttered. Stranger than all sounded the deep-

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 831

toned twittering of the grass-plover, clear as the tink-
ling of silver bells. Note after note came raining down
from the unseen clouds above, and then, as the birds
passed over, other notes, falling far out above the meadow,
were barely audible to an attentive ear. Of course, the
ever-present crows were noisy, often drowning the
pleasant voices of dearer birds ; but thrilling it was to
hear the honking of bewildered wild-geese, that, having
lost their way, now floundered, almost helplessly, in a
sea of fog. How I hoped that they would stumble
into the meadows that I might give chase! No such
good -fortune, however, awaited me. Fainter and
fainter were their voices, as they passed westward, tow-
ards the river. The Canada geese, at this time, are
suggestive of cooler weather soon to come; but better
the geese false prophets, and pleasant weather, than
the converse, and premature winter.

To see the robins hurry out in their heels-over-head
fashion, if not helpless from over -feeding, I plunged
into a dense clump of poke, and away darted a hun-
dred of these birds. They, too, were bewildered by the
mist, and one, more reckless than the rest, flew directly
into my face, so that I caught it. Its astonishment
and fright robbed it of its breakfast, which, as a mass
of gore, in appearance, was vomited over my breast. I
let the bird go and only wished the breakfast had gone
with it.

Passing into the woods, I was struck with the un-
usual variety of notes uttered by a company of jays.
There were a dozen or more distinct sounds, all jay-
like, it is true, but differing widely. I suppose that, as

14*

823 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

has been so often noticed with reference to crows, these
birds were somewhat bewildered by the fog, and were
discussing the subject in the only practicable way, by
talking; only, instead of their ordinary clear - weather
voices, this morning they seemed to have sore throats.

The spiders, of course, gloried in the fog, and all had
their nets spread out to perfection. One web, covering
the opening in a hollow fence-rail where a knot had
loosened and fallen out, was unusually elaborate; so
much so that I stopped to examine it. The web was
funnel-shaped, eighteen inches in diameter at the ex-
terior rira, and twelve inches in depth, or from the ex-
terior margin to the knot-hole, where the owner lived.
She was a dull, gray, hairy creature, an inch long, and
rather forbidding in general appearance. There was
no prey in the web at the time, so I hunted for the
spider's as well as my own benefit. A single beetle
was all that I could find, but this the spider declined
to notice. A little later I found a dead kinglet or ruby-
crowned wren, and this 1 gently placed on the web,
where it appeared to be strong enough to bear its
weight. The spider promptly rushed out and bit it
several times, but made no attempt to move it. Then
it began to spin other webs about it, in such a manner
as to hold it perfectly secure. That this spider can eat
even so small a bird is, I am sure, impracticable, so am
puzzled to know what object it has in view with refer-
ence to it. Time will show.

October 14. — Clear as crystal, save a long line of

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 323

smoke-like fog that veils the river to the great bend
and beyond. The snap in the air — I can call it nothing
else — brought out the birds, as it always does, and crows
cawed, jays jabbered, warblers chirped cheerily, and
even the nuthatch forgot the obstruction in his throat,
and every complaining " quank-quank " he uttered was
not rasped, ragged, and rough ; but sounded smoothly,
softly, as a bird's note should.

Up in the fields, amid the long rows of corn-shocks,
I lingered until long after sunrise, taking in draughts of
morning air that were to keep me while I tarried in
town, during tlie hot, dusty noon. I envied the busk-
ers, with their pleasant surroundings ; while they, de-
luded mortals, longed to spend their time in town.

It was the mice in the corn-fields that had called me
thither, and I had not long to look before I found
dozens. The short -tailed meadow mouse was there,
having come up from the meadows, some weeks ago, to
feed on the grain. But there is another species, so like
the semi-domesticated house mouse that I am disposed
to call it such, and, whether correctly or not, it is, when
in the corn-fields, a most entertaining creature. This
corn-field mouse, unlike the short-tailed meadow mice,
does not have any runways in the stubble, but lodges
among the corn-shocks, often half-way to their tops;
making a nest by nibbling to a pulp the leaves of the
plant. Here the little fellow will sit, and take life very
easy until over goes the shock, at the hands of the busk-
ers, when away darts the mouse, leaping like a jerboa,
until it finds concealment in dead grass or other cover.
I tried this morning to catch some of these house mice

324 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

run wild, if snch thej are, but all were too quick for
me. A year ago I tried to determine the species, but
found no trace of various cliaracters belonging to cer-
tain forms, such as the rice-field mouse or the harvest
mouse; both of which are possibly found about here.
On the other hand, the specimens examined did not
quite accord with the descriptions given of a typical
house mouse.

An observing old husker, to whom I applied for an
opinion, said lie did not believe they were the same as
house mice. They were "too quick, too small, too
black, too knowin'." I have no reason to believe my
corn-tield mouse is one not down in the books; and as
I have never seen them except when the corn is being
harvested, I have thought and still believe they are
mice from the out-buildings that are abroad for a time,
and will return to their old quarters in the course of
the season. Supposing them to have been two or three
months in the fields, ought we to expect a variation in
the color of their fnr?» All such mice were apparently
nearly black. As to their being " too knowin','' as my
friend said, I am in doubt. It is a mistake to consider
a house mouse dull; and my corn-field mice have never
shown, in my presence, evidence of superior intellect.

That cunning spider has been visited again and
again, but the purpose of spinning a web about that
dead bird does not yet appear. I believe the fact that
dead animal matter attracts flies is known to the spider,
and so the bird was acceptable as a bait for them. If
so, this is a wise spider. It may be, that in time, if the

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 825

weather stays warm, the decomposing mass of bird-flesh
will, of itself, be food that the spider will accept, but
all this is conjectural.

I, to-daj, tried placing a beetle grub on the web, but
the spider would not accept it. It bit it, pushed it,
and finally snapped the cords beneath and let it fall ;
then mended the web so neatly none could determine
where it had been broken. This spider begins to know
me from others, I think.

October 15. — The river is clearly defined, even from
the distant ridge, as a steel-blue line, winding along the
foot of the steep bluff; and the day is as cold as the
river looks. This is the second white frost of the
month. Every leaf, even every pine-needle, has its
load of crystal to carry ; and there is not a breath of
wind to disturb them. Having to forego my morning
ramble, I took in the country from " Overlook," the
most commanding point of view near by. Stood there
for an hour and smelt the battle from afar, wishing my-
self in a score of visible places; and, because I was un-
able to go anywhere, longed to explore every distant
point in the horizon. But staying at home may be
turned to good account. There were birds in abundance
in the door-yard trees, and an excited Carolina wren,
in the stable, whistled so loudly the terrier barked him-
self hoarse. Something surely must be the matter, I
thought, and set out to investigate, when whish ! came
the wren athwart my nose, and a winter wren followed
as swiftly and as near. They evidently had had a fight,
and it looked very much as though the larger bird of

826 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

the two was whipped. However this may have been,
the Carolina wren soon recovered from the contest, and
sang as usual, as though the world was his, and made
for him alone.

Until this morning I have seen no cardinal red-birds
for several weeks. To-day a half-dozen were in the
garden, seed -hunting and chirping, but none sang.
These birds have probably been summering to the north
of us, and are now on their way to more temperate win-
ter-quarters. The more strictly migratory are they as
they spread northward in spring, but here, thank fort-
une I they are resident.

One might suppose these birds to be very conspicuous
objects, from their color; yet they are not always so.
To-day they glistened in the clear sunshine and w6re
not readily recognized as birds. I tested this in many
ways, and found it was really diflficult to get a view of
them that enabled me to be sure of their identity. They
were always in motion, and seemed to keep themselves
60 exposed to the sunlight that lurking foes miglit be
blinded by their brilliancy. Often they appeared to
be fragments of glass in the bushes, and not beautiful
crested red-birds. But at other times, as I have else-
where shown, they study to conceal themselves.

From the " Overlook," as I call a favorable point on
the brow of the terrace, where the river and meadows
are in fullest view, I noticed this morning an unusual
number of hawks, all flying in the same direction, south-
southwest. It can hardly be said that they were migra-
ting— there were too few of them ; and very likely they
changed their direction before long, and sought only

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 327

the wild woods of Pennsylvania. They flew at too
great an elevation to enable me to determine anything
more definite than that they were hawks or buzzards ;
but their passing presence recalled an October migra-
tion of hawks such as I have never since, nor had I ever
before, witnessed.

My attention was called to these migrating hawks
(there were three or four different species of them) at
about nine o'clock in the morning, and for an hour I
watched their progress. I subsequently learned that
they had been seen as early as sunrise, and for five hours
later than when I saw them last ; so they were, at least,
numerous enough to require nine hours to pass a given
point. How much longer than this they continued on
their westward course, the growing darkness prevented
our determining. These hawks were noticeable not only
for their numbers, but the manner of their flight. While
moving in a westerly direction, they by no means fol-
lowed a direct course, but described large circles, or
ellipses, each intersecting the previous one. This, of
course, made their onward progress slow. A no less
marked feature was their constant screaming. Every
bird seemed angry at all his fellows, and scolded each in
turn, as it came near. On the other hand, there was no
actual quarrelling.

The weather was sufficiently warm to-day to bring
out a few flies, and some of them were attracted to the
kinglet on the spider's web, that had so far decomposed
as to throw off a decided odor. The spider sat near the
entrance of her den, not at all concealed, and darted

328 UPLAND AND MEADOW

upon every fly that became entangled in the web. Large
flies, that by hard struggling might escape, were seized
with lightning-like rapidity and benumbed by a bite,
and then the spider left it, to wait for other large flesh-
flies that might come. In this way a dozen were caught
hj noon, and then, for some undeterminable reason, the
spider snapped the web supporting the dead bird and
let it fall upon the underlying fence-rail. The web was
not immediately repaired.

Althongh there have been two hard frosts, the ferns
that grow upon the south hillside are neither dead nor
drooping. I worked my way through a dense cluster
that was nearly breast-high. Pausing a moment to
hear the repetition of an unrecognized bird-note, I no-
ticed a pale yellow spot in front of me, that appeared
to move slightly, in a life-like manner. If an animal, it
certainly had no color-sense, sitting, as it did, in so ex-
posed a position. Or is it possible that it has no ene-
mies and needs no protection ? Drawing nearer, I saw
the " yellow spot " to be, as I surmised, a Pickering's
Hyla, and tried to catch it with my hand. It was too
quick. It gave a vigorous upward and onward leap,
alighting on a distant fern frond. I measured the dis-
tance afterwards and found it to be just three feet. This
trivial incident suggested how readily such creatures, if
timid, can elude our search.

For months I had one of them in a "Wardian case, and it
was undoubtedly the most voracious of all the allied creat-
ures about us. Its digestion was perfect, and marvellous-
ly rapid. It always was ready for another fly, however

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 839

many previously had been given it ; and yet, a fast of
two weeks seemed to prove no inconvenience. In one
instance, it bad a prolonged nip-and-tuck tussle with a
great black horse-fly, larger than itself. It ultimately
disabled the insect, but failed to accomplish the often-
attempted act of swallowing it. A month later, I of-
fered this same Hyla another fully as large, but which
was deprived of its wings. After many efforts, this
wingless fly was partially swallowed, and the Hyla re-
mained with widely distended jaws for nearly an hour,
when, with one mighty effort, it rejected it, and has not
since been disposed to eat other than common house-flies.
Never, I believe, has this little fellow " peeped," since I
placed him in the case.

October 17.—

"A cloudy west and a sunny east,
That rouses the bird and sends home the beast,"

fitly describes this morning; and if the couplet quoted
is not poetry, it at least has the merit of being true.
From dawn to sunrise, and the short twilight, of our
October days, is worth more to the naturalist than all
the mellow sunshine of the intervening hours. The
novelties are only to be seen then, and the best efforts
in every direction are far oftener witnessed then than
at any other time. Creatures whose presence would be
wholly unsuspected, if we were never abroad except
hours after sunrise, are often seen in the early dawn ;
not so much because these animals prefer this time of
day, but because they know that man, their arch-enemy,
is less likely to be encountered. One of the most strik-

830 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

ing instances of this fact of which I have knowledge is
that of a pair of raccoons that took up their abode in a
hollow apple-tree not two hundred yards from a farm-
house. Here they lived all one winter and spring, and
only by mere chance were they discovered during the
summer. So systematic had these 'coons been in all this
time, that not even their young were seen ; and yet these
cunning creatures feasted on my neighbor's poultry
quite frequently, and in thus outwitting both dogs
and men they certainly offer convincing evidence of the
power of " close calculation " on their part.

The evening proved quiet and eventless. As I w^alked
down the lane I saw a single apple on the top of a tall
tree, and after throwing nihety-and-nine sticks at it, it
came dow^n of its own accord. It was stale, flat, and
unprofitable.

The tree that bore it was full of bloom in May, and
one worthless apple the result, in October! If I do
them no injustice this is like some people I have met.
Full of blushing promises in the spring, and autumn
passes with but one poor performance, or none.

Turning to the woods, I heard what I took to be the
last katydid of the season. It gasped, or rather rasped,
"Katy" a dozen times, and finally accomplished one
melancholy " did." The poor thing had grown old, and
these last efforts may have been complaints that it was
forced to await the summons of another frost before it
joined its kindred.

How seldom one thinks of the possibility, not the in-
evitability, of growing old ! Yet, taking a retrospective

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 331

view, as I lingered in the lane, it did seem as thongli the
years were shorter than formerly, and the elasticity of
youth was growing less and less ; so that it cannot be
long before my song, too, will be shortened, syllable by
syllable. What further might have been thought upon
these doleful subjects can never be known. My unwill-
ing cogitation was happily interrupted by the looked-for
owl, which heralded his approach by a wild too-whoo-oo,
that was music to my expectant ears. This owl was of
slender build, with wide-spread, tapering wings and a
generally hawk-like movement, as it sailed with speed
from, tree to tree and bush to bush, as though looking
for something it had lost. I had hopes of cultivating
its acquaintance, but it would not. Every attempt to
follow proved a miserable failure.

The rapidity with which the gray squirrels make their
nests of dead leaves and twigs is something marvellous.
In a single night the work is often done, unless they
subsequently add a little finer material for the lining.
To-day I saw a large, globular leaf-nest near the J;op of
a tall oak, which I know was not there yesterday. I
was then examining every twig of this same tree for a
little warbler, that eluded all my efforts, and I could not
have overlooked so prominent a mass of leaves as this
nest. No one squirrel could have done this work. It
is the result of joint labors of three or four, and, unless
they can work in darkness, must have been, even then,
accomplished rapidly. How they secure these leaves
against winter's winds is not clear, but they are always
intact at the close of the season. To be sure, the twigs

833 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

are not dead and brittle when gathered, but this does
not explain altogether how thej interweave them so
that few, if anj, become dislodged.

Flying squirrels, also, build such nests, and I have
known one to harbor seven squirrels during the winter.
In this case, the leaf-nest was in a tree that had a large
cavity in the trunk, at the base of the lowermost branches.
This capacious retreat had been discarded, apparently,
because it had been found too much exposed to storms;
and squirrels have yet to learn how to construct a door.
To avoid being drowned out, the large leaf-nest I have
mentioned was constructed. The family occupying it
was less nocturnal in habits than any I have seen. They
were sure to leave home before sunset ; and twice, on
cloudy days, I saw them frisking about at noon. Con-
straint seemed exceedingly distasteful, or were they af-
flicted with the common complaint of insomnia?

October 18. — Snow-birds in abundance. In them we
have evidence of autumn in earnest. It is late for their
first appearance, and probably there have been dozens
skulking in the bushes for weeks past ; but, to-day, early
in the morning, they rushed through the dripping leaves
of the black oaks, for it was raining; and these birds
were singing, too, a plain but pleasing melody.

Burroughs, in ever-delightful " Wake-Iiobin," asks:
"Who has heard the snow-bird sing?" I have, and
not only to-day, but all the past autumn, winter, and
early spring. They are never mute, with us, but sing
longer, louder, sweeter than usual just before a snow-
fall. Not 60 long before that their song can be taken

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 333

for a weather-sign, but at that half-hour before the first
flakes appear, when the woods are always painfully si-
lent, unless these birds proclaim the glad tidings, "the
snow is coming." Indeed, the song of this bird may be
fairly well expressed by the words, " Snow's coming, 'tis,
'tis, 'tis."

With the snow-birds, this morning, there were a few
white-crowned sparrows, singing their peculiar songs.
The former — Juncos, as I call them — seemed to exult over
reaching the dear old hillside again, and even quarrelled
with the robins that still thronged the poke-bushes, gum-
trees, and grapevines. They certainly did not appear
to have been on any long journey, and probably, like
many warblers, have been coming south by very easy
stages.

A gentle rain, such as that of this morning, is stimu-
lating to bird-life. The few warblers that I saw were
constantly chirping, and one Maryland yellow-throat
sang vociferously. The crested titmice were noisier
than usual.

Crossing the pasture lot, I was serenaded by rival
song-sparrows, one perched upon the garden fence, the
other on a tall mullein stalk. The effect was fine. The
birds followed each other antiphonally, uttering nothing
in concert ; so I took it, they had made me umpire to
determine their merits as songsters. I, at least, acted
fairly by listening for a long time, and when, at last,
they flew away without hearing my decision, I bowed
politely, hoping by so doing to give each the impression
that I thought him the victor.

834 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

My fence-rail spider has renewed her elaborate web,
and, I thought, recognized me. I was duly careful not
to annoy her or her house in any way, simply " took a
look." She showed her cunning in one way, admirably.
The leaves of an overhanging branch were in a position
to make a trough, and conducted a little stream of rain-
drops directly to the opening of the spider's den prop-
er, or nest. To rid herself of this annoyance, she had
gathered a small leaf, and placed it in the web so as to
catch the water and carry it to onp side, where it did no
harm. The more I see of my friend, the more con-
vinced I am of her cunning. I use this word as it
would be applied to a person. It is precisely the same
sort of mental phenomenon.

The spider recalled the ant-lions, and I found their
pits pretty much obliterated by the rain, except such as
were directly under the bottom rail of the fence. Were
these purposely placed in this sheltered spot ? I have
never been able to detect any design in the locating of
these pits, and often have found them where it was most
unlikely any prey would come, yet the ant-lion is a sen-
sible creature, in some respects, as we have seen.

The afternoon and evening were cool, and the for-
mer windy. Not a bird of this morning was to be found.
What has become of them? Perhaps nothing in the
whole range of our home ornithology is more of a puz-
zle than the sudden appearance and disappearance of
birds. As I stood on the hillside this morning, it is safe
to say there were a hundred within a circuit of five
hundred yards, perhaps twice that many birds ; yet this

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 835

evening, before sunset even, standing in the same spot,
I saw none, and, taking much the same vralk, still neither
saw nor heard a single individual. Every bird had left
the neighborhood. During very stormy weather, par-
ticularly in winter, I have found many birds that had
sought shelter and were as unlikely to be seen by the
average pedestrian as the burrowing mammals ; but this
is not the ease during days like this. The birds are
ijot in the cedars, nor in hollow trees, nor in caves.
They evidently have taken wing, moved to do so by
some common impulse, the character of which cannot
well be determined. Birds of different species, and of
very different habits, are never seen, as a mixed com-
pany, to move off like a flock of blackbirds, but drop
out of sight and hearing, one by one, gradually, and in
an hour or more, it may be, a crowded clump of trees
will be absolutely deserted. To-morrow morning every
bird may be back, or as many others may have taken
their places. It is pleasant to remember these birdless
interims are of short duration. This may seem a very
trivial matter, and one of no possible interest, but it is a
fact in the history of our resident birds, the " true in-
wardness" of which we have yet to learn.

As athwart the hillside's wooded slope the lengthen-
ing shadows slowly crept, the last rays of the sun
warmed the varied colors of a host of trees, and made
of the extended bluff a brilliant panorama. The maples
were scarlet, crimson, and maroon; the tulip-trees yel-
low; the sassafras and gums purple; the birches gray,
and all else green as in midsummer.

836 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

October 19. — The skies, early this morning, were
pearly with mist; the ground silvered with frost. The
enu barely asserted himself, and the trees cast but uncer-
tain shadows over the meadows. It is the third of these
magnificent white frosts, and an earnest but not wholly
effectual effort of the season to silence the katydids,
crickets, frogs, and salamanders. Of course, an over-
brave individual, now and then, will pipe his regrets at
the death of summer; and in the Indian summer of
next month many will chatter " I told you so," thinking
spring has come again. These are the deluded creatures
that form the laughing-stock of their kind. Probably
every class of animals possesses such.

The third white frost, and now, persimmons are rud-
dy, wrinkled, and ripe. It is strange this fruit should
have remained so long neglected. To be sure, there is
needed some instruction in the art of eating it, but this
can readily be obtained by application to the average
country boy living in persimmon districts. All that is
required, really, is to use your tongue and lips, and keep
your teeth out of the way. A wise persimmon eater I
once knew took the precaution of placing his teeth in
his pocket before commencing operations. The fact is,
the fruit resents being bitten, and invariably wrinkles
one's mouth into every conceivable shape when treated
to a crushing bite.

That the persimmon is capable of being greatly im-
proved and made a valuable fruit has often been re-
marked, but no one seems to have started the improving
process. I have long since learned, however, that there

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 337

are persimmons and persimmons, and while some are
really worthless and painfully astringent, even after
many frosts, others, after a nipping frost or two, are
really delicious.

My talkative neighbor. Miles Overfield, has noticed
this fact, too, and when questioned about it this morn-
ing, said, " The best p'simmons grow on dry ground, and
some say the trees must be mixed with oaks to get their
top flavor. I know the best trees about here grow that
way, and the 'possums know it too. The big p'simmon-
trees 'long the line fence 'twixt you and next place al-
ways has a 'possum or two in, in the full of the October
moon. I've taken one or two there every fall so long
as I can remember."

"What other animal eats persimmons, or does any
bird ?" I asked, when Miles stopped a moment to catch
his breath.

"Not that I know of. Perhaps a blue-jay might eat
the seeds, or a starvin' crow, in a snow-storm ; but I
never saw the like."

Not because a few long straws were lying conveniently
near, but for purely biological purposes, I took the bung
from a barrel of new cider. If this third white frost
has not killed all insect life, then they will be sure to
collect about tlie barrel. No insects came, and I found,
on testing the cider, that if insects were still about they
surely would have flocked hither — the cider was excel-
lent. It would appear that the rule of three frosts is
nearly correct, and kills, or sends to winter -quarters,
flies, bugs, and beetles that have hummed and buzzed

all summer.

15

838 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

Let the above stand as a proof of the absurdity of
hasty conclusions! Here is another barrel of cider on
the south side of the house — the other lies in the shaded
north side — and it is alive with bees, wasps, and indefinite
diptera of no names. This cider is no sweeter than the
other, but it is in a position twenty degrees warmer.
It is a good rule, in making any investigations as to the
prevalence or absence of anijual life, or in judging of
the effects of weather, to have a barrel of cider on each
side of the house, and only draw conclusions after all
have been examined.

It needed but a short walk, to-day, after the snn was
well up, to see that frost stupefies but does not kill, ex-
cept some of the tenderest insects. Miles Overfield re-
marked, a few days ago, that wasps would not sting after
the third frost. Will they not? Could my thumb tes-
tify, it would have some interesting remarks to make
upon this point. Whether it is stinging or not, the ef-
fect is the same, and the thumb needs as much of a poul-
tice. A good rule is to flatten a wasp before you pick
it up — a better one is to let the creature severely alone.

As I passed through a gory thicket of half-crushed
poke-weeds I was startled by a large bird flying almost
into my face. It seemed to be an albino robin, as it
flew; but a better view enabled me to identify it. It
was a shrike. There was nothing offensive in its gen-
eral appearance, but the flock of thistle-finches near by
evidently thought otherwise, for they scattered in hot
baste as it approached. Shrikes are yearly becoming
more common, and it is to be hoped that they will wnx

AX OCTOBER DIARY. 339

Strong enougli to keep down the disgusting superfluity
of Englisli sparrows. Both the northern and southern
shrikes occur here, so between them some good may be
accomplished.

An interesting occurrence of to-day was the freak of
a passing gust of wind, or whatever it may be called.
While standing at the edge of the woods, one tree, a very
tall tulip-tree, was quite rudely shaken by the wind,
sending a tremor through every leaf, and bending the
upper branches ; yet not a leaf on any other tree stirred.
The disturbance evidently came from above, and spent
its force in the one tree it struck in the descent.

The hornets' nests that I have found, as yet, have all
been close to the ground; a sure sign of a cold winter,
it is said. This was a matter to refer to Miles Over-
field, and I hailed him this evening, as he passed through
the yard.

" What of the hornets' nests, this fall. Miles ; are they
high or low ?"

" All high up, and we'll have an open winter. Never
knew it to fail. Have seen a dozen, and all are on the
tops of the trees."

" Well, I have seen just half a dozen, and every one
was low down ; one on the bottom rail of a fence," I
replied.

"Ain't you a jokin'?" Miles asked, with a look of
astonishment.

" Not at all," I replied.

" Well, if that's so, there's goin' to be both kinds of

840 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

winter, by spells ; but I never knew the like of this ;
never;" and he showed that he was sorely puzzled.

This is the average weather-wisdom of my neighbors.
Their convenient memories make the rules hold good
in all cases, and contradictory facts are never recognized
at the time, and subsequently denied in toto.

The broad quarter-mile of Poaetquissings, above the
flood-gates, was perhaps, to-day, the most charming spot
within easy walking distance. What the two earlier
frosts had failed to accomplish that of last night has
effected, and not a trace of lily leaves, pickerel-weed,
arum, or other aquatic growth mars the surface of the
water. Smooth as a mirror, it reflected, without a break,
every tree that overlooked the creek, now in the glory
of autumn coloring. Scarlet maples, yellow ashes, pur-
ple oaks, and varied birches were all faithfully por-
trayed. There was an unstained sky below as well as
above, and my boat seemingly floated in space. In per-
fect silence I drifted from shore to shore. It was pain-
fully still, as though Nature herself had died ; and then,
with a startling suddenness, trying even to old nerves,
a kingfisher darted, with a wild scream, into the water,
and shattered the mirror. But it was a welcome sound,
when the shock of its abruptness passed. A stately
heron, that had been dreaming in the drooping elms,
flew from its perch, and waded, knee-deep, along the
opposite shore. A startled pike leaped from the water ;
a muskrat swam with but the tip of his nose above the
surface, leaving an ever-widening wedge of silvery rip-
ples behind him. It was a strange transition from al>

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 341

solute silence to noisy, active life. All these creatures,
of whose presence I was unaware, appeared to be wait-
ing, each for the other, to break the spell that bound
thera. It fell to the kingfisher's lot. lie moved, spoke,
and all was set in niotion.

Towards noon, when the gathering haze was tinting
with old-gold the distant hills, and half the horizon was
wrapped in mist, I wandered to the edge of the low-ljing
mucky meadow, scarcely hoping, even there, to find act-
ive life. A strange stillness brooded over all, and gave
to the occasional chirp of some restless bird a weird, un-
natural tone. Soon, however, I saw, far to the south, a
flock of grakles that were coming towards me. I wel-
comed their promised presence and stood awaiting their
arrival, when suddenly, from no cause that I could de-
tect, they turned towards the river. I was doomed to
be alone, and threw my stick into the tall reeds, as a
relief to my feelings. Yery childish this, I admit, but
happily it effected what I desired. As the stick fell, up
from a tangled mat of grass struggled a wee brown bird,
warbling a few sweet notes. I took it, they were uttered
to comfort me. Then another of these birds rose up,
but barely into view ; rose, sang, and disappeared. Nei-
ther flew boldly ; both seemed to be unable to do so ;
but the heretofore silent meadow now became vocal
with these sweet flute-notes in brown feathers, struggling
to be free. It was the marsh-sparrows that wrought
the change ; and probably, of all our song-birds, no one
is so little known to people generally. This arises prin-
cipally from the fact that their haunts are seldom in-

343 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

truded upon bj mere lovers of bird music. They are
content with the song-sparrow in the garden, and so
never learn of its cousin in the dismal swamp.

The marsh-sparrow, with us, remains closely to the
wet meadows, passing a quiet, secluded life ; wasting its
sweetness on the desert air, if it sings for the pleasure
of others — which it does not do.

When the little commotion caused by my impatient
throwing of a stick in the grass had died away, not a
bird was to be seen. I waited for half an hour, but nei-
ther heard nor saw one. Gathering a few sticks, I threw
them into the marsh, and with like result. Here, there,
everywhere, like marsh-wrens, up to the tops of the taller
reeds they came, fluttered, sang, and disappeared.

These sparrows afford an instance of how a most in-
teresting creature may be very near us, yet his presence
be quite unsuspected. By a mere chance, they became
the notable feature of my morning's walk.

It is stated in every ornithological work to which I
have access that these birds are migratory, and in more
northern localities this is true; but it is only partly true
in Central New Jersey. Many come and go, I doubt
not, but a goodly number remain, and add a charm to
the winter scenes on the meadows. I have even heard
these sparrows, during bright moonlit nights, sing while
perched upon the tops of leafless twigs, projecting above
the ice and snow.

Coues, in his " Birds of the Northwest," says, accord-
ing to his own observations, " it is only a bird of passage
in the Middle States," a most remarkable statement,
considering that scores of them are in my meadows all

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 3iS

the year round. Their song, lie adds, he has never lieard,
and quotes Nuttall's description. This does not do the
bird justice. The notes are more like those of a song-
sparrow than of the field-chippy, and have that liquid
character which is their greatest charm. The late Wil-
son Flagg does the swamp-sparrow justice, in remarking
that " he sings so sweetly that the very desolation of the
scene borrows a charm from his voice." But I can only
go part way with Mr. Flagg. How any one can call a
swamp desolate is indeed strange ! The mucky meadow
desolate ! Is it a scene of desolation, even in October,
to watch the waving of the tall reeds, as the breezes
gently sway them ; to hear the song of this sparrow,
of which I have said so much; to watch the broad-
winged harrier beat the grass, that frightened birds may
rise to, perhaps, their own destruction ; to mark the
mighty flocks of red-wings that, as a cloud, settle on the
reeds, and bend them to the water's edge ; to hear the
songs of half our winter birds, that now are coming from
their summer homes in the North ; to follow in their
flight, as, with all the grace of a fly-catcher, the blue-
birds sally over the reeds in pursuit of the few remain-
ing insects ? All this, and more, passed before me in the
course of my walk to-day, along the grassy margin of
the marsh ; and never would it occur to me to call such
a spot a scene of desolation. That spot is, to me, deso-
late, in proportion as man has eradicated nature's handi-
work.

October 20. — A misty morning, at sunrise, withont
a trace of frost ; and all quiet, both in the fields and

844 TTPLANT) AND MEADOW.

meadows. There appears to have been a fresh arrival
of Northern birds, and the fields are filled with tree-spar-
rows, snow-birds, white-throated finches, and some unde-
termined species. None sang. Why these fits of si-
lence I do not know; bnt they are not uncommon.
I have watched an individual bird for quite an hour,
and not a single chirp has it uttered in all that time.
It was a male bird, and bnsy seed-hunting. Female
birds never, probably, go half so long without chatter-
ing, and I am led to believe that they, far more than
males, chirp and twitter in their sleep.

In the upland pastures, at a later hour, there was sweet
music to be heard. An unusual flight of bluebirds were
resting there. The gaunt gray stalks of the mullein
were each topped with a warbling bluebird singitig with
all its springtime ardor. As usual, at this time of the
year, these birds were adepts at fly-catching, and at a
little distance might readily be taken for pee- wees or
king-birds. They were not migrating. So long as I
can reniember, they have been wintering in the warm
southern exposure of the bluff nearby, and in unusually
severe weather seek shelter in cedars, and cosey cran-
nies in the stacks of hay and corn-stalks. There is no
noticeable accession to their numbers in spring, so I
hold them to be here in no sense migratory. The state-
ment of Dr. Brewer, in vol. i. p. 63 of " North American
Birds," that "in the Middle States, with every mild
winter's day, the bluebirds come out from their retreats,
and again disappear on the return of severer weather,"
is not true. They do not appear and disappear in the
way he describes. Their movements are not at all af-

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 345

fected by temperature; and only very high winds, or
unusually severe snow-storms, send them to shelter.
Well can I remember one clear, cold, January day, of
the past winter, when the mercury fell to — 2° at sunrise.
From the tops of half the stakes of a long worm-fence
bluebirds were singing gleefully. Not with any loss
of voice, as Dr. Brewer mentions is usually the case, but
with all the animation and variation of their May-day
warbling. Even then, they seemed actively in search
of insect food, for they sallied out into the clear air, pre-
cisely as they would do in October. If there were no
insects flying, and surely none were visible to human
eyes, then these birds were exercising to keep up their
warmth.

There was a red sunset this evening, such as were so
common during the past autumn and winter. Not
only this, but the eastern horizon was a pale green, and
in no direction was nature cheerfully lighted up. The
sickly tints cast upon every object seemed to have its
depressing effect upon animal life, and the few katy-
dids that have survived made only painful efforts to
rasp out Ka — and left ty Did to the world's imagina-
tion ; but they kept up this monosyllabic effort until
midnight. The crickets, however, are full of activity,
even on such a night, and, wherever there was tall grass,
were noisy as in summer. They stick so close to the
ground and under cover that no mere atmospheric con-
dition, such as cold, affects them.

In the hillside woods, a single Pickering's tree-toad
tried to get rid of the blues by occasionally uttering a
shrill "peep," but it had no inspiriting effect. No

15*

343 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

other batracliian responded. It was a doleful even-
ing.

Was it on this account that a little red owl, at mid-
night, mourned in most sepulchral tones? For the first
time in my recollection, this little owl added gloom to
the scene. Ordinarily, I love to hear the owls, large
and small; but to-night it was unwelcome. Melan-
choly nights, such as this, are not uncommon in au-
tumn. I know of no reason, unless there is some pe-
culiarity in the atmosphere, as I have suggested ; bnt
certain it is that the depressing effect is at times pro-
duced, and scarcely a creature stirs. The shrews stay
in their burrows. Mice remain at home. Flying-squir-
rels forego their foraging. The mink, weasel, and
skunk sleep the sleep of the virtuous. Life rests by
common consent, and the idea of exertion is repugnant.

Ordinarily, when we wander into the woods at night,
and can summon up the necessary courage and patience
to wait, alone, for coming events, it will be found that
there is considerable activity, even when the darkness
is profound ; and proportionably more as there is light
from the stars, an aurora, or the moon. If the moon-
light is very bright, then the activity is often curtailed,
just as sunlight puts an end to the predatory excursions
of man}' animals.

To-night it was dark, but not so dark but that the
trees could be seen against the clear sky. I spent a
long time in the woods that till the gully. The ab-
sence of all evidence of animal life was remarkable. I
could think of no reason for this, so held the pale green
skv and lurid west accountable. Had a brisk breeze

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 347

sprung up, there would have been a change at once.
The insects would be first to respond, then batra-
chians; then birds, half roused from their slumbers,
would chirp ; and long before dawn predatory mammals
would yawn, shake themselves, and start upon their
rounds. I have known such changes to occur, and the
breeze and the activity might, of course, have been a
mere coincidence. Such an objection is easily urged,
and bears upon its face a winning reasonableness, but
my conviction of a mysterious relationship between at-
mospheric conditions and animal activity is not dis-
turbed.

CHAPTER XIV.
AN OCTOBER DIARY— CONCLUDED.

October 21. — I found a pair of magnificent emer-
alds this evening — small, it is true, but they made up
in brilliancy all they lacked in size. Dark though it
happened to be, they glistened as I had never seen
gems glisten before. They seemed almost to be sources
of light and to illuminate their immediate surround-
ings. When within reach I stopped — and they were
not there. The weasel that owned them was not green,
whatever the tint of those wonderful gems. This was
the weasel, I suppose, that has been running at large in
the cellar, and darting among the apple - barrels, when
not wishing to be seen. I speak advisedly, for at times
he is bold as a hawk, and ready to fight if molested.
Better a weasel than the rats he preys upon, so long
may he flourish !

I took my fence-rail spider a handful of flies this
morning, but she was out of humor and returned me
no thanks. Indeed, she did not deign to notice in any
way my contribution to her larder. So far as I could
discover, nothing had gone wrong with the elaborate
web ; and the cause of the sulkiness could only be at-
tributed to over-feeding or injury. She sat, or, more
properly, stood, in the door of her den and looked at

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 849

me, but did not stir a hair's-breadth, although flj after
fly, of the score I had brought, were escaping from the
web. I sat down as near the place as practicable, de-
termined to see when the spider would condescend to
step out or back into the recesses of her quarters. Per-
haps I sat five minutes — it seemed an hour — but noth-
ing like voluntary movement on the spider's part oc-
curred. Finally, just as I was- about to change my
position, to get a closer view, I felt a slight stinging
sensation on the end of my nose, and waving my hand
involuntarily before my face, I found myself cabled, in
a flimsy way, to the fence and the branches of the tree
nearest me. A spider, nesting in the tree, had selected
my hat as the support of some new webbing, and had
fastened a hundred cables to it, selecting my nose as
an additional support. Regretting I had so rudely dis-
turbed the plans of the new - comer, I rose to go ; but
not before I had solved the mystery of the motionless
spider before me. Placing my forefinger upon it, to
my disgust I found that I had been staring at the mere
ghost of my friend. Something had attacked her, and
sucked out all her juices ; not a trace of moisture re-
mained ; she was hollow as a " locust-shell."

If the spider that had utilized my hat and nose, in
spreading additional webs, had done this murder, did it
also set my defunct friend in this life-like position, as
a trick on me? There was every appearance of this;
but not until after many similar results will I admit
even any degree of probability in the matter.

There is, without doubt, no class of animals that offer
a more fruitful field for study than do spiders. Their

850 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

habits show a marked degree of cunning, and I have no
hesitation in placing them on a level with ants in the
scale of intelligence.

The evening was very warm, and the full tide of in-
sect-life common to August appears to have wholly re-
vived. The flies and the frost play such remarkable
tricks with our theories that, before a new idea can be
formulated, the frost or the flies upsets our preconcep-
tion.

October 22. — No fog, save scattered remnants of the
veil of mist that yesterday draped the meadows. Every
indication is that of a warm south rain ; and this usu-
ally does not introduce a cold wave, such as is still re-
ported to be coming. The crows fly low, and this is a
sign of rain. How strange it is, that men otherwise in-
telligent should believe such nonsensical sayings. Cer-
tainly more than half the time crows fly very near the
ground, a few feet above the level of the fields, and just
skimming the tree-tops. All through a drought of five
weeks they flew as low to the ground as I ever knew
them to ; and so it is all winter, stormy or clear, mod-
erate or cold, quiet or windy ; but the facts have no
value in the sight of my neighbors. What they have
always heard they always believe; and one proclaimed
to the audience, at the close of a lecture, as a settler to
my " newfangled notions," that "as these sayings orig-
inated in the good old times, none of 'em could be
Ja6?." I was about to reply, when he closed the dis-
cussion prematurely by adding that "these science

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 351

men can get np new things as much as they please ;
but they needn't try to push the old ways to the
wall ; there's room enough for both." He is right,
there is room enough for both, and ignorance will
survive for years to come. Teach the young the fal-
lacy of weather lore, but let the older generations
believe in it all, in peace. My lecture on " Weather
Lore" fell flat on that audience. Every blessed one
of the old folks voted me a crank, and the very few
young people did not hear it, or failed to catch my
meaning.

For hours the crows have been flying low, and when
the day was done a rolling black cloud and a puff of
wind ushered in a rain-storm from the south; and
soon began the steady pour which means an inky-black
night and scarcely any creature astir. It is useless to go
abroad at such a time. You can see nothing and hear
nothing, and what you chance to touch may mislead
you ; for dripping feathers and soaked fur, handled in
the dark, are a trial to the flesh and vexation to the
spirit.

It seems never to have occurred to Wilson, Audubon,
or Nuttall that birds are gifted with intelligence like
our own, differing only in degree — as a rule, having
less, except in some one or two directions — while their
capabilities are greater. Probably in no one way is the
identity of human and bird intelligence shown more
clearly than in the marked variation in individual dis-
positions. This has been entirely overlooked in the
works of the authors mentioned, and in a vast number
of instances what is recorded of a single pair of birds

352 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

tliat chanced to come under observation is assumed to
be an exhaustive life-history of tlie species.

What is needed is to write the lives of our birds so
that the creatures may be recognized without the aid
of an illustration. It can be done.

This thought occurred to me as I saw the first lin-
nets of the season, an hour before the rain began. I
thought of it again as a little saw-whet owl crossed my
path, skimming the ground like a whip-poor-will. The
linnets were in a flock of fully one hundred, and, as
usual, they dropped from the clouds. I happened to
be near the tree upon which they all alighted, and just
as I saw another flock, months ago, come to the big elm
in the yard, so these came directly from overhead, to
the tall sassafras " on the line." For years past I have
noticed this peculiarity.

Wilson, in 1808-10, and George Ord, a few years
later, refer to the rarity of this bird in the neighbor-
hood of Philadelphia, considering its appearance as
only an exceptional occurrence in severe winters.

This is wholly a mistake. Linnets are as sure to put
in an appearance as snow-birds or pine finches. They
are not often seen as early as October, in this latitude,
it is true, but why should it excite surprise, when it
is the rule for them to remain until late in April ?
Their apparent rarity, in winter, is really due to the
abruptness of arrival and departure, and unless there
is much snow, they remain closely among the tall
forest trees; if systematic search is made, linnets will
be found in Central New Jersey from November to
March, both inclusive, year in and year out. I base

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 353

this statement on notes of their presence jotted down
during the past twenty years.

October 23. — At sunrise there came a shower of
liquid bird -notes trickling through the pines — songs
that resembled the lower tones of tlie musical water-
jars of the ancient Peruvians. They were uttered by
a flock of fifty or more cowpen - birds, singing in con-
cert. The birds sat in short rows on the branches of
the pines, and did not move the while, except to
slightly raise their wings and spread their tails, as the
soft sounds came bubbling up to their beaks and trickled
over. They are curious birds. Cuckoo-like, they build
no nests, but drop their eggs, here and there, in the
nests of much smaller birds. Thus much all the world
knows, or ought to know ; but how little besides has
been recorded of them ! In Central New Jersey they'
are not migratory. They come and go, erratically, like
the robin. A week or perhaps a month may pass with-
out one being seen, and then, some bright morning, they
may be tlie first birds to attract our attention as we
venture out of doors.

It is commonly stated that these birds are gregarious
tlie year through ; but this is, at least, open to discus-
sion ; and depends very much upon the number of birds
needed to make a " flock," From March to September
they are most frequently seen in pairs or trios, and quite
often singly. They associate with the robins, and are
constant companions of meadow-larks, whose flight, even,
they sometimes purposely imitate. When the female
is ready to lay her eggs, she skulks through the bushes

854 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

to find a suitable nest ; and sometimes does not wait
until the nest is finished. During the past summer,
watching a pair of white-eyed greenlets while building,
I, one afternoon, saw a cowpen-bird fly to the half-finished
nest, and in less than two minutes fly away. In that
brief space of time she deposited an egg. Meanwhile,
the rightful owners of the nest were much exercised,
and held a long discussion over the occurrence. This
resulted in a remodelling of the bottom of the structure,
the egg being neatly floored over.

Young cowpen-birds, for a short time after leaving
the nest, associate with their foster-parents ; but, as the
season wears away, the birds that were hatched in one
neighborhood finally meet, and a flock is eventually or-
ganized, retaining its numbers until the breaking-up of
winter. During the spring and early summer of 1884
I found eleven nests containing eggs of the cowpen-
bird, the nests being in one limited area of a hundred
or more acres. In a very short time after they were
able to fly these young cowpen-birds would find the
company of their own kind preferable to that of the
warblers and fly-catchers that had nursed them. I have
never seen them with their foster-parents after the nest-
ing season of the latter was practically over.

Another peculiarity of the bird has been wholly over-
looked. During July, August, and even September,
the female cowpen-birds continue to drop single eggs
at irregular intervals, and, when so doing, they do not
look up some deserted nest, but drop the eggs upon the
ground, and then descend from their perches to eat
them. This I have witnessed on several occasions.

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 355

But, to further determine the facts concerning this ex-
traordinary habit, I have killed numbers of female cow-
pen-birds even as late as September, and in several
found eggs nearly ready for extrusion. They were, to
all appearances, fertile.

Last night's steady rain cleared the air and earth of
dust. The gorgeous tints of the autumn foliage now
show to perfection. Now is the one favorable time to
realize how grand a color is a bright green. Some of
the trees still retain it in various shades, and it shows
forth in all its beauty in the setting of contrasting tints
wrought by the frost.

The promised cold wave has come. Even in the full
glare of the noonday sun it is cold, and the fitful west
wind shakes the trees with sudden shivering, and mill-
ions of bright leaves flutter through the air, and star
the grass with flakes of red and yellow.

For exercise I climbed a chinkapin-tree after the few
nuts remaining on it, and brought down upon my head
the fury of indignant blue-jays. One slapped my hand
with its wing as I was reaching upward to a cluster of
burrs. These jays were as bold as though I was after
their nest. Had I, in their fearlessness, as shown this
morning, an evidence of quick-wittedness on their part ;
did they realize my comparative helplessness while in
the tree ? Probably so. No bird, I think, fears man
when in a tree as it does when he is standing on the
ground. They seem to know that, with his hands grasp-
ing the branches, it is highly improbable that he has a

856 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

gnn with him, and so approach on the part of a bird is
comparatively safe. A crow would reason in this man-
ner, I know, and the evidence favors a like intelligence
on the part of other birds.

Shortly after sunset a cat-owl screamed from some
distant shelter in the meadows, and the pleasant sound,
borne by the wind and toned with the sighs of the tall
pines, added a charm to the evening. To me it has
ever been a matter of wonder that the cries of owls
should be thought mournful. In a little poem by
Alexander Wilson, called " The Foresters," the author
speaks of

" The hollow, quivering, loud-repeated howl,
Full overhead, betrays the haggard owl."

To what haggard owl he refers I am uncertain, but
probably this long-eared one, that, from the varied notes
of its cry, is locally known as "cat-owl." Formerly it
was more abundant than now, and its place in the mead-
ows is taken by the short-cared or marsh owls. The
voices of the two are quite different, and by this means
the birds are as readily distinguished as when seen.
The marsh-owls, as found in the meadows, offer one pe-
culiarity not noticed by ornithologists as occurring else-
where. They build in cavernous hollows of old trees,
and not on the ground. Either this, or the young, as
soon as they are hatched, leave the nest and take shelter
in such hollows. I can readily understand why this
should be the case. They frequent only the wet marshes,
where there is an abundance of mice and of reed-birds
at certain seasons. These are their sole food-supply,

xV^' OCTOBER DIARY. 357

and the birds do not need to wander any distance from
the marshes. To nest on the ground would be to ex-
pose the eggs and young to freshets, and it probably
has resulted from this cause tliat hollow trees — the
proper home of owls — have been resorted to. Either
this, or the young resort, when but a few days old, to
the trees. While I have never found the eggs, I have
so frequently found the young that I have never doubt-
ed but that tliey were hatched in the hollows where
they were seen.

" Sometimes a tame cat takes to the woods, and when
it does it gets wilder than a wild cat," was the remark
of Miles Overfield, who gave me a rambling account of
his having seen such a cat. It was a strange coinci-
dence, for to-night I crossed Poaetquissings above the
flood-gates, and the scream of a cat was decidedly liorri-
capillatory. I felt my hairless scalp to be unpleasantly
ridged, and the same effect was produced on the night-
herons near by, for they straightway ruffled their feath-
ers and flew into the outer darkness. I listened for its
repetition, yet half hopeful I should not hear it ; and I
was both pleased and sorry that the cat remained quiet
so long as I tarried by the creek-side. This cat, which I
know to be one that has " taken to the woods," uttered
this evening probably the wildest cry I have ever heard
in my rambles. Not so startling as that of a barn-owl,
perhaps, but simply because it is uttered more deliber-
ately. Yon have time to catch your breath ; but when
the barn-owl yells its w'ild kr-r-r-r-ick ! you are apt to be
bewildered by its abruptness. The sound was unlike

858 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

that made by any domestic cat, varied and unmusical as
their vocal efforts are, and did approximate to the cry
of a cougar, as I have occasionally heard it at the Zoo.

Perliaps it may provoke a smile to refer to cats when
treating of the scattered remnants of wild nature, but it
can be accepted without qualification that a cat that
takes to a wild life will be so essentially feral that a
person, a stranger to domestic cats, would never infer
the truth. Of a number of such instances I have col-
lected careful, trustworthy data, and they all accord
with what I have myself observed. Such cats become
arboreal and strictly nocturnal ; they haunt the remotest
portions of wooded districts, and utter a cry different
from any of the sounds characteristic of domestic Toms
or Tabbies.

October 24. — Frost put a quietus on creation in the
night. Even the crackling leaves are still this morning.
Squirrels, if they move at all, step on tiptoe. A long
line of voiceless crows pass over the meadows, winging
their way so stilly one might think them a wind-driven
thunder-cloud. The brook best shows the footsteps of
the frost-king, where ranks of icy spear-points glitter in
the sun. Every projecting pebble is encased in crystal,
and the cheerful waters sing a rapid roundelay as they
hurry by. Autumn has chosen her time and placed on
view her choicest handiwork. But its beauty avails it
nothing ; it is fated to quickly pass and be utterly for-
gotten, for who that shudders in the early morning at
the sight of frosted fields thinks of the matchless beauty
of the ice-crystals spread so lavishly before him? Yet

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 359

I doubt if, in all nature, there are more exquisite shapes.
From the clear sky the meadow-larks give promise of a
splendid day, for they are silent as death if it is going
to storm — so it is said ; but he is not a wise traveller
that has no better barometer. Grass-finches, that had
shivered in their weedy caves through the long night,
now rejoice at the victory of the rising sun, and sing
with increasing ardor as the generous warmth stirs them
to action. Bluebirds, in straggling dozens, lined the
worm-fences, and a flock — perhaps a thousatid — of red-
wings came chattering up against the westerly breeze,
and clothed the bare branches of an old apple-tree as
with summer's full complement of leaves.

A half- hour in the early morning works a wonderful
change in upland and meadow, and it is not well to be
discouraged if, at first, either locality appears deserted.

The freshness of the day recalled the rabbit-traps of
the past winter, and towards evening I hunted them up.
In the tangled growth of wild grass in the orchard one
was found, and, to my delight, it was occupied by a
beautiful white-footed mouse. Her nest was a globular
mass of leaves and long grass, as firmly fixed as the nest
of a marsh -wren. It was lined with the soft, silky
" cotton " of the milk-weed. The pretty creature w^as
not alone. Three young mice clung to her teats. These
were one third grown and of a dark mouse-color. She
was a bright yellow-brown. The white legs and bellies
of the young strongly contrasted with the dark color of
the sides and back, and had they been found alone their
identity would not have been so readily rocogtiized.

3C0 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

Placing them in a large glass tank, I noticed tlieir move-
ments were much unlike those of the common domestic
mouse. Thej did not run ; they walked, and held them-
selves erect. Young as they were, they stood on their
hind-feet a great deal, and used their fore-limhs as arms.
When 80 doing they brought their long tails into use as
an additional support. One little fellow, more anxious
than the others to escape, took eleven firm steps on his
hind-feet without any evidence of indecision or strained
effort at balancing. It had all the appearance of the
practised walk of a biped, and seemed not an unusual
occurrence. This was a source of great satisfaction to
me, as I had already been convinced that mice could
walk in this manner, but had never had so excellent an
opportunity to witness it.

The little creatures' arboreal habits have been largely
overlooked. Seldom are they found except upon the
ground, unless when occupying an old bird's nest; but
they do at times, nevertheless, ascend to the very tops
of hollow trees, or as far as the decayed interior reaches.
They clamber along the sides of this cavity only, and
so you may be leaning against the very tree they are in
and never suspect their presence. "What induces them
to do so is not readily determined, but the probabilities
are that they are in quest of food, and not merely seek-
ing safety from pursuing foes. However this may be,
I have several times found them in such positions, and
once an abandoned leaf-uest of gray squirrels was util-
ized by them as a winter home.

These arboreal habits of the white-footed mice bring
prominently to mind the once seductive theory, and

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 361

happily now demonstrated law of evolution. This little
mouse has often been noticed as occupying birds' nests
built in bushes. I have found them in nests six and
ten feet from the ground. To reach them, they must
necessarily be expert climbers, and their skill in wind-
ing through briers is marvellous. Added to this, they
now wander through the dark recesses of hollow trees,
often to a consideniijle elevation. What such changes
of habit may lead to is readily imagined, and if, as the
country becomes more and more settled, these mice find
their safety increased in proportion as they remain
away from the ground, it is certain that an arboreal
mouse may ultimately replace the present species, which
now lives upon the surface and only visits hollow trees.
That so great a change as I have intitnated should be
brought about is quite within the bounds of probability.

October 25. — There were five minutes of brightness,
as the sun rose, and then a rapid overclouding of the
whole sky. The prominent effect was to sadly upset
the calculations of the birds, and a remarkable restlessness
was noticeable. The great flocks of red-winged black-
birds, here since yesterday, were broken into little com-
panies of a dozen or more, and no two individuals flew
in the same direction. The robins were all " at sea,"
and even the thistle-finches found themselves without a
plan. I have seen such distuibed conditions among
flocking birds before, but never could I get any clew to
the cause. The mere cloudiness of the sky will not ac-
count for it. An hour later the sun again shone, and
the blackbirds regathered and passed, like a cloud, to the

16

Ma UPLAND AND MEADOW.

meadows; the robins sought the wild grapes, and thg
thistle-finches went — well, they disappeared.

The last rays of the sun to-day — a handful of golden
arrows — were shot through the tliree beeches at 5 p.m.,
and the last of the roostward flying crows passed over
ten minutes later. An hour afterwards the night had
set in, breezy, cold, clear, and moonlit. Does an October
night need anything else? I walked up through the
cornfield to the lone oak in the upland clover, and, after
standing awhile, I was fortunate enough to see an old
grizzly opossum start on his nocturnal rounds. The
exit of an opossum from his home-tree is an artistic
proceeding. With only his head projecting beyond the
opening, he took a long observation. Just of what, is
not easy even to guess, but very possibly only of the
weather. Then, placing his fore-feet on the rim of the
hole, which was ten feet from the ground, the animal
looked downward and sidewise for fully ten minutes.
Wrapped in gray and hidden in tall weeds, I do not
think he saw me. Then slipping his fore-feet down the
trunk of the tree, the opossum held on by his hind-feet
and tail, and in this upside-down position again scanned
the neighborhood closely, or listened for suspicious
sounds, or both. This was but for a few moments, and
then the downward climb commenced. Once at the foot
of the tree, the opossum broke into a jog-trot and was
directly out of sight and hearing.

We are all familiar with the fact that rattlesnakes,
prairie-dogs, and burrowing owls are sometimes found
in the same subterranean retreat. Such cases of associ-

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 363

ated animals of widely different character are not so
very uncommon, after all. From the same great hol-
low in the old oak, or from another section of it, if it is
divided, this same night, and within half an hour, came
a beautiful barn-owl, and directly afterwards another.

Unlike the opossum, they did not wait for prelimi-
nary observations, but sailed away in the moonlight,
without a moment's pause, I tarried awhile, hoping
they would return, but they did not, and being too cool
to sit up until late for their reappearance, I turned my
face homeward, pausing at times to listen to the notes
of birds, if such they were — half -uttered cries, as
though the birds were dreaming. Thinking of them as
I continued my walk, I wondered if owls were ever at-
tracted by such sounds, and so were led to the roosting-
places of sparrows and tits. Let us hope not. Owls are
seemingly only mouse-hunters, and as such the world
should welcome and protect them.

Even yet, migrator}' birds are dropping in every hour
of the day and night. As I passed by the maples in
the lane there was a faint chirping that came from a
score of throats, and seemed afar off and directly over-
head, I stood but for a moment, when a flock of small
birds settled in the trees, and I recognized them as pine-
finches. Usually, I doubt not, birds on their migratory
journey, when flying at night, do not stop until dawn ;
but, of course, it happens otherwise at times, as was the
case to-night. All was quiet within a minute, and happy
birds they, to be able to fall asleep the moment they
closed their eyes.

Probably only the hot - headed tribe of wrens are

884 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

troubled with insomnia. Wrens are hatched mad.
Turned out of their shells by an impatient parent, they
never know anything but high-tempered activity, and
die, I suppose, of sudden collapse. In the woods all
day there have been a half-dozen winter wrens spider-
hunting along the worm-fence; but not one of tliein
has spoken to another audibly, nor sung a single note.
Some sudden freak, to be atoned for to-morrow by a
wasteful wealth of music.

Charming as are the upland fields, the hillside woods,
and level meadows, b}' moonlight, the creek offers at-
tractions on such a night that are not elsewhere to be
found. What though ice is forming and a cutting east
wind blows! There are sheltered nooks where one may
stand, as cosily fixed as at home, and see all that is going
on in the little world of Poaetquissings ; for although
but a week is left of this month, wherein the last of the
summer visitants are supposed to depart, there yet re-
main the herons and bitterns of the past summer and
half the kingfishers. Tiie musk rats seem to love just
such a night as this, and a dozen of them rippled the
quiet waters, as they frolicked, uttering a peculiar cry
at times which might readily be mistaken for the chirp
of a bird. Take the same stand by day and every day
for a month, and the chances are you would never im-
agine that such a creature as the muskrat dwelt in the
banks of the creek before you.

Moonlight is not wholly satisfactory to man in which
to view the movements of various small and timid
animals; bnt the natnralist-rambler must not overlook
the fact that, to a considerable extent, the creatures he

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 865

wishes most to see are nocturnal. Curious as it may
seem, very many animals are more strictly noctur-
nal than those which are ordinarily referred to as such.
Thus we speak of owls and bats as nocturnal. In
reality they are crepuscular, for they do not keep on
the wing all night, unless it is moonlight ; while musk-
rats, weasels, opossums, 'coons, and mice are often on the
go from the setting of the sun until dawn. I have had
particularly good opportunities of investigating this
matter with reference to nearly all the mammals of the
neighborhood, and found that even when, as very rarely
occurs, there is an absolute darkness animals may be
abroad. Of, course, however excellent their vision, for
the time being they were blind, and guided solely by
the combined action of the senses of smell, hearing, and
touch. Rapid locomotion would be impracticable, but safe
progress perfectly feasible. Animals are often trapped
on such pitch-black nights, which is incontestable proof
of their having left their lairs. The traps were set by
lantern-light, long after sunset, and visited before the
first intimation of dawn. If any one doubts this, let
him wrap himself in a blanket and sit from midnight to
dawn in the woods. Timid people need not try this, as
they will see and hear strange creatures at the rate of a
menagerie a minute ; but a naturalist can convince him-
self that there is considerable activity in the animal
world. The cries — conversation, I take it — and footsteps
over the dead leaves can be heard, and the occasional
leap from a tree to the ground is a movement that can-
not be mistaken, although only heard.

There was an absolutely dark night, a year ago this

S66 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

month, and I sat for two houre on an uneven stump to
learn something — anything — of the animals I knew were
in the woods. Under a cloth cover, so that it was availa-
ble, but wholly hidden, was a little bull's-eye lantern.
The knowledge of its proximity, I admit, was a source
of comfort. Long minutes, composed of very attenuated
seconds, passed and not a sound was heard, other than the
wind in the tree-tops. Even this, at times, died away,
and during one such interval of absolute silence I heard
faint footfalls on the dead leaves. I thought of the
lantern, and touched it with my foot to make sure it had
not wandered off. The footsteps were then more plain-
ly heard, and with them a faint series of squeaky tones,
as though there were two animals engaged in conversa-
tion. Suddenly the sounds ceased. Had these creat-
ures discovered me by some other sense than sight, and
so were puzzled as to my identity, as I was of theirs?
The suspense, on my part, became unbearable. I slow-
ly reached for the cloth that covered my lantern. I re-
moved it suddenly, and a glimmer of light was shed on
the surrounding trees and road, displaying a pair of full-
grown skunks, and then the lantern, overturned by my
nervousness, went out. Would that I could have gone
out with it! but it was too dark to make any movement
safe. The abruptness of the whole proceeding happily
proved equally terrifying to the skunks, and they fled
without previously committing any revengeful act.

The last of a dozen matches proved available, and the
lantern was relighted. I covered it with care, and again
awaited developments. For half an hour, perhaps, I sat
with folded hands. I soon found that what few sounds

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 867

were lieard were readily distinguishable from the noise
made by wind-tossed leaves or the creaking of rubbing
branches. Indeed, the hearing becomes much more
acute under such circumstances, and one can more readi-
ly realize the perfection of the sense in many animals.
It approaches much more nearly to the value of sight
than one would suppose. But I was soon subjected to
another testing of my nerves. Moved by curiosity, a
pretty white-footed mouse — I suppose — nibbled at my
boot, then perched upon my toes, and finally proceeded
to crawl up my leg. A very slight movement sent him
back, but not very far, for soon it ran again up to my
lap, and as I moved my hand to touch it, gave a wild
squeak and was gone.

By this time I was becoming a little more used to my
situation, and honestly longed for another episode. I
liad not long to wait. Again I heard approaching foot-
steps. I thought of the skunks ; but no, it was too firm a
step. "Was it some benighted tramp ? This was an an-
imal I did not wish to meet. Leaning forward to catch
the full volume of the sound, I was sure it was the
shuffling tread of a four-footed beast. This brought a
feeling of relief, and, after all, it was but one chance in a
hundred if it came directly to where I sat. I had full
faith in the ninety-and-nine chances in favor of its pass-
ing me. But it was now very near. I was beginning
to think a dozen things at once, and forgot, for the mo-
ment, about the lantern. The steps are at my very side. I
can feel the animal's breath in my face, and, most un-
fortunately, the last step of the passing creature over-
turned my lantern. Again a provoking flash of light,

868 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

and there, in utter bewilderment, stood my neighbor's
heifer.

October 26. — Jack Frost legislates, so far as the game-
laws of the hillside are concerned, and the weather sug-
gested the setting of rabbit traps last evening, which I
did. One trap in the garden, two in the gully, tlireo
along the hill, and a rabbit in every other one when tlie
night is keen and still. This was the rule in the days
of my grandfather, a century ago; but now one rabbit
to every six traps, and that but seldom, is much nearer
tlie mark. What of that ? The quiet stroll to the places
where the traps are placed, the setting of each, and dust-
ing of our tracks with dead leaves, all this is to be done,
and the excitement of faint expectation of a "cotton
tail " is worth a good deal. The night passes ; by the
first cock-crow it is time to recall the traps, and just be-
fore sunrise each should be visited. There is a strange
notion quite prevalent among the very old people yet re-
maining that a buck rabbit will lift the lid of a box-trap,
at sunrise, even if it is weighted. Absurd as it is, it holds
in the mind of men like Miles Overfield, Davie Shores,
and half a dozen septuagenarians within a mile of home.

The ordinary reply to the question of why this is, is
that they know it — had they not always heard it ? Miles's
father told him that " the first glimmer of sunshine would
open a steel trap and let every critter go as was caught
in the night," and Miles believed it, although every win-
ter of his trapping days had contradicted the absurdity.

The probable origin is, that in colonial times, when
every farm lad had his traps, this idea was spread abroad,

AN OCTOBER DIARY, S69

in order that the traps might be visited as early in the day
as possible, and no time be taken from the ordinary
work-day. If not this, I am puzzled to know why oth-
erwise clear-headed men should be such fools. Such a
notion, so originating, might readily be handed down
and perpetuated as a superstition long after the circum-
stances which gave rise to it had passed away. The
practical Quakers who settled Central New Jersey cer-
tainly turned everything to advantage, and were ever
ready to profit, even by a little cunning of an innocent
kind. The concern was only on their minds if they
failed to reap every possible gain, and never that their
fellow-men miglit possibly question the means adopted,
and doubtless cunning Quakers started the story of the
powerful influence of sunlight upon traps.

No night so long but morning follows; and at day-
break the fun offers of the round of the rabbit traps. The
first breath of the air this morning suggested a rabbit in
some one of the traps, too. There was a frosty snap in
the sleepy breeze that barely stirred the pines, but which
now and then whirled the dead leaves in the wood-path,
as though stirred by an unseen finger. The blue-jays
screamed with more than usual vigor, the chipmunks
chattered, the nuthatches querulously complained, and
every crow in the tall oaks cawed a warning to its fel-
lows far afield.

First, to the quince-bush in the gaiden. The trap
was open. Never mind, there are three along the
hillside ; and down through the green briers, beyond the
lone cedar, where winds a narrow path, is the second
trap. It, too, is open. Then to the chimp of hyssop and

16*

370 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

poke; this, too, is undisturbed. Ah, well! I am having
my walk, and really ara not disappointed. Now along
the worm-fence through the black oaks to the next trap
- — this is sprung. With what light footsteps I approach
the trap ! The lid is down. Down tight, and the weight
still rests upon it. Through some unaccountable twist
in the mind, the idea of seeing what is in the trap never
occurs to me. I stand and wonder. Of course, the
triggers were not jarred by a falling leaf, and so the
trap was empty. But is it 'coon, squirrel, rabbit, or
blue-jay, I lose five minutes trying to guess. At last,
I stoop down and peep through a crack, narrow as a
spider's web. There is nothing to be seen. I test the
trap by lifting it. Yes, it is heavy, but with what?
Slowly then I lift the lid and take another peep — the
trap is empty. It was heavy with the weight on the lid,
which 1 had neglected to remove. But what had sprung
it? There were a few hairs on the sides of the trap.
The bait was untouched, but one of the spice-wood
triggers was gnawed. The hairs are scanned more
closely, and prove to be those of a chipmunk, and
through a knothole in the bottom of the trap he had
passed into the ground and burrowed a semicircular
tunnel that opens less than a foot from where the trap
stood. It was all as plain as the increasing daylight,
and far better than the prosy capture of a rabbit. There
remain two traps in the gully, and I hasten to them,
a little disappointed, perhaps, at so poor a show for the
opening night of my trapping. In the gully, a narrow
path climbs the steep side of the ravine, and over it
rabbits are known to run, particularly when chased from

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 371

the fields bj dogs. "Why sliould they not pass that
same way at night, and without special purpose ? At
the foot of the only walnut-tree in the gully the two
traps were placed, end to end, so that they commanded
the path in both directions. Rather quietly I approached
them, as though there might be some hesitating " cotton-
tail" looking in at one or the other at this moment.
When within a few paces, I can see both traps, and one
is sprung. My former vacillation and worse is not re-
peated. I slowly raise the lid and see the rabbit. Cau-
tiously I reach in and draw the squealing creature out,
and straightway silence it. Not so bad, after all.

I met Miles Overfield on my way home and told him
of my luck.

" Nothin' strange about it. You see, you go blun-
derin' through, and never take notice of the signs, and
think you've only got to set your traps. Fact is, the
rabbits are too full of turnips, and windfall apples, and
cabbage leaves yet. You've got to wait for food to get
scarce, and you must season your traps. It takes two
good frosts to get the smell of your hands off 'em. Then
like as not you baited with some apple — "

" Hold on, here," I cried ; " if they went so far in the
trap as to test the apple, it would be all that was needed."

"Would it, greeny? You bet, a molly cotton-tail
can't be so easily fooled. They can tell by the smell,
and that afore they go in. Why, young man, you've
got a heap to learn about rabbits. Now, my father used
to say, when he lived down on Pearson's hillside, that
the rabbits never went into a trap before the truck and
garden sass was all gathered ; and it stands to reason ;

872 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

and then, bless your soul, there's another reason. Rab-
bits don't turn up, in a day's walk,^ like they used to ;
and for one, I take time by the forelock, as folks say,
and snared, without hurtin' 'em, about a dozen, which
are in a pen now, waitin' for the law to come in, so I
can sell 'em. You needn't say anything about this, but
you just keep on settin' traps, and perhaps you'll catch
another 'twixt now and Christinas."

As I went home, it occurred to me that I might as
well give my traps to Miles, Somehow, it was evident
he would have all the rabbits, and empty traps all winter
would become tiresome.

I am surprised to find my observations ever fail to
tally with the conclusions of the learned doctors of the
science of birds ; but such is the unpleasant fact. Tiie
birds are obstinate enough not to follow the rules laid
down for them in the books. To-day, as I walked across
the mucky meadow, stepping from hassock to hassock,
I startled from the grass a dozen pretty finches, which,
at first glance, I took to be swamp sparrows ; but their
voices betrayed them ; they were sharp-tailed finclies, or
quail-heads. There is no possibility of confounding
them with any other bird; and here, fifty miles from
salt water, were these sea-coast birds, lively as crickets
and happy as larks. Now, it is laid down in the books
that this is a strictly marine species, a coast-dweller, and
one that abhors the semi-desiccated inland. But so are
curlews coast birds, j^et they are killed, every year or
two, on these meadows. So too are willets, turnstones,
avocets, and sanderlings. All come up the river, and in

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 373

this way these pretty quail-heads also corae, " by spells,"
as Miles has it — come, stay for a day, a week, or a month,
for aught I know, and then for a year or more none are
seen. These sea-side finches present nothing to particu-
larly mark them. They wander about the reeds, much
as a nuthatch scrambles over trees, often head down-
wards ; but generally stay so closely to the ground that
they escape notice. It is very probable that those I saw
to-day were migrating, and to-morrow may be resting
along the pleasant shores of the Chesapeake. Still, seen
80 far inland, they are essentially a bird out'of place, and
the more interesting on that account. They are fearless,
to a certain extent, or was it cunning ? A marsh-harrier
beat the bushes, just after I had passed, but not a bird
was disturbed by it. They saw him coming, and quickly
settled down in the grass. After he had gone, up they
came, scolding, I thought, at the disturbance of their
quiet, first by myself, and then by the hawk.

Nature is always quiet at noon, unless there is a storm
approaching or prevailing. In recalling the fauna of
the county, whether furred, feathered, or finned, it mat-
ters not, the great majority of its members sleep with
greater regularity at noon than at midnight; except some
birds, and these take a noonday nap. The apparently
ever-active warblers, sparrows, and other little fellows
are often found asleep, and would be seen more fre-
quently than they are, were we a little less noisy as we
walked through the woods. Often have I seen a tit-
mouse with its feathers ruffled, until it looked like a
gall excrescence on an oak. Often, too, sparrows, with

374 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

their heads under their wings, may be surprised ; and
swallows rest, in long lines, on the telegraph wires.
Thrushes hide in the tangled briers, and are therefore
sometimes surprised by black snakes ; whence the antip-
athy of these birds. Even wrens will be quiet at noon,
for a little while ; and every one of the birds mentioned
•will be about, long after sunset, often; particularly if
the moon prolongs the day. Of course, with mammals
it is different, and our night is their day. This is prob-
ably a change brought about by the increase of their
principal enfemies, men and dogs. I do not believe, in
Indian times, the mammals found here then were half
so careful to keep hidden through the day as they now
are. It would seem that they have gradually acquired
the knowledge of the fact that there are fewer men
prowling about at night; and, possibly, fewer dogs.
There is evidence, too, that the common mammals, as
opossums, minks, raccoons, and squirrels, are abroad
during dull, rainy days more than when they are clear.
It may be thought that the mere absence of sunlight
tempts them abroad, or that their prey, likewise, is more
readily to be found. I can assent to neither proposi-
tion ; but believe it is simply because these animals an-
ticipate freedom from molestation. The average man
does not go out in a pouring rain ; or, if so, confines him-
self to the highways, or takes a short-cut across fields,
quite unmindful of what may be going on beside him,
as he hurries by. The average mammal has learned this
fact, and so have I.

A steady pour-down, if there is no wind, is the time
of all others for a naturalist to be about. Such a day

AN OCTOBER DIARY. S75

"will teach him more and show him more than all the
year's hours of sunshine put together. A rainy day in
the woods — there is music in the very mention of it !
What have I seen, at such a time, do you ask ? Rather
what have I not seen. I have seen skunks hunt in con-
cert, rolling over a decayed log to find the rich, white
insect larvae of which they are so fond. I have seen
the raccoon slowly crawl from his home among the
tree-roots, and stroll towards the meadow in search of
crayfish. I have seen the opossum with her pouch of
young climb to the very top of a persimmon-tree, and
search out the daintiest fruit that had been shrivelled
and sweetened by the early frosts. I have seen the
squirrels leave their home-tree, and, congregating on tiie
wild-grapevines, play in mid-air, and execute such mar-
vellous feats of high and lofty tumbling that the art of
the gymnast, on his trapeze, was very tame in compari-
son. I have seen leaping that matched the flight of the
fljn'ng squirrel ; grappling in the air of two individuals,
which descended as one body, swiftly as a falling stone,
yet which separated in the proper fraction of a second,
and touched the earth lightly as zephyr- wafted thistle-
down. This in a steady rain, when everything was
dripping. Was such a time chosen because of the ad-
vantages it offered ? Not a bit of it. The squirrels
simply knew that men were in their houses, and dogs in
their kennels, and hawks were sheltered in the cedars —
at least, it was so far likely to be the case that they were
wnlling to take the chances. The truth of this whole
matter is just here. There is not a mammal in the land
to-day that is not a closer student of man and his habita

876 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

than naturalists are of the habits of mammals. The
creatures we essay to study play bo-peep with us when-
ever we go abroad ; and often they must merrily chuckle
to themselves, when we turn homeward in despair,
thinking there are no living creatures within miles of
us.

How quickly the water-plants are stricken by the first
autumn frosts. There are now, in the meadows, long
reaches of open water, where, during the summer, noth-
ing but a rank growth of vegetation was to be seen.
The pontederia, arum, and other similar growtlis are
now a slimy, homogeneous mass upon the bottoms of
the shallow ponds, which, but a few days ago, they blot-
ted out of sight. The waters, to-day, rejoiced that their
time had come; they sparkled and danced in ripples as
the breezes swept over them, and many a foolhardy
bird got an unlooked-for bath by venturing too near.
When there was a calm the colored leaves were reflected
in the pools, and repeated this glory of the October land-
scape. Fish now catch the inspiration of brisk autumn
days, and the silvery minnows leap continually above
the ripples. In the deep pond beyond Poaetquissings,
where there have been land-locked gizzard shad for
many years, I saw several of these fish in a state of un-
usual activity. They leaped above the waves, for the
water was quite rough, showing their silvery sides to
great advantage. This leaping was so continuous that
the thought arose that they were chased by some enemy
Vjeneath the surface ; but I could detect none by float-
ing over the pond, although, when the wind ceased, the

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 877

water was very still, and so clear that the bottom of the
pool, twenty feet below me, could be distinctly seen. The
shad were there, quiet as possible, and unmoved by any
influence without themselves. I believe they had been
playing — something most fishes do very frequently.

More birds arrived to-day from the north ; some to
spend the winter, as the white-throated sparrows, king-
lets, and a sly, evil-minded shrike ; others to pass on, as
a few swallows, and straggling warblers, that probably
had company thus far, and must now journey alone, or
wait for still tardier birds. These warblers were as
quiet as mice, and had none of their accustomed spring-
time activity. Perhaps they thought insect-hunting
Vv'ould profit them nothing — but why should it not ?
Before their very faces wandered kinglets and tits, gath-
ering food from every nook and cranny into which they
peeped. Could they not take a hint frotn them ? Still,
they may have been too tired and not hungry. Enough
to know they were here to-day — are here, this cool even-
ing— and to-morrow will be on their journey again ; or,
by the clear moonlight, while the bird-world generally
is at rest, will they climb to the clouds, and amid those
dizzy heights pass southward, propelled by a wonder-
ful flight-power, which, when hugging the earth, no one
would suspect them to possess.

For some time after sunset I heard the steady ham-
mering of a woodpecker in the lane, and, wondering why
one place should be so long worked at, went thither to
investigate. In a dead limb of an old apple tree — dead,
but very hard, as it proved — a flicker was working away

878 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

as thougli it were April and he were behindhand with his
nesting. The bird had evidently been at work for sev-
eral days, as a deep hole was already peeked in the limb,
and I suppose the bird proposes excavating a nesting-
place. This is a cnrions freak for the time of year, but
one not unknown to ornithologists, I believe. I have
notes of a downy woodpecker doing the same thing, but
never occupying the hole after it was finished. Is it a
weather sign ? I find none in the list at hand referring
to this work of the bird. Woodpecker weather-lore is
not very satisfactory. We are told that when these birds
leave {i. e.y in autumn), expect a hard winter.' Fortu-
nately, they never leave, but the hard winters do come
more frequently than I fancy. Again, the list of prov-
erbs has, " When the woodpeckers peck low on the trees,
expect warm weather." The hole being pecked out in
the apple-tree to-day is scarcely six feet from the ground.
Is this low down or high? If I remember rightly, I saw
several hairy woodpeckers to-day tapping vigorously at
the highest limbs of the three beeches in the corner
of the yard ; are we then to have both cold and warm
weather ? Probably, for there never yet was an autumn
or winter without both. Leaving the flickers at work, I
went over to Miles Overfield's cottage, for Miles is my
last resort when I am puzzled. Not that he always en-
lightens me, but he is sure to have some curious wrinkle
upon every subject connected with local njatters. Like
many men, knowing very little, he thinks himself the
embodiment of wisdom.

"Have you ever seen a woodpecker make a nest this
time of year?" I asked, when I was fairly seated by

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 379

bis smoky chimney and tobacco bespattered ten-plate
stove.

" Of course I have. They do say it's a sign of a cold
winter, but I never put that and that together in back
years to see how it was. The red-headed woodpeckers
and log-cocks, that in your grandfather's time was com-
mon enough, used to be pegging away at the apple-trees
all winter, and sometimes dug out big holes. I've heard
as how it was only hen birds as pecked the holes, 'cause
they had eggs to lay, like chickens, and made new nests
to drop 'em in. Don't suppose this is quite likely, do
you ?"

"No," I replied promptly; and, seeing he was only
talking for sake of talk, added, "I'm in a hurry, and
must go," and slipped off before he realized my inten-
tion. As I jumped the garden fence I looked back, and
Miles stood in his door, with a dazed look, shading his
eyes from the setting sun by bending one of his horny
hands over them.

October 27. — Cloudy and warm, with that peculiar
sometiiing in the air that makes you look up every mo-
ment to see if it is not raining; and at times the noises
you hear are certainly rain-drops on the leaves, and with
confidence you hold out your hand to feel them. Such
a day is fraudulent. It promises everything, and per-
forms nothing. The unseen blight has a depressing
effect upon all animal life ; and were it not within the
range of possibilities that something may be in the
traps, I would scarcely be tempted to pass the garden
gate; but I do go, and in the first trap visited is a rab-

380 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

bit ; the second I have caught. It is but five days be-
fore the law comes in ; so I'll tell nobody, and keep
it.

The walk otherwise was stupid, wherever I went.
Neither hillside, upland, nor meadow had any attractions.
At last I detected a trace of animation in the birds. A
young English sparrow, having wandered from tlie high-
way, tried to make friends with a company of white-
throated sparrows. No bird ever made a more misera-
ble failure of any undertaking. It passed from one to
the other of the whole flock, and was rebuffed by each
in turn. Finally they left, in a flock, for a journey
across the meadows, leaving the young sparrow deject-
ed and forlorn. It seemed to have just enough sense
to know it was not wanted.

Later in the day, and for an hour before sunset, in
particular, there was a return of animation, and the
hillside was enlivened by tiie united songs of Carolina
wrens, titmice, and nuthatches. It was a strange med-
ley, curious, but tiresome, and the pleasant warbling of
happy snow-birds in the adjoining fields was a positive
relief. The black-and-white snow-birds, or Juncos, are
now in the height of their glory. Half the fields are
forests of rank weeds, and the supply of nutritious seeds
is inexhaustible. It is no wonder that, whatever the
weather, they occasionally break forth in song, and sing,
too, in a manner creditable to the tribe of finches. Just
at sunset these snow-birds flew, in a loose flock, towards
the barn, and I followed to learn precisely where they
went. It proved that they were roosting in the cow-
stalls, ranging themselves along various beams, where

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 381

they had the protection of the roof a few inches above
them.

Last winter, hundreds of snow-birds roosted in the
long rick of corn-stalks ranged beside these cow-sheds.
Such shelter would be more to their taste, I doubt not,
and I could not but wonder if these were last year's
birds, come again to the same winter-quarters, and now
were waiting or hoping for another rick of corn-stalks.
This is improbable, I admit; but why should not birds
that regularly winter here be as systematic in their
comings and goings as are the summer residents? I
have knowledge of the same birds coming, year after
year, to the same spot ; as, for instance, a cat-bird, recog-
nized by two white feathers in one wing, which nested
for five consecutive summers in the same clump of
briers ; and I cannot, in the face of such facts, see any
inherent improbability in the other case. It is true that
birds do not winter here for the same purpose, but
merely are influenced by the question of a food-supply ;
but if this proved satisfactory one winter, the birds
would probably remember it, and come again. The
main difficulty is in the identification of winter resi-
dents. They are not sufficiently marked by any one
peculiarity, and sing too seldom to enable one to recog-
nize individual voices ; but for all this, I felt as if the
snow-birds in the barnyard were old friends, and not
chance strangers, that happened here by mere accident.

October 28. — It was raining before the sun could ex-
ert his power, and, when nature became fairly visible, it
was still wrapped in patchy mists that hid all the low-

382 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

lying meadows and lialf the upland fields. Some of
the larger trees, now leafless, stretched out their bare
branches as though imploring help, their trunks being
fog-wrapped and hid from view. With it all, it rained.

To keep up the habit of an early morning walk, and
to see if there was any life astir, I passed along the hill-
side and up the gully ; but the feeling slowly dawned
upon me, perhaps it was too stormy, and 1 had a longing
to make a short-cut across a field. Such weakness occa-
sionally attacks one, and I gave way sufficiently to take
a few steps in the field, when up sprang a covey of
quails, with a thrilling whirr of their wings. I was
fairly roused to action, and my walk commenced.

Peter Kalm, when travelling in New Jersey, recorded,
under date of January, 1749, as follows : " These birds —
quails — are numerous in New Sweden, i. e., this part of
the country. On going but a little way, you meet with
great coveys of them. However, they keep at a great
distance from towns ; being either extirpated, or fright-
ened there by the frequent shooting." What Kalm said
of them then is equally true of them now ; but to show
how much they have had to contend with, I refer to the
"frequent shooting" he mentions, one hundred and
thirty-five years ago. Inasmuch as they have withstood
this persecution for so long a time, it is very easy to see
how readily this and other birds could be preserved in
thickly settled districts, were there wise legislation in
the matter.

In three days it will be lawful to shoot these birds,
and, considering the number of sportsmen in every town,
it is a mystery how any of the quails escape. They

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 888

must know of man-proof and dog-proof swamps, wherein
they take shelter when pursued. I surely hope so ; for
next April the shrill "Bob White," whistled from the
angles of the weed-grown worm-fences, is a part of the
morning anthem I would not like to miss.

The air to-night was full of moisture, but no rain fell.
The moon could be followed through the misty clouds,
but not actually seen. Her whereabouts looked like the
reflection of a lire, far off in the cloud-world. Stranger
than all, the air was full, too, of the hum of life, pre-
sumably insect-life. How I wish I could identify the
endless buzzes of an autumn or summer evening ! I
have often gathered a roomful of such creatures as a
light would attract, but not one of them would sing in
my sight or hearing. These supposed insect voices
heard to-night seemed to come from everywhere, but
from no point near at hand. They are all from a dis-
tance, and, go in any direction whatever, the sounds
come from all the others. You can never approach
them. It is as easy to corner the Will-o'-the-wisp.

October 29. — Typical autumn weather again ! I know
not what it is, perhaps ozone, but in the atmosphere of
this morning there was an abundance of " snap." One
feels like running, rather than walking. Gates are not
sought, nor fences clambered over. We leap them.
Although so many leaves have fallen, it would seem as
if they were only the plain browns that are on the
ground. The green, scarlet, and golden remain on the
trees. I lingered long over a clump of birches. Their

384 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

straiglit white stems were bare of branches on the north-
ern side, and the bright yellow foliage of the southward-
reaching branches made a magnificent background. I
know of no purer white in nature than that of these
birches; at a little distance it is as dazzling as newly
fallen snow. I did not go nearer than a furlong, as when
that far off they show to the best advantage in such an
atmosphere. I cannot recall looking at a birch dur-
ing the summer: to-day they are coniparable to the
showiest maple on the hillside. Even a towering oak,
now wrapped in royal purple, cannot carry off the palm.
Standing in the orchard, and wholly lost to every sense
save that of sight, these splendid birches broke forth in
song. This is one of the charming experiences of a
country ramble. These trees were full of birds, yet not
one was to be seen. I saw the tree and heard the music,
and to it belonged the merit of both the melody and
brilliancy. He that asketh for more deserveth noth-
ing.

It is true, indeed, that the days are now in their yel-
low leaf ; the flower and fruit are gone ; but they pass
away in such a cloud of glory that it profits us to enjoy
them. The worm and the canker, too, are vastlj^ enter-
taining, even if devoid of beauty ; and nowhere, that I
can discover, does grief find place ; at least in a typical
October morning.

White-throated sparrows were abundant again, to-day.
They are sure to come in October, sometimes a little
earlier, and remain until spring is well advanced. Of
all our winter birds, they are least affected by weather.

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 885

The winter may be "open" or "hard," the words lo-
cally used to express a mild or severe season ; but it
matters not with these birds, they are here just the
same; and this fact does not apply equally strongly to
any others ; for, comparing year with year, the numbers
of many other species vary considerably.

One can scarcely grow enthusiastic over the song of
these Northern sparrows; it is too shrill and uniform,
and 80 soon becomes tiresome. I suspect they seldom
sing such songs as is recorded of them far away in the
New England woods; but to-day, hearing a number of
them for the first time, it was a veritable treat.

October 30. — A steady rain and dense fog were the
prominent features of the day. How quickly the weather
changes from one extreme to the other! With a gum-
cloth cape over my shoulders, I sauntered to the meadows,
but all the world had gone wrong ; every tree and bush
was sobbing. The only birds seen were nuthatches,
and these were upside-down. Why do they not get
wet? The rain falls against the grain of their feathers.
At all events, they appear to keep dry, and kept up,
also, their usual high spirits, " quank-quanking" at every
fourth hop, with mathematical precision.

I tried to outstare a chipmunk, on my way home, but
it was not to be done. The little fellow never winked,
and I believe I did. As I stared, I approached. This
motion on my part the chipmunk saw, and he measured
my movements without winking. When I was within
five short steps there came a flash, like brown lightning,

17

386 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

and the tip of a tail sinking in a hole in the ground is
all that I can recall. I found that the little fellow had
been sitting at the opening of his underground retreat,
and so could afford to be brave.

All day long the rain continued falling, soaking ev-
ery nook and corner of the fields and woods. It grew
distasteful to the birds, and most took shelter in the ce-
dars and other available spots. One restless song-spar-
row tried to sing, but big round rain-drops burst upon
his open beak so often he gave it up in disgust.

A few warblers congregated in the big locusts in the
yard, and offered a chance to take an observation from
within doors. There were black and white tree-creep-
ing warblers, a black-throated blue, and two myrtle
birds. These gave me hopes that an autumn flight of
warblers may wind up the month, or be the prominent
feature of November's Indian summer.

Between wind and rain, the leaves have had a poor
show to-day, and far more than half are now scattered.
Through the bare branches I see many nests not discov-
ered during the leafy month of June. Some of them,
too, are in positions which it seems impossible should
have been overlooked. The exposure by the winds of
so many nests proves the cunning of such birds as de-
sire to have their summer retreats hidden. They cer-
tainly must study the matter of location very carefully ;
for it is not to be held that the whole matter is one of
mere accident. I counted eleven nests to-day in the
dooryard trees, not one of which I suspected as being

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 387

within half a mile of the house ; and I can never believe
they were not purposely hidden among the leaves.

October 31. — Still dull and dismal, as a northeast rain
can make it. Everywhere, the superabundant moisture
makes travelling troublesome ; all that we touch is cold,
clammy, and repugnant. Enthusiasm needs constant
pricking to keep it alive, and backward glances towards
home are dangerously seductive. Still, I resolutely
passed down tlie hillside towards the weediest pastures,
anticipating nothing but possible rheumatism ; but the
gloom was more apparent than real, as the warblers of
yesterday tarried with us, and a brave-hearted yellow-
throat whistled encouragingly. Whistled nothing in
particular, but merely a generous series of emphatic
notes, translatable by every one to meet his fancy. I
construed them into a welcome, and stood by a mam-
moth pin -oak taking in fresh inspiration with every
repetition of his song. The storm-stayed warblers took
heart in time, and they too sang cheery notes; a merry
treble to the doleful bass of the dripping, ceaseless drip-
ping, from the overarching trees.

The richest green is now along the borders of the
hillside springs. An herbarium of pretty plants may
be gathered from the margins of the little pools, where
the water bubbles upward into daylight, after miles of
subterranean flow. The frogs have learned of these
spots, or have stumbled upon them by accident, and
winter therein, often in such numbers as to crowd each
other. Wriggling salamanders likewise find it a safe

388 UPLAND AND MEADOW.

and comfortable retreat. In counting the frogs in a
sunken cask, placed to collect the waters of a little
spring, I made a discovery, and so forgot entirely the
steady pour of the cold rain upon me.

As these springs are all concealed at this time of the
year by a thick coating of autumn leaves, their presence
would not be suspected except for their rich riiii of
bright green grasses ; and when there is a deep pool in
coarse gravel, or a cask has been sunk to catch the water,
then there is nothing, often, to show the danger of pass-
ing that way. In their usual reckless manner, chip-
munks, mice, and shrews go at breakneck speed over
the ground, and sometimes, to their sorrow, drive into
these leaf-covered depths. In the large cask I exam-
ined to-day were several mice and one squirrel, and on
these the frogs were feeding. This was my discovery.
These frogs remain active, if a food suppl}' such as I
have mentioned is available; but if not, hibernation is
available to ward off the gnawings of hunger. To be
sure, batrachians can fast for a long time, but probably
not from October to the following spring, and keep up
tiieir ordinary summer-time activity.

The woodpeckers that built so elaborate a home in the
apple-tree have deserted it ; and now are equally busy,
a furlong off, pecking at a dead limb of a maple. I can
get no clew to their object; unless they purpose having
the holes in readiness for next spring, which I do not
believe.

Towards sunset, the crows as usual took their west-

AN OCTOBER DIARY. 889

ward flight to their roosts, and flew in a disconsolate,
dejected, downcast manner. Coming quite down to the
tree-tops as they passed the bluff, I gave a loud shout
when several were near. It seemed to awake them, as
though thej had been sleeping as thej flew. Straight-
way they were noisy as geese, each scolding the other
for not seeing me before, and all that passed after that
rose a hundred feet or more in the thick air.

These were the last birds of the month. An hour
later, dull, dreary, dripping night kept even the owls at
home, and October, that was ushered in with such a
wealth of light and music, had not one ray of sunshine
to brighten its final hours, or aught to soothe it, beyond
the moaning of the east wind in the sobbing pines.

INDEX.

Achpoacb^ssink, iv.

Acrelius, Israel, iv.

Adirondacks, 279.

Alder, smooth {Alnus serrulata),
43.

Amazons, naturalist on the, quot-
ed, 303.

Ancylus, 231.

Anemones, 102.

Ant-lion (Myrmeleon), 261.

Apples, 289.

Aquikouasra, iv.

Arbutus, trailing {Epigcea repens),
102.

Arcella, 187.

Arum {Peltandra Virginica), 194,
876.

Ash {Fraadnus Americana), 319.

Aster, 264.

Audubon, J. J., 92, 351.

Axolotl, 251.

Azalea {Azalea nudiflora), 70.

Baird, S. F., 128.

Barton, Dr. Benj. Smith, 63, 66,

99.
Bass, black, 148.
Bat, little brown ( Vespertilio subu-

latus), 286.
Bates, H.W., 303.
Batrachians, 63.
Bats {Chiroptera), 283, 365.
Bear, black, 4.
Bees, honey, 40, 316.
Beetles {Coleoptera), 43, 317.
Bellwort ( Uvularia perfoUata), 70.
Belostoma, 179.

Bill-fish [Belone truncata), 153.
Birch (Betula alba), 28, 58, 384.
Birds, somnambulism among, 256.
Bittern (Botaurus lentiginosus), 30,

244, 270.
Bittern, least (Ardea exilis), 197.
Blackbirds, red-winged {Agelaius

phceniceus), 23, 262, 361.
Black hawk {Archibnteo lagopus),

28.
Bladderwort ( Utrieularia), 186.
Bloodroot {Sanguinaria Catiaden-

sis), 68.
Bluebirds (Sialia sialis), 18, 344.
Bluet [Houstonia ceerulea), 102.
Bobolink {Dolichonyx orizivora),

238, 242, 262.
Bordentown, New Jersey, 58.
Bracken (Pteris aquilina), 223.
Brewer, Thos. M., 128, 344.
Brinton, Dr. D. Q., iii.
Bristol, Penn., 116.
Burroughs, John, 332.
Buttercup {Ranunculus bulbosus),

68.
Butterfly, cabbage {Pieris rapce).

815.
Buttonwood {Platanus ocddenta-

lis, 33.
Buzzard, red-tailed {Buteo bore-

alis), 24, 247.
Buzzard, broad - winged {Buteo

Pennsylvanicus, 24.

Caddis worms ( PhryganeidcB ),

177.
Campanius, Thomas, iii, vii, 86.

393

INDEX.

Carr, Lucien, 111.

Cat, domestic, 37, 357.

Catbird (Galwscoptes CaroUnen-

sis). 73, 78, 81, 91, 206, 214, 381.
Catfish, 147.
Cattail swamp, 6, 294.
Cedar-birds {Ampelis cedrorum),

53.
Cedar, red (Junipertis Virginia-

na), 42, 129.
Chat, yellow-breasted {leteria vi-

nidis), 206.
Cherry-tree fly-catchers {Sayor-

nisfuscus), 63. 88.
Cherry, wild {Prunus seroHna),

233.
Chesapeake Bay, 90, 373.
Chickweed, star (Stellaria media),

42.
Chinkapin {Castaneapumila), 315,

355.
Chipmunk {Tamias lysteri), 266,

385.
Cinnamon fern {Osmunda cinna-

momea), 223.
Colorado River of the West, 8.
Columbine {Aquilegia Canaden-
sis), 69.
Conrad, T. A., 65, 69, 193.
Cooper's hawk (Nisus Cooperi), 39.
Coot {Fulica Americana), 298.
Cope, Edward D., 244.
Corixa, 175, 182.
Corydalis, yellow, 67.
Coues, Elliott, 342.
Cougar (see Panther).
Cowpen-bird {Molothnis pecoria),

82, 223, 353.
Crayfish, 166, 190, 316.
Cricket {Orylltis neglectua et Ne-

mobius vittatm), 336.
Crossbill {Loxia Americana et leu-

coptera), 23, 30.
Crossweeksen ( see Crosswicks

Creek).
Crosswicks Creek, 58, 166, 219,

227, 230, 234, 242.
Crows {Corvus Americanus), 27,

49, 52, 144, 211, 238, 307, 350,

388.

Cyprinodonts, 149, 160.
Cyprinoids, 149.

Daffodils (Ndrcissua pseudo-nar-
cissus), 69.

Dandelion {Taroutaeum dens-leo-
nis), 43, 63.

Darters (see Etheostomoids).

DeKay, James E., 139.

Delaware River, iv, vii, 2, 16, 55,
90, 157, 226.

Diapheromera, 174.

Dipper, American (see Water ou-
zel).

Diver, eared, 60.

Diver, little brown, 300.

Dragon-fly (Libellulidae), 316.

Ducks, wild, 2, 56.

Du Pratz, Le Page, 120.

Dytiscus, 181.

Eagle, white-headed {Haliaetu*

kucocephalus), 24.
Eardrops {Dicentra cucullaria),

44.
Earthquake, occurrence of an,

236.
Eels {Anguilla longirostris), 163.
Elm ( Ulmus Americanus), 191.
Emerton, J. H., 303.
Erythronium Americana, 68.
Esquimau, 45.
Etheostomoids, 159.

Falcon, peregrine {Falco anatum),

24.
Falcon, rough-legged {Archibuteo

lagopus), 24.
Falcon, winter {Buteo lineatus), 24.
Ferns, 202, 328.
Finch, grass (Pooccetes gramineus),

359.
Finch, pine {Gfirisomitris pinus),

23, 363.
Finch, sharp-tailed {Ammodromua

candacutus), 372.
Finch, thistle {Carduelis tristis),

338, 361.
Finch, white-throated {Zonotri-

chia albicoUis), 344.

INDEX.

393

Fireflies {LampyridoB), 207.
Fish, habits of, 23, 48, 50, 63, 253.
Fish-hawk {Pandion haliaetus),

63, 221, 259.
Flagg, Wilson, 343.
Fliclier (Colaptes auratus), 244,

377, 388.
'ForgQi-vaQ-xiot{Myosoti8palustris),

194.
Franlilin, Dr. Benj.,110.
Fritillaries ( Brenthis Bellona ),

315.
Frogs, 50, 61, 204, 301, 336, 387.

Gar (Lepidosteus osseus), 149, 162.
Geranium, spotted ( Geranium

maculatum), 69.
Girard, Dr. Chas., 169.
Gizzard shad {Borysoma cepedi-

anum), 148.
Gnat, 223.
Ooniobasis, 242.

Goose, Canada {Bernicla Cana-
densis), 321.
Gooseberry {Bibes grosmlaria),

142.
Goshawk {Astur atricapM'u.s), 24.
Grakle {Quiscalus versicolor), 101.
Grape, chicken ( Vitis cordifoUa),

305.
Grape, fox (Yitis labrusca), 275.
Grape-hyacinth {Muscari botryoi-

des), 69.
Grapevine ( Vitis cordifoUa), 34.
Grasshoppers (LocustidcB), 316, 318.
Grebe, crested {Colymbus crista-

tus), 60.
Grebe, red-necked {Colymbus Hol-

boellii), 60.
Greenbrier {Smilax rotundifolia),

34.
Greenlet, warbling (see Vireo).
Grosbeak, cardinal (Cardinalis

Virginianus), 23, 124, 326.
Grosbeak, pine {Pinicola enuclea-

tor), 128.
Grosbeak, rose-breasted (Hedyme-

les ludovicianus), 189, 203.
Oryllotalpa, 199.
Gum-tree (Nyssa multiflora), 265.

17*

Gunther, Dr. Albert, 259.
Oyrinus, 49.

Hawk, Cooper's {Nisus Cooperi), 29.
Hawk, fish {Pandion haliaetus),

63, 221, 259.
Hawk, sharp-shinned {Nisus fus-

cus), 29.
Hawk, sparrow ( Tinnunculus

sparverius), 29.
Hawks, 24, 36, 327.
Heckewelder, John, 218.
Hickory, shag or shell-bark {Car-

ya alba), 121, 265, 312.
Holbrook, John Edwards, 139.
Honeysuckle, wild (see Azalea).
Hornet ( Vespa maculata), 339.
Humming-bird {Trochilv^ colu-

bris), 142, 211, 236.
Hyatt, Prof. Alpheus, 183.
Hyla Pickeringii, 271, 328.
Hyssop, giant {Lophanthiis nepe-

toides), 265.

Indian relics, vi.

Indians (see LenfipS).

Indigo bird {Cyanospiza cyanea),

91, 206, 222.
Infusoria, 15.
Iroquois Indians, 34.

Jack-in-the-pulpit {Ariscema tri-

phyllum, 69.
Jacob's ladder {Polemonium coeru-

leum), 69.
Jay, blue {Cyanura cristata), 54,

210, 270, 314, 321, 355.
Juncos (see Snow-birds).

Kalm, Peter, 109, 111, 117, 127,

274, 382.
Katydid {Cyrtophyllus concamis),

239, 330, 336, 345.
Kingbird {Tyrannu^ Carolinen-

sis), 208.
Kingfisher {Cerylealcyon),270,304.
Kinglet, ruby-crowned {Begulua

calendula), 322.
Kinglets {Begulus satrapa et ca

lenduUx) 18, 54, 377.

394

INDEX.

Lark, homed {Alauda Alpestris),

31.
Lark, meadow (StumeUa magna),

308, 359.
Larvae, insect, 20.
Least bittern (see Bittern).
Lee. L. A.,251.
Lcntlpfi Indians, vi, 16, 34, 37,111,

235, 294, 320.
Lily, pond {Nymphaea odorata),

194.
Limnea, 241.
lAnnei^^giothiisUnariua), 23, 31,

352.
Lioplax, 2A3i.

Liquidambar styraciflua, 235.
Lobelia, scarlet {Lobelia cardinal

li«), 236.
Log-cock {Hylotomus pUeatus), 7,

379.
Lord, John Keast, 21.
Loskiel, Geo. H.,112.
Lowell, J. Russell, 205.
Lubbock, Sir John, 315.

Maltese cat, 37.

Manteese Indians, vi.

Maple (Acer rubrum), 39, 55, 335.

Marsh-harrier ((7<rcMS Hudsonius),

243.
Marsh- marigold ( CaltJiapalustris),

69.
Marsh-wren, long-billed {CutotJio-

rus palustris), 93.
Marsh-wren, short-billed {Oisto-

thorus stellaris), 98.
Marsh-wrens, 88.
Maryland yellow - throat {Oeoth-

lypia triclMs), 43, 203, 333.
Melantho, 242.
Meneick, iv, v.
Merriam, C. Hart, 278.
Migration of birds, 22, 254.
Mink {Putorius vison), 48, 59, 206,

346.
Minnow, silver -finned {Luxilus

analostanos), 260.
Minnow-mud {Melanura limi), 72,

159,
Minnows (see Cyprinoids).

Mole, common {Scalops aquati-

cus), 279.
Mole, star-nosed {Condylura crit-

tata), 23, 276.
Mole-cricket (see Gryllotalpa).
Morse, Prof. Ed. S., 230.
Mosquito ( Culex damnosus), 48.
Mouse, harvest {Ochetodon humi-

lis), 39.
Mouse, house {Mas musculus), 37,

269, 323.
Mouse, jumping {Zapus Hudsoni-

m), 63.
Mouse, meadow (Arvicola ripa-

riu), 59, 269, 316. 318.
Mouse, white-footed {Hesperamys

leucopus), 269, 359, 367.
Mullein (Verbascum thapsua),

344.
Musk-rat {Fiber zibethicus), 22, 59,

200, 364.
Mussels {Unionida),15S, 201, 225.
Myriophyllum, 173.

New Jersey, 14, 25, 54, 257.
Notonecta, 173, 175, 182.
Nuphar pumilum, 51, 194.
Nuthatches {Sitta Carolinenm et

Canadensis), 53, 54, 252, 280,

295 322
NuttallVhos., 196, 343, 351.
Nymphoea odorata, 51.

Oak, broad-leaved (Quercus obtu-
siloba), 315.

Oak, pin {Quercus palustris), 315.

Oak, post {Quercus obtusiloba),
203.

Oak, red {Quercus rubra), 315.

Oak, swamp- white {Quercus bi-
color), 315.

Oak, white {Quercus alba), 315.

Opalina ranarum, 138.

Opossum {Didelphis Virginiana),
37, 48, 337, 362, 375.

Ord, George, 352.

Oriole, Baltimore {Icterus Balti-
more), 73, 80, 91, 214, 233.

Oriole, orchard {Icterus apurius),
91, 214

INDEX.

395

Otter (Lutra Ganadenm), 47, 59.
Overfield, Miles, 8, 214, 337, 368,

371, 380.
Owl, barn (Strix pratincola), 331,

357, 363.
Owl, cat {Otus Wilsonianus), 356.
Owl, great gray {Syrnium nebulo-

sum), 53.
Owl, marsh {Otus brachyotus), 356.
Owl, red {Scops Asio), 346.
Owl, saw-whet (^Nyctale Acadica),

352
Owls,* 47, 205, 346, 365.
Oxalis, 194.

Packard, Prof. A. S., 71, 251.
Panther {Felis coneolor), 6, 37, 358.
Pectinatella magnifim,, 183.
Pee-wee {Sayornis fuscus), 63, 83.
Pelecoris, 178, 182.
Penn, William, 37, 111.
Perch {Perca, flavescens), 148.
Periophthalmus, 149.
Persimmon {Diospyros Virginia-

na), 336.
Philippine Islands, 149.
Physa, 241.
Pike {Esax reticulatus), 147, 155,

162.
Pike, Nicolas, letter from, quoted,

139.
Pine-finch {Pin-kola enucleator),

23.
Pisidium, 14, 328.
Planorbis, 241.
Plover, kill-deer {Oxyechus vocife-

rus), 63, 319.
Plover, upland {Bartramia longi-

cauda), 237, 321.
Poaetquissings (Jreek, iii, iv, v,

vii, 18, 23, 24, 26, 28, 29, 31, 38,

35, 37, 43, 44, 45, 46, 50, 53, 54,

147, 151, 155, 178, 183, 183, 194,

245, 369, 364, 376.
Poke {Phytolacca decandra), 334.
Ponted£ria, 51, 194, 376.
Popihacka, v.
Poplar, Lombardy {Populua dila-

tata), 313.
Potomac River, 90.

Pteris aqmlina, 203,
Pupa, 14, 15.

Quahog ( Venus mercenaridJ), 228.
Quail {Ortyx Virginiana), 293,

383.
Quakers, vii, 45, 47, 393, 369.
Quaker-girls {Houstonia coerulea),

68, 102.
Quince {Cydonia vulgaris), 143.

Rabbit {Lepus sylvaticus), 47, 257,

359, 368.
Raccoon {Pi'ocyon lotor), 9, 37, 48,

273, 330.
Rail-bird, yellow {Porzana Nona-

boracensis), 21.
Ranatra, 174, 183.
Red -bird, summer {Pyranga cBSti-

m), 114.
Reed-birds (see Bobolink).
Reeds— wild rice {Zizania aquati-

ca), 343.
Ridgway, R., 138.
Riley, C. v., 200.
Robin {Tardus migratorius), 321,

361.
Romanes, Geo. J., 36, 156, 157,

319.
Rose -mallow, swamp {Hibiscus

Moscheictos), 343.
Ruby - throats (see Humming-
birds).
Rue anemone {Thalictrum anemo-

noides), 69.

Sagittaria variabilis, 51.
Salamanders {Urodela), 20, 43,

247, 336, 387.
Sandpipers {Scolopacidoe), 204,

296.
Sapsucker {Picus pubescens), 7.
Sassafras {Sassafras officinale), 41.
Saxifrage {Saxifraga Virginien-

sis), 68.
"Science Gossip," Hardwicke's,

127.
Scuttle-bug (see Gyrinus).
Seal {Phoca vitulina), 56.
Seekonk, Mass., 71.

393

INDEX.

Sharp-shinned hawk {Nisus fus-

cus), 29.
Shield - ferns {Aspidium acrosti-

choides), 224.
Shrew {Blarina brevicauda), 23,

346.
Shrike {Colluris borealis), 388.
Shrimp, fairy {Branchippus ver-

nalis), 71.
Skunk {Mephitis mephitica), 31,

346, 366, 375.
Skunk - cahbage ( Symplocarpm

foetidus), 43.
Snails {Helices), 230.
Snake, garter {Eutainia saurita et

sirtalis), 217.
Snake, black {Bascanion constric-
tor), 218.
Snake, ring {Diadophis punctatus),

305.
Snow-bird {Junco hyemalis), 332,

344, 380.
Solomon's seal {Polygonutum bi-

florum), 70.
Song-sparrow {Melospiza melodia),

18, 19, 23, 54, 78, 142, 213, 308,

333.
Sparrow, chipping {Spizella soci-

alis), 73.
Sparrow, European {Pyrgita do-

TTiestica), 75, 262, 339.
Sparrow, fox-colored {Passerella

iliaca).
Sparrow, marsh {Melospiza palus-

tris), 341.
Sparrow, tree {Spizella monticola),

344.
Sparrow, white-throated {Zonotri-

chia alMcollis), 377, 380, 384.
Sparrow - hawk ( Tinnunculus

parvenus), 29, 127.
Sphmrium, 14, 228.
Spice -wood {Lindera benzbin),

102.
Spiders {Arachnida : Araneina),

20, 303, 316, 322, 327, 334, 348.
Splatterdock {Nuplmr pumilum),

162.
Spleenworts {Asplenium), 224.
Spring, mineral, 214.

Squirrel {Sciurus CaroUnensis),

35, 270, 375.
Squirrel, Qving{Sciurapterusvolu-

cella), 40' 331, 346.
Squirrel, red {Sciurus Hudsonius),

247.
Star-grass {SisyrincMum Bermu-

diana), 194.
Stickleback {Apeltes quadracus),

151.
St. Lawrence River, 16.
Stockholm, iv.
Stokes, Dr. A. C, 37.
Strawberries {Fragaria), 193.
Suckers {Catostomoidce), 51.
Sunfish {Eapomotis aureus), 72.
Sunfish, banded ( Mesogonistius

chcetodon), 161.
Susquehanna River, 90.
Swallows {Hirundinidce), 20.
Swamp sumac {Rhus venenata), 8.
Sweden, New, iv.

Tanager, scarlet {Pyranga rubra),

114, 121, 203.
Tarr, Ralph 8., 170.
Thoreau, H. D., 206.
rhrips, 137.
Thrush, brown, 78, 91.
Thrush, song {Turdus musteli-

nus), 78, 81, 144, 189.
Thrush, wood (see Song-thrush).
Tiger- beetles {Cicindelce), 15.
Titmouse, common, or Chickadee

{Parus atricapillus), 270.
Titmouse, crested {Lophx>phanes

bicolor), 129, 254.
Toad, common {Bufo lentigino-

sus), 205.
Toad, spade-foot {Scaphiopus Hol-

brookii), 133.
Trakonick, iv, v, vii.
Tree-creeper, brown ( Certhia fa-

miliaris), 53, 283, 295.
Tree-toad, Pickering's (Hyla Pick-

eringii), 271, 328, 345.
Trumpet - creeper {I'ecoma radi-

cans), 142.
Tulip-tree {Liriodendron tulipife^

ra), 339.

INDEX.

397

Turkey, wild {Meleagris gallopa-

w), 293.
Turtle-dove (Zencedura CaroUnen-

sis), 83.

Valvatn, 242.

Violet, blue ( Viola cueullata), 44.

Violet, tricolored ( Viola tricolor),

68.
Vireo, warbling ( Vireo gilvus ),

235.
Vireo, white-eyed (Vireo Novebo-

racends). 111, 214, 222.
Vireo, yellow-throated {Vireo flam-

frons), 84.
Virginia-creeper {Ampelopm quin-

quefolia), 34.

Wagtails (Siurus), 20.

Wagtails, golden-crowned {Siurus

auricapillus), 91.
Warbler, summer {Dendraca cesti-

m), 77, 91.
Warblers {Sylvicolidm), 294, 386.
Warentapecka. iv.
Washington birds {Sayornis fua-

cus), 63.
Wasp ( Vespa arenaria), 338.
Water- boatmen (see Notonecta).
Watermelon {Citrullus vulgaris),

52, 191, 238.
Water-ouzel {Ginclus Americanus),

20.

Water-scorpion {Nepa apiculata),

175.
Water-tigers (see Dytiscus).
Weasel {Putorius ermineus), 49,

346, 348.
Whippoorwill (Antrostomus voci-

ferus), 67, 352.
Whitlow - grass {Drdba verna),

41.
Wildcat {Lynx rufus), 12.
Will-o'-the-wisp, 383.
Wilson, Alexander, 91, 115, 119,

124, 351.
Wind-flower {Anemone nemorosa),

69, 102.
Witch-hazel {Hamamelis Virgini-

ca), 41.
Wolf {Canis lupus), 7, 47.
Woodpecker, golden-winged (see

Flicker).
Woodpecker, hairy {Picua villo-

sus), 378.
Woodpecker, red-headed (Mela-

nerpes erythrocephalus), 119, 379.
Wren, Carolina (Thryothorus lu

dovicianus), 64, 76, 79, 98, 229,

246, 266, 273, 325, 380.
Wren, house (Troglodytes mdon),

22, 73, 83, 210.
Wren, winter (Anorthura troglo-
dytes), 19, 54.
Wrens, marsh (Cistotliorus palus-

tris et stellaris), 88.

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Valuable Works for the Library.

COMPLETE WORKS OF ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. With an
Introductory Sketch by Anne Thackeray Ritchie. With Portraits
and Illustrations, pp. 430. 8vo, Cloth, $2.00 ; Gilt Edges, $2.50.

VAN-LENNEP'S BIBLE LANDS. Bible Lands: their Modern Cus-
toms and Manners Illustrative of Scripture. By Henry J. Van-Len-
NEP, D.D. 350 Engravings and 2 Colored Maps. 8vo, Cloth, $5.00;
Sheep, $6.00 ; Half Morocco, $8.00.

FLAMMARION'S ATMOSPHERE. Translated from the French of
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cuts. 8vo, Cloth, $6.00 ; Half Calf, $8.25.

STRICKLAND'S (Miss) QUEENS OF SCOTLAND. Lives of the
Queens of Scotland and English Princesses connected with the Regal
Succession of Great Britain. By Agnes Strickland. 8 vols., 12mo,
Cloth, $12.00; Half Calf, $26.00.

BAKER'S ISMAILIA : a Narrative of the Expedition to Central Africa
for the Suppression of the Slave-trade, organized by Ismail, Khedive of
Egypt. By Sir Samuel W. Baker. With Maps, Portraits, and Illus-
trations. 8vo, Cloth, $5.00; Half Calf, $7.25.

LIVINGSTONE'S LAST JOURNALS. The Last Journals of David
Livingstone, in Central Africa, from 1865 to his Death. Continued by
a Narrative of his Last Moments. By Horace Waller. With Por-
trait, Maps, and Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, $5.00; Sheep, $6.00. Cheap
Popular Edition, $2.50.

BLAIKIE'S LIFE OF DAVID LIVINGSTONE. Memoir of his Per-
sonal Life, from his Unpublished Journals and Correspondence. By
W. G. Blaikie, D.D. With Portrait and Map. 8vo, Cloth, $2.25.

"THE FRIENDLY EDITION" OF SHAKESPEARE'S WORKS.
Edited by W. J. Rolfe. In 20 Volumes. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth,
Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $30.00; Half Calf, $60.00 per Set.

GIESELER'S ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY. A Text -Book of
Church History. By Dr. John C. L. Gieseler. Translated from
the German. Revised and Edited by Rev. Henry B. Smith, D.D.
Vols. I., II., HI, and IV., 8vo, Cloth, $2.25 ; Vol. V., 8vo, Cloth, $3.00.
Complete Sets, 5 vols.. Sheep, $14.50; Half Calf, $23.25.

NORDHOFF'S COMMUNISTIC SOCIETIES OF THE UNITED

STATES ; including Detailed Accounts of the Economists, Zoarites,
Shakers, the Amana, Oneida, Bethel, Aurora, Icarian, and other exist-
ing Societies. Ey Charles Nordhoff. Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth,
$4.00.

Valuable Works for the Library.

GENERAL BEAUREGARD'S MILITARY OPERATIONS. Tlie
Military Operations of General Beauregard in the War between the
States, 1861 to 1865; including a brief Personal Sketch, and a Narra-
tive of his Services in the War with Mexico, 1846 to 1848. By Alfred
Roman, formerly Aide-de-Camp on the Staff of General Beauregard.
With Portraits, &c. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth. $3.50 ; Sheep, $4.50 ; Half
Morocco, $5.50 ; Full Morocco, $7.50. (Sold only hy Subscription.)

CURTIS'S LIFE OF BUCHANAN. Life of James Buchanan, Fif-*
teenth President of the United States. By George Ticknor Curtis.
With Portraits. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops,
$6.00.

GRIFFIS'S MIKADO'S EMPIRE: Book I. History of Japan, from 660
B.C. to 1872 A.D. Book II. Personal Experiences, Observations, and
Studies in Japan, from 1870 to 1874. By W. E. Griffis. Copiously
Illustrated, 8vo, Cloth, $4.00 ; Half Calf, $6.25.

SMILES'S HISTORY OF THE HUGUENOTS: their Settlements,
Churches, and Industries in England and Ireland. By Samuel Smiles.
With an Appendix relating to the Huguenots in America. Crown 8vo,
Cloth, $2.00.

SMILES'S HUGUENOTS AFTER THE REVOCATION. Tlie Hu-
guenots in France after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes ; with a
Visit to the Country of the Vaudois. By Samuel Smiles. Crown
8vo, Cloth, $2.00.

SMILES'S LIFE OF THE STEPHENSONS. The Life of George
Stephenson, and of his Son, Robert Stephenson ; comprising, also, a
History of the Invention and Introduction of the Railway Locomotive.
By Samuel Smiles. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $3.00.

SCHLIEMANN'S ILIOS. The City and Country of the Trojans. A
Narrative of the Most Recent Discoveries and Researches made on
the Plain of Troy. By Dr. Henry Schliemann. Maps, Plans, and
Illustrations. Imperial 8vo, Illuminated Cloth, $12.00; Half Morocco,
$15.00.

SCHLIEMANN'S TROJA. Results of the Latest Researches and Dis-
coveries on the Site of Homer's Troy, made in the Year 1882, and a
Narrative of a Journey in the Troad in 1881. By Dr. Henry Schlie-
mann. With Woodcuts, Maps, and Plans. 8vo, Cloth, $7.50 ; Half
Calf, $10.00.

NORTON'S STUDIES OF CHURCH-BUILDING. Historical Studies
of Church-Building in the Middle Ages. Venice, Siena, Florence.
By Charles Eliot Norton. 8vo, Cloth, $3.00.

Valuable Works for the Library.

" THE VOYAGE OF THE " CHALLENGER." An Account of the
General Results of the Voyage during 1873 and the Early Part of 1876.
By Sir Wyville Thomson, K.C.B. Ill'd. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $12.00.

BOSWELL'S JOHNSON. The Life of Samuel Johnson, LL.D., includ-
ing a Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides. By James Boswell. Edited
by J. W. Crokek, LL.D., F.R.S. With a Portrait of Boswell. 2 vols.,
sVo, Cloth, $4.00; Sheep, $5.00.

OUTLINES OF ANCIENT HISTORY. From the Earliest Times to
the Fall of the Western Roman Empire, A.D. 476. By P. V. N. Myers,
A.M. 12mo, Cloth, $1.75.

BROUGHAM'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. Life and Times of Henry, Lord
Brougham. Written by Himself. 3 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $6.00.

THE BEDOUIN TRIBES OF THE EUPHRATES. By Lady Anne
Blunt. Edited, with a Preface and some Account of the Arabs and
their Horses, by W. S. B. Map and Sketches by the Author. 8vo, Cloth,
$2.50.

THE PAPACY AND THE CIVIL POWER. By the Hon. R. W.
Thompson. Crown 8vo, Cloth, $3.00.

FOUR CENTURIES OF ENGLISH LETTERS. Selections from the
Correspondence of One Hundred and Fifty Writers, from the Period of
the Poston Letters to the Present Day. Edited by W. Baptiste Scoones.
,12mo. Cloth, $2.00.

THE POETS AND POETRY OF SCOTLAND. Comprising Char-
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Poets, with Biographical and Critical Notices. By James Grant Wil-
son. With Portraits. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth $10.00 ; Gilt Edges, $1 1.00.

THE STUDENT'S SERIES. Maps and Illustrations. 12mo. Cloth:
France. — Gibbon. — Greece. — Rome (by Liddell). — Old Testa-
ment History. — New Testament History. — Strickland's Queens
of England. — Ancient History of the East. — Hallam's Middle
Ages. — Hallam's Constitutional History of England. — Lyell's
Elements of Geology. — Merivale's General History of Rome.
— Cox's General History of Greece. — Classical Dictionary. —
Skeat's Etymological Dictionary. $1.25 per volume.

Lewis's History of Germany. — Ecclesiastical History. 2
vols. — Hume's England. $1.50 per volume.

BOURNE'S LOCKE. The Life of John Locke. By H. R. Fox Boornb.
2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $5.00.

10 Valuable Warks for tTie Library.

COLERIDGE'S WORKS. The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor
Coleridge. With Introductory Essay upon his Philosophical and The-
ological Opinions. Edited by Prof. W. G. T. Shedd. With Portrait
and Index. 7 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2.00 per vol. ; $12.00 per Set
CAMERON'S ACROSS AFRICA. Across Africa. By Verney Lovbtt

Cameron. Map and Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, $5.00.
THE LAND AND THE BOOK. By William M. Thomson, D.D.,
Forty-five Years a Missionary in Syria and Palestine. In Three Vol-
umes Copiously Illustrated. Square 8vo, Ornamental Cloth, $6.00;
Sheep, $7.00; Half Morocco. $8.50; Full Morocco, Gilt Edges, $10.00
per Vol. (^The Volumes sold separately.^

Volume L Southern Palestine and Jerusalem. (140 Illustra-
tions and Maps.)
Volume II. Central Palestine and Phcenicia. (130 Illustrations

and Maps.)
Volume III. Lebanon, Damascus, and Beyond Jordan. (147
Illustrations and Maps.)
CYCLOPEDIA OF BRITISH AND AMERICAN POETRY. Ed-
ited by Epes Sargent. Royal 8vo, lU'd Cloth, Colored Edges, $4.50.
NICHOLS'S ART EDUCATION. Art Education Applied to Industry.
By G. W. Nichols. Illustrated. Svo, Cloth, $4.00; Half Calf, $6.25.

CARLYLE'S WORKS:

Frederick the Great. History of Friedrich II., called Frederick

the Great. Portraits, Maps, Plans, &c. 6 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $7.50.

The French Revolution: a History. 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2.50.

Oliver Cromwell's Letters and Speeches. With Elucidations.

2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2.50.
Past and Present, Chartism, and Sartor Resartus, 12mo,

Cloth, $1.25.
Early KaNos of Norway, and the Portraits of John Knox.

12mo, Cloth, $1.25.
Tour in Ireland in 1849. Witli Portrait. 12mo. Cloth, $1.00.
Reminiscences. 12mo, Cloth, 50 cents.
FROUDE'S LIFE OF THOMAS CARLYLE. Part I. A History of
the First Forty Years of Caiiyle's Life (179.5-1835). Part U. A His-
tory of Carlyle's Life in London (1834-1881). By James Anthony
Froude, M.A. With Portraits and Illustrations. 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth,
$1.00 per volume.
RANKE'S UNIVERSAL HISTORY. The Oldest Historical Group
of Nations and the Greeks. By Leopold von Ranke. Edited by
G. W. Prothero, Fellow and Tutor of King's College. Cambridge,
pp. XV i. , 494. 8 vo, Cloth , $ 2. 50.

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