Skip to main content

Full text of "Notes on New England birds"

See other formats 


CORNELL 
UNIVERSITY 
LIBRARY 


BEQUEST 


OF 


STEWART HENRY BURNHAM 
1943 


= 


Cornell University Libra 


Tani 


Cornell University 


Library 


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


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


http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924001145535 


NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


NEST 


H ON 


S 


=) 


RMIT THR 


Hk 


NOTES ON 
NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


BY 
HENRY D. THOREAU 


ARRANGED AND EDITED 


BY 
FRANCIS H. ALLEN 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS 
OF BIRDS IN NATURE 


BOSTON AND NEW YORK | 
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
Che Vibergide Pres¢ Cambridge 
1910 
t 


COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT, I910, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


Published May 1910 


PREFACE 


ScaTtEeRED through the fourteen volumes of Tho- 
reau’s published Journal are many interesting notes 
on the natural history of New England, and a large 
proportion of these relate to birds. In the belief that 
readers and students would be glad to have these bird 
notes arranged systematically in a single volume, this 
book has been prepared. It will perhaps be a matter 
of surprise to many readers to learn how much Tho- 
reau wrote upon this one branch of natural history, 
and how many species of birds he found something to 
say about that was worth the saying. Thoreau was 
seldom dull, even in mere records of commonplace 
facts, and the reader of this book, though he may be 
well acquainted with the author’s picturesque style, 
can hardly fail to be impressed anew with his power to 
convey a vivid and interesting picture in a few words. 

It was, indeed, as a describer rather than as an ob- 
server that Thoreau excelled. He never acquired much 
skill in the diagnosis of birds seen in the field. He 
never became in any respect an expert ornithologist, 
and some of the reasons are not far to seek. He was 
too intent on becoming an expert analogist, for one 
thing. It better suited his genius to trace some analogy 
between the soaring hawk and his own thoughts than 
to make a scientific study of the bird. Moreover his 
field, including as it did all nature, was too wide to 
admit of specialization in a single branch. Then, too, 


vi PREFACE 


he lacked many of the helps that to-day smooth the 
way for the beginner in bird-study. He had no inti- 
mate acquaintance with ornithologists or scientific men 
of any sort, and after giving up the gun in his young 
manhood he waited many years before he purchased a 
glass, and then bought a spy-glass, or small telescope, 
an implement which was useful in identifying ducks 
floating far off on the waters of the river or Walden 
Pond, but could hardly have served him very well with 
the flitting warblers of the tree-tops. The books, too, in 
those days were far from adequate. Wilson and Nut- 
tall, upon whom he chiefly relied, are unsurpassed in 
some respects by anything we have to-day, but their 
descriptions of birds were not designed to assist in field 
identification, and they were by no means infallible in 
other matters. These books were not new even in 
Thoreau’s day, but they were the best ornithological 
manuals to be had, and with Wilson making no men- 
tion of so common a bird as the least flycatcher, and 
Nuttall in ignorance of the existence of the olive- 
backed thrush, we may pardon Thoreau a few misap- 
prehensions. 

As a matter of fact, Thoreau seems to have seen 
things pretty accurately, — when he saw them at all, 
for he was sometimes strangely blind to the presence 
of birds which must have been fairly common inhabit- 
ants of the woods and fields through which he roamed. 
His chief difficulty in identification was, perhaps, a 
tendency to jump at conclusions, — as when, meeting 
with the pileated woodpecker in the Maine woods, he 
at once set it down as the “ red-headed woodpecker 


PREFACE vii 


(Picus erythrocephalus),” evidently because of its 
conspicuous red crest. The reader who desires to make 
a special study of Thoreau as an ornithologist — to 
learn his mistakes as well as his discoveries — must go 
to the Journal itself. There he will find the true and 
complete record of Thoreau’s bird observations, — in- 
cluding all the brief notes which are of no value except 
in the compilation of migration data and the like, and 
the mere identifications, mistaken and otherwise. In 
the present volume it has seemed best to confine our- 
selves to the notes which have some intrinsic value, 
whether literary or scientific, — using both terms in a 
liberal sense. 

It is to be borne in mind that these notes are from 
Thoreau’s Journal and therefore have not always been 
cast in a final literary form. Regarded as literature, 
many of them stand in need of shaping and polishing, 
but they are none the less interesting for that, and it 
is also to be remembered that Thoreau’s notes were 
seldom mere records of fact. He never forgot that 
writing was his vocation, and when he wrote it was for 
the purpose of recording his thoughts in the best lan- 
guage that came to his mind at the moment. He wrote 
rapidly, and occasionally a word was omitted or the 
wrong word slipped in, though that happened with 
rather surprising infrequency, all things considered. 
The editor of this volume was associated with Mr. 
Bradford Torrey in the editing of Thoreau’s complete 
Journal, and he can affirm from personal knowledge 
that Thoreau’s omissions and slips of the pen are all 
carefully indicated there. In the present book it has 


viii PREFACE 


seemed best to simplify things for the reader by omit- 
ting the brackets from interpolated words in the case 
of the unimportant ones where the word to be supplied 
was obvious, and to retain them only in the case of the 
more important words, or where there was any possi- 
bility of a misapprehension of Thoreau’s meaning. 

It may be well here to point out the office of the 
brackets, [ ], as differentiated from parentheses, ( ), 
since their use is not always understood by readers. 
Brackets, as used nowadays by most writers and print- 
ers, show the interpolations of the editor, while the 
parentheses are the author’s own. Thus, in the present 
volume, a question-mark in brackets, [?], indicates 
that the editors of the Journal were in doubt as to 
whether they had rightly interpreted Thoreau’s hand- 
writing, but the same in parentheses, (?), is Thoreau’s 
own query. 

So, too, in the notes, those which are bracketed are 
the editor’s, while the unbracketed notes are later an- 
notations by Thoreau, usually in pencil, upon the pages 
of his manuscript journals. The editor has felt free to 
quote or paraphrase the notes of the published Journal, 
for a large share of which he was primarily responsi- 
ble, and he believes that Mr. Torrey will pardon him 
if in a few cases he has used the latter’s phraseology 
without giving specific credit for it. The present notes 
are much fuller than those in the Journal, the plan 
of which did not admit of extensive annotation. 

The bird matter included in Thoreau’s more formal 
works — the Week, Walden, The Maine Woods, Cape 


Cod, Fxcursions, and Miscellanies —is not inconsid- 


PREFACE ix 


erable, though it amounts to less than one twelfth as 
much as that contained in the Journal. For the con- 
venience of readers a full index of it is given in an 
Appendix to this volume. 

The editor desires to thank Mr. William Brewster 
and Dr. Charles W. Townsend for generous and help- 
ful advice in the identification of certain of Thoreau’s 
birds, and, in closing, to express his confidence that the 
reader of this book will lay it down at the end with a 
more lively feeling of gratitude to the man who, writ- 
ing in prose, has written more poetry about American 
birds than all our poets together. 

Boston, April, 1910. 


CONTENTS 


. Drvinc Brrps ...... 
. GuLLs, TERNS, AND PETRELS . 
. Ducks AND GEESE. 

. Herons anp Rams .... 
. SHORE-BirDs . 

. QUAIL AND GROUSE 

. PIGEons. 

VIII. 
. OwLs 


Hawks AND EAGLEs . 


. Cuckoos, KINGFISHERS, AND WOODPECKERS. 
. GoatsucKERS, SwiFTs, AND HUMMINGBIRDS. 
. FLYCATCHERS. 

. Larks, Crows, AND JAYS . 

. BLAcKBIRDs, OrIoLEs, ETC. 

. FINcHEs 

. TANAGERS AND SWALLOWS . 

. Waxwinas, SHRIKES, AND VIREOS. . .« 


WaARBLERS . 


. TirLARKS, THRASHERS, AND WRENS 
. CREEPERS, NUTHATCHES, TITS, AND KINGLETs . 
. THRUSHES . 

. GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 
XXIII. 


Domestic Brrps 


APPENDIX 


InpEx 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 
Two Views or A HERMIT THRUSH ON HER Nest, Frontispiece 
Photographs by Rev. Robert S. Morison 


Great BLuE Herons AND NEST. . ...- ss 6 « 7 
Photograph by Herbert K. Job 


A Movurnine Dove anp HER Nest ....... 118 
Photographs by Herbert W. Gleason 


Fish HAWK « i 6 6 es @ #6 @ a ww ow w w 152 
Photograph by Ernest Harold Baynes 


WHIP-POOR-WILL ON NEST 
204 
NIGHTHAWK DISTURBED WHILE COVERING Ecos 
Photographs by Herbert K. Job 
» . 250 


ReED-WINGED BLACKBIRD \ 


ReEp-winceD BLACKBIRD’s Nest anp Eqos 
‘‘ What Champollion can translate the hieroglyphics on these 


eggs?” 
Photographs by Herbert W. Gleason 


Sone SPARROW 
Photograph by Charles H. Tolman 


Versrer SPARROW ON NEST 
Photograph by Herbert W. Gleason 


Barn SWALLows go Aisne a) SS) Sa oe iey i. fo OO 
Photographs by Herbert W. Gleason 


Map or Concorp, Mass., showing Localities mentioned by 
Thoreau in his Journal, compiled by Herbert W,Gleason 442 


NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


I 
DIVING BIRDS 


HORNED GREBE 


Dec. 26, 1853. Walden still open. Saw in it a small 
diver, probably a grebe or dobchick, dipper, or what-not, 
with the markings, as far as I saw, of the crested grebe, 
but smaller. It had a black head, a white ring about its 
neck, a white breast, black back, and apparently no tail.’ 
It dove and swam a few rods under water, and, when on 
the surface, kept turning round and round warily and 
nodding its head the while. This being the only pond 
hereabouts that is open. 

Sept. 27, 1860. Monroe’s tame ducks sail along and 
feed close to me as I am working there. Looking up, I 
see a little dipper, about one half their size, in the mid- 
dle of the river, evidently attracted by these tame ducks, 
as to a place of security. I sit.down and watch it. The 
tame ducks have paddled four or five rods down-stream 
along the shore. They soon detect the dipper three 
or four rods off, and betray alarm by a tittering note, 
especially when it dives, as it does continually. At last, 
when it is two or three rods off and approaching them 
by diving, they all rush to the shore and come out on it 

1 [From the description it would appear to have been a horned grebe, 


though the white on the throat and neck of that bird does not form a com- 
plete ring. The bird of September, 1860, is more accurately described.] 


2 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


in their fear, but the dipper shows itself close to the 
shore, and when they enter the water again joins them 
within two feet, still diving from time to time and 
threatening to come up in their midst. They return 
up-stream, more or less alarmed, and pursued in this 
wise by the dipper, who does not know what to make of 
their fears, and soon the dipper is thus tolled along to 
within twenty feet of where I sit, and I can watch it at 
my leisure. It has a dark bill and considerable white 
on the sides of the head or neck, with black between 
it, no tufts, and no observable white on back or tail. 
When at last disturbed by me, it suddenly sinks low 
(all its body) in the water without diving. Thus it can 
float at various heights. (So on the 30th I saw one sud- 
denly dash along the surface from the meadow ten rods 
before me to the middle of the river, and then dive, and 
though I watched fifteen minutes and examined the 
tufts of grass, I could see no more of it.) 


PIED-BILLED GREBE ! 


Oct. 17, 1855. I saw behind (or rather in front of) 
me as I rowed home a little dipper appear in mid-river, 
as if I had passed right over him. It dived while I 
looked, and I could not see it come up anywhere. 

Sept. 9, 1858. Watched a little dipper? some ten rods 


1 [Probably most of the “‘ little dippers ” which are referred to cas- 
ually in Thoreau’s Journal were of this species, though some were un- 
doubtedly the (in fresh water) rarer horned grebe and others the buffle- 
head duck.] 

2 [On the 30th of the same month Thoreau saw a “little dipper” 
which was ‘‘much smaller” than any others he had seen that season 
and concluded that he had not seen the real little dipper before. What 


LOON 3 


off with my glass, but I could see no white on the breast. 
It was all black and brownish, and head not enlarged. 
Who knows how many little dippers are sailing and 
sedulously diving now along the edge of the pickerel- 
weed and the button-bushes on our river, unsuspected 
by most? This hot September afternoon all may be 
quiet amid the weeds, but the dipper, and the bittern, 
and the yellow-legs, and the blue heron, and the rail are 
silently feeding there. At length the walker who sits 
meditating on a distant bank sees the little dipper sail 
out from amid the weeds and busily dive for its food 
along their edge. Yet ordinary eyes might range up and 
down the river all day and never detect its small black 
head above the water. 

[ See also under General and: Miscellaneous, pp. 417, 
433.] 

LOON 


1845-47 (no exact date). The loon comes in the fall 
to sail and bathe in the pond,' making the woods ring 
with its wild laughter in the early morning, at rumor of 
whose arrival all Concord sportsmen are on the alert, 
in gigs, on foot, two by two, three by three, with pa- 
tent rifles, patches, conical balls, spy-glass or open hole 
over the barrel. They seem already to hear the loon 
laugh; come rustling through the woods like October 
leaves, these on this side, those on that, for the poor 
Joon cannot be omnipresent; if he dive here, must come 


he has to say of this bird of September 9th will apply very well to the 
pied-billed grebe, however, and the paragraph is placed here for want 
of a better place. ] 

1 [Walden Pond.] 


4 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


up somewhere. The October wind rises, rustling the 
leaves, ruffling the pond water, so that no loon can be 
seen rippling the surface. Our sportsmen scour, sweep 
the pond with spy-glass in vain, making the woods ring 
with rude [?] charges of powder, for the loon went off 
in that morning rain with one loud, long, hearty laugh, 
and our sportsmen must beat a retreat to town and stable 
and daily routine, shop work, unfinished jobs again. 

Or in the gray dawn the sleeper hears the long duck- 
ing gun explode over toward Goose Pond, and, hasten- 
ing to the door, sees the remnant of a flock, black duck 
or teal, go whistling by with outstretched neck, with 
broken ranks, but in ranger order. And the silent hunter 
emerges into the carriage road with ruffled feathers at 
his belt, from the dark pond-side where he has lain in 
his bower since the stars went out. 

And for a week you hear the circling clamor, clangor, 
of some solitary goose through the fog, seeking its mate, 
peopling the woods with a larger life than they can hold. 

For hours in fall days you shall watch the ducks cun- 
ningly tack and veer and hold the middle of the pond, 
far from the sportsmen on the shore, — tricks they have 
learned and practiced in far Canada lakes or in Louisi- 
ana bayous. 

The waves rise and dash, taking sides with all. water- 
fowl. 

Oct. 8, 1852. P. M.— Walden. AsI was paddling 
along the north shore, after having looked in vain over 
the pond for aloon, suddenly a loon, sailing toward the 
middle, a few rods in front, set up his wild laugh and 
betrayed himself. I pursued with a paddle and he dived, 


LOON 5 


but when he came up I was nearer than before. He 
dived again, but I miscalculated the direction he would 
take, and we were fifty rods apart when he came up, 
and again he laughed long and loud. He managed very 
cunningly, and I could not get within half a dozen rods 
of him. Sometimes he would come up unexpectedly on 
the opposite side of me, as if he had passed directly 
under the boat. So long-winded was he, so unweariable, 
that he would immediately plunge again, and then no 
wit could divine where in the deep pond, beneath the 
smooth surface, he might be speeding his way like a figh, 
perchance passing under the boat. He had time and 
ability to visit the bottom of the pond in its deepest 
part. A newspaper authority says a fisherman — giv- 
ing his name— has caught loon in Seneca Lake, N. Y., 
eighty feet beneath the surface, with hooks set for trout. 
Miss Cooper! has said the same. Yet he appeared to 
know his course as surely under water as on the surface, 
and swam much faster there than he sailed on the sur- 
face. It was surprising how serenely he sailed off with 
unruffled bosom when he came to the surface. It was as 
well for me to rest on my oars and await his reappear- 
ing as to endeavor to calculate where he would come up. 
When I was straining my eyes over the surface, I would 
suddenly be startled by his unearthly laugh behind me. 
But why, after displaying so much cunning, did he be- 
tray himself the moment he came to the surface with that 
loud laugh? His white breast enough betrayed him. 
He was indeed a silly loon, I thought. Though he took 
all this pains to avoid me, he never failed to give notice 


1 [Susan Fenimore Cooper, Rural Hours, p. 10.] 


6 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


of his whereabouts the moment he came to the surface. 
After an hour he seemed as fresh as ever, dived as will- 
ingly, and swam yet farther than at first. Once or twice 
I saw a ripple where he approached the surface, just put 
his head out to reconnoitre, and instantly dived again. 
I could commonly hear the plash of the water when he 
came up, and so also detected him. It was commonly a 
demoniac laughter, yet somewhat like a water-bird, but 
occasionally, when he had balked me most successfully 
and come up a long way off, he uttered a long-drawn 
ungarthly howl, probably more like a wolf than any 
other bird. This was his looning. As when a beast puts 
his muzzle to the ground and deliberately howls; per- 
haps the wildest sound I ever heard, making the woods 
ring ; and I concluded that he laughed in derision of 
my efforts, confident of his own resources. Though the 
sky was overcast, the pond was so smooth that I could 
see where he broke the surface if I did not hear him. 
His white breast, the stillness of the air, the smoothness 
of the water, were all against him. At length, having 
come up fifty rods off, he uttered one of those prolonged 
unearthly howls, as if calling on the god of loons to aid 
him, and immediately there came a wind from the east 
and rippled the surface, and filled the whole air with 
misty rain. I was impressed as if it were the prayer of 
the loon and his god was angry with me. How surprised 
must be the fishes to see this ungainly visitant from 
another sphere speeding his way amid their schools! 

I have never seen more than one at a time in our 
pond, and I believe that that is always a male.' 

' [The sexes are indistinguishable.] 


LITTLE AUK T 


RED—-THROATED LOON 


Nov. 11, 1858. Goodwin! brings me this forenoon a 
this year’s loon, which he just killed on the river,— 
great northern diver, but a smaller specimen than Wil- 
son describes and somewhat differently marked. It is 
twenty-seven inches long to end of feet by forty-four 
and bill three and three quarters to angle of mouth; 
above blackish-gray with small white spots (two at end 
of each feather ).? Beneath, pure white, throat and all, 
except a dusky bar across the vent. Bill chiefly pale- 
bluish and dusky. You are struck by its broad, flat, 
sharp-edged legs, made to cut through the water rather 
than to walk with, set far back and naturally stretched 
out backward, its long and powerful bill, conspicuous 
white throat and breast. Dislodged by winter in the 
north, it is slowly travelling toward a warmer clime, 
diving in the cool river this morning, which is now full 
of light, the trees and bushes on the brink having long 
since lost their leaves, and the neighboring fields are 
white with frost. Yet this hardy bird is comfortable and 
contented there if the sportsman would let it alone. 


DOVEKIE; LITTLE AUK 


July 25, 1860. P. M.—To Mr. Bradshaw’s, Way- 
land, with Ed. Hoar. 

I was surprised to see among the birds which Brad- 
shaw has obtained the little auk of Nuttall (Mergulus 


1 [John Goodwin, a Concord gunner and fisherman. ] 
2 [The size and markings indicate this species in spite of its rarity in 
fresh water in Massachusetts. ] 


8 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


alle,‘ or common sea-dove), which he says that he shot 
in the fall on the pond of the Assabet at Knight’s fac- 
tory. There were two, and the other was killed with a 
paddle. 

Nov. 19, 1860. Mr. Bradshaw says that he got a 
little auk in Wayland last week, and heard of two more, 
one in Weston and the other in Natick. Thinks they 
came with the storm of the 10th and 11th. 


1 [Now called Alle alle by the ornithologists.] 


II 
GULLS, TERNS, AND PETRELS 


HERRING GULL?! 


April 4, 1852. There are three great gulls sailing in 
the middle [of Fair Haven]. Now my shouting (per- 
chance) raises one, and, flying low and heavily over 
the water, with heavy shoulders and sharp beak, it ut- 
ters its loud mewing or squeaking notes, — some of 
them like a squeaking pump-handle,— which sound very 
strange to our woods. It gives a different character to 
the pond. 

April 15, 1852. Thinking of the value of the gull to 
the scenery of our river in the spring, when for a few 
weeks they are seen circling about so deliberately and 
heavily yet gracefully, without apparent object, beating 
like a vessel in the air, Gilpin” says something to the 
purpose, — that water-fowl “discover in their flight some 
determined aim. They eagerly coast the river, or return 
to the sea; bent on some purpose, of which they never 
lose sight. But the evolutions of the gull appear ca- 
pricious, and undirected, both when she flies alone, and, 
as she often does, in large companies.— The more 
however her character suffers as a loiterer, the more it 
is raised in picturesque value, by her continuing longer 

1 (Most, if not all, of the large gulls seen by Thoreau at Concord 


were doubtless of this species. ] 
2 [William Gilpin, Remarks on Forest Scenery, London, 1794.] 


10 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


before the eye; and displaying, in her elegant sweeps 
along the air, her sharp-pointed wings, and her bright 
silvery hue. — She is beautiful also, not only on the 
wing, but when she floats, in numerous assemblies on 
the water; or when she rests on the shore, dotting 
either one or the other with white spots; which, minute 
as they are, are very picturesque: . . . giving life and 
spirit to a view.” 

He seems to be describing our very bird. I do not 
remember to have seen them over or in our river mead- 
ows when there was not ice there. They come annually 
a-fishing here like royal hunters, to remind us of the 
sea and that our town, after all, lies but further up a 
creek of the universal sea, above the head of the tide. 
So ready is a deluge to overwhelm our lands, as the 
gulls to circle hither in the spring freshets. To see a 
gull beating high over our meadowy flood in chill and 
windy March is akin to seeing a mackerel schooner on 
the coast. It is the nearest approach to sailing vessels 
in our scenery. I never saw one at Walden. Oh, how 
it salts our fresh, our sweet-watered Fair Haven! all at 
once to see this sharp-beaked, greedy sea-bird beating 
over it! For a while the water is brackish to my eyes. 
It is merely some herring pond, and if I climb the 
eastern bank I expect to see the Atlantic there covered 
with countless sails. We are so far maritime, do not 
dwell beyond the range of the seagoing gull, the littoral 
birds. Does not the gull come up after those suckers 
which I see ?? He is never to me perfectly in harmony 


1 [Fairhaven Pond, or Bay, in the Sudbury River.] 
2 [Dead suckers, which he goes on to philosophize about.] 


HERRING GULL 11 


with the scenery, but, like the high water, something 
unusual. 

April 19, 1852. What comes flapping low with heavy 
wing over the middle of the flood? Is it an eagle or a 
fish hawk? Ah, now he is betrayed, I know not by 
what motion, —a great gull, right in the eye of the 
storm. He holds not a steady course, but suddenly he 
dashes upward even like the surf of the sea which he 
frequents, showing the under sides of his long, pointed 
wings, on which do I not see two white spots? He sud- 
denly beats upward thus as if to surmount the airy bil- 
lows by a slanting course, as the teamster surmounts a 
slope. The swallow, too, plays thus fantastically and 
luxuriously and leisurely, doubling some unseen cor- 
ners in the sky. Here is a gull, then, long after ice in 
the river. It is a fine sight to see this noble bird lei- 
surely advancing right in the face of the storm. 

April T, 1858. A great gull, though it is so fair and 
the wind northwest, fishing over the flooded meadow. 
He slowly circles round and hovers with flapping wings 
in the air over particular spots, repeatedly returning 
there and sailing quite low over the water, with long, 
narrow, pointed wings, trembling throughout their 
length. 

March 29, 1854. A gull of pure white,—a wave of 
foam in the air. How simple and wave-like its outline, 
the outline of the wings presenting two curves, between 
which the tail is merely the point of junction, —all 
wing like a birch scale; tail remarkably absorbed. 

March 18, 1855. I see with my glass asI go over the 
railroad bridge, sweeping the river, a great gull standing 


12 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


far away on the top of a muskrat-cabin which rises just 
above the water opposite the Hubbard Bath. When I 
get round within sixty rods of him, ten minutes later, 
he still stands on the same spot, constantly turning his 
head to every side, looking out for foes. Like a wooden 
image of a bird he stands there, heavy to look at ; head, 
breast, beneath, and rump pure white; slate-colored wings 
tipped with black and extending beyond the tail, — the 
herring gull. I can see clear down to its webbed feet. 
But now I advance, and he rises easily, goes off north- 
eastward over the river with a leisurely flight. At 
Clamshell Hill I sweep the river again, and see, stand- 
ing midleg deep on the meadow where the water is very 
shallow with deeper around, another of these wooden 
images, which is harder to scare. I do not fairly distin- 
guish black tips to its wings. It is ten or fifteen minutes 
before I get him to rise, and then he goes off in the 
same leisurely manner, stroking the air with his wings, 
and now making a great circle back on its course, so you 

cannot tell which way it is bound. By standing so long 
' motionless in these places they may perchance accom- 
plish two objects, 7. e., catch passing fish (suckers ?) like 
a heron and escape the attention of man. Its utmost 
motion was to plume itself once and turn its head about. 
If it did not move its head, it would look like a decoy. 
Our river is quite low for the season, and yet it is here 
without freshet or easterly storm. It seems to take this 
course on its migrations without regard to the state of 
the waters. 

April 15, 1855. Before we rounded Ball’s Hill, — 
the water now beautifully smooth, — at 2.30 Pp. M., we 


HERRING GULL 18 


saw three gulls sailing on the glassy meadow at least half 
a mile off, by the oak peninsula, — the plainer because 
they were against the reflection of the hills. They looked 
larger than afterward close at hand,as if their white- 
ness was reflected and doubled. As we advanced into 
the Great Meadows, making the only ripples in their 
broad expanse, there being still not a ray of sunshine, 
only a subdued light through the thinner crescent in 
the north, the reflections of the maples, of Ponkawtasset 
and the poplar hill, and the whole township in the 
southwest, were as perfect as I eversaw. A wall which 
ran down to the water on the hillside, without any re- 
markable curve in it, was exaggerated by the reflection 
into the half of an ellipse. The meadow was expanded 
to a large lake, the shore-line being referred to the 
sides of the hills reflected in it. It was a scene worth 
many such voyages to see. It was remarkable how much 
light those white gulls, and also a bleached post on a 
distant shore, absorbed and reflected through that 
sombre atmosphere, — conspicuous almost as candles 
in the night. When we got near to the gulls, they rose 
heavily and flapped away, answering a more distant one, 
with a remarkable, deliberate, melancholy, squeaking 
scream, mewing, or piping, almost a squeal. It was a 
little like the loon. Is this sound the origin of the name 
sea-mew? Notwithstanding the smoothness of the water, 
we could not easily see black ducks against the reflection 
of the woods, but heard them rise at a distance before 
we saw them. 

April 22, 1857. A dozen gulls are: circling over Fair 
Haven Pond, some very white beneath, with very long, 


14 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


narrow-pointed, black-tipped wings, almost regular 
semicircles like the new moon. As they circle beneath a 
white scud in this bright air, they are almost invisible 
against it, they are so nearly the same color. What glo- 
rious fliers ! But few birds are seen ; only a crow or two 
teetering along the water’s edge looking for its food, 
with its large, clumsy head, and on unusually long legs, 
as if stretched, or its pants pulled up to keep it from the 
wet, and now flapping off with some large morsel in its 
bill; or robins in the same place; or perhaps the sweet 
song of the tree sparrows from the alders by the shore, 
or of a song sparrow or blackbird. The phebe is 
scarcely heard. Not a duck do we see! 

March 22,1858. There is a strong and cool northwest 
wind. Leaving our boat just below N. Barrett’s, we walk 
down the shore. We see many gullson the very opposite 
side of the meadow, near the woods. They look bright- 
white, like snow on the dark-blue water. It is surpris- 
ing how far they can be seen, how much light they re- 
flect, and how conspicuous they are. Being strung along 
one every rod, they made me think of a fleet in line of 
battle. We go along to the pitch pine hill off Abner 
Buttrick’s, and, finding a sheltered and sunny place, we 
watch the ducks from it with our glass. There are not 
only gulls, but about forty black ducks and as many 
sheldrakes, and, I think, two wood ducks. The gulls ap- 
pear considerably the largest and make the most show, 
they are so uniformly light-colored. At a distance, as I 
have said, they look like snowy masses, and even nearer 
they have a lumpish look, like a mass of cotton, the 
head being light as well as the breast. They are seen 


HERRING GULL 15 


sailing about in the shallow water, or standing motion- 
less on a clod that just rises above the surface, in which 
position they have a particularly clumsy look; or one or 
two may be seen slowly wheeling about above the rest. 
From time to time the whole flock of gulls suddenly 
rises and begins circling about, and at last they settle 
down in some new place and order. With these were at 
first associated about forty black ducks, pretty close to- 
gether, sometimes apparently in close single lines, some 
looking lumpish like decoys of wood, others standing 
on the bottom and reminding me of penguins. They 
were constantly diving with great energy, making 
the water fly apparently two feet upward in a thick 
shower. Then away they all go, circling about for 
ten minutes at least before they can decide where to 
alight. 

The black heads and white breasts, which may be 
golden-eyes, for they are evidently paired, male and 
female, for the most part,! — and yet I thought that I 
saw the red bill of the sheldrake, — these are most in- 
cessantly and skillfully plunging and from time to time 
apparently pursuing each other. They are much more 
active, whether diving or swimming about, than you ex- 
pect ducks to be. Now, perchance, they are seen chang- 
ing their ground, swimming off, perhaps, two by two, 
in pairs, very steadily and swiftly, without diving. I see 
two of these very far off on a bright-blue bay where the 
waves are running high. They are two intensely white 
specks, which yet you might mistake for the foaming 
crest of waves. Now one disappears, but soon is seen 


1 They are sheldrakes [7. e. American mergansers]. 


16 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


again, and then its companion is lost in like manner, 
having dived. 

March 16, 1859. We meet one great gull beating 
up the course of the river against the wind, at Flint’s 
Bridge. (One says they were seen about a week ago, but 
there was very little water then.) Its is a very leisurely 
sort of limping flight, tacking its way along likea sailing 
vessel, yet the slow security with which it advances sug- 
gests a leisurely contemplativeness in the bird, as if it 
were working out some problem quite at its leisure. As 
often as its very narrow, long, and curved wings are 
lifted up against the light, I see a very narrow distinct 
light edging to the wing where it is thin. Its black-tipped 
wings. Afterwards, from Ball’s Hill, looking north, I 
see two more circling about looking for food over the 
ice and water. 

March 18, 1859. Rice! thinks that he has seen two 
_ gulls on the Sudbury meadows, — the white and the 
gray gulls. He has often seen a man shoot the large 
gull from Cambridge bridge by heading him off, for the 
gull flies slowly. He would first run this way, and when 
the gull turned aside, run that, till the gull passed 
right over his head, when he shot him. Rice saw Fair 
Haven Pond still covered with ice, though open along 
the shore, yesterday. I frequently see the gulls flying 
up the course of the stream, or of the river valley at 
least. 

March 23, 1859. Then I see come slowly flying from 
the southwest a great gull, of voracious form, which at 
length by a sudden and steep descent alights in Fair 


1 [Israel Rice, a Sudbury farmer living near the river, ] 


COMMON TERN; MACKEREL GULL 17 


Haven Pond, scaring up a crow which was seeking 
its food on the edge of the ice. This shows that 
the crows get along the meadow’s edge also what has 
washed up. 

March 16, 1860. I also see two gulls nearly a mile 
off. One stands still and erect for three quarters of an 
hour, or till disturbed, on a little bit of floated meadow- 
crust which rises above the water, — just room for it 
to stand on, — with its great white breast toward the 
wind. Then another comes flying past it, and alights on 
a similar perch, but which does not rise quite tothe sur- 
face, so that it stands in the water. Thus they will stand 
for an hour, at least. They are not of handsome form, 
but look like great wooden images of birds, bluish-slate 
and white. But when they fly they are quite another 
creature. 

[See also under American Merganser, p. 27; Wild 
Ducks, p. 50; Wild Goose, p. 61; General and Miscel- 
laneous, pp. 412, 413.] 


COMMON TERN; MACKEREL GULL 


June 21, 1857. At East Harbor River, as I sat on 
the Truro end of the bridge, I saw a great flock of 
mackerel gulls, one hundred at least, on a sandy point, 
whitening the shore there like so many white stones on 
the shore and in the water, uttering all together their 
vibrating shrill note. They had black heads, light 
bluish-slate wings, and light rump and tail and be- 
neath. From time to time all or most would rise and 
circle about with a clamor, then settle again on the 
same spot close together. 


18 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


WILSON’S PETREL; MOTHER-CAREY’S-CHICKEN 


June 18, 1857. I had shortly before picked up a 
Mother-Carey’s-chicken, which was just washed up dead 
on the beach.! This I carried tied to the tip of my 
umbrella, dangling outside. When the inhabitants saw 
me come up from the beach this stormy day, with this 
emblem dangling from my umbrella, and saw me set it 
up in a corner carefully to be out of the way of cats, 
they may have taken me for a crazy man. . 

The Mother-Carey’s-chicken was apparently about 
thirteen inches in alar extent, black-brown, with seven 
primaries, the second a little longer than the third; 
rump and vent white, making a sort of ring of white, 
breast ashy-brown, legs black with yellowish webs, bill 
black with a protuberance above. 

June 22, 1857. It was a thick fog with some rain, 
and we saw no land nor a single sail, till near Minot’s 
Ledge.? The boat stopped and whistled once or twice. 
The monotony was only relieved by the numerous pet- 
rels,* those black sea-swallows, incessantly skimming 
over the undulating [surface], a few inches above and 
parallel with it, and occasionally picking some food 
from it. Now they dashed past our stern and now 
across our bows, as if we were stationary, though going 
at the rate of a dozen knots an hour. 

1 [On Cape Cod.] 

2 [On the steamer from Provincetown to Boston. ] 

8 [The season would indicate that these were probably Wilson’s 


petrels, rather than Leach’s, which in the latter part of June would 
be on their breeding-grounds. ] 


III 
DUCKS AND GEESE 


AMERICAN MERGANSER; SHELDRAKE; GOOSANDER 


March 29, 1853. Four ducks, two by two, are sail- 
ing conspicuously on the river. There appear to be two 
pairs. In each case one two-thirds white and another 
grayish-brown and, I think, smaller. They are very shy 
and fly at fifty rods’ distance. Are they whistlers?!... 
Would it not be well to carry a spy-glass in order to 
watch these shy birds such as ducks and hawks? In 
some respects, methinks, it would be better than a gun. 
The latter brings them nearer dead, but the former 
alive. You can identify the species better by killing 
the bird, because it was a dead specimen that was so 
minutely described, but you can study the habits and 
appearance best in the living specimen. These ducks 
first flew north, or somewhat against the wind (was it 
to get under weigh’), then wheeled, flew nearer me, 
and went south up-stream, where I saw them after- 
ward. 

April 28, 1854. I had first seen two white ducks far 
off just above the outlet of the pond, mistaking them 

1 These were either mergansers or the golden-eye; I think the for- 
mer, 1. e. Mergus serrator, or red-breasted merganser (?), or sheldrake. 
[Thoreau’s “ sheldrakes ” were doubtless with few exceptions Ameri- 


can mergansers (Mergus americanus), which species is much commoner 
in fresh water than the red-breasted. His descriptions indicate this 


epecies. | 


20 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


for the foaming crest of a wave. These flew soon, per- 
haps scared by the eagle. I think they were a male and 
female red-breasted merganser (though I did [not] see 
the red of the breast), for I saw his red bill, and his 
head was not large with a crest like the golden-eye ; 
very white on breast and sides, the female browner.* 
As ducks often do, they first flew directly and unhesi- 
tatingly up the stream, low over the water, for half a 
mile, then turned and came down, flying thirty or forty 
feet above the water, the male leading till they were 
out of sight. This is the way with them, I notice ; they 
first fly in one direction and then go off to alight in 
another. When they came down the river, the male 
leading, they were a very good example of the peculiar 
flight of ducks. They appeared perfectly in a line one 
behind the other. When they are not they preserve 
perfect parallelism. This is because of their long necks 
and feet, — the wings appearing to be attached mid- 
way,— and moreover, in this case, of their perfectly 
level flight, as if learned from skimming over the 
water. 

April 6, 1855. You can hear all day, from time to 
time, in any part of the village, the sound of a gun fired 
at ducks. Yesterday I was wishing that I could find a 
dead duck floating on the water, as I had found musk- 
rats and a hare, and now I see something bright and 
reflecting the light from the edge of the alders five or 
six rods off. Can it bea duck? I can hardly believe my 
eyes. I am near enough to see its green head and neck. 
I am delighted to find a perfect specimen of the Mergus 

1 Certainly mergansers, probably sheldrakes. 


AMERICAN MERGANSER 21 


merganser,' or goosander, undoubtedly shot yesterday 
by the Fast-Day sportsmen, and I take a small flattened 
shot from its wing, — flattened against the wing-bone, 
apparently. The wing is broken, and it is shot through 
the head.? It is a perfectly fresh and very beautiful bird, 
and as I raise it, I get sight of its long, slender vermil- 
ion bill (color of red sealing-wax) and its clean, bright- 
orange legs and feet, and then of its perfectly smooth 
and spotlessly pure white breast and belly, tinged with a 
faint salmon (or tinged with a delicate buff inclining to 
salmon). . . . My bird is 25 inches long and 35 in alar 
extent ; from point of wing to end of primaries, 11 inches. 

It is a great diver and does not mind the cold. It 
appears admirably fitted for diving and swimming. Its 
body is flat, and its tail short, flat, compact, and wedge- 
shaped ; its eyes peer outa slight slit or semi-circle in the 
skin of the head ; and its legs are flat and thin in one di- 
rection, and the toes shut up compactly so as to create 
the least friction when drawing them forward, but their 
broad webs spread them three and a half inches when 
they take a stroke. The web is extended three eighths 
of an inch beyond the inner toe of each foot. There are 
very conspicuous black teeth-like serrations along the 
edges of its bill, and this also is roughened so that it 
may hold its prey securely. 

The breast appeared quite dry when I raised it from 
the water. 


1 [The American species, of course, now known as Mergus americanus ] 

2 The chief wound was in a wing, which was broken. I afterward 
took three small shot from it, which were flattened against the bill’s 
base and perhaps (?) the quills’ shafts. 


22 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


The head and neck are, as Wilson says, black, glossed 
with green, but the lower part of the neck pure white, 
and these colors bound on each other so abruptly that 
one appears to be sewed on to the other. 

It is a perfect wedge from the middle of its body to 
the end of its tail, and it is only three and a quarter 
inches deep from back to breast at the thickest part, 
while the greatest breadth horizontally (at the root of 
the legs) is five and a half inches. In these respects it 
reminds me of an otter, which, however, I have never 
seen. 

I suspect that I have seen near a hundred of these 
birds this spring, but I never got so near one before. 

April T, 1855. In my walk in the afternoon of to- 
day, I saw from Conantum,! say fifty rods distant, two 
sheldrakes, male and probably female, sailing on A. 
Wheeler’s cranberry meadow. I saw only the white of 
the male at first, but my glass revealed the female. The 
male is easily seen a great distance on the water, being 
a large white mark. But they will let you come only 
within some sixty rods ordinarily. I observed that they 
were uneasy at sight of me and began to sail away in 
different directions. I could plainly see the vermilion 
bill of the male and his orange legs when he flew (but 
he appeared all white above), and the reddish brown 
or sorrel of the neck of the female, and, when she lifted 
herself in the water, as it were preparatory to flight, 
her white breast and belly. She had a grayish look on 
the sides. Soon they approached each other again and 


1 [A tract of land on the Sudbury River, so called by Thoreau from 
the Conant family, who formerly lived there.] 


AMERICAN MERGANSER 23 


seemed to be conferring, and then they rose and went 
off, at first low, down-stream, soon up-stream a hundred 
feet over the pond, the female leading, the male follow- 
ing close behind, the black at the end of his curved 
wings very conspicuous. I suspect that about all the 
conspicuous white ducks I see are goosanders. . 

I skinned my duck yesterday and stuffed it to-day. 
It is wonderful that a man, having undertaken such an 
enterprise, ever persevered in it to the end, and equally 
wonderful that he succeeded. To skin a bird, drawing 
backward, wrong side out, over the legs and wings 
down to the base of the mandibles! Who would expect 
to see a smooth feather again? This skin was very ten- 
der on the breast. I should have done better had I 
stuffed it at once or turned it back before the skin be- 
came stiff. Look out not to cut the ear and eyelid. 

But what a pot-bellied thing is a stuffed bird com- 
pared even with the fresh dead one I found: It looks 
no longer like an otter, like a swift diver, but a mere 
waddling duck. How .perfectly the vent of a bird is 
covered! There is no mark externally. 

April 10, 1855. I see afar, more than one hundred 
rods distant, sailing on Hubbard’s meadow, on the 
smooth water in the morning sun, conspicuous, two 
male sheldrakes and apparently one female. They glide 
along, a rod or two apart in shallow water, alternately 
passing one another and from time to time plunging 
their heads in the water, but the female (whom only 
the glass reveals) almost alone diving. . I think I saw one 
male drive the other back. One male with the female 
kept nearly together, a rod or two ahead of the other. 


24 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


April 16, 1855. At Flint’s,! sitting on the rock, we 
see a great many ducks, mostly sheldrakes, on the pond, 
which will hardly abide us within half amile. With the 
glass I see by their reddish heads that all of one party 
— the main body — are females. You see little more 
than their heads at a distance and not much white but 
on ‘their throats, perchance. When they fly, they look 
black and white, but not so large nor with that brilliant 
contrast of black and white which the male exhibits. In 
another direction is a male by himself, conspicuous, per- 
haps several. Anon alights near us a flock of golden- 
eyes — surely, with their great black (looking) heads 
and a white patch on the side ; short stumpy bills (after 
looking at the mergansers); much clear black, contrast- 
ing with much clear white. Their heads and bills look 
ludicrously short and parrot-like after the others. Our 
presence and a boat party on the pond at last drove 
nearly all the ducks into the deep easterly cove. 

We stole down on them carefully through the woods, 
at last crawling on our bellies, with great patience, till 
at last we found ourselves within seven or eight rods — 
as I measured afterward — of the great body of them, 
and watched them for twenty or thirty minutes with the 
glass through a screen of cat-briar, alders, etc. There 
were twelve female sheldrakes close together, and, near- 
est us, within two rods of the shore, where it was very 
shallow, two or more constantly moving about within 
about the diameter of a rod and keeping watch while 
the rest were trying to sleep, — to catch a nap with 
their heads in their backs ; but from time to time one 

1 [Flint’s, or Sandy, Pond, in Lincoln, Mass.] 


AMERICAN MERGANSER 25 


would wake up enough to plume himself. It seemed as 
if they must have been broken of their sleep and were 
trying to make it up, having an arduous journey before 
them, for we had seen them all disturbed and on the 
wing within half an hour. They were headed various 
ways. Now and then they seemed to see or hear or smell 
us, and uttered a low note of alarm, something like the 
note of a tree-toad, but very faint, or perhaps a little 
more wiry and like that of pigeons, but the sleepers 
hardly lifted their heads for it. How fit that this note 
of alarm should be made to resemble the croaking of a 
frog and so not betray them to the gunners! They ap- 
peared to sink about midway in the water, and their 
heads were all a rich reddish brown, their throats white. 
Now and then one of the watchmen would lift his head 
and turn his bill directly upward, showing his white 
throat. 

There were some black or dusky ducks in company 
with them at first, apparently about as large as they, 
but more alarmed. Their throats looked straw-colored, 
somewhat like a bittern’s, and I saw their shovel bills. 
These soon sailed further off. 

At last we arose and rushed to the shore within three 
rods of them, and they rose up with a din, — twenty- 
six mergansers (I think all females), ten black ducks, 
— and five golden-eyes from a little further off, also 
another still more distant flock of one of these kinds. 
The black ducks alone uttered a sound, their usual 
hoarse guack. They all flew in loose array, but the three 
kinds in separate flocks. We were surprised to find 
ourselves looking on a company of birds devoted to 


26 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


slumber after the alarm and activity we had just 
witnessed. 

March 1, 1856. It is remarkable that though I have 
not been able to find any open place in the river almost 
all winter, except under the further stone bridge and at 
Loring’s Brook, — this winter so remarkable for ice and 
snow, — Coombs ‘ should (as he says) have killed two 
sheldrakes at the falls by the factory,? a place which I 
had forgotten, some four or six weeks ago. Singular that 
this hardy bird should have found this small opening, 
which I had forgotten, while the ice everywhere else was 
from one to two feet thick, and the snow sixteen inches 
on a level. If there is a crack amid the rocks of some 
waterfall, this bright diver is sure to know it. Ask the 
sheldrake whether the rivers are completely sealed up. 

April 5, 1856. Saw half a dozen white sheldrakes in 
the meadow, where Nut Meadow Brook was covered 
with the flood. There were two or three females with 
them. These ducks would all swim together first a little 
way to the right, then suddenly turn together and swim 
to the left, from time to time making the water fly in a 
white spray, apparently with a wing. Nearly halfa mile 
off I could see their green crests in the sun. They were 
partly concealed by some floating pieces of ice and snow, 
which they resembled. 

April 24, 1856. A Garfield (I judge from his face) 
confirmed the story of sheldrakes killed in an open 
place in the river between the factory and Harrington’s, 
just after the first great snow-storm (which must have 


1 [A Concord man, one of the pigeon-catchers.] 
2 [On the Assabet River.] 


AMERICAN MERGANSER 27 


been early in January) when the river was all frozen 
elsewhere. There were three, and they persisted in 
staying and fishing there. He killed one. 

March 27, 1858. P. M.— Sail to Bittern Cliff. 

Scare up a flock of sheldrakes just off Fair Haven 
Hill, the conspicuous white ducks, sailing straight 
hither and thither. At first they fly low up the stream, 
but, having risen, come back half-way to us, then wheel 
and go up-stream. Soon after we scare up a flock of 
black ducks. We land and steal over the hill through 
the woods, expecting to find them under Lee’s Cliff, as 
indeed we do, having crawled over the hill through 
the woods on our stomachs; and there we watched 
various water-fowl for an hour. There are a dozen 
sheldrakes (or goosanders) and among them four or 
five females. They are now pairing. I should say one 
or two pairs are made. At first we see only a male and 
female quite on the alert, some way out on the pond, 
tacking back and forth and looking every way. They 
keep close together, headed one way, and when one 
turns the other also turns quickly. The male appears 
to take the lead. Soon the rest appear, sailing out from 
the shore into sight. We hear a squeaking note, as if 
made by a pump, and presently see four or five great 
herring gulls wheeling about. Sometimes they make a 
sound like the scream of a hen-hawk. They are shaped 
somewhat like a very thick white rolling-pin, sharpened 
at both ends. At length they alight near the ducks. 

The sheldrakes at length acquire confidence, come 
close inshore and go to preening themselves, or it may 
be they are troubled with lice. They are all busy about 


28 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


it at once, continually thrusting their bills into their 
backs, still sailing slowly along back and forth offshore. 
Sometimes they are in two or three straight lines. Now 
they will all seem to be crossing the pond, but pre- 
sently you see that they have tacked and are all head- 
ing this way again. Among them, or near by, I at 
length detect three or four whistlers, by their wanting 
the red bill, being considerably smaller and less white, 
having a white spot on the head, a black back, and 
altogether less white, and also keeping more or less 
apart and not diving when the rest do. Now one half 
the sheldrakes sail off southward and suddenly go to 
diving as with one consent. Seven or eight or the 
whole of the party will be under water and lost at 
once. In the meanwhile, coming up, they chase one 
another, scooting over the surface and making the 
water fly, sometimes three or four making a rush 
toward one. 


The sheldrake has a peculiar long clipper look, often 
moving rapidly straight forward over the water. It 
sinks to very various depths in the water sometimes, 
as when apparently alarmed, showing only its head 
and neck and the upper part of its back, and at others, 
when at ease, floating buoyantly on the surface, as if 
it had taken in more air, showing all its white breast 
and the white along its sides. Sometimes it lifts itself 
up on the surface and flaps its wings, revealing its 
whole rosaceous breast and its lower parts, and look- 
ing in form like a penguin. When I first saw them 
fly up-stream I suspected that they had gone to Fair 


AMERICAN MERGANSER 29 


Haven Pond and would alight under the lee of the 
Cliff. So, creeping slowly down through the woods 
four or five rods, I was enabled to get a fair sight of 
them, and finally we sat exposed on the rocks within 
twenty-five rods. They appear not to observe a person 
so high above them. 

It was a pretty sight to see a pair of them tacking 
about, always within a foot or two of each other and 
heading the same way, now on this short tack, now on 
that, the male taking the lead, sinking deep and looking 
every way. When the whole twelve had come together 
they would soon break up again, and were continually 
changing their ground, though not diving, now sailing 
slowly this way a dozen rods, and now that, and now 
coming in near the shore. Then they would all go to 
preening themselves, thrusting their bills into their 
backs and keeping up such a brisk motion that you 
could not get a fair sight of one’s head. From time to 
time you heard a slight titter, not of alarm, but perhaps 
a breeding-note, for they were evidently selecting their 
mates. I saw one scratch its ear or head with its foot. 
Then it was surprising to see how, briskly sailing off 
one side, they went to diving, as if they had suddenly 
come across a school of minnows. A whole company 
would disappear at once, never rising high as before. 
Now for nearly a minute there is not a feather to be 
seen, and the next minute you see a party of half a 
dozen there, chasing one another and making the water 
fly far and wide. 

When returning, we saw, near the outlet of the pond, 
seven or eight sheldrakes standing still in a line on the 


30 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


edge of the ice, and others swimming close by. They 
evidently love to stand on the ice for a change. 

March 30, 1858. Landing at Bittern Cliff, I went 
round through the woods to get sight of ducks on the 
pond. Creeping down through the woods, I reached the 
rocks, and saw fifteen or twenty sheldrakes scattered 
about. The full-plumaged males, conspicuously black 
and white and often swimming in pairs, appeared to be 
the most wary, keeping furthest out. Others, with much 
less white and duller black, were very busily fishing 
just north the inlet of the pond, where there is about 
three feet of water, and others still playing and preen- 
ing themselves. These ducks, whose tame representa- 
tives are so sluggish and deliberate in their motions, 
were full of activity. A party of these ducks fishing 
and playing is a very lively scene. On one side, for in- 
stance, you will see a party of eight or ten busily diving 
and most of the time under water, not rising high when 
they come up, and soon plunging again. The whole sur- 
face will be in commotion there, though no ducks may 
be seen. I saw one come up with a large fish, where- 
upon all the rest, as they successively came to the sur- 
face, gave chase to it, while it held its prey over the 
water in its bill, and they pursued with a great rush 
and clatter a dozen or more rods over the surface, mak- 
ing a great furrow in the water, but, there being some 
trees in the way, I could not see the issue. I saw seven 
or eight all dive together as with one consent, remain- 
ing under half a minute or more. On another side you 
see a party which seem to be playing and pluming 
themselves. They will run and dive and come up and 


AMERICAN MERGANSER 31 


dive again every three or four feet, occasionally one 
pursuing another ; will flutter in the water, making it 
fly, or erect themselves at full length on the surface 
like a penguin, and flap their wings. This party make 
an incessant noise. Again you will see some steadily 
tacking this way or that in the middle of the pond, and 
often they rest there asleep with their heads in their 
backs. They readily cross the pond, swimming from 
this side to that. 

April 19, 1858. Rice tells me of winging a sheldrake 
once just below Fair Haven Pond, and pursuing it in 
a boat as it swam down the stream, till it went ashore 
at Hubbard’s Wood and crawled into a woodchuck’s 
hole about a rod from the water on a wooded bank. He 
could see its tail and pulled it out. 

March 23, 1859. As we sit there, we see coming, 
swift and straight, northeast along the river valley, not 
seeing us and therefore not changing his course, a male 
goosander, so near that the green reflections of his head 
and neck are plainly visible. He looks like a paddle- 
wheel steamer, so oddly painted up, black and white 
and green, and moves along swift and straight like one. 
Ere long the same returns with his mate, the red- 
throated, the male taking the lead. 

March 30, 1859. See on Walden two sheldrakes, 
male and female, as is common. So they have for some 
time paired. They are a hundred rods off. The male 
the larger, with his black head and white breast, the 
female with a red head. With my glass I see the long 
red bills of both. They swim at first one way near to- 
gether, then tack and swim the other, looking around 


82 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


incessantly, never quite at their ease, wary and watch- 
ful for foes. A man cannot walk down to the shore or 
stand out on a hill overlooking the pond without dis- 
turbing them. They will have an eye upon him. The 
locomotive-whistle makes every wild duck start that is 
floating within the limits of the town. I see that these 
ducks are not here for protection alone, for at last they 
both dive, and remain beneath about forty pulse-beats, 
—and again, and again. I think they are looking for 
fishes. Perhaps, therefore, these divers are more likely 
to alight in Walden than the black ducks are. 

April 2, 1859. From near this cliff, I watch a male 
sheldrake in the river with my glass. It is very busily 
pluming itself while it sails about, and from time to 
time it raises itself upright almost entirely out of water, 
, showing its rosaceous breast. It is some sixty rods off, 
yet I can see the red bill distinctly when it is turned 
against its white body. Soon after I see two more, and 
one, which I think is not a female, is more gray and 
far less distinctly black and white than the other. I 
think it is a young male and that it might be called by 
some a gray duck. However, if you show yourself within 
sixty rods, they will fly or swim off, so shy are they. 
Yet in the fall I sometimes get close upon a young 
bird, which dashes swiftly across or along the river and 
dives. 

April 12, 1859. Saw a duck, apparently a sheldrake, 
at the northeast end of Cyanean Meadow. It disap- 
peared at last by diving, and I could not find it. But 
I saw what looked like a ripple made by the wind, 
which moved slowly down the river at least forty rods 


AMERICAN MERGANSER 33 


toward the shore and there disappeared. Though I saw 
no bird there, I suspect that the ripple was made by it. 
Two sheldrakes flew away from this one when first ob- 
served. Why did this remain? Was it wounded? Or 
can those which dart so swiftly across the river and 
dive be another species and not the young of the sea- 
son or females of the common one? Is it not, after all, 
the red-breasted merganser, and did I not see them in 
Maine?! 

I see half a dozen sheldrakes very busily fishing 
around the base of Lupine Hill or Promontory. There 
are two full-plumaged males and the rest females, or 
perhaps some of them young males. They are coasting 
along swiftly with their bodies sunk low and their heads 
half under, looking for their prey, one behind another, 
frequently turning and passing over the same ground 
again. Their crests are very conspicuous, thus : 

When one sees a fish he at first swims rapidly = 
after it, and then, if necessary, flies close over the water 
after it, and this excites all the rest to follow, swimming 
or flying, and if one seizes the fish, which I suspect is 
commonly a pickerel, they all pursue the lucky fisher, 
and he makes the water fly far in his efforts to get away 
and gulp down his fish. I can see the fish in his bill 
all the while, and he must swallow it very skillfully 
and quickly, if at all. I was first attracted to them by 
seeing these great birds rushing, shooting, thus swiftly 
through the air and water and throwing the water high 
about them. Sometimes they dive and swim quietly 


1 [If the males as well as the females had the crests mentioned later 
the birds were, of course, red-breasted mergansers. ] 


34 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


beneath, looking for their game. At length they spy 
me or my boat, and I hear a faint quack indicative 
of alarm, and suddenly all arise and go off. In the 
meanwhile I see two black ducks sailing with them 
along the shore. These look considerably smaller, and 
of course carry their heads more erect. They have a 
raw, gosling look beside the others, and I see their 
light bills against their dusky necks and heads. At 
length, when I get near them, I hear their peculiar 
quack also, and off they go. :The sheldrakes appear to 
be a much more lively bird than the black duck. How 
different from the waddling domestic duck! The former 
are all alive, eagerly fishing, quick as thought, as they 
need to be to catch a pickerel. 

Feb. 27, 1860. I had noticed for some time, far in the 
middle of the Great Meadows, something dazzlingly 
white, which I took, of course, to be a small cake of ice 
on its end, but now that I have climbed the pitch pine 
hill and can overlook the whole meadow, I see it to be 
the white breast of a male sheldrake, accompanied per- 
haps by his mate (a darker one). They have settled 
warily in the very midst of the meadow, where the wind 
has blown a space of clear water for an acre or two. The 
aspect of the meadow is sky-blue and dark-blue, the 
former a thin ice, the latter the spaces of open water 
which the wind has made, but it is chiefly ice still. 
Thus, as soon as the river breaks up or begins to break 
up fairly, and the strong wind widening the cracks 
makes at length open spaces in the ice of the meadow, 
this hardy bird appears, and is seen sailing in the first 
widened crack in the ice, where it can come at the 


AMERICAN MERGANSER 35 


water. Instead of a piece of ice I find it to be the breast 
of the sheldrake, which so reflects the light as to look 
larger than it is, steadily sailing this way and that with 
its companion, who is diving from time to time. They 
have chosen the opening farthest removed from all 
shores. As I look I see the ice drifting in upon them 
and contracting their water, till finally they have but a 
few square rods left, while there are forty or fifty acres 
near by. This is the first bird of the spring that I have 
seen or heard of. 

March 16,1860. Saw a flock of sheldrakes a hundred 
rods off, on the Great Meadows, mostly males with a 
few females, all intent on fishing. They were coasting 
along a spit of bare ground that showed itself in the 
middle of the meadow, sometimes the whole twelve 
apparently in a straight line at nearly equal distances 
apart, with each its head under water, rapidly coasting 
along back and forth, and ever and anon one, having 
caught something, would be pursued by the others. It 
is remarkable that they find their finny prey on the 
middle of the meadow now, and even on the very inmost 
side, as I afterward saw, though the water is quite low. 
Of course, as soon as they are seen on the meadows 
there are fishes there to be caught. I never see them 
fish thus in the channel. Perhaps the fishes lie up there 
for warmth already. 

March 17, 1860. I see a large flock of sheldrakes, 
which have probably risen from the pond, go over my 
head in the woods. A dozen large and compact birds 
flying with great force and rapidity, spying out the land, 
eyeing every traveller, fast and far they “steam it” on 


36 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


clipping wings, over field and forest, meadow and flood ; 
now here, and you hear the whistling of their wings, 
and ina momentthey are lost in the horizon. Like swift 
propellers of the air. Whichever way they are headed, 
that way their wings propel them. What health and 
vigor they suggest! The life of man seems slow and 
puny in comparison, — reptilian. 

[See also under Herring Gull, p. 15; Wild Ducks, 
pp. 50, 51; General and Miscellaneous, p. 423.] 


BLACK DUCK; DUSKY DUCK 


April 1, 1853. Saw ten black ducks at Clamshell. 
Had already started two, who probably occupied an 
outpost. They all went off with a loud and disagreeable 
quacking like ducks in a poultry-yard, their wings ap- 
pearing lighter beneath. 

March 21, 1854. At sunrise to Clamshell Hill. 

River skimmed over at Willow Bay last night. 
Thought I should find ducks cornered up bythe ice ; they 
get behind this hill for shelter. Saw what looked like 
elods of plowed meadow rising above the ice. Looked 
with glass and found it to be more than thirty black 
ducks asleep with their heads in their backs, motion- 
less, and thin ice formed about them. Soon one or two 
were moving about slowly. There was an open space, eight 
or ten rods by one or two. At first all within a space of 
apparently less than a rod in diameter. It was 6.30 
A.M., and the sun shining on them, but bitter cold. How 
tough they are! I crawled far on my stomach and got 
a near view of them, thirty rods off. At length they de- 
tected me and quacked. Some got out upon the ice, and 


BLACK DUCK 37 


when I rose up all took to flight in a great straggling 
flock which at a distance looked like crows, in no order. 
Yet, when you see two or three, tlie parallelism pro- 
duced by their necks and bodies steering the same way 
gives the idea of order. 

April 21, 1855. Watched for some time a dozen 
black ducks on the meadow’s edge ‘in a retired place, 
some on land and some sailing. Fifty rods off and with- 
out the glass, they looked like crows feeding on the 
meadow’s edge, with a scarcely perceptible tinge of 
brown. 

Feb. 29,1856. He! loves to recall his hunting days 
and adventures, and I willingly listen to the stories he 
has told me half a dozen times already. One day he saw 
about twenty black ducks on Goose Pond, and stole 
down on them, thinking to get a shot, but it chanced 
that astray dog scared them up before he was ready. 
He stood on the point of the neck of land between 
the ponds, and watched them as they flew high toward 
Flint’s Pond. As he looked, he saw one separate from 
the flock when they had got half-way to Flint’s Pond, or 
half a mile,and return straight toward Goose Pond again. 
He thought he would await him, and give him a shot if 
he came nearenough. As he flew pretty near and rather 
low, he fired, whereupon the duck rose right up high 
into the air, and he saw by his motions that he was 
wounded. Suddenly he dropped, by a slanting fall, into 
the point of a thick pine wood, and he heard him plainly 
strike the ground like a stone. He went there and 
searched for a long time, and was about giving it up, 


1 [George Minott.] 


38 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


when at length he saw the duck standing, still alive and 
bleeding, by the side of a stump, and made out to kill 
him with a stick before he could reach the water. 

April 9, 1856. Paddled quite to the head of Pinxter 
Swamp, where were two black ducks amid the*maples, 
which went off with a hoarse quacking, leaving a feather 
on the smooth dark water amid the fallen tree-tops and 
over the bottom of red leaves. 

April 14, 1856. There go a couple of ducks, which 
probably I have started, now scaling far away on mo- 
tionless pinions, with a slight descent in their low flight, 
toward some newcove. Anon I scare up two black ducks 
which make one circle around me, reconnoitring and 
rising higher and higher, then go down the river. Is it 
they that so commonly practice this manceuvre ? 

June 23, 1857. Skinner, the harness-maker, tells me 
that he found a black duck’s nest Sunday before the last, 
i. e. the 14th, with perhaps a dozen eggs in it, a mere 
hollow on the top of a tussock, four or five feet within 
a clump of bushes forming an islet (in the spring) in 
Hubbard’s great meadow. He scared up the duck when 
within a few feet... . 

P. M. — Looked for the black duck’s nest, but could 
find no trace of it. Probably the duck led her young to 
the river as soon as hatched. What with gunners, dogs, 
pickerel, bullfrogs, hawks, etc., it is a wonder if any of 
them escape. 

June 24,1857. Melvin’ thinks there cannot be many 
black ducks’ nests in the town, else his dog would find 
them, for he will follow their trail as well as another 


1 [George Melvin, a Concord gunner and fisherman.] 


BLACK DUCK 39 


bird’s, or a fox. The dog once caught five black ducks 
here but partly grown. 

July 3, 1857. Minott says that old Joe Merriam used 
to tell of his shooting black ducks in the Dam meadows 
and what luck he had. One day he had shot a couple of 
ducks and was bringing them home by the legs, when 
he came to a ditch. As he had his gun in the other 
hand, and the ditch was wide, he thought he would 
toss the ducks over before he jumped, but they had no 
sooner struck the ground than they picked themselves 
up and flew away, which discouraged him with respect 
to duck-shooting. 

Oct. 14, 1857. Approaching White Pond by the 
path, I see on its perfectly smooth surface what I at 
first mistake fora large raft of dead and black logs and 
limbs, but it soon elevates itself in the form of a large 
flock of black ducks, which go off witha loud quacking. 

March 31, 1858. I see about a dozen black ducks on 
Flint’s Pond, asleep with their heads in their backs and 
drifting across the pond before the wind. I suspect that 
they are nocturnal in their habits and therefore require 
much rest by day. So do the seasons revolve and every 
chink is filled. While the waves toss this bright day, 
the ducks, asleep, are drifting before it across the ponds. 
Every now and then one or two lift their heads and look 
about, as if they watched by turns. . . . The leaves are 
now so dry and Joose that it is almost impossible to ap- 
proach the shore of the pond without being heard by 
the ducks. 

April 2, 1858. See how those black ducks, swimming 
in pairs far off on the river, are disturbed by our ap- 


40 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


pearance, swimming away in alarm, and now, when we 
advance again, they rise and fly up-stream and about, 
uttering regularly a crack cr-r-rack of alarm, even for 
five or ten minutes, as they circle about, long after we 
have lost sight of them. Now we hear it on this side, 
now on that. 

[See also under Herring Gull, pp. 18, 15 ; American 
Merganser, pp. 25, 84; Wild Goose, p. 60; General 
and Miscellaneous, p. 418.] 


WOOD DUCK; SUMMER DUCK 


Oct. 29, 1837. Two ducks, of the summer or wood 
species, which were merrily dabbling in their favorite 
basin [at Goose Pond], struck up a retreat on my 
approach, and seemed disposed to take French leave, 
paddling off with swan-like majesty. They are first-rate 
swimmers, beating me at a round pace, and — what 
was to me a new trait in the duck character — dove 
every minute or two and swam several feet under water, 
in order to escape our attention.’ Just before immersion 
they seemed to give each other a significant nod, and 
then, as if by a common understanding, ’t was heels up 
and head down in the shaking of a duck’s wing. When 
they reappeared, it was amusing to observe with what a 
self-satisfied, darn-it-how-he-nicks-’em air they paddled 
off to repeat the experiment. 

Aug. 6, 1855. At Ball’s Hill see five summer ducks, 
a brood now grown, feeding amid the pads on the op- 
posite side of the river, with a whitish ring, perhaps 


1 [Wood ducks do not commonly dive. Thoreau may have been mis- 
taken as to the species. ] 


WOOD DUCK; SUMMER DUCK 41 


nearly around neck. A rather shrill squeaking quack 
when they go off. It is remarkable how much more 
game you will see if you are in the habit of sitting in the 
fields and woods. As you pass along with a noise it hides 
itself, but presently comes forth again. 

Nov. 9, 1855. Saw in the pool at the Hemlocks what 
I at first thought was a brighter leaf moved by the 
zephyr on the surface of the smooth dark water, but it 
was a splendid male summer duck, which allowed us to 
approach within seven or eight rods, sailing up close to 
the shore, and then rose and flew up the curving stream. 
We soon overhauled it again, and got a fair and long 
view of it. It was a splendid bird, a perfect floating 
gem, and Blake,' who had never seen the like, was 
greatly surprised, not knowing that so splendid a bird 
was found in this part of the world. There it was, con- 
stantly moving back and forth by invisible means and 
wheeling on the smooth surface, showing now its breast, 
now its side, now its rear. It had a large, rich, flowing, 
green burnished crest, — a most ample head-dress, — 
two crescents of dazzling white on the side of the head 
and the black neck, a pinkish(?)-red bill (with black 
tip) and similar irides, and a long white mark under 
and at wing point on sides; the side, as if the form of 
wing at this distance, light bronze or greenish brown ; 
but, above all, its breast, when it turns into the right 
light, all aglow with splendid purple (?) or ruby (?) 
reflections, like the throat of the hummingbird. It 
might not appear so close at hand. This was the most 
surprising to me. What an ornament to a river to see 

1 [Thoreau’s friend Harrison G. O. Blake of Worcester, Mass. ] 


42 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


that glowing gem floating in contact with its waters! 
As if the hummingbird should recline its ruby throat 
and its breast on the water. Like dipping a glowing coal 
in water! It so affected me. 

It became excited, fluttered or flapped its wings with 
a slight whistling noise, and arose and flew two or three 
rods and alighted. It sailed close up to the edge of a 
rock, by which it lay pretty still, and finally sailed fast 
up one side of the river by the willows, etc., off the 
duck swamp beyond the spring, now and then turning 
and sailing back a foot or two, while we paddled up the 
opposite side a rod in the rear, for twenty or thirty 
rods. At length we went by it, and it flew back low a 
few rods to where we roused it. It never offered to dive. 
We came equally near it again on our return. Unless 
you are thus near, and have a glass, the splendor and 
beauty of its colors will not be discovered. 


That duck was all jewels combined, showing differ- 
ent lustres as it turned on the unrippled element in 
various lights, now brilliant glossy green, now dusky 
violet, now a rich bronze, now the reflections that sleep 
in the ruby’s grain. 

Aug. 3, 1856. Two small ducks (probably wood 
ducks) flying south. Already grown, and at least look- 
ing south!! It reminds me of the swift revolution of 
the seasons. 

Aug. 16, 1858. In my boating of late I have sev- 
eral times scared up a couple of summer ducks of this 
year, bred in our meadows. They allowed me to come 
quite near, and helped to people the river. I have not 


WOOD DUCK; SUMMER DUCK 43 


seen them for some days. Would you know the end of 
our intercourse? Goodwin shot them, and Mrs. ; 
who never sailed on:the river, ate them. Of course, 
she knows not what she did. What if I should eat her 
canary? Thus we share each other’s sins as well as 
burdens. The lady who watches admiringly the matador 
shares his deed. They belonged to me, as much as to any 
one, when they were alive, but it was considered of more 
importance that Mrs. should taste the flavor of them 
dead than that I should enjoy the beauty of them alive. 

July 27, 1860. See, twenty rods or more down- 
stream, four or five young ducks, which appear already 
to be disturbed by my boat. So, leaving that to attract 
their attention, I make my way alongshore in the high 
grass and behind the trees till I am opposite to them. 
Ata distance they appear simply black and white, as 
they swim deep, — black backs and white throats. Now 
I find that they have retreated a little into the ponte- 
deria, and are very busily diving, or dipping, not im- 
mersing their whole bodies, but their,heads and shoul- 
ders while their bodies are perfectly perpendicular, just 
like tame ducks. All of them close together will be in 
this attitude at the same moment. I now see that the 
throat, and probably upper part, at least, of breast, is 
clear-white, and there is a clear line of white above eye 
and on neck within a line of black; and as they stand 
on their heads, the tips apparently of their tails (pos- 
sibly wings??) are conspicuously white or whitish; the 
upper part, also, is seen to be brownish rather than 
black. I presume these to be young summer ducks, 
though so dark; say two-thirds grown. 


44 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


How easy for the young ducks to hide amid the pick- 
erel-weed along our river, while a boat goes by! and 
this plant attains its height when these water-fowl are 
of a size to need its shelter. Thousands of them might 
be concealed by it along our river, not to speak of the 
luxuriant sedge and grass of the meadows, much of it 
so wet as to be inaccessible. These ducks are diving 
scarcely two feet within the edge of the pickerel-weed, 
yet one who had not first seen them exposed from a 
distance would never suspect their neighborhood. 

Sept. 17, 1860. See a flock of eight or ten wood 
ducks on the Grindstone Meadow, with glass, some 
twenty-five rods off, — several drakes very handsome. 
They utter a creaking scream as they sail there,— 
being alarmed,— from time to time, shrill and loud, 
very unlike the black duck. At last one sails off, call- 
ing the others by a short creaking note. 

[ See also under General and Miscellaneous, pp. 418, 
432, 433.] 


AMERICAN GOLDEN-EYE; WHISTLER 


[See under American Merganser, pp. 24, 25, 28.] 


BUFFLE-HEAD ; BUFFLE-HEADED DUCK 


April 19, 1855. From Heywood’s Peak I thought I 
saw the head of a loon in the pond, thirty-five or forty 
rods distant. Bringing my glass to bear, it seemed sunk 
very low in the water, — all the neck concealed, — but 
I could not tell which end was the bill. At length I 
discovered that it was the whole body of a little duck, 
asleep with its head in its back, exactly in the middle 


BUFFLE-HEAD 45 


of the pond. It had a moderate-sized black head and 
neck, a white breast, and seemed dark-brown above, 
with a white spot on the side of the head, not reaching 
to the outside, from base of mandibles, and another, 
perhaps, on the end of the wing, with some black there. 
It sat drifting round a little, but’ with ever its breast to- 
ward the wind, and from time to time it raised its head 
and looked round to see if it were safe. I think it was 
the smallest duck Iever saw. Floating buoyantly asleep 
on the middle of Walden Pond. Was it not a female 
of the buffle-headed or spirit duck? I believed the wings 
looked blacker when it flew, with some white beneath. 
It floated like a little casket, and at first I doubted a 
good while if it possessed life, until I saw it raise its 
head and look around. It had chosen a place for its nap 
exactly equidistant between the two shores there, and, 
with its breast to the wind, swung round only as much 
as a vessel held by its anchors in the stream. At length 
the cars scared it. 


WILD DUCKS (SPECIES UNNAMED) 


March 16, 1840. The ducks alight at this season on 
the windward side of the river, in the smooth water, 
and swim about by twos and threes, pluming themselves 
and diving to peck at the root of the lily and the cran- 
berries which the frost has not loosened. It is impos- 
sible to approach them within gunshot when they are 
accompanied by the gull, which rises sooner and makes 
them restless. They fly to windward first, in order to 
get under weigh, and are more easily reached by the 
shot if approached on that side. When preparing to 


46 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


fly, they swim about with their heads erect, and then, 
gliding along a few feet with their bodies just touching 
the surface, rise heavily with much splashing and fly 
low at first, if not suddenly aroused, but otherwise rise 
directly to survey the danger. The cunning sportsman 
is not in haste to desert his position, but waits to ascer- 
tain if, having got themselves into flying trim, they will 
not return over the ground in their course to a new 
resting-place. 

April 10, 1852. Took boat at Stedman Buttrick’s, a 
gunner’s boat, smelling of muskrats and provided with 
slats for bushing the boat. Having got into the Great 
Meadows, after grounding once or twice on low spits 
of grass ground, we begin to see ducks which we have 
scared, flying low over the water, always with a striking 
parallelism in the direction of their flight. They fly like 
regulars. They are like rolling-pins with wings. A few 
gulls, sailing like hawks, seen against the woods ; crows ; 
white-bellied swallows even here, already, which, I sup- 
pose, proves that their insect food is in the air. . 
Ducks most commonly seen flying by twos or threes. 


From Carlisle Bridge we saw many ducks a quar- 
ter of a mile or more northward, black objects on the 
water, and heard them laugh something like a loon. 
Might have got near enough to shoot them. A fine sight 
to see them rise at last, about fifty of them, apparently 
black ducks. While they float on the water they ap- 


1 [Probably not black ducks, to judge by what he says of their note. 
It seems possible that they might have been brant, though brant are 
extremely rare in fresh water in New England.] 


WILD DUCKS 47 


pear to preserve constantly their relative distance. 
Their note not exactly like that of a goose, yet re- 
sembling some domestic fowl’s ery, you know not what 
one ; like a new species of goose. 

April 16, 1852. Flight of ducks and partridges ear- 
nest but not graceful. 

April 17,1852. These deep withdrawn bays, like that 
toward Well Meadow, are resorts for many a shy flock 
of ducks. They are very numerous this afternoon. We 
scare them up every quarter of a mile. Mostly the 
whitish duck which Brown thinks the golden-eye (we 
call them whistlers), and also black ducks, perchance 
also sheldrakes. They are quite shy ; swim rapidly away 
far into the pond. A flock which we surprised in the 
smooth bay of Well Meadow divided and showed much 
cunning, dodging under the shore to avoid us. 

Oct. 12, 1852. Paddled on Walden. A rippled sur- 
face. Scared up ducks. Saw them first far over the 
surface, just risen, — two smaller, white-bellied, one 
larger, black. They circled round as usual, and the first 
went off, but the black one went round and round and 
over the pond five or six times at a considerable height 
and distance, when I thought several times he had gone 
to the river, and at length settled down by a slanting 
flight of a quarter of a mile into a distant part of the 
pond which I had left free; but what beside safety these 
ducks get by sailing in the middle of Walden I don’t 
know. That black rolling-pin with wings, circling round 
you half a mile off for a quarter of an hour, at that 
height, from which he sees the river and Fair Haven 
all the while, from which he sees so many things, while 


48 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


I see almost him alone. Their wings set so far back. 
They are not handsome, but wild. 

March 18, 1855. Meanwhile a small dark-colored 
duck, all neck and wings, a winged rolling-pin, went 
over, — perhaps a teal. 

March 27,1855. The ducks sleep these nights in the 
shallowest water which does net freeze, and there may 
be found early in the morning. I think that they prefer 
that part of the shore which is permanently covered. 

April 22, 1856. Iraised my sail and, cowering under 
my umbrella in the stern, wearing the umbrella like a 
cap and holding the handle between my knees, I steered 
and paddled, almost perfectly sheltered from the heavy 
rain. Yet my legs and arms were a little exposed some- 
times, in my endeavors to keep well to windward so as 
to double certain capes ahead. For the wind occasion- 
ally drove me on to the western shore. From time to 
time, from under my umbrella, I could see the ducks 
spinning away before me, like great bees. For when 
they are flying low directly from you, you see hardly 
anything but their vanishing dark bodies, while the 
rapidly moving wings or paddles, seen edgewise, are 
almost invisible. 

Oct. 22, 1857. As I go through the woods now, 
so many oak and other leaves have fallen the rustling 
noise somewhat disturbs my musing. However, Nature 
in this may have intended some kindness to the ducks, 
which are now loitering hereabouts on their migration 
southward, mostly young and inexperienced birds, for, 
as they are feeding in Goose Pond, for instance, the 
rustling of the leaves betrays the approach of the sports- 


WILD DUCKS 49 


man and his dog, or other foe ; so perhaps the leaves on 
the ground protect them more than when on the trees. 

arch 25, 125%. There are so many sportsmen out 
that the ducks have no rest on the Great Meadows, 
which are not half covered with water. They sit uneasy 
on the water, looking about, without feeding, and I see 
one man endeavor to approach a flock crouchingly 
through the meadow for half a mile, with india-rubber 
boots on, where the water is often a foot deep. This has 
been going on, on these meadows, ever since the town 
was settled, and will go on as long as ducks settle here. 

March 25.1858. From Wheeler's ploughed field on 
the top of Fair Haven Hill, I look toward Fair Haven 
Pond, now quite smooth. There is not a duck nor a 
gull to be seen on it. I can hardly believe that it was 
so alive with them yesterday. Apparently they improve 
this warm and pleasant day, with little or no wind, to 
continue their journey northward. The strong and cold 
northwest wind of about a week past has probably 
detained them. Knowing that the meadows and ponds 
were swarming with ducks vesterday. you go forth this 
particularly pleasant and still day to see them at your 
leisure, but find that they are all gone. No doubt there 
are some left, and many more will soon come with 
the April rains. It is a wild life that is associated 
with stormy and blustering weather. When the invalid 
comes forth on his cane, and misses improve the plea- 
sant air to look for signs of vegetation, that wild life 
has withdrawn itself. 

April 18, 1858. Speaking to J. B. Moore? about the 

1 1Of Concord.] 


50 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


partridges being run down, he says that he was told 
by Lexington people some years ago that they found a 
duck lying dead under the spire of their old meeting- 
house (since burned) which stood on the Battle-Ground. 
The weathercock — and it was a cock in this case — 
was considerably bent, and the inference was that the 
duck had flown against it in the night. 

March 24, 1860. From Holbrook’s clearing I see 
five large dark-colored ducks, probably black ducks, 
far away on the meadow, with heads erect, necks 
stretched, on the alert, only one in water. Indeed, there 
is very little water on the meadows. For length of neck 
those most wary look much like geese. They appear 
quite large and heavy. They probably find some sweet 
grass, etc., where the water has just receded. 

There are half a dozen gulls on the water near. They 
are the large white birds of the meadow, the whitest 
we have. As they so commonly stand above water on 
a piece of meadow, they are so much the more conspic- 
uous. They are very conspicuous to my naked eye a 
mile off, or as soon as I come in sight of the meadow, 
but I do not detect the sheldrakes around them till I 
use my glass, for the latter are not only less conspicu- 
ously white, but, as they are fishing, sink very low in 
the water. Three of the gulls stand together on a piece 
of meadow, and two or three more are standing solitary 
half immersed, and now and then one or two circle 
slowly about their companions. 

The sheldrakes appear to be the most native to the 
river, briskly moving along up and down the side of 

1 [See pp. 107, 108.] 


WILD GOOSE; CANADA GOOSE 51 


the stream or the meadow, three-fourths immersed and 
with heads under water, like cutters collecting the re- 
venue of the river bays, or like pirate crafts peculiar to 
the stream. They come the earliest and seem to be 
most at home. 

The water is so low that all these birds are collected 
near the Holt. The inhabitants of the village, poultry- 
fanciers, perchance, though they be, [know not] these 
active and vigorous wild fowl (the sheldrakes) pursuing 
their finny prey ceaselessly within a mile of them, in 
March and April. Probably from the hen-yard fence 
with a good glass you can see them at it. They are as 
much at home on the water as the pickerel is within it. 
Their serrated bill reminds me of a pickerel’s snout. 
You see a long row of these schooners, black above 
with a white stripe beneath, rapidly gliding along, and 

‘ occasionally one rises erect on the surface and flaps 
its wings, showing its white lower parts. They are 
the duck most common and most identified with the 
stream at this season. They appear to get their 
food wholly within the water. Less like our domestic 
ducks. 

[See also under Loon, p. 4; General and Miscella- 
neous, pp. 408, 412. ] 


WILD GOOSE; CANADA GOOSE 


March 26, 1846. A flock of geese has just got in late, 
now in the dark flying low over the pond. They came 
on, indulging at last like weary travellers in complaint 
and consolation, or like some creaking evening mail 
late lumbering in with regular anserine clangor. I stood 


52 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


at my door ‘and could hear their wings when they sud- 
denly spied my light and, ceasing their noise, wheeled 
to the east and apparently settled in the pond. 

March 27,1846. This morning I saw the geese from 
the door through the mist sailing about in the middle 
of the pond, but when I went to the shore they rose and 
circled round likeducks over my head, so that I counted 
them, — twenty-nine. I after saw thirteen ducks. 

March 28, 1852. 10.15 P. M. — The geese have just 
gone over, making a great cackling and awaking people 
in their beds. They will probably settle in the river. 
Who knows but they had expected to find the pond 
open ? 

April 15, 1852. How indispensable our one or two 
flocks of geese in spring and autumn! What would be 
a spring in which that sound was not heard? Coming 
to unlock the fetters of northern rivers. Those annual 
steamers of the air. 

April 18, 1852. Going through Dennis’s field with 
C.,? saw a flock of geese on east side of river near wil- 
lows. Twelve great birds on the troubled surface of the 
meadow, delayed by the storm. We lay on the ground 
behind an oak and our umbrella, eighty rods off, and 
watched them. Soon we heard a gun go off, but could 
see no smoke inthe mist and rain. And the whole flock 
rose, spreading their great wings and flew with clangor ? 
a few rods and lit in the water again, then swam swiftly 


1 [Of his hut at Walden Pond.] 

2 (William Ellery Channing, the younger, the Concord poet, Tho 
reau’s most intimate friend and afterwards his biographer. ] 

3 The ‘‘ honk ” of the goose. 


WILD GOOSE; CANADA GOOSE 538 


toward ‘our shore with outstretched necks. I knew them 
first from ducks by their long necks. Soon appeared 
the man, running toward the shore in vain, in his great- 
coat ; but he soon retired in vain. We remained close 
under our umbrella by the tree, ever and anon looking 
through a peep-hole between the umbrella and the tree 
at the birds. On they came, sometimes in two, some- 
times in three, squads, warily, till we could see the 
steel-blue and green reflections from their necks. We 
held the dog close the while, — C., lying on his back in 
the rain, had him in his arms, — and thus we gradually 
edged round on the ground in this cold, wet, windy 
storm, keeping our feet to the tree, and the great wet 
calf of a dog with his eyes shut so meekly in our arms. 
We laughed well at our adventure. They swam fast and 
warily, seeing our umbrella. Occasionally one expanded 
a gray wing. They showed white on breasts. And not 
till after half an hour, sitting cramped and cold and 
wet on the ground, did we leave them” 


Heard the cackling of geese from over the Ministerial 
Swamp, and soon appeared twenty-eight geese that flew 
over our heads toward the other river we had left,’ we 
now near the black birches. With these great birds in 
it, the air seems for the first time inhabited. We detect 
holes in their wings. Their clank expresses anxiety. 

April 19, 1852. That last flock of geese yesterday is 
still in my eye. After hearing their clangor, looking 
southwest, we saw them just appearing over a dark pine 
wood, in an irregular waved line, one abreast of the 

1 [That is, the Sudbury River. They were then near the Assabet.] 


54 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


other, as it were breasting the air and pushing it before 
them. It made you think of the streams of Cayster, 
ete., ete. They carry weight, such a weight of metal in 
~ the air. Their dark waved outline as they disappear. 
The grenadiers of the air. Man pygmifies himself at 
sight of these inhabitants of the air. These stormy days 
they do not love to fly; they alight in some retired 
marsh or river. From their lofty pathway they can easily 
spy out the most extensive and retired swamp. How 
many there must be, that one or more flocks are seen 
to go over almost every farm in New England in the 
spring ! 

Nov. 25, 1852. At Walden.—I hear at sundown 
what I mistake for the squawking of a hen, — for they 
are firing at chickens hereabouts,'— but it proved to 
be a flock of wild geese going south. This proves how 
much the voices of all fowls are alike. 

Nov. 29, 1852. Geese in river swam as fast as I 
walked. . 

March 26, 1853. Saw about 10 a. M. a gaggle of geese, 
forty-three in number, in a very perfect harrow flying 
northeasterly. One side of the harrow was a little 
longer than the other. They appeared to be four or 
five feet apart. At first I heard faintly, as I stood by 
Minott’s gate, borne to me from the southwest through 
the confused sounds of the village, the indistinct honk- 
ing of geese. I was somewhat surprised to find that 
Mr. Loring at his house should have heard and seen 
the same flock. I should think that the same flock was 
commonly seen and heard from the distance of a mile 

1[A Thanksgiving-Day chicken-shoot.] 


WILD GOOSE; CANADA GOOSE 55 


east and west. It is remarkable that we commonly see 
geese go over in the spring about 10 o’clock in the 
morning, as if they were accustomed to stop for the 
night at some place southward whence they reached us 
at that time. Goodwin saw six geese in Walden about 
the same time. 

Nov. 28, 1853. At 5 p. um. I saw, flying southwest 
high overhead, a flock of geese, and heard the faint 
honking of one or two. They were in the usual harrow 
form, twelve in the shorter line and twenty-four in the 
longer, the latter abutting on the former at the fourth 
bird from the front. I judged Aastily that the interval 
between the geese was about double their alar extent, 
and, as the last is, according to Wilson, five feet and 
two inches, the former may safely be called eight feet. 
I hear they were fired at with a rifle from Bunker Hill 
the other day. This is the sixth flock I have seen or 
heard of since the morning of the 17th, @. e. within a 
week. 

Nov. 18, 1854. Saw sixty geese go over the Great 
Fields, in one waving line, broken from time to time 
by their crowding on each other and vainly endeavor- 
ing to form into a harrow, honking all the while. 

March 20, 1855. Trying the other day to imitate 
the honking of geese, I found myself flapping my sides 
with my elbows, as with wings, and uttering something 
like the syllables mow-ack with a nasal twang and twist 
in my head; and I produced their note so perfectly in 
the opinion of the hearers that I thought I might pos- 
sibly draw a flock down. 

April 19, 1855. 5 A. M.—TI hear a faint honk and, 


56 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


looking up, see going over the river, within fifty rods, 
thirty-two geese in the form of a hay-hook, only two in 
the hook, and they are at least six feet apart. Probably 
the whole line is twelve rods long. At least three hun- 
dred have passed over Concord, or rather within the 
breadth of a mile, this spring (perhaps twice as many) ; 
for I have seen or heard of a dozen flocks, and the two 
I counted had about thirty each. 

Nov. 18, 1855. In mid-forenoon (10.45), seventy or 
eighty geese, in three harrows successively smaller, fly- 
ing southwest— pretty well west — over the house. A 
completely overcast, occasionally drizzling forenoon. I 
at once heard their clangor and rushed to and opened 
the window. The three harrows were gradually formed 
into one great one before they were out of sight, the 
geese shifting their places without slacking their pro- 
gress. 

Nov. 19, 1855. Speaking of geese, he! says that Dr. 
Hurd told a tough story once. He said that when he 
went out to the well there came a flock of geese flying 
so low that they had to rise to clear the well-sweep. 
M. says that there used to be a great many more geese 
formerly; he used to hear a great many flocks in a day 
go “yelling” over. Brant, too, he used to see. 

Dec. 13, 1855. Sanborn’ tells me that he was waked up 
a few nights ago in Boston, about midnight, by the sound 
of a flock of geese passing over the city, probably about 
the same night I heard them here. They go honking 
over cities where the arts flourish, waking the inhabit- 


1 [George Minott.] 
2 [Mr. F. B. Sanborn of Concord, Thoreau’s biographer. ] 


WILD GOOSE; CANADA GOOSE = 57 


ants ; over State-houses and capitols, where legislatures 
sit; over harbors where fleets lie at anchor; mistaking 
the city, perhaps, for a swamp or the edge of a lake, 
about settling in it, not suspecting that greater geese 
than they have settled there. 

Nov. 8, 1857. A warm, cloudy, rain-threatening 
morning. 

About 10 a.m. a long flock of geese are going over 
from northeast to southwest, or parallel with the general 
direction of the coast and great mountain ranges. The 
sonorous, quavering sounds of the geese are the voice 
of this cloudy air,—a sound that comes from directly 
between us and the sky, an aerial sound, and yet so 
distinct, heavy, and sonorous, a clanking chain drawn 
through the heavy air. I saw through my window some 
children looking up and pointing their tiny bows into 
the heavens, and I knew at once that the geese were in 
the air. It is always an exciting event. The children, 
instinctively aware of its importance, rushed into the 
house to tell their parents. These travellers are revealed 
to you by the upward-turned gaze of men. And though 
these undulating lines are melting into the southwestern 
sky, the sound comes clear and distinct to you as the 
clank of'a chain ina neighboring stithy. So they migrate, 
not flitting from hedge to hedge, but from latitude to 
latitude, from State to State, steering boldly out into the 
ocean of theair. It is remarkable how these large ob- 
jects, so plain when your vision is rightly directed, may 
be lost in the sky if you look away for a moment, — as 
hard to hit as a star with a telescope. 

It is a sort of encouraging or soothing sound to as- 


58 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


suage their painful fears when they go over a town, as 
a man moans to deaden a physical pain. The direction 
of their flight each spring and autumn reminds us 
inlanders how the coast trends. In the afternoon I met 
Flood, who had just endeavored to draw my attention 
to a flock of geese in the mizzling air, but encountering 
me he lost sight of them, while I, at length, looking 
that way, discerned them, though he could not. This 
was the third flock to-day. Now if ever, then, we may 
expect a change in the weather. 

Nov. 30, 1857. The air is full of “geese. I saw five 
flocks within an hour, about 10 a. M., containing from 
thirty to fifty each, and afterward two more flocks, 
making in all from two hundred and fifty to three 
hundred at least, all flying southwest over Goose and 
Walden Ponds. The former was apparently well named 
Goose Pond. You first hear a faint honking from one 
or two in the northeast and think there are but few 
wandering there, but, looking up, see forty or fifty com- 
ing on in a more or less broken harrow, wedging their 
way southwest. I suspect they honk more, at any rate 
they are more broken and alarmed, when passing over 
a village, and are seen falling into their ranks again, 
assuming the perfect harrow form. Hearing only one 
or two honking, even for the seventh time, you think 
there are but few till you see them. According to my 
calculation a thousand or fifteen hundred may have gone 
over Concord to-day. When they fly low and near, they 
look very black against the sky. 

March 31, 1858. Just after sundown I see a large 
flock of geese in a perfect harrow cleaving their way 


WILD GOOSE; CANADA GOOSE 59 


toward the northeast, with Napoleonic tactics splitting 
the forces of winter. 

April 1, 1858. I observed night before last, as often 
before, when geese were passing over in the twilight 
quite near, though the whole heavens were still light 
and I knew which way to look by the honking, I could 
not distinguish them. It takes but a little obscurity 
to hide a bird in the air. How difficult, even in 
broadest daylight, to discover again a hawk at a dis- 
tance in the sky when you have once turned your eyes 
away ! 

Oct. 24, 1858. A northeast storm, though not much 
rain falls to-day, but a fine driving mizzle or “ drisk.” 
This, as usual, brings the geese, and at 2.30 p. u. I see 
two flocks go over. I hear that some were seen two or 
three weeks ago(??), faintly honking. A great many 
must go over to-day and also alight in this neighborhood. 
This weather warns them of the approach of winter, and 
this wind speeds them on their way. Surely, then, while 
geese fly overhead we can live here as contentedly as 
they do at York Factory on Hudson’s Bay. We shall 
perchance be as well provisioned and have as good so- 
ciety as they. Let us be of good cheer, then, and expect 
the annual vessel which brings the spring to us without 
fail. 

March 24, 1859. C.1 sees geese go over again this 
afternoon. How commonly they are seen in still rainy 
weather like this! He says that when they had got far 
off they looked like a black ribbon almost perpendicular 
waving in the air. 

1 [William Ellery Channing, the younger. ] 


60 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


March 28, 1859. We see eight geese floating afar 
in the middle of the meadow, at least half a mile off, 
plainly (with glass) much larger than the ducks in their 
neighborhood and the white on their heads very dis- 
tinct. When at length they arise and fly off northward, 
their peculiar heavy undulating wings, blue-heron-like 
and unlike any duck, are very noticeable. The black, 
sheldrake, etc., move their wings rapidly, and remind 
you of paddle-wheel steamers. Methinks the wings of 
the black duck appear to be set very far back when it 
is flying. The meadows, which are still covered far and 
wide, are quite alive with black ducks. 

When walking about on the low east shore at the 
Bedford bound, I heard a faint honk, and looked around 
over the water with my glass, thinking it came from 
that side or perhaps from a farmyard in that direction. 
I soon heard it again, and at last we detected a great 
flock passing over, quite on the other side of us and 
pretty high up. From time to time one of the company 
uttered a short note, that peculiarly metallic, clangorous 
sound, These were in a single undulating line, and, as 
usual, one or two were from time to time crowded out 
of the line, apparently by the crowding of those in the 
rear, and were flying on one side and trying to recover 
their places, but at last a second short line was formed, 
meeting the long one at the usual angle and making a 
figure somewhat like a hay-hook. I suspect it will be 
found that there is really some advantage in large birds 
of passage flying in the wedge form and cleaving their 
way through the air, — that they really do overcome its 
resistance best in this way, — and perchance the direc- 


WILD GOOSE; CANADA GOOSE 61 


tion and strength of the wind determine the comparative 
length of the two sides. 

The great gulls fly generally up or down the river 
valley, cutting off the bends of the river, and so do 
these geese. These fly sympathizing with the river, — 
a stream in the air, soon lost in the distant sky. 

We see these geese swimming and flying at midday 
and when it is perfectly fair. 

If you scan the horizon at this season of the year 
you are very likely to detect a small flock of dark 
ducks moving with rapid wing athwart the sky, or see 
the undulating line of migrating geese against the 
sky. 

Perhaps it is this easterly wind which brings geese, 
as it did on the 24th. 

Undoubtedly the geese fly more numerously over 
rivers which, like ours, flow northeasterly, — are more 
at home with the water under them. Each flock runs 
the gantlet of a thousand gunners, and when you see 
them steer off from you and your boat you may remem- 
ber how great their experience in such matters may be, 
how many such boats and gunners they have seen and 
avoided between here and Mexico, and even now, per- 
chance (though you, low plodding, little dream it), they 
see one or two more lying in wait ahead. They have an 
experienced ranger of the air for their guide. The echo 
of one gun hardly dies away before they see another 
pointed at them. How many bullets or smaller shot 
have sped in vain toward their ranks! Ducks fly more 
irregularly and shorter distances at atime. The geese 


62 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


rest in fair weather by day only in the midst of our 
broadest meadow or pond. So they go, anxious and 
earnest to hide their nests under the pole.! 

[See also under Loon, p. 4; Great Blue Heron, 


p- 72.] 


1 [Of course they do not go quite so far north as Thoreau intimates. 
He was perhaps thinking of the breeding-grounds of the brant.] 


IV 
HERONS AND RAILS 


‘AMERICAN BITTERN ; STAKE-DRIVER. 


June 14, 1851. As I proceed along the back road I 
hear the lark still singing in the meadow, and the bob- 
olink, and the gold robin on the elms, and the swallows 
twittering about the barns. A small bird chasing a crow 
high in the air, who is going home at night. All nature ~ 
is in an expectant attitude. Before Goodwin’s house, at 
the opening of the Sudbury road, the swallows are div- 
ing at a tortoise-shell cat, who curvets and frisks rather 
awkwardly, as if she did not know whether to be scared 
or not. And now, having proceeded a little way down 
this road, the sun having buried himself in the low cloud 
in the west and hung out his crimson curtains, I hear, 
while sitting by the wall, the sound of the stake-driver 
at a distance,— like that made by a man pumping 
in a neighboring farmyard, watering his cattle, or like 
chopping wood before his door on a frosty morning, 
and I can imagine like driving a stake in a meadow. 
The pumper. I immediately went in search of the 
bird, but, after going a third of a mile, it did not sound 
much nearer, and the two parts of the sound did not 
appear to proceed from the same place. What is the 
peculiarity of these sounds which penetrate so far on 
the keynote of nature? Atlast I got near to the brook 
in the meadow behind Hubbard’s wood, but I could 


64 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


not tell if it were further or nearer than that. When 
I got within half a dozen rods of the brook, it ceased, 
and I heard it no more. I suppose that I scared it. As 
before I was further off than I thought, so now I was 
nearer than I thought. It is not easy to understand 
how so small a creature can make so loud a sound by 
merely sucking in or throwing out water with pump- 
like lungs.? 

It was a sound as of gulping water. 

Sept. 20, 1851. I scare up the great bittern in 
meadow by the Heywood Brook near the ivy. He rises 
buoyantly as he flies against the wind, and sweeps south 
over the willow with outstretched neck, surveying. 

Oct. 5, 1851. The American bittern (Ardea minor)? 
flew across the river, trailing his legs in the water, 
seared up by us. This, according to Peabody, is the 
boomer (stake-driver). In their sluggish flight they 
can hardly keep their legs up. Wonder if they can 
soar. 

Oct. T, 1851. Saw the Ardea minor walking along 
the shore, like a hen with long green legs. Its pencilled 
throat is so like the reeds and shore, amid which it 
holds its head erect to watch the passer, that it is diffi- 


1 [No water is used in producing the sound. Thoreau had been mis- 
informed by one of his neighbors. See the account in his paper on the 
‘Natural History of Massachusetts” in Excursions. For an interesting 
account of this habit of the bittern’s see Mr. Bradford Tortey’s paper 
on “ The ‘ Booming’ of the Bittern” in The Auk for January, 1889 
(vol. vi, pp. 1-8).] 

2 [Now called Botaurus lentiginosus.] 

8 [W. B. O. Peabody, Report on the Birds of Massachusetts.] 


AMERICAN BITTERN; STAKE-DRIVER 65 


cult to discern it. You can get very near it, for it is 
unwilling to fly, preferring to hide amid the weeds. 

Océ. 12, 1851. Minott calls the stake-driver “ bel- 
cher-squelcher.” Says he has seen them when making 
the noise. They go slug-toot, slug-toot, slug-toot. 

June 16, 1852. I hear a stake-driver, like a man at 
his pump, which sucks,— fit sound for our sluggish 
river. . . . Most would suppose the stake-driver the 
sound of a farmer at a distance at his pump, watering 
his cattle. It oftener sounds like this than like a stake, 
but sometimes exactly like a man driving a stake in 
the meadow. 

June 20, 1852. The stake-driver is at it in his fa- 
vorite meadow. I followed the sound. At last I got 
within two rods, it seeming always to recede and draw- 
ing you like a will-o’-the-wisp further away into the 
meadows. When thus near, I heard some lower sounds 
at the beginning, much more like striking on a stump 
or a stake, a dry, hard sound; and then followed the 
gurgling, pumping notes, fit to come from a meadow. 
This was just within the blueberry and Pyrus arbuti- 
folia (choke-berry) bushes, and when the bird flew up 
alarmed, I went:to the place, but could see no water, 
which makes me doubt if water is necessary to it in 
making the sound. Perhaps it thrusts its bill so deep 
as to reach the water where it is dry on the surface. It 
sounds the more like wood-chopping or pumping, be- 
cause you seem to hear the echo of the stroke or the 
reverse motion of the pump-handle. I hear them morn- 
ing and evening. After the warm weather has come, 
both morning and evening you hear the bittern pump- 


66 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


ing in the fens. It does not sound loud near at hand, 
and it is remarkable that it should be heard so far. 
Perhaps it is pitched on a favorable key. Is it not a 
call to its mate? Methinks that in the resemblance of 
this note to rural sounds, to sounds made by farmers, 
the protection, the security, of the bird is designed. 

July 18, 1852. Again under weigh, we scare up the 
great bittern amid the pontederia, and, rowing to where 
he alights, come within three feet of him and scare 
him up again. He flies sluggishly away, plowing the air 
with the coulter of his breast-bone, and alighting ever 
higher up the stream. We scare him up many times in 
the course of an hour. 

Aug. 18, 1852. Saw the head and neck of a great 
bittern projecting above the meadow-grass, exactly like 
the point of a stump, only I knew there could be no 
stump there. : 

Aug. 31, 1852. The pigeon woodpecker darts across 
the valley; a catbird mews in the alders; a great bit- 
tern flies sluggishly away from his pine tree perch on 
Tupelo Cliff, digging his way through the air. These 
and crows at long intervals are all the birds seen or 
heard. 


There goes a great bittern plodding home over the 
meadows at evening, to his perch on some tree by the 
shore. The rain has washed the leaves clean where 
he perches. There stands another in the meadow just 
like a stake, or the point of a stump or root. Its secur- 
ity was consulted both in its form and color. The latter 
is a sober brown, pale on the breast, as the less exposed 


AMERICAN BITTERN; STAKE-DRIVER 67 


side of a roo might be; and its attitude is accidental, 
too, bent fotward and perfectly motionless. Therefore 
there is no change in appearance but such as can be 
referred to the motion of the sailor. 

May 13, 1858. Heard a stake-driver in Hubbard’s 
meadow from Corner road. Thus far off, I hear only, 
or chiefly, the last dry, hard click or stroke part of the 
note, sounding like the echo from some near wood of 
a distant stake-driving. Here only this portion of the 
note, but close by it is more like pumping, when the 
dry stroke is accompanied by the incessant sound of 
the pump. 

May 27, 1853. Heard a stake-driver yesterday in 
the rain. It sounded exactly like a man pumping, 
while another man struck on the head of the pump 
with an axe, the last strokes sounding peculiarly dry 
and hard like a forcible echo from the wood-side. One 
would think all Concord would be built on piles by this 
time. Very deliberately they drive, and in the intervals 
are considering the progress of the pile into the soft 
mud. They are working by the day. He is early and 
late at his work, building his stake[?]-house, yet did 
anybody ever see the pile he had driven? He has come 
back from his Southern tour to finish that job of spile- 
driving which he undertook last year. It is heavy work 
—not to be hurried. Only green hands are overhasty. 

May 20, 1856. See and hear a stake-driver in the 
swamp. It took one short pull at its pump and stopped. 

June 15, 1857. It was pleasant walking thus‘ at 5 
P.M. by solitary sandy paths, through commonly low 

1 [In Plymouth, Mass.] 


68 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


dry woods of oak or pine, through glistening oak woods 
(their fresh leaves in the June air), where the yellow- 
throat (or black-throat?') was heard and the wood 
thrush sang, and, as I passed a swamp, a bittern 
boomed. As I stood quite near, I heard distinctly two 
or three dry, hard sucks, as if the bird were drawing 
up water from the swamp, and then the sounds usually 
heard, as if ejecting it. 

May 28, 1858. From time to time I hear the sound 
of the bittern, concealed in the grass, indefinitely far 
or near, and can only guess at the direction, not the 
distance. I fail to find the nest. , 

June1T, 1858. The stake-driver comes beating along, 
like a long, ungainly craft, or a revenue cutter, looking 
into the harbors, and if it finds a fisherman there, stand- 
ing out again. 

Aug. 19, 1858. We scare up a stake-driver several 
times. The blue heron has within a week reappeared in 
our meadows, and ‘the stake-driver begins to be seen 
oftener, and as early as the 5th I noticed young summer 
ducks about; the same of hawks, owls, etc. This occurs 
as soon as the young birds can take care of themselves, 
and some appear to be very early on the return south- 
ward, with the very earliest prospect of fall. Such birds 
are not only more abundant but, methinks, more at lei- 
sure now, having reared their family, and perhaps they 
are less shy. Yes, bitterns are more frequently seen now 
to lift themselves from amid the pontederia or flags, 
and take their sluggish flight to a new resting-place, — 


1 [The black-throated bunting, or dickcissel, formerly a common 
bird in the Cape Cod region of Massachusetts. ] 


AMERICAN BITTERN; STAKE-DRIVER 69 


bitterns which either have got through the labors of 
breeding or are now first able to shift for themselves. 
And likewise blue herons, which have bred or been bred 
not far from us (plainly), are now at leisure, or are im- 
pelled to revisit our slow stream. I have not seen the 
last since spring. 

Oct. 26, 1858. He says that some call the stake- 
driver ‘‘ belcher-squelcher,” and some, “ wollerkertoot.” 
I used to call them “ pump-er-gor’.” Some say “ slug- 
toot.” 

Nov. 17, 1858. I am surprised to see a stake-driver 
fly up from the weeds within a stone’s throw of my 
boat’s place. It drops its excrement from thirty feet in 
the air, and this falling, one part being heavier than an- 
other, takes the form of a snake, and suggests that this 
may be the origin of some of the stories of this bird 
swallowing a snake or eel which passed through it. 

April 17, 1860. Looking off on to the river meadow, 
I noticed, as I thought, a stout stake aslant in the 
meadow, three or more rods off, sharp at the top and 
rather light-colored on one side, as is often the case; 
yet, at the same time, it occurred to me that a stake- 
driver often resembled a stake very much, but I thought, 
nevertheless, that there was no doubt about this being 
a stake. I took out my glass to look for ducks, and my 
companion, seeing what I had, and asking if it was not 
a stake-driver, I suffered my glass at last to rest on it, 
and I was much surprised to find that it was a stake- 
driver after all. The bird stood in shallow water near 
a tussock, perfectly still, with its long bill pointed up- 

1 [Minott.] 


70 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


wards in the same direction with its body and neck, so 
as perfectly to resemble a stake aslant. If the bill had 
made an angle with the neck it would have been be- 
trayed at once. Its resource evidently was to rely on its 
form and color and immobility solely for its concealment. 
This was its instinct, whether it implies any conscious 
artifice or not. I watched it for fifteen minutes, and at 
length it relaxed its muscles and changed its attitude, 
and I observed a slight motion; and soon after, when 
I moved toward it, it flew. It resembled more a piece of 
a rail than anything else,—more than anything that 
would have been seen here before the white man came. 
It is a question whether the bird consciously codperates 
in each instance with its Maker, who contrived this 
concealment. I can never believe that this resemblance 
is a mere coincidence, not designed to answer this very 
end — which it does answer so perfectly and usefully. 

June 6, 1860. Ever and anon we hear a few sucks or 
strokes from the bittern, the stake-driver, wherever we 
lie to, as if he had taken the job of extending all the 
fences into the river to keep cows from straying round. 

Oct. 16, 1860. Horace Mann’ tells me that he found 
in the crop or inside of the stake-driver killed the other 
day one grasshopper, several thousand-legs one to one 
and a half inches long, and not much else. 

April 16, 1861. He’ brought me some days ago the 
contents of a stake-driver’s stomach or crop. It is ap- 


1 [The son of the famous educator of that name. He was living in 
Concord, and he accompanied Thoreau on his journey to Minnesota in 


the following summer.] 
2 [Horace Mann.] 


GREAT BLUE HERON 71 


parently a perch (?), some seven inches long originally, 
with three or four pebble-shaped, compact masses of the 
fur of some very small quadruped, as a meadow mouse, 
some one fourth inch thick by three fourths in diameter, 
also several wing-cases of black beetles such as I see on 
the meadow flood. 

[ See also under Great Blue Heron, p. 79; Kingbird, 
p. 218.] . 


GREAT BLUE HERON 


1850. John Garfield brought me this morning (Sep- 
tember 6th) a young great heron (Ardea Herodias), 
which he shot this morning on a pine tree on the North 
Branch.’ It measured four feet, nine inches, from bill 
to toe and six feet in alar extent, and belongs to a dif- 
ferent race from myself and Mr. Frost.’ I am glad to 
recognize him for a native of America, — why not an 
American citizen ? 

April 19, 1852. Scared up three blue herons in the 
little pond close by, quite near us. It wasa grand sight 
to see them rise, so slow and stately, so long and lim- 
ber, with an undulating motion from head to foot, 
undulating also their large wings, undulating in two 
directions, and looking warily about them. With this 
graceful, limber, undulating motion they arose, as if so 
they got under way, their two legs trailing parallel far 
behind like an earthy residuum to be left behind. They 
are large, like birds of Syrian lands, and seemed to op- 
press the earth, and hush the hillside to silence, as they 


1 ‘TThe Assabet River. ] 
2 [Rev. Barzillai Frost, the Concord minister. ] 


72 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


winged their way over it, looking back toward us. It 
would affect our thoughts, deepen and perchance darken 
our reflections, if such huge birds flew in numbers in 
our sky. Have the effect of magnetic passes. They 
are few and rare. Among the birds of celebrated 
flight, storks, cranes, geese, and ducks. The legs hang 
down like a weight which they [?] raise, to pump 
up as it were with its [sic] wings and convey out of 
danger. 


To see the larger and wilder birds, you must go forth 
in the great storms like this. At such times they fre- 
quent our neighborhood and trust themselves in our 
midst. A life of fair-weather walks might never show 
you the goose sailing on our waters, or the great heron 
feeding here. When the storm increases, then these 
great birds that carry the mail of the seasons lay to. 
To see wild life you must go forth at a wild season. 
When it rains and blows, keeping men indoors, then 
the lover of Nature must forth. Then returns Nature 
to her wild estate. In pleasant sunny weather you may 
catch butterflies, but only when the storm rages that 
lays prostrate the forest and wrecks the mariner, do 
you come upon the feeding-grounds of wildest fowl, — 
of heron and geese. 

May 14, 1853. Suddenly there start up from the 
riverside at the entrance of Fair Haven Pond, scared 
by our sail, two great blue herons, —slate-color rather, 
—slowly flapping and undulating, their projecting 
breast-bones very visible, —or is it possibly their necks 
bent back? — their legs stuck out straight behind. Get- 


GREAT BLUE HERONS AND NEST 


‘GREAT BLUE HERON 73 


ting higher by their flight, they straight come back to 
reconnoitre us. 

Land at Lee’s Cliff, where the herons have preceded 
us and are perched on the oaks, conspicuous from afar, 
and again we have a fair view of their flight. 


Again we scare up the herons, who, methinks, will 
build hereabouts. They were standing by the water- 
side. And again they alight farther below, and we see 
their light-colored heads erect, and their bodies at vari- 
ous angles as they stoop to drink. And again they flap 
away with their great slate-blue wings, necks curled 
up (?) and legs straight out behind, and, having at- 
tained a great elevation, they circle back over our 
heads, now seemingly black as crows against the sky, 
— crows with long wings, they might be taken for, — 
but higher and higher they mount by stages in the sky, 
till heads and tails are lost and they are mere black 
wavelets amid the blue, one always following close be- 
hind the other. They are evidently mated. It would be 
worth the while if we could see them oftener in our sky. 

Aug. 28, 1853. I see to-day — and may add to yes- 
terday’s list — the blue heron launch off from an oak by 
the river and flap or sail away with lumbering flight; 
also kingbirds and crows. 

Sept. 14, 1854. We see half a dozen herons in this 
voyage. Their wings are so long in proportion to their 
bodies that there seems to be more than one undulation 
to a wing as they are disappearing in the distance, and 
so you can distinguish them. You see another begin be- 
fore the first has ended. It is remarkable how common 


74 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


these birds are about our sluggish and marshy river. 
We must attract them from a wide section, of country. 
It abounds in those fenny districts and meadow pond- 
holes in which they delight. 

April 15, 1855. Returning, we had a fine view of 
a blue heron, standing erect and open to view on a 
meadow island, by the great swamp south of the bridge, 
looking as broad as a boy on the side, and then some 
sheldrakes sailing in the smooth water beyond. These 
soon sailed behind points of meadow. The heron flew 
away, and one male sheldrake flew past us low over 
the water, reconnoitring, large and brilliant black and 
white. When the heron takes to flight, what a change 
in size and appearance! It is presto change / There go 
two great undulating wings pinned together, but the 
body and neck must have been left behind somewhere. 

Aug. 5, 1855. As I was paddling back at 6 A. m., 
saw, nearly half a mile off, a blue heron standing erect 
on the topmost twig of the great buttonwood on the 
street in front of Mr. Prichard’s house,’ while perhaps 
all within were abed and asleep. Little did they think 
of it, and how they were presided over. He looked at 
first like aspiring twig against the sky, till you saw him 
flap his wings. Presently he launched off and flew away 
over Mrs. Brooks’s house. 

Oct. 29, 1855. Returning, I scare up a blue heron 
from the bathing-rock this side the Island. It is whitened 
by its droppings, in great splotches a foot or more 
wide. He has evidently frequented it to watch for fish 
there. 

1 [In the centre of the village of Concord.] 


GREAT BLUE HERON 15 


Nov. 1, 1855. As I pushed up the river past Hil- 
dreth’s, I saw the blue heron (probably of last Monday) 
arise from the shore and disappear with heavily-flapping 
wings around a bend in front; the greatest of the bit- 
terns (Arde), with heavily-undulating wings, low over 
the water, seen against the woods, just disappearing 
round a bend in front; with a great slate-colored ex- 
panse of wing, suited to the shadows of the stream, a 
tempered blue as of the sky and dark water commingled. 
This is the aspect under which the Musketaquid' might 
be represented at this season: a long, smooth lake, re- 
flecting the bare willows and button-bushes, the stubble, 
and the wool-grass on its tussock, a muskrat-cabin or 
two conspicuous on its margin amid the unsightly tops 
of pontederia, and a bittern disappearing on undulating 
wing around a bend. 

April 26, 1856. A blue heron sails away from a pine 
at Holden Swamp shore and alights on the meadow 
above. Again he flies, and alights on the hard Conantum 
side, where at length I detect him standing far away 
stake-like (his body concealed), eying meand depending 
on his stronger vision. 

Aug. 16, 1858. A blue heron, with its great undulat- 
ing wings, prominent cutwater, and leisurely flight, goes 
over southwest, cutting off the bend of the river west of 
our house. 

Aug. 19, 1858. When I see the first heron, like a 
dusky blue wave undulating over our meadows again, I 
think, since I saw them going northward the other day, 
how many of these forms have been added to the land- 

1 [The Concord River. See note, pp. 80, 81.] 


76 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


scape, complete from bill to toe, while, perhaps, I have 
idled! I see two herons. A small bird is pursuing the 
heron as it does a hawk. Perhaps it is a blackbird and 
the herons gobble up their young ! 

Sept. 18, 1858. Near the pond ' we scare up twenty 
or thirty ducks, and at the pond three blue herons. 
They are of a hoary blue. One flies afar and alights on 
a limb of a large white pine near Well Meadow Head, 
bending it down. I see him standing there with out- 
stretched neck. 

Aug. 14, 1859. When I reached the upper end of 
this weedy bar, at about 3 Pp. mM. this warm day, I 
noticed some light-colored object in mid-river, near the 
other end of the bar. At first I thought of some large 
stake or board standing amid the weeds there, then of 
a fisherman in a brown holland sack, referring him to 
the shore beyond. Supposing it the last, I floated nearer 
and nearer till I saw plainly enough the motions of the 
person, whoever it was, and that it was no stake. Look- 
ing through my glass thirty or forty rods off, I thought 
certainly that I saw C.,? who had just bathed, making 
signals to me with his towel, for I referred the object to 
the shore twenty rods further. I saw his motions as he 
wiped himself, —the movements of his elbows and his 
towel. Then I saw that the person was nearer and there- 
fore smaller, that it stood on the sand-bar in mid-stream 
in shallow water and must be some maiden in a bath- 
ing-dress, — for it was the color of brown holland web, 
—and a very peculiar kind of dress it seemed. But 
about this time I discovered with my naked eye that it 

1 [Fairhaven Pond.] 2 [W. E. Channing.] 


GREAT BLUE HERON TT 


was a blue heron standing in very shallow water amid 
the weeds of the bar and pluming itself. I had not 
noticed its legs at all, and its head, neck, and wings, be- 
ing constantly moving, I had mistaken for arms, elbows, 
and towel of a bather, and when it stood stiller its 
shapely body looked like a peculiar bathing-dress. I 
floated to within twenty-five rods and watched it at my 
leisure. Standing on the shallowest part of the bar at 
that end, it was busily dressing its feathers, passing its 
bill like a comb down its feathers from base to tip. 
From its form and color, as well as size, it was singu- 
larly distinct. Its great spear-shaped head and bill was 
very conspicuous, though least so when turned toward 
me (whom it was eying from time to time). It coils its 
neck away upon its back or breast as a sailor might a 
rope, but occasionally stretches itself to its full height, 
as tall as a man, and looks around and at me. Growing 
shy, it begins to wade off, until its body is partly im- 
mersed amid the weeds, — potamogetons,— and then it 
looks more like a goose. The neck is continually vary- 
ing in length, as it is doubled up or stretched out, and 
the legs also, as it wades in deeper or-shallower water. 

Suddenly comes a second, flying low, and alights on 
the bar yet nearer to me, almost high and dry. Then 
I hear a note from them, perhaps of warning, —a 
short, coarse, frog-like purring or eructating sound. 
You might easily mistake it for a frog. I heard it half 
a dozen times. It was not very loud. Anything but 
musical. The last proceeds to plume himself, looking 
warily at me from time to time, while the other continues 
to edge off through the weeds. Now and then the latter 


78 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


holds its neck as if it were ready to strike its prey, — 
stretched forward over the water, — but I saw no 
stroke. The arch may be lengthened or shortened, sin- 
gle or double, but the great spear-shaped bill and head 
are ever the same. A great hammer or pick, prepared 
to transfix fish, frog, or bird. At last, the water be- 
coming too deep for wading, this one takes easily to 
wing — though up to his body in water —and flies a 
few rods to the shore. It rather flies, then, than swims. 
It was evidently scared. These were probably birds 
of this season. I saw some distinct ferruginous on the 
angle of the wing. There they stood in the midst of 
the open river, on this shallow and weedy bar in the 
sun, the leisurely sentries, lazily pluming themselves, 
as if the day were too long for them. They gave a new 
character to the stream. Adjutant they were to my 
idea of the river, these two winged men. 

You have not seen our weedy river, you do not know 
the significance of its weedy bars, until you have seen 
the blue heron wading and pluming itself on it. I see 
that it was made for these shallows, and they for it. 
Now the heron is gone from the weedy shoal, the scene 
appears incomplete. Of course, the heron has sounded 
the depth of the water on every bar of the river that is 
fordable to it. The water there is not so many feet deep, 
but so many heron’s tibiz. Instead of a foot rule you 
should use a heron’s leg for a measure. If you would 
know the depth of the water on these few shoalest places 
of Musketaquid, ask the blue heron that wades and 
fishes there. In some places a heron can wade across. 

How long we may have gazed on a particular scenery 


GREEN HERON; GREEN BITTERN 79 


and think that we have seen and known it, when, at 
length, some bird or quadruped comes and takes pos- 
session of it before our eyes, and imparts to it a wholly 
new character! The heron uses these shallows as I can- 
not. I give them up to.him. 

Oct. 10, 1860. Horace Mann shows me the skeleton 
of a blue heron. The neck is remarkably strong, and 
the bill. The latter is 5 + inches long to the feathers 
above and 63 to the gape. A stake-driver which he has, 
freshly killed, has a bill 3 inches long above and 4} to 
the gape and between § and § deep vertically at the 
base. This bird weighs a little over two pounds, being 
quite large and fat. Its nails are longer and less curved 
than those of the heron. The sharp bill of the heron, 
like a stout pick, wielded by that long and stout neck, 
would be a very dangerous weapon to encounter. He 
has made a skeleton of the fish hawk which was brought 
to me within a month. I remark the great eye-sockets, 
and the claws, and perhaps the deep, sharp breast- 
bone. Including its strong hooked bill it is clawed at 
both ends, harpy-like. 

[ See also under American Bittern, pp. 68,69; Fish 
Hawk, p. 159.] 


GREEN HERON; GREEN BITTERN 


June 11, 1840.1 We stole noiselessly down the 
stream, occasionally driving a pickerel from the cov- 
ert of the pads, or a bream from her nest, and the 
small green bittern would now and then sail away on 


1 [Under this date Thoreau enters in his Journal some notes of the 
Concord and Merrimac excursion of August and September, 1839.] 


80 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


sluggish wings from some recess of the shore. With its 
patient study by rocks and sandy capes, has it wrested 
the whole of her secret from Nature yet? It has looked 
out from its dull eye for so long, standing on one leg, 
on moon and stars sparkling through silence and dark, 
and now what a rich experience is its! What says it 
of stagnant pools, and reeds, and damp night fogs? It 
would be worth while to look in the eye which has been 
open and seeing at such hours and in such solitudes. 
When I behold that dull yellowish green, I wonder if 
my own soul is not a bright, invisible green. I would 
fain lay my eye side by side with its and learn of it. 

June 25, 1854. A green bittern, apparently, awk- 
wardly alighting on the trees and uttering its hoarse, 
zarry note, zskeow-zskeow-zskeow. 

July 12, 1854. I see a green bittern wading in a 
shallow muddy place, with an awkward teetering, flut- 
tering pace. 

Aug. 2, 1856. A green bittern comes, noiselessly 
flapping, with stealthy and inquisitive looking to this 
side the stream and then that, thirty feet above the 
water. This antediluvian bird, creature of the night, is 
a fit emblem of a dead stream like this Musketicook.! 
This especially is the bird of the river. There is a sym- 
pathy between its sluggish flight and the sluggish flow 
of the stream, — its slowly lapsing flight, even like the 
rills of Musketicook and my own pulse sometimes. 


1 [The Concord River. Musketaquid was the Indian name for Con- 
cord. On his Maine woods excursion in 1853, Thoreau had asked 
some Indians what it meant, ‘“ but they changed it to Musketicook, and 
repeated that, and Tahmunt said that it meant Dead Stream, which is 


VIRGINIA RAIL; MEADOW-HEN 81 


Aug.1,1858. Edward Bartlett ! and another breught 
me a green bittern, this year’s bird, apparently full 
grown but not full plumaged, which they caught near 
the pool on A. Heywood’s land behind Sleepy Hollow. 
They caught it in the woods on the hillside. It had not 
yet acquired the long feathers of the neck. The neck 
was bent back on itself an inch or more, —that part 
being bare of feathers and covered by the long feathers 
from above,—so that it did not appear very long until 
stretched out. This doubling was the usual condition 
and not apparent, but could be felt by the hand. So 
the green bitterns are leaving the nest now. 


VIRGINIA RAIL; MEADOW-HEN 


June 16, 18538. Coming down the river, heard oppo- 
site the new houses, where I stopped to pluck the tall 
grass, a sound as of young blackbirds amid the button- 

bushes. After a long while gazing, standing on the roots 
of the button-bushes, I detected a couple of meadow or 
mud hens (fallus Virginianus) gliding about under 
the button-bushes over the mud and through the shal- 
low water, and uttering asqueaking or squawking note, 
as if they had a nest there or young. Bodies about the 
size of a robin; short tail; wings and tail white-edged; 
bill about one and a half inches long, orange beneath 
in one bird; brown, deepening into black spots above; 
turtle-dove color on breasts and beneath; ashy about 
eyes and cheeks. Seemed not willing to fly, and for a 
probably true. Cook appears to mean stream, and perhaps quid signi- 


fies the place or ground.”’] 
1 [One of Thoreau’s boy friends in Concord.] 


82 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


long time unwilling to pass me, because it must come 
near to keep under the button-bushes. 


SORA; CAROLINA RAIL 


Oct. 3, 1858. One brings me this morning a Carolina 
rail alive, this year’s bird evidently from its marks. He 
saved it from a cat in the road near the Battle-Ground. 
On being taken up, it pecked a little at first, but was 
soon quiet. It staggers about as if weak on my window- 
sill and pecks at the glass, or stands with its eyes shut, 
half asleep, and its back feathers hunched up. Possibly 
it is wounded. I suspect it may have been hatched here. 
Its feet are large and spreading, qualifying it to run 
on mud or pads. Its crown is black, but chin white, 
and its back feathers are distinctly edged with white in 
streaks, 


RAIL (UNIDENTIFIED) 


July 16, 1860. Standing amid the pipes of the Great 
Meadow, I hear a very sharp creaking peep, no doubt 
from a rail quite near me, calling to or directing her 
young, who are meanwhile uttering a very faint, some- 
what similar peep, which you would not hear if not very 
much inclined to hear it, in the grass close around me. 
Sometimes the old bird utters two short, sharp creaks. 
I look sharp, but can see nothing of them. She sounds 
now here, now there, within two or three rods of me, 
incessantly running in the grass. I had already heard, 
more distant, a more prolonged note from some water- 
fowl, perhaps a plover, if not possibly a male rail, here- 
abouts. 


AMERICAN COOT 83 


AMERICAN COOT 


April 24, 1856. Goodwin shot, about 6 P. M., and 
brought to me a cinereous coot (Fulica Americana) 
which was flying over the willows at Willow Bay, where 
the water now runs up. 

It measures fourteen inches to end of tail; eighteen 
and one half to end of legs. Tail projects a half-inch 
beyond closed wings. Alar extent twenty-six inches. 
(These dimensions are somewhat stretched.) Above it 
is a bluish slate, passing into olive behind the wings, 
the primaries more brownish. Beneath, ash-color or 
pale slate. Head and neck, uniform deep black. Legs, 
clear green in front, passing into lead-color behind and 
on the lobes. Edging of wings, white; also the tips of 
the secondaries for one fourth of an inch, and a small 
space under the tail. Wings beneath, very light, almost 
silvery, slate. Vent, for a small space, black. Bill, 
bluish-white, with a chestnut bar near tip, and corre- 
sponding chestnut spot on each side of lower mandible 
and a somewhat diamond-shaped chestnut spot at base 
in front. No noticeable yellow on bill. Irides, reddish. 
No noticeable whitish spot beneath eyes; only bare lid. 
Legs and feet are very neat; talons very slender, curv- 
ing, and sharp, the middle ones 4 inch + long. Lobes 
chiefly on the inner side of the toes. Legs bare half an 
inch above the joint. From its fresh and tender look I 
judge it to be a last year’s bird. It is quite lousy. 


Vv 
SHORE-BIRDS 


WOODCOCK 


Oct. 27, 1851. Saw a woodcock! feeding, probing 
the mud with its long bill, under the railroad bridge 
within two feet of me for a long time. Could not scare 
it far away. What a disproportionate length of Dill! 
It is a sort of badge they [wear] as a punishment for 
greediness in a former state. 

July 9, 1852. Nowadays I scare up the woodcock (?) 
by shaded brooks and springs in the woods. It has a 
carry-legs flight and goes off with a sort of whistle. 

Dec. 17, 1856. At Clamshell, to my surprise, scare 
up either a woodcock or a snipe. I think the former, 
for I plainly saw considerable red on the breast, also a 
light stripe along the neck. It was feeding alone, close 
to the edge of the hill, where it is springy and still soft, 
almost the only place of this character in the neighbor- 
hood, and though I started it three times, it each time 
flew but little way, round to the hillside again, perhaps 
the same spot it had left a moment before, as if un- 
willing to leave this unfrozen and comparatively warm 
locality. It was a great surprise this bitter cold day, 
when so many springs were frozen up, to see this hardy 
bird loitering still. Once alighted, you could not see it 
till it arose again. 


1 Or snipe ? 


WOODCOCK 85 


Nov. 21, 1857. Just above the grape-hung birches, 
my attention was drawn to a singular-looking dry leaf 
or parcel of leaves on the shore about a rod off. Then I 
thought it might be the dry and yellowed skeleton of a 
bird with all its ribs ; then the shell of a turtle, or possibly 
some large dry oak leaves peculiarly curved and cut ; and 
then, all at once, I saw that it was a woodcock, perfectly 
still, with its head drawn in, standing on its great pink 
feet. I had, apparently, noticed only the yellowish-brown 
portions of the plumage, referring the dark-brown to 
the shore behind it. May it not be that the yellowish- 
brown markings of the bird correspond somewhat to its 
skeleton? At any rate with my eye steadily on it from 
a point within a rod, I did not for a considerable time 
suspect it to be a living creature. Examining the shore 
after it had flown with a whistling flight, I saw that 
there was a clear space of mud between the water and 
the edge of ice-crystals about two inches wide, melted 
so far by the lapse of the water, and all along the edge of 
the ice, for a rod or two at least, there was a hole where 
it had thrust its bill down, probing, every half-inch, fre- 
quently closer. Some animal life must be collected at 
that depth just in that narrow space, savory morsels for 
this bird. 

I was paddling along slowly, on the lookout for what 
was to be seen, when my attention was caught by a 
strange-looking leaf or bunch of leaves on the shore, close 
to the water’s edge, a rod distant. I thought to myself, I 
may as well investigate that, and so pushed slowly toward 
it, my eyes resting on it all the while. It then looked like 
asmall shipwrecked hulk and, strange to say, like the 


86 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


bare skeleton of a fowl that has been picked and turned 
yellowish, resting on its breast-bone, the color of a with- 
ered black or red oak leaf. Again I thought it must be 
such a leaf orcluster of leaves peculiarly curved and cut 
or torn on the upper edges. ; 

The chubby bird dashed away zigzag, carrying its long 
tongue-case carefully before it, over the witch-hazel 
bushes. This is its walk, — the portion of the shore, the 
narrow strip, still kept open and unfrozen between the 
water’s edge and the ice. The sportsman might discover 
its neighborhood by these probings. 


WILSON’S SNIPE 


Feb. 27, 1853. Mr. Herbert is strenuous that I say 
“ruffed grouse” for “ partridge” and “‘ hare” for ‘“‘rab- 
bit.” He says of the snipe, “I am myself satisfied that 
the sound is produced by the fact that the bird, by some 
muscular action or other, turns the quill-feathers edge- 
wise, as he drops plumb through the air ; and that while 
in this position, during his accelerated descent, the vibra- 
tion of the feathers and the passage of the air between 
them gives utterance to this wild humming sound.”: 

April 10, 1854. There are many snipes now feeding 
in the meadows, which you come close upon, and then they 
go off with hoarse cr-r-r-ack cr-r-r-ack. They dive down 
suddenly from a considerable height sometimes when 
they alight. 

April 18, 1854. Scared up snipes on the meadow’s 
edge, which go off with their strange zigzag, crazy flight 
and a distressed sound, —craik craik or cr-r-ack cr-r- 
rack. One booms now at 3 Pp. M. They circle round and 


WILSON’S SNIPE 87 


round, and zigzag high over the meadow, and finally 
alight again, descending abruptly from that height. 

April 20,1854. The sound of the snipes, winnowing 
the evening air now at starlight, visible but for an in- 
stant high over the meadows, is heard far into the village, 
— hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo, rising higher and higher 
or dying away as they circle round, —a ghostly sound. 

April 15, 1856. At the same time, I hear a part of 
the hovering note of my first snipe, circling over some 
distant meadow, a mere waif, and all is still again. 
A-lulling the watery meadows, fanning the air like a 
spirit over some far meadow’s bay. 

April 25, 1856. I landed on Merrick’s pasture near 
the rock, and when I stepped out of the boat and drew 
it up, a snipe flew up, and lit again seven or eight rods 
off. After trying in vain for several minutes to see it 
on the ground there, I advanced a step and, to my sur- 
prise, scared up two more, which had squatted on the 
bare meadow all the while within a rod, while I drew 
up my boat and made a good deal of noise. In short, I 
scared up twelve, one or two at a time, within a few 
rods, which were feeding on the edge of the meadow 
just laid bare, each rising with a sound like squeak 
squeak, hoarsely. That part of the meadow seemed all 
alive with them. It is almost impossible to see one on 
the meadow, they squat and run so low, and are so 
completely the color of the ground. They rise from 
within a rod, fly half a dozen rods, and then drop down 
on the bare open meadow before your eyes, where 
there seems not stubble enough to conceal them, 
and are at once lost as completely as if they had 


88 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


sunk into the earth. I observed that some, when 
finally scared from this island, flew off rising quite 
high, one a few rods behind the other, in their peculiar 
zigzag manner, rambling about high over the meadow, 
making it uncertain where they would settle, till at 
length I lost sight of one and saw the other drop 
down almost perpendicularly into the meadow, as it 
appeared. 

March 29, 1858. At the first pool I also scared up a 
snipe. It rises with a single cra-a-ck and goes off with 
its zigzag flight, with its bill presented to the earth, 
ready to charge bayonets against the inhabitants of the 
mud. 

April 9, 1858. I hear the booming of snipe this 
evening, and Sophia’ says she heard them on the 6th. 
The meadows having been bare so long, they may have 
begun yet earlier. Persons walking up or down our 
village street in still evenings at this season hear this 
singular winnowing sound in the sky over the meadows 
and know not what it is. This “ booming ” of the snipe 
is our regular village serenade. I heard it this evening 
for the first time, as I sat in the house, through the 
window. Yet common and annual and remarkable as it 
is, not one in a hundred of the villagers hears it, and 
hardly so many know what it is. Yet the majority 
know of the Germanians who have only been here 
once. Mr. Hoar was almost the only inhabitant of this 
street whom I had heard speak of this note, which he 
used annually to hear and listen for in his sundown or 
evening walks. 

1 [His sister.] 


GREATER YELLOW-LEGS 89 


April 2, 1859. As I go down the street just after 
sunset, I hear many snipe to-night. This sound is an- 
nually heard by the villagers, but always at this hour, 
i.e. in the twilight, —a hovering sound high in the 
air, — and they do not know what to refer it to. It is 
very easily imitated by the breath. A sort of shudder- 
ing with the breath. It reminds me of calmer nights. 
Hardly one in a hundred hears it, and perhaps not 
nearly so many know what creature makes it. Per- 
haps no one dreamed of snipe an hour ago, but the 
air seemed empty of such as they; but as soon as the 
dusk begins, so that a bird’s flight is concealed, you 
hear this peculiar spirit-suggesting sound, now far, now 
near, heard through and above the evening din of the 
village. I did not hear one when I returned up the 
street half an hour later. 


[ See also under Woodcock, p. 84.] 


GREATER YELLOW-LEGS ; TELLTALE 


Oct. 25, 1853. P. M.—Sailed down river to the 
pitch pine hill behind Abner Buttrick’s, with a strong 
northwest wind, and cold. 

Saw a telltale on Cheney’s shore, close to the water’s 
edge. I am not quite sure whether it is the greater or 
lesser, but am inclined to think that all I have seen 
are the lesser.’ It was all white below and dark above, 
with a pure white tail prettily displayed in flying. It 
kept raising its head with a jerk as if it had the St. 
Vitus’s dance. It would alight in the water and swim 


1 [The date and the note would indicate that the bird was prohably 
the greater yellow-legs, not the lesser. ] 


90 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


like a little duck. Once, when I went ashore and 
started it, it flew so as to bring a willow between it and 
me, and alighted quite near, much nearer than before, 
to spy me. When it went off, it uttered a sharp ¢e-te-te- 
te-te, flying with quivering wings, dashing about. I think 
that the storm of yesterday and last night brought it up. 

May 31, 1854. Saw a greater telltale, and this is the 
only one! I have seen probably ; distinguished by its 
size. It is very watchful, but not timid, allowing me to 
come quite near, while it stands on the lookout at the 
water’s edge. It keeps nodding its head with an awk- 
ward jerk, and wades in the water to the middle of its 
yellow legs; goes off with a loud and sharp phe phe 
phe phe, or something like that. It acts the part of the 
telltale, though there are no birds here, as if it were 
with a flock. Remarkable as a sentinel for other birds. 


SOLITARY SANDPIPER 


Sept. 24, 1855. I suppose it was the solitary sand- 
piper ( Zotanus solitarius)? which I saw feeding at the 
water’s edge on Cardinal Shore, likea snipe. It was very 
tame ; we did not scare it even by shouting. I walked 
along the shore to within twenty-five feet of it, and it 
still ran toward me in feeding, and when I flushed it, it 
flew round and alighted between me and C.,° who was 
only three or four rods off. It was about as large as 
a snipe; had a bluish dusky. bill about an inch and a 
quarter long, apparently straight, which it kept thrust- 
ing into the shallow water with a nibbling motion, a 


1 [That is, the only species of telltale. ] 
2 [Now known as Helodromas solitarius. ] 8 [Channing.] 


SPOTTED SANDPIPER; PEETWEET 91 


perfectly white belly, dusky-green legs; bright brown 
and black above, with duskier wings. When it flew, its 
wings, which were uniformly dark, hung down much, 
and I noticed no white above, and heard no note. 


UPLAND PLOVER 


June 15, 1860. AsI stood there I heard that peculiar 
hawk-like (for rhythm) but more resonant or clanging 
kind of scream which I may have heard before this 
year, plover-like, indefinitely far, — over the Clamshell 
plain. After proceeding half a dozen rods toward the 
hill, I heard the familiar willet note of the upland 
plover and, looking up, saw one standing erect — like 
a large telltale, or chicken with its head stretched up 
—- on the rail fence. After a while it flew off southwest 
and low, then wheeled and went a little higher down 
the river. Of pigeon size, but quick quivering wings. 
Finally rose higher and flew more or less zigzag, as 
if uncertain where it would alight, and at last, when 


almost out of sight, it pitched down into a field near 
Cyrus Hubbard’s. 


SPOTTED SANDPIPER ; PEETWEET 


Aug. 22, 1853. A peetweet flew along the shore and 
uttered its peculiar note. Their wings appear double as 
they fly by you, while their bill is cumbrously carried 
pointing downward in front. 

June 14, 1855. Looked at the peetweet’s nest which 
C.' found yesterday.’ It was very difficult to find again 
in the broad open meadow ; no nest but a mere hollow 


1 [C. in Thoreau’s Journal always stands for his friend Channing. ] 


92 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


in the dead cranberry leaves, the grass and stubble 
ruins, under a little alder. The old bird went off at last 
from under us ; low in the grass at first and with wings 
up, making a worried sound which attracted other birds. 
I frequently noticed others afterward flying low over 
the meadow and alighting and uttering this same note 
of alarm. There were only four eggs in this nest yes- 
terday,' and to-day, to C.’s surprise, there are the two 
eggs which he left and a young peetweet beside ; a gray 
pinch of down with a black centre to its back, but al- 
ready so old and precocious that it runs with its long 
legs swiftly off from squatting beside the two eggs, and 
hides in the grass. We have some trouble to catch it. 
How came it here with these eggs, which will not be 
hatched for some days? C. saw nothing of it yesterday. 
J. Farmer ? says that young peetweets run at once like 
partridges and quails, and that they are the only birds he 
knows that do. These eggs werenot addled (I had opened 
one, C. another). Did this bird come from another nest, 
or did it belong to an earlier brood? Eggs white, with 
black spots here and there all over, dim at great end. 

May 4, 1856. See a peetweet on Dove Rock,* which 
just peeps out. As soon as the rocks begin to be bare 
the peetweet comes and is seen teetering on them and 
skimming away from me. 

July 6,1856. In A. Hosmer’s ice-bared meadow south 
of Turnpike, hear the distressed or anxious peet of a 
peetweet, and see it hovering over its young, half grown, 


1 [Channing had taken two of them.] 
2 [Jacob Farmer, of Concord, a farmer by occupation and an observer 
of wild creatures. ] : 8 [In the Assabet. ] 


PLOVER 93 


which runs beneath and suddenly hides securely in the 
grass when but few feet from me. 

Sept. 18, 1858. I notice that the wing of the peet- 
weet, which is about two inches wide, has a conspicuous 
and straight-edged white bar along its middle on the 
under side for half its length. It is seven eighths of an 
inch wide and, being quite parallel with the darker parts 
of the wing, it produces that singular effect in its fly- 
ing which I have noticed. This line, by the way, is not 
mentioned by Wilson, yet it is, perhaps, the most no- 
ticeable mark of the bird when flying! The under side 
of the wings is commonly slighted in the description, 
though it is at least as often seen by us as the upper. 

May 2, 1859. A peetweet and its mate at Mantatuket 
Rock. The river seems really inhabited when the peet- 
weet is back and those little light-winged millers (?). 
This bird does not return to our stream until the weather 
is decidedly pleasant and warm. He is perched on the 
accustomed rock. Its note peoples the river, like the 
prattle of children once more in the yard of a house that 
has stood empty. 

May 8, 1860. The simple peep peep of the peetweet, 
as it flies away from the shore before me, sounds hol- 
low and rather mournful, reminding me of the seashore 
and its wrecks, and when I smell the fresh odor of our 
marshes the resemblance is increased. 


PLOVER 


1850. As I was stalking over the surface of this 
planet in the dark to-night, I started a plover resting on 
the ground and heard him go off with whistling wings. 


VI 
QUAIL AND GROUSE 


BOB-WHITE ; QUAIL 


July 21,1851. The quail, invisible, whistles, and who 
attends ? 

Jan. 17, 1856. Henry Shattuck tells me that the 
quails come almost every day and get some saba beans 
within two or three rods of his house, — some which he 
neglected to gather. Probably the deep snow drives 
them to it. a 

Feb. 7, 1857. Hayden the elder tells me that the 
quails have come to his yard every day for almost a 
month and are just as tame as chickens. They come 
about his wood-shed, he supposes to pick up the worms 
that have dropped out of the wood, and when it storms 
hard gather together in the corner of the shed. He 
walks within, say, three or four feet of them without 
disturbing them. They come out of the woods by the 
graveyard, and sometimes they go down toward the 
river. They will be about his yard the greater part of 
the day ; were there yesterday, though it was so warm, 
but now probably they can get food enough elsewhere. 
They go just the same to Poland’s, across the road. 
About ten years ago there was a bevy of fifteen that 
used to come from the same woods, and one day, they 
being in the barn and scared by the cat, four ran into 
the hay and died there. The former do not go to the 


RUFFED GROUSE; PARTRIDGE 95 


houses further from the woods. Thus it seems in severe 
winters the quails venture out of the woods and join the 
poultry of the farmer’s yard, if it be near the edge of 
the wood. It is remarkable that this bird, which thus 
half domesticates itself, should not be found wholly 
domesticated before this. 

[ See also under General and Miscellaneous, pp. 414, 


431.] 
RUFFED GROUSE; PARTRIDGE 


1850. The fire stopped within a few inches of a par- 
tridge’s nest to-day, June 4th, whom we took off in our 
hands and found thirteen creamy-colored eggs. I started 
up a woodcock when I went to a rill to drink, at the 
westernmost angle of R. W. E.’s! wood-lot. 

June 18, 1851. I heard partridges drumming to-night 
as late as 9 o’clock. What singularly space penetrating 
and filling sound! Why am I never nearer to its source? 

July 16, 1851. Some thoughtless and cruel sports- 
man has killed twenty-two young partridges not much 
bigger than robins, against the laws of Massachusetts 
and humanity. 

Sept. 23, 1851. The partridge and the rabbit, — they 
still are sure to thrive like true natives of the soil, what- 
ever revolutions occur. If the forest is cut off, many 
bushes spring up which afford them concealment, and 
they become more numerous than ever. 

Dec. 21, 1851. Who ever saw a partridge soar over 
the fields? To every creature its own nature. They are 
very wild ; but are they scarce? or can you exterminate 


them for that? 
1 [Ralph Waldo Emerson’s. ] 


96 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


Feb. 18, 1852. I find the partridges among the fallen 
pine-tops on Fair Haven these afternoons, an hour be- 
fore sundown, ready to commence budding in the neigh- 
boring orchard. 

April 22, 1852. Our dog sends off a partridge with 
a whir, far across the open field and the river, like a 
winged bullet. 

May 1, 1852. A partridge bursts away from under 
the rock below me on quivering wings, like some moths 
I have seen. 

June 27, 1852. I meet the partridge with her 
brood in the woods, a perfect little hen. She spreads 
her tail into a fan and beats the ground with her 
wings fearlessly within a few feet of me, to attract 
my attention while her young disperse; but they 
keep up a faint, wiry kind of peep, which betrays 
them, while she mews and squeaks as if giving them 
directions. 

Oct. 15, 1852. The flight of a partridge, leaving her 
lair (?) on the hillside only a few rods distant, with a 
gentle whirring sound, is like the blowing of rocks at 
a great distance. Perhaps it produces the same kind of 
undulations in the air. 

April 6, 1853. Hear the faint, swelling, far-off beat 
of a partridge. 

May 11, 1858. I hear the distant drumming of a 
partridge. Its beat, however distant and low, falls still 
with a remarkably forcible, almost painful, impulse on 
the ear, like veritable little drumsticks on our tympa- 
num, as if it were a throbbing or fluttering in our veins 
or brows or the chambers of the ear, and belonging to 


RUFFED GROUSE; PARTRIDGE 97 


ourselves, —as if it were produced by some little in- 
sect which had made its way up into the passages of 
the ear, so penetrating is it. It is as palpable to the 
ear as the sharpest note of a fife. Of course, that bird 
can drum with its wings on a log which can go off with 
such a powerful whir, beating the air. I have seen a 
thoroughly frightened hen and cockerel fly almost as 
powerfully, but neither can sustain it long. Beginning 
slowly and deliberately, the partridge’s beat sounds 
faster and faster from far away under the boughs and 
through the aisles of the wood until it becomes a regu- 
lar roll, but is speedily concluded. How many things 
shall we not see and be and do, when we walk there 
where the partridge drums! 

June 12, 1853. Going up Pine Hill, disturbed a 
partridge and her brood. She ran in deshabille directly 
to me, within four feet, while her young, not larger 
than a chicken just hatched, dispersed, flying along a 
foot or two from the ground, just over the bushes, for 
a rod or two. The mother kept close at hand to attract 
my attention, and mewed and clucked and made a 
noise as when a hawk is in sight. She stepped about 
and held her head above the bushes and clucked just 
like a hen. What a remarkable instinct that which 
keeps the young so silent and prevents their peeping 
and betraying themselves! The wild bird will run 
almost any risk to save her young. The young, I be- 
lieve, make a fine sound at first in dispersing, some- 
thing like a cherry-bird. 

Nov. 8, 1853. The partridges go off with a whir, 
and then sail a long way level and low through the 


98 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


woods with that impetus they have got, displaying 
their neat forms perfectly. 

Jan. 31, 1854. Many tracks of mamlages there 
along the meadow-side in the maples, and their drop- 
pings where they appear to have spent the night about 
the roots and between the stems of trees. I think they 
eat the buds of the azalea. And now, with a mew, pre- 
luding a whir, they go off before me. Coming up, I 
follow her tracks to where she eased herself for light- 
ness, and immediately after are five or six parallel cuts 
in the snow, where her wing struck when she lifted 
herself from the ground, but no trace more. 

April 25, 1854. The first partridge drums in one or 
two places, as if the earth’s pulse now beat audibly 
with the increased flow of life. It slightly flutters all 
Nature and makes her heart palpitate. 

July 6, 1854. Disturbed two broods of partridges 
this afternoon, — one a third grown, flying half a dozen 
rods over the bushes, yet the old, as anxious as ever, 
rushing to me with the courage of a hen. 

Jan. 25, 1855. In the partridge-tracks the side toes 
are more spread than in crows; and I believe the hind 
one is not so long. Both trail the middle toe. 

Jan. 81, 1855. As I skated near the shore under 
Lee’s Cliff, I saw what I took to be some scrags or 
knotty stubs of a dead limb lying on the bank beneath 
a white oak, close by me. Yet while I looked directly 
at them I could not but admire their close resemblance 
to partridges. I had come along with a rapid whir 
and suddenly halted right against them, only two rods 
distant, and, as my eyes watered a little from skating 


RUFFED GROUSE; PARTRIDGE 99 


against the wind, I was not convinced that they were 
birds till I had pulled out my glass and deliberately 
examined them. They sat and stood, three of them, per- 
fectly still with their heads erect, some darker feathers 
like ears, methinks, increasing their resemblance to 
serabs [sic],as where a small limb is broken off. I was 
much surprised at the remarkable stillness they pre- 
served, instinctively relying on the resemblance to the 
ground for their protection, 7. ¢. withered grass, dry 
oak leaves, dead scrags, and broken twigs. I thought 
at first that it was a dead oak limb with a few stub ends 
or scrabbs [sic] sticking up, and for some time after I 
had noted the resemblance to birds, standing only two 
rods off, I could not be sure of their character on ac- 
count of their perfect motionlessness, and it was not 
till I brought my glass to bear on them and saw their 
eyes distinctly, steadily glaring on me, their necks 
and every muscle tense with anxiety, that I was con- 
vinced. At length, on some signal which I did not 
perceive, they went with a whir, as if shot, off over the 
bushes. 

Feb. 12, 1855. I see at Warren’s Crossing where, 
last night perhaps, some partridges rested in this light, 
dry, deep snow. They must have been almost com- 
pletely buried. They have left their traces at the bot- 
tom. They are such holes as would be made by crowding 
their bodies in backwards, slanting-wise, while perhaps 
their heads were left out. The dog scared them out of 
similar holes yesterday in the open orchard. 

Feb. 13,1855. The tracks of partridges are more 
remarkable in this snow than usual, it is so light, being 


100 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


at the same time a foot deep. I see where one has wad- 
dled along several rods, making a chain-like track 
about three inches wide (or two and a half), and at 
the end has squatted in the snow, making a perfectly 
smooth and regular oval impression, like the bowl of a 
spoon, five inches wide. Then, six inches beyond this, 
are the marks of its wings where it struck the snow on 
each side when it took flight. It must have risen at 
once without running. In one place I see where one, 
after running a little way, has left four impressions of 
its wings on the snow on each side extending eighteen 
or twenty inches and twelve or fifteen in width. In one 
case almost the entire wing was distinctly impressed, 
eight primaries and five or six secondaries. In one 
place, when alighting, the primary quills, five of them, 
have marked the snow for a foot. I see where many 
have dived into the snow, apparently last night, on the 
side of a shrub oak hollow. In four places they have 
passed quite underneath it for more than a foot; in 
one place, eighteen inches. They appear to have dived 
or burrowed into it, then passed along a foot or more 
underneath and squatted there, perhaps, with their 
‘heads out, and have invariably left much dung at the 
end of this hole. I scared one from its hole only half a 
rod in front of me now at 11 a. m. 


To resume the subject of partridges, looking further 
in an open place or glade amid the shrub oaks and low 
pitch pines, I found as many as twenty or thirty places 
where partridges had lodged in the snow, apparently 
the last night or the night before. You could see com- 


RUFFED GROUSE; PARTRIDGE 101 


monly where their bodies had first struck the snow 
and furrowed it for a foot or two, and six inches wide, 
then entered and gone underneath two feet and rested 
at the further end, where the manure is left. Is it not 
likely that they remain quite under the snow there, 
and do not put their heads out till ready to start? In 
many places they walked along before they went under 
the snow. They do not go under deep, and the gallery 
they make is mostly filled up behind them, leaving only 
a thin crust above. Then invariably, just beyond this 
resting-place, you could see the marks made by their 
wings when they took their departure: 


rg ie a 


Core 


iy 


These distinct impressions made by their wings, in the 
pure snow, so common on all hands, though the bird 
that made it is gone and there is no trace beyond, 
affect me like some mystic Oriental symbol, — the 
winged globe or what-not, — as if made bya spirit. In 
some places you would see a furrow and hollow in the 
snow where there was no track for rods around, as if a 
large snowball or a cannon-ball had struck it, where ap- 
parently the birds had not paused in their flight. It is 
evidently a regular thing with them thus to lodge in the 
snow. Their tracks, when perfectly distinct, are seen to 


102 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


be almost in one straight line thus, trailing the middle toe: 

about five inches 
444 apart. In one 
place I saw where one had evidently trailed the tips of 
the wings, making two distinct lines five or six inches 
apart, one on each side the foot-tracks ; probably made 
by a male. 

Feb. 16, 1855. I find in the leavings of the par- 
tridges numerous ends of twigs. They are white with 
them, some half an inch long and stout in proportion. 
Perhaps they are apple twigs. The bark (and bud, if 
there was any) has been entirely digested, leaving the 
bare, white, hard wood of the twig. Some of the ends 
of apple twigs looked as if they had been bitten off. 
It is surprising what a quantity of this wood they swal- 
low with their buds. What a hardy bird, born amid 
the dry leaves, of the same color with them, that, 
grown up, lodges in the snow and lives on buds and 
twigs! Where apple buds are just freshly bitten off 
they do not seem to have taken so much twig with 
them. 

Feb. 22, 1855. He had seen a partridge drum 
standing on a wall. Said it stood very upright and 
produced the sound by striking its wings together be- 
hind its back, as a cock often does, but did not strike 
the wall nor its body. This he is sure of, and declares 
that he is mistaken who affirms the contrary, though it 
were Audubon himself. Wilson says he “ begins to 
strike with his stiffened wings” while standing on a 
log, but does not say what he strikes, though one would 

1 [Mr. Jacob Farmer. ] 


RUFFED GROUSE; PARTRIDGE 103 


infer it was either the log or his body. Peabody says 
he beats his body with his wings.' 

Dec. 14, 1855. Suddenly I heard the screwing mew 
and then the whir of a partridge on or beneath an old 
decaying apple tree which the pines had surrounded. 
There were several such, and another partridge burst 
away from one. They shoot off swift and steady, show- 
ing their dark-edged tails, almost like a cannon-ball. 
I saw one’s track under an apple tree and where it had 
pecked a frozen-thawed apple. 

Feb. 4, 1856. I see that the partridges feed quite 
extensively on the sumach berries, e. g. at my old house.” 
They come to them after every snow, making fresh 
tracks, and have now stripped many bushes quite bare. 

Feb. 8, 1856. E. Garfield says that he saw the other 
day where a fox had caught in the snow three par- 
tridges and eaten two. He himself last winter caught 
two, on the hillside south of Fair Haven, with his hands. 
They flew before him and dived into the snow, which 
was about a foot deep, going twice their length into it. 
He thrust his hand in and caught them. Puffer said 
that his companion one night speared a partridge on 
the alders on the south side the pond. 

Feb. 11, 1856. Saw a partridge by the riverside, 


1 [It is now known that the ruffed grouse in drumming simply beats 
the air with his wings, which do not strike his body or the log or each 
other. In Bird-Lore for Nov.-Dec., 1908 (vol. x, pp. 246-249) Mr. E. J. 
Sawyer describes the drumming and shows a photograph of a bird taken 
in the act. The same magazine for March-April, 1909 (vol. xi, p. 77), 
shows a photograph by Dr. C. F. Hodge of one of his tame grouse in 
the act of drumming.] 

2 [His hut at Walden Pond.] 


104 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


opposite Fair Haven Hill, which at first I mistook for 
the top of a fence-post above the snow, amid some al- 
ders. I shouted and waved my hand four rods off, to 
see if it was one, but there was no motion, and I thought 
surely it must be a post. Nevertheless I resolved to in- 
vestigate. Within three rods, I saw it to be indeed a 
partridge, to my surprise, standing perfectly still, with 
its head erect and neck stretched upward. It was as 
complete a deception as if it had designedly placed 
itself on the line of the fence and in the proper place 
for a post. It finally stepped off daintily with a teeter- 
ing gait and head up, and took to wing. 

May 24, 1856. [Humphrey Buttrick]! has known a 
partridge to fly at once from one to two miles after 
being wounded (tracked them by the blood) without 
alighting. Says he has caught as many as a dozen par- 
tridges in his hands. .He lies right down on them, or 
where he knows them to be, then passes his hands back 
and forth under his body till he feels them. You must 
not lift your body at all or they will surely squeeze 
out, and when you feel one must be sure you get hold 
of their legs or head, and not feathers merely.” 

June 11, 1856. A partridge with young in the Saw 
Mill Brook path. Could hardly tell what kind of crea- 
ture it was at first, it made such a noise and fluttering 
amid the weeds and bushes. Finally ran off with its 
body flat and wings somewhat spread. 

March 8, 1857. A partridge goes off from amid the 
pitch pines. It lifts each wing so high above its back 


1 [A Coneord man.] 
2 [These must have been young partridges, of course.] 


RUFFED GROUSE; PARTRIDGE 105 


and flaps so low, and withal so rapidly, that they present 
the appearance of a broad wheel, almost a revolving 
sphere, as it whirs off like a cannon-ball shot from a gun. 

April 29, 1857. Sweet-fern at entrance of Ministe- 
rial Swamp. A partridge there drums incessantly. C. 
says it makes his heart beat with it, or he feels it in 
his breast. 

July 25, 1857. As we were returning over the track ! 
where I had passed but a few moments before, we started 
a partridge with her young partly from beneath the 
wooden rails, While the young hastened away, she sat 
within seven feet of us and plumed herself, perfectly 
fearless, without making a noise or ruffling her feathers 
as they do in our neighborhood, and I thought it would 
be a good opportunity to observe whether she flew as 
quietly as other birds when not alarmed. We observed 
her till we were tired, and when we compelled her to 

‘get out of our way, though she took to wing as easily , 
as if we had not been there and went only two or three 
rods, into a tree, she flew with a considerable whir, as if 
this were unavoidable in a rapid motion of the wings. 

Oct. 20, 1857. Melvin says he has caught partridges 
in his hands. If there’s only one hole, knows they ’ve 
not gone out. Sometimes shoots them through the snow. 

Nov. 20, 1857. Isee a partridge on the ground under 
a white oak by Tarbell’s black birches, looking just like 
a snag. This is the second time I have seen them in 
such a place. Are they not after acorns? 

Nov. 28, 1857. P. M.— Around Ebby Hubbard’s 
wood-lot. 

1 [On the Northeast Carry, Moosehead Lake, Maine.] 


106 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


On the hillside above his swamp, near the Ministe- 
rial land, I found myself walking in one of those shelf- 
like hillside paths made by Indians, hunters, cows, or 
what-not, and it was beset with fresh snares for par- 
tridges. . . . Upright twigs are stuck in the ground 
across the path, a foot or more in height and just close 
enough together to turn a partridge aside, leaving a 
space about four inches wide in the middle, and some 
twigs are stretched across above to prevent the birds 
hopping over. Then a sapling about an inch in diame- 
ter or less is bent over, and the end caught under one 
of the twigs which has a notch or projection on one 
side, and a free-running noose, attached to the sapling, 
hangs in the opening and is kept spread by being hung 
on some very slight nicks in the two twigs. This seems 
to suppose the bird to be going one way only, but per- 
haps if it cannot escape one way it will turn and try to 
go back, and so spring the trap. 

I saw one that was sprung with nothing in it, another 
whose slip-noose was blown or fallen one side, and an- 
other with a partridge still warm in it. It was a male 
bird hanging dead by the neck, just touching its toes 
to the ground. It had a collar or ruff about its neck, 
of large and conspicuous black feathers with a green 
reflection. This black is peculiar to the male, the fe- 
male’s being brown. Its feet, now clinched in its agony, 
were the strangest-looking pale blue, with a fine fringe, 
of scales or the like, on each side of each toe. The 
small black feathers were centred with gray spots. The 
scapulars were darker brown, dashed with large clear 
pale-brown spots; the breast-feathers light with light- 


RUFFED GROUSE; PARTRIDGE 107 


brown marks. The tail-feathers had each a broad black 
bar, except the middle one, which was more mixed or 
grayish there. The bands of the females are said to be 
more brown, as is their collar. There were a few drop- 
pings of the bird close by the snare in two instances. 
Were they dropped after it was caught? Or did they 
determine the locality of the snare? 

These birds appear to run most along the sides of 
wooded banks around swamps. At least these paths 
and snares occur there oftenest. I often scare them up 
from amid or near hemlocks in the woods. 

The general color of the bird is that of the ground 
and dry leaves on it at present. The bird hanging in 
the snare was very inconspicuous. I had gone close by 
it once without noticing it. Its wings are short and 
stout and look as if they were a little worn by striking 
the ground or bushes, or perhaps in drumming. I ob- 
served a bare bright-red or scarlet spot over each eye. 

April 12, 1858. Returning on the railroad, the noon 
train down passed us opposite the old maid Hosmer’s 
house. In the woods just this side, we came upon a 
partridge standing on the track, between the rails over 
which the cars had just passed. She had evidently been 
run down, but, though a few small feathers were scat- 
tered along for a dozen rods beyond her, and she looked 
a little ruffled, she was apparently more disturbed in 
mind than body. I took her up and carried her one 
side to a safer place. At first she made no resistance, 
but at length fluttered out of my hands and ran two or 
three feet. I had to take her up again and carry and 
drive her further off, and left her standing with head 


108 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


erect as at first, as if beside herself. She was not lame, 

and I suspect no wing was broken. I did not suspect 
that this swift wild bird was ever run down by the cars. 

We have an account in the newspapers of every cow 

and calf that is run. over, but not of the various wild 

creatures who meet with that accident. It may be many 

generations before the partridges learn to give the cars 

a sufficiently wide berth. 

April 22, 1859. Scare up partridges feeding about 
the green springy places under the edge of hills. See 
them skim or scale away for forty rods along and up- 
ward to the woods, into which they swiftly scale, dodg- 
ing to right and left and avoiding the twigs, yet with- 
out once flapping the wings after having launched 
themselves. 

Dec. 24, 1859. I saw the tracks of a partridge more 
than half an inch deep in the ice, extending from this 
island! to the shore, she having walked there in the 
slosh. They were quite perfect and reminded me of 
bird-tracks in stone. She may have gone there to bud 
on these blueberry trees. I saw where she spent the 
night at the bottom of that largest clump, in the snow. 

This blueberry grove must be well known to the 
partridges; no doubt they distinguish their tops from 
afar. 

Jan. 22, 1860. I scare a partridge that was eating 
the buds and ends of twigs of the Vaccinium vacillans 
on a hillside. 

April 19, 1860. Toward night, hear a partridge drum. 


1 [An island in Flint’s Pond whereon were some remarkably large 
blueberry bushes which Thoreau has been describing. ] 


RUFFED GROUSE; PARTRIDGE 109 


You will hear at first a single beat or two far apart and 
have time to.say, “There is a partridge,” so distinct 
and deliberate is it often, before it becomes a rapid roll. 

June 14, 1860. A brood of little partridges in the 
woodpaths. The old bird utters a loud wiry, mewing 
sound of alarm, the young a very fine sharp sound like 
cherry-birds. 

June 27,1860. 2 P.M.—Up Assabet to Farmer’s. 

See on the open grassy bank and shore, just this side 
the Hemlocks, a partridge with her little brood. Being 
in my boat, I went within three rods, and they were 
hardly scared at all. The young were but little bigger 
than chickens four or five days old, yet could fly two or 
three rods. The partridge now takes out her brood to 
feed, all the country over; and what an extensive range 
they have! — not confined to a barnyard. 

[ See also under Tree Sparrow, p. 297 ; General and 
Miscellaneous, pp. 405, 418, 414, 418, 431, 432.] 


Vil 
PIGEONS 


PASSENGER PIGEON; WILD PIGEON ‘i 


Aug. 1845. I sit here at my window like a priest of 
Isis, and observe the phenomena of three thousand years 
ago, yet unimpaired. The tantivy of wild pigeons, an 
ancient race of birds, gives a voice to the air, flying by 
twos and threes athwart my view or perching restless 
on the white pine boughs occasionally; a fish hawk dim- 
ples the glassy surface of the pond and brings up a fish ; 
and for the last half-hour I have heard the rattle of 
railroad cars conveying travellers from Boston to the 
country. | 

1850.? The fire reached the base of the cliff and then 
rushed up its sides. The squirrels ran before it in blind 
haste, and three pigeons dashed into the midst of the 
smoke. 

July 21, 1851. Some pigeons here are resting in the 
thickest of the white pines during the heat of the day, 
migrating, no doubt. They are unwilling to move for 
me. Flies buzz and rain about my hat, and the dead 
twigs and leaves of the white pine, which the choppers 
have left here, exhale a dry and almost sickening scent. 

1 [On account of the interest attaching to this bird, once so abundant 
and now nearly or quite extinct, practically every reference to it in 
Thoreau’s Journal, however seemingly trivial, is here reproduced. ] 


2 [Though this was written in 1850, the fire referred to had hap- 
pened some years earlier. ] 


WILD PIGEON aL 


A cuckoo chuckles, half throttled, on a neighboring 
tree, and now, flying into the pine, scares out a pigeon, 
which flies with its handsome tail spread, dashes this 
side and that between the trees helplessly, like a ship 
carrying too much sail in midst of a small creek, some 
great ammiral having no room to manceuvre, — a flut- 
tering flight. 

Sept. 12, 1851. Saw a pigeon-place on George Hey- 
wood’s cleared lot, — the six dead trees set up for the 
pigeons to alight on, and the brush house close by to 
conceal the man. I was rather startled to find such a 
thing going now in Concord. The pigeons on the trees 
looked like fabulous birds with their long tails and their 
pointed breasts. I could hardly believe they were alive 
and not some wooden birds used for decoys, they sat so 
still; and, even when they moved their necks, I thought 
it was the effect of art. As they were not catching then, 
I approached and scared away a dozen birds who were 
perched on the trees, and found that they were freshly 
baited there, though the net was carried away, per- 
chance to some other bed. The smooth sandy bed was 
covered with buckwheat, wheat or rye, and acorns. 
Sometimes they use corn, shaved off the ear in its pre- 
sent state with a knife. There were left the sticks with 
which they fastened the nets. AsI stood there, I heard 
a rushing sound and, looking up, saw a flock of thirty 
or forty pigeons dashing toward the trees, who suddenly 
whirled on seeing me and circled round and made a new 
dash toward the bed, as if they would fain alight if I 
had not been there, then steered off. I crawled into the 
bough house and lay awhile looking through the leaves, 


112 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


hoping to see them come again and feed, but they did 
not while I stayed. This net and bed belong to one 
Harrington of Weston, as I hear. Several men still take 
pigeons in Concord every year ; by a method, methinks, 
extremely old and which I seem to have seen pictured 
in some old book of fables or symbols, and yet few in 
Concord know exactly how it is done. And yet it is 
all done for money and because the birds fetch a good 
price, just as the farmers raise corn and potatoes. Iam 
always expecting that those engaged in such a pursuit 
will be somewhat less grovelling and mercenary than 
the regular trader or farmer, but I fear that it is 
not so. 

May 9, 1852. Saw pigeons in the woods, with their 
inquisitive necks and long tails, but few representatives 
of the great flocks that once broke down our forests. 

Sept. 2, 1852. Small flocks of pigeons are seen these 
days. Distinguished from doves by their sharper wings 
and. bodies. 

March 29, 1853. He! saw two pigeons to-day. 
Prated [sic] for them; they came near and then flew 
away. 

March 30,1858. A range-pole on the side of Mt. 
Tabor,? twenty-odd feet long and ten or twelve from the 
ground, slanted upward on three forked posts like a 
rafter, a bower ° being opposite the lower end two rods- 
off, and this end of the pole full of shot. 

Aug. 9, 1858. Saw pigeons the other day (August 5). 

Sept. 2, 1853. Hear the sharp guivet of pigeons at 


1 [Dugan, of Concord.] 
2 [A hill near Beaver Pond in Lincoln.] 8 [A pigeon-stand.] 


WILD PIGEON 113 


the Thrush Alley clearing. Mistook it for ajay at first, 
but saw the narrow, swift-flying bird soon. 

Dec. 15, 1853. He’ had ten live pigeons in a cage 
under his barn. He used them to attract others in the 
spring. The reflections from their necks were very 
beautiful. They made me think of shells cast up on a 
beach. He placed them in a cage on the bed and could 
hear them prate at the house. . . . The turtle doves? 
plagued him, for they were restless and frightened the 
pigeons. 

March 19, 1854. Goodwin killed a pigeon yesterday. 

July. 18, 1854. Brooks has let out some of his 
pigeons, which stay about the stands or perches to bait 
others. Wild ones nest in his woods quite often. He 
begins to catch them the middle of August. 

Aug. 15, 1854. Crossed from top of Annursnack to 
top of Strawberry Hill® —, a pigeon-bed. 


ts the sigan ils we came upon anoles pigeon- thad: 
where the pigeons were being baited, a little corn, etc., 
being spread on the ground, and, [as?] at the first, the 
bower was already erected. 

Sept. 5, 1854. Saw two pigeons, which flew about his 
pond and then lit on the elms over his house. He‘ said 
they had come to drink from Brooks’s, as they often did. 

Sept. 12, 1854. I scare pigeons from Hubbard’s oaks 
beyond. How like the creaking of trees the slight sounds 


1 [Mr. George Brooks of Concord.} 

2 [Mourning doves.] 3 [In Acton. ] 

4 [Samuel Barrett, who had a sawmill and a gristmill on Spencer 
Brook, a tributary of the Assabet.] 


114 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


they make! Thus they are concealed. Not only their 
prating or quivet is like a’sharp creak, but I heard a 
sound from them like a dull grating or cracking of 
bough on bough. 


On a white oak beyond Everett’s orchard by the road, 
I see quite a flock of pigeons; their blue-black droppings 
and their feathers spot the road. The bare limbs of the 
oak apparently attracted them, though its acorns are 
thick on the ground. These are found whole in their 
crops. They swallow them whole. I should think from 
the droppings that they had been eating berries. I hear 
that Wetherbee caught ninety-two dozen last: week. 

April 16, 1855. In the meanwhile heard the quivet 
through the wood, and, looking, saw through an opening 
a small compact flock of pigeons flying low about. 

April 26, 1855. Going over Ponkawtasset, hear a 
golden-crested (?) wren,'— the robin’s note, etc., — in 
the tops of the high wood ; see myrtle-birds and half a 
dozen pigeons. The prate of the last is much like the 
creaking of a tree. They lift their wings at the same 
moment as they sit. There are said to be many about 
now. See their warm-colored breasts. 

April 27, 1855. Heard a singular sort of screech, 
somewhat like a hawk, under the Cliff, and soon some 
pigeons flew out of a pine near me. 

May 26,1855. Saw a beautiful blue-backed and long- 
tailed pigeon sitting daintily ona low white pine limb. 

Sept. 2,1856. A few pigeons were seen a fortnight 


1 [He afterwards learned that this bird with the robin-like notes in 
its song was the ruby-crowned wren, or kinglet, not the golden-crowned.] 


WILD PIGEON 115 


ago. I have noticed none in all walks, but G. Minott, 
whose mind runs on them so much, but whose age and 
infirmities confine him to his wood-shed on the hillside, 
saw a small flock a fortnight ago. I rarely pass at any 
season of the year but he asks if I have seen any 
pigeons. One man’s mind running on pigeons, he will 
sit thus in the midst of a village, many of whose inhabit- 
ants never see nor dream of a pigeon except in the pot, 
and where even naturalists do not observe them, and he, 
looking out with expectation and faith from morning 
till night, will surely see them. 

Sept. 16, 1856. See a flock of pigeons dash by. From 
a stout breast they taper straightly and slenderly to the 
tail. They have been catching them a while. 

May 14, 1857. Abel Hosmer? tells me that he has 
collected and sown white pine seed, and that he has 
found them in the crop of pigeons. (?) 

Sept. 30,1857. Minott said he had seen a couple of 
pigeons go over at last, as he sat inhis shed. At first he 
thought they were doves, but he soon saw that they were 
pigeons, they flew so straight and fast. 

Sept. 9,1858. R.? says that he has caught pigeons which 
had ripe grapes in their crops long before any were ripe 
here, and that they came from the southwest. 

Sept. 18, 1858. A small dense flock of wild pigeons 
dashes by over the side of the hill, from west to east, — 
perhaps from Wetherbee’s to Brooks’s, for I see the 
latter’s pigeon-place. They make a dark slate-gray im- 
pression. 

Sept. 23, 1858. Met a gunner from Lynn on the 

1 [A Concord farmer.] 2 [Israel Rice, the Sudbury farmer-] 


116 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


beach,' who had several pigeons which he had killed in 
the woods by the shore. Said that they had been blown 
off the mainland. 

May 7, 1859. I frequently see pigeons dashing about 
in small flocks, or three or four at a time, over the woods 
here.? Theirs is a peculiarly swift, dashing flight. 

Sept. 9, 1859. I start many pigeons now in a sprout- 
land. 

Sept. 18, 1859. It isa wonder how pigeons can swal- 
low acorns whole, but they do. 

Sept. 14,1859. They are catching pigeons nowadays. 
Coombs has a stand west of Nut Meadow, and he says 
that he has just shot fourteen hawks there, which were 
after the pigeons. 

Sept. 15, 1859. P. M.— To Annursnack. 

Dense flocks of pigeons hurry-skurry over the hill. 
Pass near Brooks’s pigeon-stands. There was a flock 
perched on his poles, and they sat so still and in such 
regular order there, being also the color of the wood, 
that I thought they were wooden figures at first. They 
were perched not only in horizontal straight lines one 
above the other, which the cross-bars required, but at 
equal distances apart on these perches, which must be 
their own habit; and it struck me that they made just 
such a figure seen against the sky as pigeonholes cut in 
a doves’ house do, 7. e. a more or less triangular figure, 
and possibly the seeing them thus perched might have 
originally suggested this arrangement of the holes. 

Pigeons dart by on every side, — a dry slate color, 


1 [On the south shore of Rockport, Mass. ] 
2 [In Acton, adjoining Concord on the west.] 


WILD PIGEON 117 


like weather-stained wood (the weather-stained birds), 
fit color for this aerial traveller, a more subdued and 
earthy blue than the sky, as its field (or path) is be- 
tween the sky and the earth, — not black or brown, as 
is the earth, but a terrene or slaty blue, suggesting their 
aerial resorts and habits. 

Sept. 21,1859. I sat near Coombs’s pigeon-place by 
White Pond. The pigeons sat motionless on his bare 
perches, from time to time dropping down into the bed 
and uttering a quivet or two. Some stood on the perch ; 
others squatted flat. I could see their dove-colored 
breasts. Then all at once, being alarmed, would take 
flight, but ere long return in straggling parties. He 
tells me that he has fifteen dozen baited, but does not 
intend to catch any more at present, or for two or three 
weeks, hoping to attract others. Rice says that white oak 
acorns pounded up, shells and all, make the best bait for 
them. 

Sept. 28,1859. The white pine seed is very abundant 
this year, and this must attract more pigeons. Coombs 
tells me that he finds the seed in their crops. Also that 
he found within a day or two a full-formed egg with 
shell in one. 

Nov. 8, 1859. Coombs says that quite a little flock of 
pigeons bred here last summer. He found one nest in a 
small white pine near his pigeon-stand (where he baited 
them in the summer), so low he could put his hand in 
it (!?). 

Jan. 23, 1860. Minott says that pigeons alight in 
great flocks on the tops of hemlocks in March, and he 
thinks they eat the seed. (But he also thought for the 


118 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


same reason that they ate the white pine seed at the 
same season, when it is not there! They might find a 
little of the last adhering to the pitch.) 

June 14, 1860. See a pigeon.' 

Sept. 4, 1860. Saw flocks of pigeons the 2d and 3d. 


MOURNING DOVE; TURTLE DOVE 


July 12, 1852. The turtle dove flutters before you 
in shady wood-paths, or looks out with extended neck, 
losing its balance, slow to leave its perch. 

Sept. 27, 1852. It must have been a turtle dove that 
eyed me so near, turned its head sideways to me for a 
fair view, looking with a St. Vitus twitching of its neck, 
as if to recover its balance on an unstable perch, — that 
is their way. 

May 27, 1858. Ed. Emerson? shows me an egg of a 
bittern (Ardea minor) from a nest in the midst of the 
Great Meadows, which four boys found, scaring up the 
bird, last Monday, the 24th. It was about a foot wide 
on the top of a tussock, where the water around was 
about one foot deep. I will measure the egg. They were 
a little developed, Also an egg of a turtle dove, one of 
two in a nest in a pitch pine, about six feet from the 
ground, in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, by the side of a 
frequented walk, on a fork on a nearly horizontal limb. 
The egg is milk-white, elliptical, one and three six- 
teenths inches long by seven eighths wide. 


1 [In the western part of Concord.] 

2 [Edward Waldo Emerson, son of Ralph Waldo Emerson, then a 
boy of thirteen. ] 

8 Tt is clay-colored, one and seven eighths inches long by one and 
nine sixteenths, about the same size at each end. 


, 


AND HER NES 


DOVE 


A MOURNING 


MOURNING DOVE 119 


May 28, 1858. I get the nest of the turtle dove above 
named, it being deserted and no egg left. It appears to 
have been built on the foundation of an old robin’s nest 
and consists of a loose wisp of straw and pinweed, the 
seedy ends projecting, ten inches long, laid across the 
mud foundation of the robin’s nest, with a very slight 
depression. Very loose and coarse material is artificially 
disposed, without any lining or architecture. It was close 
to a frequented path of the cemetery and within reach 
of the hand. 

Dec. 30,1860. Eben Conant’s sons tell me that there 
has been a turtle dove associating with their tame doves 
and feeding in the yard from time to time for a fort- 
night past. They saw it to-day. 

[See also under Passenger Pigeon, p. 113.] 


Vill 
HAWKS AND EAGLES 


MARSH HAWK; FROG HAWK; HEN-HARRIER 


April 24, 1852. The sparrows, frogs, rabbits, etc., 
are made to resemble the ground for their protection ; 
but so is the hawk that preys on them; but he is of a 
lighter color beneath, that creeping things over which 
he hovers may confound him with the sky. The marsh 
hawk is not easily distinguished from the meadow or 
the stems of the maples. 

July 29, 1858. I see three or four (apparently) 
young marsh hawks, but full grown, circling and tum- 
bling about not much above the ground and playing with 
one another. They are quite a reddish brown. They ut- 
ter a squeak (not a shrill scream), much like a small 
bird or animal. 

April 23, 1855. See a frog hawk beating the bushes 
regularly. What a peculiarly formed wing! It should 
be called the kite. Its wings are very narrow and 
pointed, and its form in front is a remarkable curve, 
and its body is not heavy and buzzard-like. It occasion- 
ally hovers over some parts of the meadow or hedge and 
circles back over it, only rising enough from time to 
time to clear the trees and fences. 

May 14, 1855. See a male hen-harrier skimming low 
along the side of the river, often within a foot of the 
muddy shore, looking for frogs, with a very compact 


MARSH HAWK 121 


flock of small birds, probably swallows, in pursuit. Oc- 
casionally he alights and walks or hops flutteringly a 
foot or two over the ground. 

Now. 5, 1855. At Hubbard’s Crossing I see a large 
male hen-harrier skimming over the meadow, its deep 
slate somewhat sprinkled or mixed with black; perhaps 
young. It flaps a little and then sails straight forward, 
so low it must rise at every fence. But I perceive that 
it follows the windings of the meadow over many fences. 

April 8, 1456. The marsh hawks! flew in their usual 
irregular low tacking, wheeling, and circling flight, 
leisurely flapping and beating, now rising, now falling, 
in conformity with the contour of the ground. The last 
I think I have seen on the same beat in former years. 
He and his race must be well acquainted with the 
Musketicook and its meadows. No sooner is the snow 
off than he is back to his old haunts, scouring that 
part of the meadows that is bare, while the rest is 
melting. If he returns from so far to these meadows, 
shall the sons of Concord be leaving them at this sea- 
son for slight cause? 

April 22, 1856. A marsh hawk, in the midst of the 
rain, is skimming along the shore of the meadow, close 
to the ground, and, though not more than thirty rods 
off, I repeatedly lose sight of it, it is so nearly the color 
of the hillside beyond. It is looking for frogs. 

Muy 20, 1456. Two marsh hawks, male and female, 
flew about me a long time, screaming,—the female 
largest, with ragged wings, —as I stood on the neck of 
the peninsula. This induced me to climb four pines, 

1 [Two seen that afternoon. ] 


122 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


but I tore my clothes, got pitched all over, and found 
only squirrel; yet they have, no doubt, a nest there- 
abouts.! 

May 14, 1857. See.a pair of marsh hawks, the smaller 
and lighter-colored male, with black tips to wings, and 
the large brown female, sailing low over J. Hosmer’s 
sprout-land and screaming, apparently looking for frogs 
or the like. Or have they not a nest near? They 
hover very near me. The female, now so near, sails 
very grandly, with the outer wing turned or tilted up 
when it circles, and the bars on its tail when it turns, 
etc., reminding me of a great brown moth. Sometimes 
alone; and when it approaches its mate it utters a low, 
grating note like cwr-r-r. Suddenly the female holds 
straight toward me, descending gradually. Steadily she 
comes on, without swerving, until only two rods off, 
then wheels. 

Oct. 28, 1857. I look up and see a male marsh hawk 
with his clean-cut wings, that has just skimmed past 
above my head, —not at all disturbed, only tilting his 
body a little, now twenty rods off, with demi-semi-quaver 
of his wings. He is a very neat flyer. 

April 19, 1858. Spend the day hunting for my boat, 
which was stolen. As I go up the riverside, I see a male 
marsh hawk hunting. He skims along exactly over the 
edge of the water, on the meadowy side, not more than 
three or four feet from the ground and winding with 
the shore, looking for frogs, for in such a tortuous line 
do the frogs sit. They probably know about what time 


1 [Later, as will be seen, he learned that marsh hawks’ nests are not 
to be looked for in trees. ] 


MARSH HAWK 123 


to expect his visits, being regularly decimated. Particu- 
lar hawks farm particular meadows. It must be easy 
for him to get a breakfast. Far as I can see with a 
glass, he is still tilting this way and that over the 
water-line. 

May 2, 1858. IfI were to bea frog hawk for a month 
I should soon know some things about the frogs. How 
patiently they skim the meadows, occasionally alighting, 
and fluttering as if it were difficult ever to stand still 
on the ground. I have seen more of them than usual 
since I too have been looking for frogs. 

May 30, 1858. P. M.—To hen-harrier’s nest and to 
Ledum Swamp. 

Edward Emerson shows me the nest which he and 
another discovered. It is in the midst of the low wood, 
sometimes inundated, just southwest of Hubbard’s 
Bath, the island of wood in the meadow. The hawk 
rises when we approach and circles about over the 
wood, uttering a note singularly like the common one 
of the flicker. The nest is in a more bushy or open 
place in this low wood, and consists of a large mass 
of sedge and stubble with a very few small twigs, as 
it were accidentally intermingled. It is about twenty 
inches in diameter and remarkably flat, the slight de- 
pression in the middle not exceeding three quarters 
of an inch. The whole opening amid the low bushes 
is not more than two feet in diameter. The thickness 
of it raises the surface about four inches above the 
ground. The inner and upper part is uniformly rather 
fine and pale-brown sedge. There are two dirty, or 
rather dirtied, white eggs left (of four that were), one 


124 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


of them one and seven tenths inches long, and not 
“spherical,” as Brewer says, but broad in proportion 
to length.? 

June 8, 1858. The marsh hawk’s eggs are not yet 
hatched. She rises when I get within a rod and utters 
that peculiar cackling or scolding note, much like, but 
distinct from, that of the pigeon woodpecker. She keeps 
circling over the nest and repeatedly stoops within a 
rod of my head ip an angry manner. She is not so 
large as a hen-hawk, and is much more slender. She 
will come sailing swiftly and low over the tops of the 
trees and bushes, etc., and then stoop as near to my 
head as she dares, in order to scare me away. The 
primaries, of which I count but five, are very long and 
loose, or distant, like fingers with which she takes hold 
of the air, and form a very distinct part of the wing, 
making an angle with the rest. Yet they are not broad 
and give to the wing a long and slender appearance. 
The legs are stretched straight back under the tail.? I 
see nothing of the male, nor did I before. A red-wing 
and a kingbird are soon in pursuit of the hawk, which 
proves, I think, that she meddles with their nests or 
themselves. She circles over me, scolding, as far as the 
edge of the wood, or fifteen rods. 

June 17, 1858. P. M.—To hawk’s nest. 

One egg is hatched since the 8th, and the young bird, 
all down, with a tinge of fawn or cinnamon, lies motion- 

1 Another is one and seven eighths inches long by one and a half 
inches. 

2 [This is the habitual manner of carrying the legs in flight among 


the birds of prey and some other orders. See Dr. C. W. Townsend’s 
paper in the Auk, April, 1909, vol. xxvi, p. 109.] 


MARSH HAWK 125 


less on its breast with its head down and is already 
about four inches long! An hour or two after, I see 
the old hawk pursue a stake-driver which was flying 
over this spot, darting down at him and driving him 
off, 

Aug. 8, 1858. Saw yesterday a this year’s (?) marsh 
hawk, female, flying low across the road near Hildreth’s. 
I took it to be a young bird, it came so near and looked 
so fresh. Itis a fine rich-brown, full-breasted bird, with 
a long tail. Some hens in the grass beneath were greatly 
alarmed and began to run and fly with a cackling to the 
shelter of a corn-field. They which did not see the hawk 
and were the last to stir expressed the most alarm. 
Meanwhile the hawk sails low and steadily over the 
field away, not thinking of disturbing them. 

Oct. 9, 1858. Methinks hawks are more commonly 
seen now, —the slender marsh hawk for one. I see four 
or five in different places. I watch two marsh hawks 
which rise from the woods before me as I sit on the 
Cliff, at first plunging at each other, gradually lifting 
themselves as they come round in their gyrations, higher 
and higher, and floating toward the southeast. Slender 
dark motes they are at last, almost lost to sight, but 
every time they come round eastward I see the light of 
the westering sun reflected from the under sides of 
their wings. 

Nov. 20, 1858. He? says that a marsh hawk had his 
nest in his meadow several years, and though he shot 
the female three times, the male with but little delay 
returned with a new mate. He often watched these 

1 [Martial Miles, a Concord farmer. ] 


126 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


birds, and saw that the female could tell when the male 
was coming a long way off. He thought that he fed 
her and the young all together (?). She would utter a 
scream when she perceived him, and, rising into the 
air (before or after the scream?), she turned over 
with her talons uppermost, while he passed some three 
rods above, and caught without fail the prey which 
he let drop, and then carried it to her young. He 
had seen her do this many times, and always without 
failing. 

March 24, 1860. I see a male frog hawk beating 
a hedge, scarcely rising more than two feet from: 
the ground for half a mile, quite below the level 
of the wall within it. How unlike the hen-hawk in 
this ! 

May 8, 1860. How the marsh hawk circles or skims 
low, round and round over a particular place in a 
meadow, where, perhaps, it has seen a frog, screaming 
once or twice, and then alights on a fence-post! How 
it crosses the causeway between the willows, at a gap 
in them with which it is familiar, as a hen knows a 
hole in a fence! I lately saw one flying over the road 
near our house. 

May 29, 1860. We next proceeded to the marsh 
hawk’s nest from which the eggs were taken a fortnight 
ago and the female shot. It was in a long and narrow 
cassandra swamp northwest of the lime-kiln and some 
thirty rods from the road, on the side of a small and 
more open area some two rods across, where were few 
if any bushes and more [?] sedge with the cassandra. 
The nest was on a low tussock, and about eighteen 


MARSH HAWK 127 


inches across, made of dead birch twigs around and a 
pitch pine plume or two, and sedge grass at bottom, 
with a small cavity in the middle. 

The female was shot and eggs taken on the 16th; 
yet here was the male, hovering anxiously over the spot 
and neighborhood and scolding at us. Betraying him- 
self from time to time by that peculiar clacking note 
reminding you of a pigeon woodpecker. We thought it 
likely that he’ had already got another mate and a new 
nest near by. He would not quite withdraw though fired 
at, but still would return and circle near us. They are 
said to find a new mate very soon. 

July 3, 1860. Looked for the marsh hawk’s nest (of 
June 16th) in the Great Meadows.’ It was in the very 
midst of the sweet-gale (which is three feet high), oc- 
cupying an opening only a foot or two across. We had 
much difficulty in finding it again, but at last nearly 
stumbled on to a young hawk. There was one as big 
as my fist, resting on the bare, flat nest in the sun, 
with a great head, staring eyes, and open gaping or 
panting mouth, yet mere down, grayish-white down, as 
yet; but I detected another which had crawled a foot 
one side amid the bushes for shade or safety, more than 
half as large again, with small feathers and a yet more 
angry, hawk-like look. How naturally anger sits on the 
young hawk’s head! It was 3.30 Pp. M., and the old 
birds were gone and saw us not. Meanwhile their callow 
young lie panting under the sweet-gale and rose bushes 
in the swamp, waiting for their parents to fetch them 
food. 


1 [This was another nest than that described under May 29.] 


128 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


SHARP-SHINNED HAWK 


May 4, 1855. Sitting in Abel Brooks’s Hollow, see 
a small hawk go over high in the air, with along tail 
and distinct from wings. It advanced by a sort of limp- 
ing flight yet rapidly, not circling nor tacking, but 
flapping briskly at intervals and then gliding straight 
ahead with rapidity, controlling itself with its tail. It 
seemed to be going a journey. Was it not the sharp- 
shinned, or Falco fuscus ? + 

July 21, 1858. P. M.— To Walden, with E. Bart- 
lett and E. Emerson. 

The former wished to show me what he thought an 
owl’s nest he had found. Near it, in Abel Brooks’s 
wood-lot, heard a note and saw a small hawk fly over. 
It was the nest of this bird. Saw several of the young 
flitting about and occasionally an old bird. The nest 
was in a middling-sized white pine, some twenty feet 
from the ground, resting on two limbs close to the main 
stem, on the south side of it. It was quite solid, com- 
posed entirely of twigs about as big round as a pipe- 
stem and less; was some fifteen inches in diameter and 
one inch deep, or nearly flat, and perhaps five inches 
thick. It was very much dirtied on the sides by the 
droppings of the young. As we were standing about the 
tree, we heard again the note of a young one approach- 
ing. We dropped upon the ground, and it alighted on 
the edge of the nest; another alighted near by, and a 
third a little further off. The young were apparently 
as big as the old, but still lingered about the nest and 

1 [The sharp-shinned hawk is now known as Accipiter velox. ] 


SHARP-SHINNED HAWK 129 


returned to it. I could hear them coming some distance 
off. Their note was a kind of peeping squeal, which 
you might at first suspect to be made by a jay; not 
very loud, but as if to attract the old and reveal their 
whereabouts. The note of the old bird, which occasion- 
ally dashed past, was somewhat like that of the marsh 
hawk or pigeon woodpecker, a cackling or clattering 
sound, chiding us. The old bird was anxious about her 
inexperienced young, and was trying to get them off. 
At length she dashed close past us, and appeared to 
fairly strike one of the young, knocking him off his 
perch, and he soon followed her off. I saw the remains 
of several birds lying about in that neighborhood, and - 
saw and heard again the young and old thereabouts for 
several days thereafter. A young man killed one of the 
young hawks, and I saw it. It was the Falco fuscus, 
the American brown or slate-colored hawk. Its length 
was thirteen inches; alar extent, twenty-three. The 
tail reached two or more inches beyond the closed 
wings. Nuttall says the upper parts are “‘a deep slate- 
color” (these were very dark brown); also that the 
nest is yet unknown. But Wilson describes his /’. velox 
(which is the same as Nuttall’s 2’. fuscus) as “ whole 
upper parts very dark brown,” but legs, greenish-yellow 
(these were yellow). The toes had the peculiar pendu- 
lous lobes which W. refers to. As I saw it in the woods, 
I was struck by its dark color above, its tawny throat 
and breast, brown-spotted, its clean, slender, long yel- 
low legs, feathered but little below the knee, its white 
vent, its wings distinctly and rather finely dark-barred 
beneath, short, black, much curved bill, and slender 


130 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


black sharp claws. Its tail with a dark bar near edge 
beneath. In hand I found it had the white spots on 
scapulars of the J”. fuscus, and had not the white bars 
on tail of the #. Pennsylvanicus.' It also had the fine 
sharp shin. 

[See also under Blackbirds, p. 264. ] 


COOPER’S HAWK 


May 29, 1860. We proceeded to the Cooper’s 
hawk nest in an oak and pine wood (Clark’s) north of 
Ponkawtasset. I found a fragment of one of the eggs 
which he? had thrown out. Farmer’s egg, by the way, 
was a dull or dirty white, 2. e. a rough white with large 
dirty spots, perhaps in the grain, but not surely, of a 
regular oval form and a little larger than his marsh 
hawk’s egg. I climbed to the nest, some thirty to thirty- 
five feet high in a white pine, against the main stem. 
It was a mass of bark-fibre and sticks about two and a 
half feet long by eighteen inches wide and sixteen high. 
The lower and main portion was a solid mass of fine 
bark-fibre such as a red squirrel uses. This was sur- 
rounded and surmounted by a quantity of dead twigs 
of pine and oak, ete., generally the size of a pipe-stem 
or less. The concavity was very slight, not more than 
an inch and a half, and there was nothing soft for a 
lining, the bark-fibres being several inches beneath the 
twigs, but the bottom was floored for a diameter of six 
inches or more with flakes of white oak and pitch pine 


1 [The broad-winged hawk, now called Buteo platypterus.| 
2 [Jacob Farmer, who had found the nest and shot the female hawk 
May 16, saving one of the eggs.] 


RED-TAILED HAWK 131 


bark one to two inches long each, a good handful of 
them, and on this the eggs had lain. We saw nothing 
of the hawk. 


RED-TAILED HAWK; HEN-HAWK 


March 26, 1853. Up the Assabet, scared from his 
perch a stout hawk, —the red-tailed undoubtedly, for 
I saw very plainly the cow-red when he spread his 
wings from off his tail (and rump ?). I rowed the boat 
three times within gunshot before he flew, twice within 
four rods, while he sat on an oak over the water, —I 
think because I had two ladies with me, which was as 
good as bushing the boat. Each time, or twice at least, 
he made a motion to fly before he started. The ends of 
his primaries looked very ragged against the sky. This 
is the hen-hawk of the farmer, the same, probably, 
which I have scared off from the Cliff so often. It was 
an interesting eagle-like object, as he sat upright-on 
his perch with his back to us, now and then looking 
over his shoulder, the broad-backed, flat-headed, curve- 
beaked bird. 

April 4, 1853. At Conantum End I saw a red-tailed 
hawk launch himself away from an oak by the pond 
at my approach, — a, heavy flier, flapping even like the 
great bittern at first, — heavy forward. 

April 30, 1855. I hear from far the scream of a 
hawk circling over the Holden woods and swamp. This 
accounts for those two men with guns just entering it. 
What a dry, shrill, angry scream! I see the bird with 
my glass resting upon the topmost plume of a tall white 
pine. Its back, reflecting the light, looks white in 


132 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


patches; and now it circles again. It is a red-tailed 
hawk. The tips of its wings are curved upward as it 
sails. How it scolds at the men beneath! I see its open 
bill. It must have a nest there. Hark! there goes a 
gun, and down it tumbles from a rod or two above the 
wood. So I thought, but was mistaken. In the mean- 
while, I learn that there is a nest there, and the gun- 
ners killed one this morning, which I examined. They 
are now getting the young. Above it was brown, but 
not at all reddish-brown except about head. Above 
perhaps I should call it brown, and a dirty white be- 
neath ; wings above thickly barred with darker, and also 
wings beneath. The tail of twelve reddish feathers, 
once black-barred near the end. The feet pale-yellow 
_. and very stout, with strong, sharp black claws. The 
head and neck were remarkably stout, and the beak 
short and curved from the base. Powerful neck and 
legs. The claws pricked me as I handled it. It measured 
one yard and three eighths plus from tip to tip, i. e. 
four feet and two inches. Some ferruginous on the 
neck ; ends of wings nearly black. 

May 1, 1855. Went to Garfield’s for the hawk of 
yesterday. It was nailed to the barn in terrorem and 
as a trophy. He gave it to me with an egg. He called 
it the female, and probably was right, it was so large. 
He tried in vain to shoot the male, which I saw circling 
about just out of gunshot and screaming, while he 
robbed the nest. He climbed the tree when I was there 
yesterday afternoon, the tallest white pine or other tree 
in its neighborhood, over a swamp, and found two 
young, which he thought not more than a fortnight old, 


RED-TAILED HAWK 133 


— with only down, at least no feathers, — and one ad- 
dled egg, also three or four white-bellied or deer mouse 
(Mus leucopus), a perch, and a sucker,” and a gray 
rabbit’s skin. He had seen squirrels, etc., in other nests. 
These fishes were now stale. I found the remains of a 
partridge under the tree. The reason I did not see my 
hawks at Well Meadow last year was that he found and 
broke up their nest there, containing five eggs. 

The hawk measures exactly 224 inches in length and 
4 feet 44 inches in alar extent, and weighs 34 pounds. 
The ends of closed wings almost two inches short of end 
of tail. General color above of wings and back an oli- 
vaceous brown, thickly barred with waving lines of very 
dark brown, there being a much broader bar next to the 
tip of the secondaries and tertiaries ; and the first five 
primaries are nearly black toward the ends. A little 
white appears, especially on the tertiaries. The wing- 
coverts and scapulars glossed with purple reflections. 
The twelve tail-feathers (which MacGillivray says is 
the number in all birds of prey, 7. e. the Falconine and 
Strigine) showing five and three quarters inches a 
clear brown red, or rather fox-color, above, with a nar- 
row dark band within half an inch of the end, which is 
tipped with dirty white. A slight inclination to dusky 
bars near the end of one side feather. Lower tail- 
coverts for nearly an inch white, barred with fox-color. 
Head and neck a paler, inclining to ferruginous, brown. 
Beneath: Breast and wing-linings brown and white, - 
the feathers of first centred with large dark-brown has- 


1 [Now known as Peromyscus leucopus boracensis. | 
2 T think these must have been dead fish they found. 


184 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


tate spots, and the wing-linings streaked with ferrugi- 
nous. Wings white, barred with dusky. “ Vent and 
femorals,” as Nuttall says, “pale ochreous.” Tail white, 
softened by the superior color. I do not perceive that 
the abdomen is barred. 

Bill very blue black, with a short, stout curved tip, 
— curving from the cere more than a quarter of a cir- 
cle, extends not quite a quarter of an inch beyond the 
lower mandible, — and is proportionally stouter at tip 
than in any of his Falconine, judging from plates of 
heads; whole visible, including cere, 14 inches long, 
and 1 inch deep at base; cere yellowish-green. 

- Tarsus and toes very pale yellow; claws blue-black. 
As MacGillivray says of Buteo, claws flattened beneath, 
“that of the middle toe with an inner sharp edge.” 
(He says, as I gather, that all the diurnal birds of prey 
of Great Britain, 7. e. Falconine, have claws either 
flattened or concave beneath, except Pandion, the 
inner edge of the middle one being more or less sharp, 
but least so in Circus, or harrier.) Tarsus feathered 
in front one third the way down. The toes for length 
stand in this order, —the first (or hind), second, 
fourth, third, the first being the shortest ; for stoutness 
thus, — one, two, three, four. Claws for stoutness fol- 
low the same order with the toes. Utmost spread of toes 
and claws 43 inches. A considerable web between third 
and fourth toes. Toes with papille not rigid beneath. 

The wing extends nearly two feet from the body, 
and is 10? inches wide; from flexure is 153 inches. 


1In this respect Circus and Falco much the same; Aquila and 
Pernis and Milvus have several short webs; Haliaétus, Pandion, and 
Accipiter are free. : 


RED-TAILED HAWK 135 


When fully expanded it has a rounded outline and a 
ragged appearance owing to the separation of the first 
five or six primaries, as I noticed the male bird while 
resting. The first primary short; they stand, first and 
eighth, seventh, sixth, second, fifth, third, fourth. The 
fifth and third are about the same length, and the 
fourth only a quarter of an inch longer than the third. 
As in the Buteo vulgaris of MacGillivray, found in 
Europe and in our north, the four first primaries 
“abruptly cut out on the inner web”; the second, 
third, fourth, and fifth, but not the first and sixth, 
“slightly so on the outer.” There are ten primaries 
and there are fourteen secondaries. (MacGillivray says 
the primaries of the Falconine are ten, the seconda- 
ries from thirteen to eighteen.) The wing, I see, natu- 
rally opens at the primaries. 

This is evidently very closely allied to the Buteo 
vulgaris, but apparently the wings are not so long com- 
pared with the tail, and there is a difference in the 
comparative length and stoutness of the toes; the feet 
of this are not “ bright yellow,” and the upper man- 
dible is much stouter and more recurved at tip, judging 
from his plate of the head and his description. It is 
recurved as much as his osprey’s. 

The ear looked like a large round hole in the side 
of the head behind the eye. 

The egg is a very dirty brownish white, with brown 
spots about the smaller end, though one end is about 
as large as the other. It is larger than a hen’s egg, — 
22 inches by 2. 


186 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


Early in spring I occasionally see hen-hawks perched 
about river, and approach quite near them, but never 
at any other time. 

This hawk’s flesh had a very disagreeable rank scent, 
as I was cutting it up, though fresh, — cutting off the 
wings, etc., ete. 

Sept. 14, 1855. P. M.— To Hubbard’s Close. 

I scare from an oak by the side of the Close a young 
hen-hawk, which, launching off with a scream and a 
heavy flight, alights on the topmost plume of a large 
pitch pine in the swamp northward, bending it down, 
with its back toward me, where it might be mistaken 
for a plume against the sky, the light makes all things 
so black. It has a red tail; black primaries; scapulars 
and wing-coverts gray-brown ; back showing much 
white and whitish head. It keeps looking round, first 
this side then that, warily. 

Oct. 28, 1857. I hear the scream of a hen-hawk, 
soaring and circling onward. I do not often see the 
marsh hawk thus. What a regular figure this fellow 
makes on high, with his broad tail and broad wings! 
Does he perceive me, that he rises higher and circles 
to one side? He goes round now one full circle without 
a flap, tilting his wing a little; then flaps three or four 
times and rises higher. Now he comes on like a billow, 
screaming. Steady as a planet in its orbit, with his 
head bent down, but on second thought that small 
sprout-land seems worthy of a longer scrutiny, and he 
gives one circle backward over it. His scream is some- 
what like the whinnering of a horse, if it is not rather 


RED-TAILED HAWK 187 


a split squeal. It is a hoarse, tremulous breathing 
forth of his winged energy. But why is it so regularly 
repeated at that height? Is it to scare his prey, that 
he may see by its motion where it is, or to inform its 
mate or companion of its whereabouts? Now he crosses 
the at present broad river steadily, deserving to have 
one or two rabbits at least to swing about him. What 
majesty there is in this small bird’s flight! The hawks 
are large-souled. 

March 23, 1859. As we entered Well Meadow, we 
saw a hen-hawk perch on the topmost plume of one 
of the tall pines at the head of the meadow. Soon 
another appeared, probably its mate, but we looked in 
vain for a nest there. It was a fine sight, their soaring 
above our heads, present- aA 


ing a perfect outline and, 

as they came round, show- > 
ing their rust-colored tails 

with a whitish rump, or, a § 


as they sailed away from us, that slight teetering or 
quivering motion of their dark-tipped wings seen edge- 
wise, now on this side, now that, by which they balanced 
and directed themselves. These are the most eagle-like 
of our common hawks. They very commonly perch upon 
the very topmost plume of a pine, and, if motionless, 
are rather hard to distinguish there. 


1 [The note described is evidently that of the red-tailed hawk rather 
than that of the other “ hen-hawk,” the red-shouldered. ] 


188 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


HEN-HAWKS (SPECIES UNIDENTIFIED)! 


Sept. T, 1851. There were two hen-hawks soared and 
circled for our entertainment, when we were in the 
woods on that Boon Plain? the other day, crossing each 
other’s orbits from time to time, alternating like the squir- 
rels of the morning,’ till, alarmed by our imitation of 
a hawk’s shrill ery, they gradually inflated themselves, 
made themselves more aerial, and rose higher and higher 
into the heavens, and were at length lost to sight; yet 
all the while earnestly looking, scanning the surface of 
the earth for astray mouse or rabbit. 

June 8, 1858. As I stood by this pond, I heard a 
hawk scream, and, looking up, saw a pretty large one 
circling not far off and incessantly screaming, as I at first 
supposed to scare and so discover its prey, but itsscream- 
ing was so incessant and it circled from time to time so 
near me, as I moved southward, that I began to think it 
had a nest near by and was angry at my intrusion into 
its domains. As I moved, the bird still followed and 


1 [The term ‘‘hen-hawk” is applied in New England ordinarily to 
the large buzzard hawks, or buteos, — the red-tailed hawk (Buteo bore- 
alis) and the red-shouldered hawk (B. lineatus). Thoreau, however, 
seems never to have identified the latter species except in the case of 
a dead bird brought to him Jan. 12, 1859, and Mr. William Brewster, the 
ornithologist, who has known the Concord country intimately for many 
years, informs the editor that the red-tailed hawk was up to about 1888 
the common hen-hawk there, though it is now almost entirely super- 
seded by the red-shouldered. It seems probable, therefore, that most 
of Thoreau’s hen-hawks were red-tails, as was certainly the case with 
many which he describes. ] 

2 [In Stow, Mass., near Concord.] 

8 [Two caged squirrels revolving their cylinder alternately. ] 


HEN-HAWKS 139 


screamed, coming sometimes quite near or within gun- 
shot, then circling far off or high into thesky. At length, 
as I was looking up at it, thinking it the only living 
creature within view, I was singularly startled to behold, 
as my eye by chance penetrated deeper into the blue, — 
the abyss of blue above, which I had taken for a soli- 
tude, —its mate silently soaring at an immense height 
and seemingly indifferent to me. We are surprised to dis- 
cover that there can be an eye on us on that side, and so 
little suspected, — that the heavens are full of eyes, though 
they look so blue and spotless. Then I knew it was the 
female that circled and screamed below. At last the 
latter rose gradually to meet her mate, and they circled 
together there, as if they could not possibly feel any 
anxiety on my account. When I drew nearer to the tall 
trees where I suspected the nest to be, the female de- 
scended again, swept by screaming still nearer to me just 
over the tree-tops, and finally, while I was looking for 
the orchis in the swamp, alighted on a white pine twenty 
or thirty rods off. (The great fringed orchis just open.) 
At length I detected the nest about eighty feet from the 
ground, in a very large white pine by the edge of the 
swamp. It was about three feet in diameter, of dry 
sticks, and ayoung hawk, apparently as big as its mother, 
stood on the edge of the nest looking down at me, and 
only moving its head when I moved. In its imperfect 
plumage and by the slow motion of its head it reminded 
me strongly of a vulture, so large and gaunt. It appeared 
a tawny brown on its neck and breast, and dark brown 
or blackish on wings. The mother was light beneath, 
.and apparently lighter still on rump. 


140 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


June 9, 1853. I have come with a spy-glass to look 
at the hawks. They have detected me and are already 
screaming over my head more than half a mile from the 
nest. I find no difficulty in looking at the young hawk 
(there appears to be one only, standing on the edge of 
the nest), resting the glass in the crotch of a young oak. 
I can see every wink and the color of its iris. It watches 
me more steadily than | it, now looking straight down 
at me with both eyes and ontstretched neck, now turn- 
ing its head and looking with one eye. How its eye and 
its whole head express anger! Its anger is more in its 
eye than in its beak. It is quite hoary over the eye and 
on the chin. The mother meanwhile is incessantly cir- 
cling about and above its charge and me, farther or 
nearer, sometimes withdrawing a quarter of a mile, 
but occasionally coming to alight for a moment almost 
within gunshot, on the top of a tall white pine; but I 
hardly bring my glass fairly to bear on her, and get 
sight of her angry eye through the pine-needles, before 
she circles away again. Thus for an hour that I lay 
there, screaming every minute or oftener with open bill. 
Now and then pursued by a kingbird or a blackbird, who 
appear merely to annoy it by dashing downat its back. 
Meanwhile the male is soaring, apparently quite undis- 
turbed, at a great height above, evidently not hunting, 
but amusing or recreating himself in the thinner and 
cooler air, as if pleased with his own circles, like a ge- 
ometer, and enjoying the sublime scene. I doubt if he 
has his eye fixed on any prey, or theearth. He probably 
descends to hunt. F 

June 12,1853. I forgot to say that I visited my hawk’s 


HEN-HAWKS 141 


nest, and the young hawk was perched now four or 
five feet above the nest, still in the shade. It will soon 
fly. Now, then, in secluded pine woods, the young 
hawks sit high on the edges of their nests or on the twigs 
near by in the shade, waiting for their pinions to grow, 
while their parents bring to them their prey. Their 
silence also is remarkable, not to betray themselves, nor 
will the old bird go to the nest while you are in sight. 
She pursues me half a mile when I withdraw. 

June 18, 1853. 9 A. M. — To Orchis Swamp. 

Find that there are two young hawks ; one has left the 
nest and is perched on a small maple seven or eight rods 
distant. This one appears much smaller than the former 
one. I am struck by its large, naked head, so vulture- 
like, and large eyes, as if the vulture’s were an inferior 
stage through which the hawk passed. Its feet, too, are 
large, remarkably developed, by which it holds to its 
perch securely like an old bird, before its wings can per- 
form their office. It has a buff breast, striped with dark 
brown. Pratt, when I told him of this nest, said he 
would like to carry one of his rifles down there. But I 
told him that I should be sorry to have them killed. I 
would rather save one of these hawks than have a hun- 
dred hens and chickens. It was worth more to see them 
soar, especially now that they are so rare in the land- 
scape. It is easy to buy eggs, but not to buy hen-hawks. 
My neighbors would not hesitate to shoot the last pair 
of hen-hawks in the town to save a few of their chick- 
ens! But such economy is narrow and grovelling. It 
is unnecessarily to sacrifice the greater value to the less. 
I would rather never taste chickens’ meat nor hens’ eggs 


142 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


than never to see a hawk sailing through the upper air 
again. This sight is worth incomparably more than a 
chicken soup or a boiled egg. So we exterminate the 
deer and substitute the hog. It was amusing to observe 
the swaying to and fro of the young hawk’s head to 
counterbalance the gentle motion of the bough in the 
wind. 

May 4, 1858. As I sit there by the swamp-side this 
warm summery afternoon, I] hear the crows cawing 
hoarsely, and from time to time see one flying toward the 
top of a tall white pine. At length I distinguish a hen- 
hawk perched on the top. The crow repeatedly stoops 
toward him, now from this side, now from that, passing 
near his head each time, but he pays not the least atten- 
tion to it. 

Nov. 9, 1858. Now the young hen-hawks, full-grown 
but inexperienced, still white-breasted and brown (not 
red )-tailed, swoop down after thefarmer’s hens, between 
the barn and the house, often carrying one off in their 
clutches, and all the rest of the pack half fly, half run, 
to the barn. Unwarrantably bold, one ventures to stoop 
before the farmer’s eyes. He clutches in haste his trusty 
gun, which hangs, ready loaded, on its pegs ; he pursues 
warily to where the marauder sits teetering on a lofty 
pine, and when he is sailing scornfully away he meets 
his fate and comes fluttering head forward to earth. 
The exulting farmer hastes to secure his trophy. He 
treats the proud bird’s body with indignity. He carries 
it home to show to his wife and children, for the hens 
were his wife’s special care. He thinks it one of his best 
shots, full thirteen rods. This gun is “an all-fired good. 


HEN-HAWKS 143 


piece” —nothing but robin-shot. The body of the vic- 
tim is delivered up to the children and the dog and, like 
the body of Hector, is dragged so many times round 
Troy. 

But alas for the youthful hawk, the proud bird of 
prey, the tenant of the skies! We shall no more see his 
wave-like outline against a cloud, nor hear his scream 
from behind one. He saw but a pheasant in the field, 
the food which nature has provided for him, and stooped 
to seize it. This was his offense. He, the native of these 
skies, must make way for those bog-trotters from an- 
other land, which never soar. The eye that was con- 
versant with sublimity, that looked down on earth from 
under its sharp projecting brow, is closed ; the head 
that was never made dizzy by any height is brought 
low; the feet that were not made to walk on earth now 
lie useless along it. With those trailing claws for grap- 
nels it dragged the lower sky. Those wings which swept 
the sky must now dust the chimney-corner, perchance. 
So weaponed, with strong beak and talons, and wings, 
like a war-steamer, to carry them about. In vain were 
the brown-spotted eggs laid, in vain were ye cradled in 
the loftiest pine of the swamp. Where are your father 
and mother? Will they hear of your early death ? before 
ye had acquired your full plumage, they who nursed and 
defended ye so faithfully ? 

Nov. 11, 1858. The tail-coverts of the young hen- 
hawk, i. e. this year’s bird, at present are white, very 
handsomely barred or watered with dark brown in an 
irregular manner, somewhat as above, the bars on op- 
posite sides of the midrib alternating in an agreeable 


144 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


manner. Such natural objects have suggested the “ wa- 
tered” figuresorcolorsinthearts. Few mortals ever look 
down on the tail-coverts of a young hen-hawk, yet these 
are not only beautiful, but of a peculiar beauty, being 


differently marked and colored (to judge from Wilson’s 
account of the old) from those of the old bird. Thus she 
finishes her works above men’s sight. 

Jan. 12, 1859. ‘Farmer says that he saw what he calls 
the common hen-hawk, one soaring high with apparently 
a chicken in its claws, while a young hawk circled be- 
neath, when former suddenly let drop the chicken, but 
the young failing to catch, he shot down like lightning 
and caught and bore off the falling chicken before it 
reached the earth. 

Feb.16,1859. The hen-hawk and the pine are friends. 
The same thing which keeps the hen-hawk in the woods, 
away from the cities, keeps me here. That bird settles 
with confidence on a white pine top and not upon your 
weathercock. That bird will not be poultry of yours, 
lays no eggs for you, forever hides its nest. Though 
willed, or wild, it is not willful in its wildness. The un- 


HEN-HAWKS 145 


sympathizing man regards the wildness of some animals, 
their strangeness to him, as a sin; asif all their virtue 
consisted in their tamableness. He has always a charge 
in his gun ready for their extermination. What we call 
wildness is a civilization other than our own. The hen- 
hawk shuns the farmer, but it seeks the friendly shelter 
and support of the pine. It will not consent to walk in 
the barn-yard, but it loves to soar above the clouds. It 
has its own way and is beautiful, when we would fain 
subject it to our will. So any surpassing work of art is 
strange and wild to the mass of men, as is genius itself. 
No hawk that soars and steals our poultry is wilder than 
genius, and none is more persecuted or above persecu- 
tion. It cannever be poet laureate, to say “‘ Pretty Poll” 
and ‘“ Polly want a cracker.” 

March 15, 1860. A hen-hawk sails away from the 
wood southward. I get a very fair sight of it sailing 
overhead. What a perfectly regular and neat outline it 
presents! an easily recognized figure anywhere. Yet I 
never see it represented in any books. The exact cor- 
respondence of the marks on one side to those on the 
other, as the black or dark tip of one wing to the other, 
and the dark line midway the wing. I have no idea that 
one can get as correct an idea of the form and color of 
the under sides of a hen-hawk’s wings by spreading 
those of a dead specimen in his study as by looking up 
at a free and living hawk soaring above him in the 
fields. The penalty for obtaining a petty knowledge thus 
dishonestly is that it is less interesting to men generally, 
as it is less significant. Some, seeing and admiring the 
neat figure of the hawk sailing two or three hundred 


146 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


feet above their heads, wish to get nearer and hold & 
in their hands, perchance, not realizing that they can 
see it best at this distance, better now, perhaps, than 
ever they will again. What is an eagle in captivity, 
screaming in a courtyard? I am not the wiser respect- 
ing eagles for having seen one there. I do not wish to 
know the length of its entrails. 

How neat and all compact this hawk! Its wings and 
body are all one piece, the wings apparently the greater 
part, while its body is a mere fullness or protuberance 
between its wings, an inconspicuous pouch hung there. 
It suggests no insatiable maw, no corpulence, but looks 
like a larger moth, with little body in proportion to its 
wings, its body naturally more etherealized as it soars 
higher. 

These hawks, as usual, begin to be common about the 
first of March, showing that they were returning from 
their winter quarters. 

April 22, 1860. See now hen-hawks, a pair, soaring 
high as for pleasure, circling ever further and further 
away, as if it were midsummer. The peculiar flight of 
a hawk thus fetches the year about. I do not see it soar 
in this serene and leisurely manner very early in the 
season, methinks. 

[See also under Crow, p. 241; General and Miscel- 
laneous, p. 408.] 


ROUGH-LEGGED HAWK 


March 29, 1858. As I sit two thirds the way up the 
sunny side of the pine hill, looking over the meadows, 
which are now almost completely bare, the crows, by 


ROUGH-LEGGED HAWK 147 


their swift flight and scolding, reveal to me some large 
bird of prey hovering over the river. I perceive by its 
markings and size that it cannot be a hen-hawk, and 
now it settles on the topmost branch of a white maple, 
bending it down. Its great armed and feathered legs 
dangle helplessly in the air for a moment, as if feeling 
for the perch, while its body is tipping this way and 
that. It sits there facing me some forty or fifty rods 
off, pluming itself but keeping a good lookout. At this 
distance and in this light, it appears to have a rusty- 
brown head and breast and is white beneath, with rusty 
leg-feathers and a tail black beneath. When it flies 
again it is principally black varied with white, regular 
light spots on its tail and wings beneath, but chiefly 
a conspicuous white space on the forward part of the 
back ; also some of the upper side of the tail or tail- 
coverts is white. It has broad, ragged, buzzard-like 
wings, and from the white of its back, as well as the 
shape and shortness of its wings and its not having a 
gull-like body, I think it must be an eagle." It lets it- 
self down with its legs somewhat helplessly dangling, 
as if feeling for something on the bare meadow, and 
then gradually flies away, soaring and circling higher 
and higher until lost in the downy clouds. This lofty 
soaring is at least a grand recreation, as if it were 

1 [Thoreau was evidently thinking only of distinguishing the bird 
from the fish hawk with its long and narrow wings. The description 
answers very well to that of the rough-legged hawk, the only New 
England species with fully feathered legs except the much rarer golden 
eagle, which lacks the white markings described. Neither of the eagles 


has short wings, while the wings of the rough-legged hawk are notably 
broad and buzzard-like.] 


148 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


nourishing sublime ideas. I should like to know why it 
soars higher and higher so, whether its thoughts are 
really turned to earth, for it seems to be more nobly as 
well as highly employed than the laborers ditching in 
the meadow beneath or any others of my fellow-towns- 
men. 


BALD EAGLE ; WHITE-HEADED EAGLE 


April 8, 1854. Saw a large bird sail along over the 
edge of Wheeler’s cranberry meadow just below Fair 
Haven, which I at first thought a gull, but with my 
glass found it was a hawk and had a perfectly white 
head and tail and broad or blackish wings. It sailed 
and circled along over the low cliff, and the crows dived 
at it in the field of my glass, and I saw it well, both 
above and beneath, as it turned, and then it passed off 
to hover over the Cliffs at a greater height. It was un- 
doubtedly a white-headed eagle. It was to the eye but 
a large hawk. 

April 28, 1854. Saw my white-headed eagle again, 
first at the same place, the outlet of Fair Haven Pond. 
It was a fine sight, he is mainly—zi. e. his wings and 
body — so black against the sky, and they contrast so 
strongly with his white head and tail. He was first fly- 
ing low over the water ; then rose gradually and circled 
westward toward White Pond. Lying on the ground 
with my glass, I could watch him very easily, and by 
turns he gave me all possible views of himself. When 
I observed him edgewise I noticed that the tips of his 
wings curved upward slightly the more, like a stereo- 
typed undulation. He rose very high at last, till I al- 


BALD EAGLE 149 


most lost him in the clouds, circling or rather looping 
along westward, high over river and wood and farm, 
effectually concealed in the sky. We who live this plod- 
ding life here below never know how many eagles fly 
over us. They are concealed in the empyrean. I think 
I have got the worth of my glass now that it has re- 
vealed to me the white-headed eagle.t Now I see him 
edgewise like a black ripple in the air, his white head 
still as ever turned to earth, and now he turns his 
under side to me, and I behold the full breadth of his 
broad black wings, somewhat ragged at the edges. 

Aug. 22, 1858. At Baker Farm a large bird rose up 
near us, which at first I took for a hen-hawk, but it 
appeared larger. It screamed the same, and finally 
soared higher and higher till it was almost lost amid 
the clouds, or could scarcely be distinguished except 
when it was seen against some white and glowing cu- 
mulus. I think it was at least half a mile high, or three 
quarters, and yet I distinctly heard it scream up there 
each time it came round, and with my glass saw its 
head steadily bent toward the ground, looking for its 
prey. Its head, seen in a proper light, was distinctly 
whitish, and I suspect it may have been a white-headed 
eagle.? It did not once flap its wings up there, as it 
circled and sailed, though I watched it for nearly a 
mile. How fit that these soaring birds should be haughty 
and fierce, not like doves to our race! 

Aug. 29, 1858. Ah! what a voice was that hawk’s or 


1 [He had bought a spy-glass a few weeks before. ] 
2[The eagle is so very much larger than any of our hawks that it 
seems doubtful if this bird could have been one. ] 


150 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


eagle’s of the 22d! Think of hearing, as you walk the 
earth, as usual in leaden shoes, a fine, shrill scream from 
time to time, which you would vainly endeavor to refer 
to its true source if you had not watched the bird in its 
upward flight. It comes from yonder black spot on the 
bosom of a cloud. I should not have suspected that 
sound to have issued from the bosom of a cloud if I 
had not seen the bird. What motive can an eagle have 
for screaming among the clouds, unobserved by ter- 
restrial creatures? We walk invested by sound, — the 
cricket in the grass and the eagle in the clouds. And 
so it circled over, and I strained my eyes to follow it, 
though my ears heard it without effort. 

[See also under Hen-hawks, p. 146; Fish Hawk, 
p- 158; Hawks, p. 166; Junco, p. 303; General and 
Miscellaneous, pp. 418, 427; and for birds mistakenly 
supposed to be eagles see under Rough-legged Hawk, 
pp. 146-148, and Fish Hawk, p. 151.] 


SPARROW HAWK 


Sept. 24, 1851. A sparrow hawk,' hardly so big as 
a nighthawk, flew over high above my head, —a pretty 
little graceful fellow, too small and delicate to be ra- 
pacious. 


FISH HAWK 


March QT, 1842. Cliffs. — Two little hawks have 
just come out to play, like butterflies rising one above 
1 [Thoreau at this time had made but little acquaintance with the 


hawks, and this bird was probably not very exactly identified as to 
species. ] ; 


FISH HAWK 151 


the other in endless alternation far below me. They 
swoop from side to side in the broad basin of the tree- 
tops, with wider and wider surges, as if swung by an 
invisible pendulum. They stoop down on this side and 
scale up on that. 

Suddenly I look up and see a new bird, probably an 
eagle, quite above me, laboring with the wind not more 
than forty rods off. It was the largest bird of the falcon 
kind I ever saw. I was never so impressed by any flight. 
She sailed the air, and fell back from time to time like 
a ship on her beam ends, holding her talons up as if 
ready for the arrows. I never allowed before for the 
grotesque attitudes of our national bird.* 

The eagle must have an educated eye. 

March 31, 1842. I cannot forget the majesty of that 
bird at the Cliff. It was no sloop or smaller craft hove 
in sight, but a ship of the line, worthy to struggle with 
the elements. It was a great presence, as of the master 
of river and forest. His eye would not have quailed 
before the owner of the soil; none could challenge his 
rights. And then his retreat, sailing so steadily away, 
was a kind of advance. Howis it that man always feels 
like an interloper in nature, as if he had intruded on 
the domains of bird and beast? ? 

April 14, 1852. A fish hawk is calmly sailing over 
all, looking for his prey. The gulls are all gone now, 
though the water is high, but I can see the motions of 


1 [See the next note.] 

2 [This bird appears to have been a fish hawk, not an eagle. At 
least in his paper on the “ Natural History of Massachusetts,” included 
in Excursions, Thorean uses the same terms in writing of the fish hawk. ] 


152 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


a muskrat on the calm sunny surface a great way off. 
So perfectly calm and beautiful, and yet no man look- 
ing at it this morning but myself. It is pleasant to see 
the zephyrs strike the smooth surface of the pond from 
time to time, and a darker shade ripple over it. 

The streams break up; the ice goes to the sea. Then 
sails the fish hawk overhead, looking for his prey. 

Oct. 22, 1852. When I approached the pond ! over 
Heywood’s Peak, I disturbed a hawk (a fish hawk?) on 
a white pine by the water watching for his prey, with 
long, narrow, sharp wings and a white belly. He flew 
slowly across the pond somewhat like a gull. He is the 
more picturesque object against the woods or water for 
being white beneath. 

Nov. 17, 1854. I think it must have been a fish hawk 
which I saw hovering over the meadow and my boat (a 
raw cloudy afternoon), now and then sustaining itself 
in one place a hundred feet or more above the water, 
intent on a fish, with a hovering or fluttering motion of 
the wings somewhat like a kingfisher. Its wings were 
very long, slender, and curved in outline of front edge. 
I think there was some white on rump. It alighted near 
the top of an oak within rifle-shot of me and my boat, 
afterward on the tip-top of a maple by waterside, look- 
ing very large. 

April 15, 1855. The Great Meadows are covered, ex- 
cept a small island in their midst, but not a duck do 
we see there. On a low limb of a maple on the edge of 
the river, thirty rods from the present shore, we saw a 
fish hawk eating a fish. Sixty rods off we could see his 

1 [Walden Pond.] 


MAVVH HSI 


FISH HAWK 153 


white crest. We landed, and got nearer by stealing 
through the woods. His legs looked long as he stood 
up on the limb with his back to us, and his body looked 
black against the sky and by contrast with the white 
of his head. There was a dark stripe on the side of the 
head. He had got the fish under his feet on the limb, 
and would bow his head, snatch a mouthful, and then 
look hastily over his right shoulder in our direction, 
then snatch another mouthful and look over his left 
shoulder. At length he launched off and flapped heavily 
away. We found at the bottom of the water beneath 
where he sat numerous fragments of the fish he had 
been eating, parts of the fins, entrails, gills, ete., and 
some was dropped on the bough. From one fin which 
I examined, I judged that it was either a sucker or a 
pout. There were small leeches adhering to it. 

In the meanwhile, as we were stealing through the 
woods, we heard the pleasing note of the pine warbler, 
bringing back warmer weather, and we heard one honk 
of a goose, and, looking up, saw a large narrow har- 
row of them steering northeast. Halfa mile further we 
saw another fish hawk, upon a dead limb midway up a 
swamp white oak over the water, at the end of a small 
island. We paddled directly toward him till within 
thirty rods. A crow came scolding to the tree and lit 
within three feet, looking about as large, compared 
with the hawk, as a crow blackbird to a crow, but he 
paid no attention to him. We had a very good view 
of him, as he sat sideways to us, and of his eagle-shaped 
head and beak. The white feathers of his head, which 
were erected somewhat, made him look like a copple- 


154 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


crowned hen. When he launched off, he uttered a 
clear whistling note,— phe phe, phe phe, phe phe, — 
somewhat like that of a telltale, but more round and 
less shrill and rapid, and another, perhaps his mate, 
fifty rods off, joined him. They flew heavily, as we 
looked at them from behind, more like a blue heron 
and bittern than I was aware of, their long wings un- 
dulating slowly to the tip, like the heron’s, and the 
bodies seeming sharp like a gull’s and unlike a hawk’s. 

In the water beneath where he was perched, we found 
many fragments of a pout, — bits of red gills, entrails, 
fins, and some of the long flexible black feelers, — 
scattered for four or five feet. This pout appeared to 
have been quite fresh, and was probably caught alive. 
We afterward started one of them from an oak over 
the water a mile beyond, just above the boat-house, 
and he skimmed off very low over the water, several 
times striking it with a loud sound heard plainly sixty 
rods off at least; and we followed him with our eyes 
till we could only see faintly his undulating wings 
against the sky in the western horizon. You could prob- 
ably tell if any were about by looking for fragments of 
fish under the trees on which they would perch. 

May 12, 1855. From beyond the orchard saw a large 
bird far over the Cliff Hill, which, with my glass, I 
soon made out to be a fish hawk advancing. Even at 
that distance, half a mile off, I distinguished its gull- 
like body, — pirate-like fishing body fit to dive,— and 
that its wings did not curve upward at the ends like a 
hen-hawk’s (at least I could not see that they did), but 
rather hung down. It came on steadily, bent on fishing, 


FISH HAWK 155 


with long and heavy undulating wings, with an easy, 
sauntering flight, over the river to the pond, and hoy- 
ered over Pleasant Meadow a long time, hovering from 
time to time in one spot, when more than a hundred 
feet high, then making a very short circle or two and 
hovering again, then sauntering off against the wood- 
side. At length he reappeared, passed downward over 
the shrub oak plain and alighted on an oak (of course 
now bare), standing this time apparently lengthwise 
on the limb. Soon took to wing again and went to fish- 
ing down the stream a ‘hundred feet high. When just 
below Bittern Cliff, I observed by its motions that it 
observed something. It made a broad circle of observa- 
tion in its course, lowering itself somewhat; then, by 
one or two steep sidewise flights, it reached the water, 
and, as near as intervening trees would let me see, 
skimmed over it and endeavored to clutch its prey in 
passing. It failed the first time, but probably succeeded 
the second. Then it leisurely winged its way to a tall 
bare tree on the east side of the Cliffs, and there we left 
it apparently pluming itself. It had a very white belly, 
and indeed appeared all white beneath its body. I saw 
broad black lines between the white crown and throat. 


Returning over Conantum, I directed my glass toward 
the dead tree on Cliffs, and was surprised to see the 
fish hawk still sitting there, about an hour after he first 
alighted ; and now I found that he was eating a fish, 
which he had under his feet on the limb and ate as I 
have already described. At this distance his whole head 
looked white with his breast. 


156 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


May 14, 1855. Under the dead pine on which the 
fish hdwk sat on the 12th inst., a half-mile from the 
river, I find a few fish bones — one, I am pretty sure 
from comparison, the jaw of a pout. So that in three 
instances, the only ones observed this year, they were 
feeding on pouts. Probably the mice, etc., had picked 
up the rest of his droppings. Thus these inhabitants 
of the interior get a taste of fish from time to time, — 
crumbs from the fish hawk’s table. 

April 6, 1856. As I am going along the Corner road 
by the meadow mouse brook, hear and see, a quarter of 
a mile northwest, on those conspicuous white oaks near 
the river in Hubbard’s second grove, the crows buffet- 
ing some intruder. The crows had betrayed to me some 
large bird of the hawk kind which they were buffeting. 
I suspected it before I looked carefully. I saw several 
crows on the oaks, and also what looked to my naked 
eye like a cluster of the palest and most withered oak 
leaves with a black base about as big as a crow. Look- 
ing with my glass, I saw that it was a great bird. The 
crows sat about a rod off, higher up, while another 
crow was occasionally diving at him, and all were caw- 
ing. The great bird was just starting. It was chiefly a 
dirty white with great broad wings with black tips and 
black on other parts, giving it the appearance of dirty 
white, barred with black. I am not sure whether it was 
a white-headed eagle or a fish hawk. There appeared 
much more white than belongs to either, and more 
black than the fish hawk has. It rose and wheeled, 
flapping several times, till it got under way ; then, with 
its rear to me, presenting the least surface, it moved 


FISH HAWK 157 


off steadily in its orbit over the woods northwest, with 
the slightest possible undulation of its wings, —a noble 
planetary motion, like Saturn with its ring seen edge- 
wise. It is so rare that we see a large body self-sus- 
tained in the air. While crows sat still and silent and 
confessed their lord. Through my glass I saw the out- 
lines of this sphere against the sky, trembling with life 
and power as it skimmed the topmost twigs of the wood 
toward some more solitary oak amid the meadows. To 
my naked eye it showed only so much black as a crow 
in its talons might. Was it not the white-headed eagle 
in the state when it is called the sea eagle?! Perhaps 
its neck-feathers were erected. 

April 14, 1856. See from my window a fish hawk 
flying high west of the house, cutting off the bend be- 
tween Willow Bay and the meadow, in front of the 
house, between one vernal lake and another. He sud- 
denly whéels and, straightening out his long, narrow 
wings, makes one circle high above the last meadow, as 
if he had caught a glimpse of a fish beneath, and then 
continues his course down the river. 

P. M.—Sail to hill by Bedford line. 

Wind southwest and pretty strong; sky overcast; 
weather cool. Start upa fish hawk from near the swamp 
white oaks southwest of the Island, undoubtedly the 
one of the morning. I now see that this is a much 
darker bird, both above and beneath, than that bird of 
the 6th. It flies quite low, surveying the water, in an 
undulating, buoyant manner, like a marsh hawk, or 


1 [Wilson, in his American Ornithology, gave an account of the ‘‘sea 
eagle,” which he suspected to be the young of the bald eagle. ] 


158 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


still more a nighthawk, with its long curved wings. He 
flies so low westward that I lose sight of him against 
the dark hillside and trees. , 

April 16, 1856. As I walk along the bank of the 
Assabet, I hear the yeep yeep yeep yeeep yeeep yeep, or 
perhaps peop, of a fish hawk, repeated quite fast, but 
not so shrill and whistling as I think I have heard it, 
and directly I see his long curved wings undulating 
over Pinxter Swamp, now flooded. 

Aug. 25, 1856. I cross the meadows in the face of 
a thunder-storm rising very dark in the north. There 
were several boats out, but their crews soon retreated 
homeward before the approaching storm. It came on 
rapidly, with vivid lightning striking the northern 
earth and heavy thunder following. Just before, and 
in the shadow of, the cloud, I saw, advancing majesti- 
cally with wide circles over the meadowy flood, a fish 
hawk and, apparently, a black eagle (maybe a young 
white-head). The first, with slender curved wings and 
silvery breast, four or five hundred feet high, watching 
the water while he circled slowly southwesterly. What 
a vision that could detect a fish at that distance! The 
latter, with broad black wings and broad tail, thus: 

hovered only about one hundred feet high ; evi- 
O dently a different species, and what else but an 
eagle? They soon disappeared southwest, cut- 

ting off a bend. The thunder-shower passed off to the 
southeast. 

Oct. 26, 1857. A storm is a new, and in some re- 
spects more active, life in nature. Larger migrating 
birds make their appearance. They, at least, sympa- 


FISH HAWK 159 


thize with the movements of the watery element and 
the winds. I see two great fish hawks (possibly blue 
herons) slowly beating northeast against the storm, by 
what a curious tie circling ever near each other and in 
the same direction, as if you might expect to find the 
very motes in the air to be paired; two long undulating 
wings conveying a feathered body through the misty 
atmosphere, and this inseparably associated with an- 
other planet of the same species. I can just glimpse 
their undulating lines. Damon and Pythias they must 
be. The waves beneath, which are of kindred form, are 
still more social, multitudinous, dvjp8uov. Where is my 
mate, beating against the storm with me? They fly 
according to the valley of the river, northeast or south- 
west. i 

I start up snipes also at Clamshell Meadow. This 
weather sets the migratory birds in motion and also 
makes them bolder. 

April 25, 1858. P. M. — To Assabet. 

Approaching the Island, I hear the phe phe, phe phe, 
phe phe, phe phe, phe, the sharp whistling note, of a 
fish hawk, and, looking round, see him just afterward 
launching away from one of the swamp white oaks 
southwest of the Island. There is about half a second 
between each note, and he utters them either while 
perched or while flying. He shows a great proportion 
of wing and some white on back. The wings are 
much curved. He sails along some eighty feet above 
the water’s edge, looking for fish, and alights again 
quite near. I see him an hour afterward about the 
same spot. 


160 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


April 28, 1858. I see the fish hawk again [two or 
three indecipherable words] Island. As it flies low, 
directly over my head, I see that its body is white 
beneath, and the white on the forward side of the 
wings beneath, if extended across the breast, would 
form a regular crescent. Its wings do not form a reg- 

ular curve in front, but 


ie KS an abrupt angle. They are 
0 


xh loose and broad at tips. 
ie my e=— This bird goes fishing 
om = slowly down one side 


of the river and up again on the other, forty to sixty 
feet high, continually poising itself almost or quite 
stationary, with its head to the northwest wind and 
looking down, flapping its wings enough to keep its 
place, sometimes stationary for about a minute. It 
is not shy. This boisterous weather is the time to 
see it. 

May 1, 1858. Suddenly a large hawk sailed over 
from the Assabet, which at first I took for a hen-har- 
rier, it was so neat a bird and apparently not very 
large. It was a fish hawk, with a very conspicuous 


- white crown or head and a uniform brown above else- 


where; beneath white, breast and belly. Probably it 
was the male, which is the smaller and whiter beneath. 
A wedge-shaped tail. He alighted on a dead elm limb 
on Prichard’s ground, and at this distance, with my 
glass, I could see some dark of head above the white of 
throat or breast. He was incessantly looking about as 
if on his guard. After fifteen minutes came a crow 
from the Assabet and alighted cawing, about twenty 


FISH HAWK 161 


rods from him, and ten minutes later another. How 
alert they are to detect these great birds of prey! 
They do not thus pursue ordinary hawks, and their 
attendance alone might suggest to unskillful observers 
the presence of a fish hawk or eagle. Some crows up 
the Assabet evidently knew that he was sitting on that 
elm far away. He sailed low almost directly over my 
boat, fishing. His wings had not obviously that angular 
form which I thought those of another had the other 
day. 
April T,1859. Standing under the north side of the 
“hill, I hear the rather innocent phe phe, phe phe, phe 
phe, phe’ of a fish hawk (for it is not a scream, but a 
rather soft and innocent note), and, looking up, see 
one come sailing from over the hill. The body looks 
quite short in proportion to the spread of the wings, 
which are quite dark or blackish above. He evidently 
has something in his talons. We soon after disturb 
him again, and, at length, after circling around over 
the hill and adjacent fields, he alights in plain sight on 
one of the half-dead white oaks on the top of the hill, 
where probably he sat before. As I look through my 
glass, he is perched on a large dead limb and is evi- 
dently standing on a fish (I had noticed something in 
his talons as he flew), for he stands high and uneasily, 
finding it hard to keep his balance in the wind. He is 
disturbed by our neighborhood and does not proceed at 
once to eat his meal. I see the tail of the fish hanging 
over the end of the limb. Now and then he pecks at it. 
I see the white on the crown of the hawk. It is a very 
large black bird as seen against the sky. Soon he sails 


162 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


away again, carrying his fish, as before, horizontally 
beneath his body, and he circles about over the adja- 
cent pasture like a hawk hunting, though he can only 
be looking for a suitable place to eat his fish or waiting 
for us to be gone. 

Looking under the limb on which he was perched, 
we find a piece of the skin of a sucker (?) or some 
other scaly fish which a hawk had dropped there long 
since. No doubt many a fish hawk has taken his meal 
on that sightly perch. 

It seems, then, that the fish hawk which you see 
soaring and sailing so leisurely about over the land — 
for this one soared quite high into the sky at one time 
— may have a fish in his talons all the while and only 
be waiting till you are gone for an opportunity to eat it 
on his accustomed perch. 

Oct. 5, 1860. I see a fish hawk, skimming low over 
it,’ suddenly dive or stoop for one of those little fishes 
that rise to the surface so abundantly at this season. 
He then sits on a bare limb over the water, ready to 
swoop down again on his finny prey, presenting, as he 
sits erect, a long white breast and belly and a white 
head. No doubt he well knows the habits of these little 
fishes which dimple the surface of Walden at this sea- 
son, and I doubt if there is any better fishing-ground 
for him to resort to. He can easily find a perch over- 
looking the lake and discern his prey in the clear 
water. 

[See also under Great Blue Heron, p. 79; General 
and Miscellaneous, p. 418. ] 

1 [Walden Pond. ] 


HAWKS 163 


HAWKS (SPECIES UNNAMED) 


Sept. 25, 1851. In these cooler, windier, crystal days 
the note of the jay sounds a little more native. Stand- 
ing on the Cliffs, I see them flitting and screaming from 
pine to pine beneath, displaying their gaudy blue pin- 
ions. Hawks, too, I perceive, sailing about in the clear 
air, looking white against the green pines, like the seeds 
of the milkweed. There is almost always a pair of 
hawks. Their shrill scream, that of the owls, and wolves 
are all related. 

Oct. 9, 1851. The circling hawk steers himself 
through the air like the skater, without a visible mo- 
tion. 

Dec. 20, 1851. Saw a large hawk circling over a pine 
wood below me, and screaming, apparently that he might 
discover his prey by their flight. Travelling ever by 
wider circles. What a symbol of the thoughts, now soar- 
ing, now descending, taking larger and larger circles, 
or smaller and smaller! It flies not directly whither it 
is bound, but advances by circles, like a courtier of the 
skies. No such noble progress! How it comes round, as 
with a wider sweep of thought! But the majesty is in 
the imagination of the beholder, for the bird is intent 
on its prey. Circling and ever circling, you cannot 
divine which way it will incline, till perchance it dives 
down straight as an arrow to its mark. It rises higher 
above where I stand, and I see with beautiful distinct- 
ness its wings against the sky, — primaries and second- 
aries, and the rich tracery of the outline of the latter (?), 
its inner wings, or wing-linings, within the outer, — 


164 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


like a great moth seen against the sky. A will-o’-the- 
wind. Following its path, as it were, through the vortices 
of the air. The poetry of motion. Not as preferring one 
place to another, but enjoying each as long as possible. 
Most gracefully so surveys new scenes and revisits the 
old. As if that hawk were made to be the symbol of my 
thought, how bravely he came round over those parts of 
the wood which he had not surveyed, taking in a new 
segment, annexing new territories! Without “ heave- 
yo!” it trims its sail. It goes about without the creak- 
ing of a block. That America yacht of the air that 
never makes a tack, though it rounds the globe itself, 
takes in and shakes out its reefs without a flutter, — its 
sky-scrapers all under its control. Holds up one wing, 
as if to admire, and sweeps off this way, then holds up 
the other and sweeps that. If there are two concentri- 
cally circling, it is such a regatta as Southampton wa- 
ters never witnessed.' 

Flights of imagination, Coleridgean thoughts. So a 
man is said to soar in his thought, ever to fresh woods 
and pastures new. Rises as in thought. 


What made the hawk mount? Did you perceive the 
maneeuvre? Did he fill himself with air? Before you 
were aware of it, he had mounted by his spiral path into 
the heavens. 

April 22, 1852. Saw four hawks soaring high in the 
heavens over the Swamp Bridge Brook. At first saw 
three ; said to myself there must be four, and found the 


1 [The yacht America had in the preceding August won her famous 
cup in a race round the Isle of Wight. ] 


HAWKS 165 


fourth. Glad are they, no doubt, to be out after being 
confined by the storm. 

April 29, 1852. I discover a hawk over my head by 
his shadow on the ground ; also small birds. 

June 15, 1852. I hear the scream of a great hawk, 
sailing with a ragged wing against the high wood-side, 
apparently to scare his prey and so detect it, — shrill, 
harsh, fitted to excite terror in sparrows and to issue 
from his split and curved bill. I see his open bill the 
while against the sky: Spit with force from his mouth 
with an undulatory quaver imparted to it from his wings 
or motion as he flies. A hawk’s ragged wing will grow 
whole again, but so will not a poet’s. 

Aug. 31, 1852. I saw a small hawk fly along under 
the hillside and alight on the ground, its breast and 
belly pure downy white. It was a very handsome bird. 
Though they are not fitted to walk much on the ground, 
but to soar, yet its feet, which are but claws to seize its 
prey and hold to its perch, are handsome appendages, 
and it is a very interesting sight on the ground. Yet 
there is a certain unfitness in so fair a breast, so pure 
white, made to breast nothing less pure than the sky or 
clouds, coming so nearly in contact with the earth. Never 
bespattered with the mud of earth. That was the im- 
pression made.on me, — of a very pure breast, accus- 
tomed to float on the sky, in contact with the earth. It 
stood quite still, watching me, as if it was not easy for 
it to walk. 

Sept. 16, 1852. What makes this such a day for 
hawks? There are eight or ten in sight from the Cliffs, 
large and small, one or more with a white rump. I de- 


166 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


tected the transit of the first by his shadow on the rock, 
and I look toward the sun for him. Though he is made 
light beneath to conceal him, his shadow betrays him. 
A hawk must get out of the wood, must get above it, 
where he can sail. It is narrow dodging for him amid 
the boughs. He cannot be a hawk there, but only perch 
gloomily. Now I see a large one — perchance an eagle, 
I say to myself! — down in the valley, circling and cir- 
cling, higher and wider. This way he comes. How beau- 
tiful does he repose on the air, in the moment when 
he is directly over you, and you see the form and tex- 
ture of his wings! How light he must make himself, 
how much earthy heaviness expel, before he can thus 
soar and sail! He carries no useless clogs there with 
him. They are out by families; while one is circling 
this way, another circles that. Kites without strings. 
Where is the boy that flies them? Are not the hawks 
most observed at this season ? 

March 30, 1853. The motions of a hawk correcting 
the flaws in the wind by raising his shoulder from time 
to time, are much like those of a leaf yielding to them. 
For the little hawks are hunting now. You have not to 
sit long on the Cliffs before you see one. 

March 2, 1855. Heard two hawks scream. There 
was something truly March-like in it, like a prolonged 
blast or whistling of the wind through a crevice in the 
sky, which, like a cracked blue saucer, overlaps the 
woods. Such are the first rude notes which prelude 
the summer’s quire, learned of the whistling March 
wind. 

Oct. 22,1855. I sat on a bank at the brook crossing, 


HAWKS 167 


beyond the grove, to watch a flock of seringos,! perhaps 
Savannah sparrows, which, with some F’. hyemalis? and 
other sparrows, were actively flitting about amid the 
alders and dogwood. . . . Suddenly a pigeon hawk ? 
dashed over the bank very low and within a rod of me, 
and, striking its wings against the twigs with a clatter 
close to a sparrow, which escaped, it alighted amid the 
alders in front, within four rods of me. It was attracted 
by the same objects which attracted me. It sat a few 
moments, balancing itself and spreading its tail and 
wings, —a chubby little fellow. Its back appeared a 
sort of deep chocolate-brown. Every sparrow at once 
concealed itself, apparently deep in the bushes next 
the ground. Once or twice he dashed down there amid 
the alders and tried to catch one. In a few minutes he 
skimmed along the hedge by the path and disappeared 
westward. But presently, hearing the sound of his 
wings amid the bushes, I looked up and saw him dash- 
ing along through the willows and then out and up- 
ward high over the meadow in pursuit of a sparrow 
(perhaps a seringo). The sparrow flew pretty high and 
kept doubling. When it flew direct, the hawk gained, 
and got within two or three feet of it; but when it 
doubled, it gained on the hawk; so the latter soon gave 
up the chase, and the little bird flew off high over my 
head, with a panting breath and a rippling. ricochet 
flight, toward the high pine grove. When I passed 


1 [See note to Savannah Sparrow, p. 290.] 

2 [Fringilla hyemalis, the slate-colored junco or snowbird, now known 
as Junco hyemalis.] 

3 Was I sure? 


168 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


along the path ten minutes after, I found that all those 
sparrows were still hid under the bushes by the ditch- 
side, close to the ground, and I saw nothing of them 
till I scared them out by going within two or three feet. 
No doubt they warned each other by a peculiar note. 
What a corsair the hawk is to them! —a little fellow 
hardly bigger than a quail. 

Feb. 29, 1856. [Minott] told again of the partridge 
hawk striking down a partridge which rose before him 
and flew across the run in the beech woods, — how 
suddenly he did it,— and he, hearing the fluttering of 
the partridge, came up and secured it, while the hawk 
kept out of gunshot. . 

Sept. 27, 1857. As I sit there I see the shadow of a 
hawk flying above and behind me. I think I see more 
hawks nowadays. Perhaps it is both because the young 
are grown and their food, the small birds, are flying 
in flocks and are abundant. I need only sit still a few 
minutes on any spot which overlooks the river meadows, 
before I see some black circling mote beating along, 
circling along the meadow’s edge, now lost for a mo- 
ment as it turns edgewise in a peculiar light, now re- 
appearing further or nearer. 

[See also under Wild Goose, p. 59; Fish Hawk, pp. 
150, 151; General and Miscellaneous, pp. 409, 412.] 


IX 
OWLS 


LONG-EARED OWL 


June 24, 1857. Went to Farmer’s Swamp to look 
for the screech owl’s' nest Farmer had found. You go 
about forty-five rods on the first path to the left in the 
woods and then turn to the left a few rods. I found the 
nest at last near the top of a middling-sized white pine, 
about thirty feet from the ground. As I stood by the 
tree, the old bird dashed by within a couple of rods, 
uttering a peculiar mewing sound, which she kept up 
amid the bushes, a blackbird in close pursuit of her. 
I found the nest empty, on one side of the main stem 
but close to it, resting on some limbs. It was made of 
twigs rather less than an eighth of an inch thick and was 
almost flat above, only an inch lower in the middle than 
at the edge, about sixteen inches in diameter and six 
or eight inches thick, with the twigs in the midst, and 
beneath was mixed sphagnum and sedge from the swamp 
beneath, and the lining or flooring was coarse strips 
of grape-vine bark; the whole pretty firmly matted 
together. How common and important a material is 
grape-vine bark for birds’ nests! Nature wastes no- 
thing. There were white droppings of the young on the 
nest and one large pellet of fur and small bones two 


1 [The situation of the nest and Thoreau’s description of the notes 
indicate a long-eared owl rather than a screech owl.] 


170 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


and a half inches long. In the meanwhile, the old bird 
was uttering that hoarse worried note from time to 
time, somewhat like a partridge’s, flying past from side 
to side and alighting amid the trees or bushes. When 
I had descended, I detected one young one two-thirds 
grown perched on a branch of the next tree, about fif- 
teen feet from the ground, which was all the while star- 
ing at me with its great yellow eyes. It was gray with 
gray horns and a dark beak. As I walked past near it, 
it turned its head steadily, always facing me, without 
moving its body, till it looked directly the opposite 
way over its back, but never offered to fly. Just then 
I thought surely that I heard a puppy faintly barking 
at me four or five rods distant amid the bushes, hav- 
ing tracked me into the swamp,— what what, what 
what what. It was exactly such a noise as the barking 
of a very small dog or perhaps a fox. But it was the 
old owl, for I presently saw her making it. She re- 
peated [sic] perched quite near. She was generally 
reddish-brown or partridge-colored, the breast mottled 
with dark brown and fawn-color in downward strings 
[sic], and had plain fawn-colored thighs. 


SHORT-EARED OWL 


Dec. 8, 1853. At midday (8 P. M.) saw an owl fly 
from toward the river and alight on Mrs. Richardson’s 
front-yard fence. Got quite near it, and followed it to 
a rock on the heap of dirt at Collier’s cellar. A rather 
dark brown owl above (with a decided owl head (and 
eyes ), though not very broad), with longitudinal tawny 
streaks (or the reverse), none transverse, growing 


BARRED OWL 171 


lighter down the breast, and at length clear rusty yel- 
lowish or cream-color beneath and about feathered feet. 
Wings large and long, with a distinct large black spot 
beneath ; bill and claws, I think, black. Saw no ears. 
Kept turning its head and great black eyes this way 
and that when it heard me, but appeared not to see 
me. Saw my shadow better, for I ap[proached] on the 
sunny side. I am inclined to think it the short-eared 
owl, though I could see no ears, though it reminded 
me of what I had read of the hawk owl.! It was a 
foot or more long and spread about three feet. Flew 
somewhat flappingly, yet hawk-like. Went within two 
or three rods of it. 


BARRED OWL 


Dec. 14, 1858. I see at Derby’s shop a barred owl 
(Strix nebulosa),* taken in the woods west of the fac- 
tory on the 11th, found (with its wing broke [sic]) by 
a wood-chopper. It measures about three and a half 
feet in alar extent by eighteen to twenty inches long, 
or nearly the same as the cat owl, but is small and with- 
out horns. It is very mild and quiet, bears handling 
perfectly well, and only snaps its bill with a loud sound 
at the sight of a cat or dog. It is apparently a female, 
since it is large and has white spots on the wings. The 
claws are quite dark rather than dark horn-color. It 
hopped into the basin of the scales, and I was surprised 


1 [The description is that of the short-eared owl, except that the 
eyes of that species are yellow, not black. The pupils may have been 
dilated, however, so as to give a general impression of black eyes.] 

2 [Now Strix varia.] 


172 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


to find that it weighed only one pound and one ounce. 
It may be thin-fleshed on account of its broken wing, 
but how light-bodied these flyers are! It has no yellow 
iris like the cat owl, and has the bristles about its yel- . 
low bill which the other has not. It has a very smooth 
and handsome round head, a brownish gray. Solemnity 
is what they express, — fit representatives of the night.? 


SAW-WHET OWL; ACADIAN OWL 


Jan. 6, 1859. Miles had hanging in his barn a little 
owl (Strix Acadica)? which he caught alive with his 
hands about a week ago. He had forced it to eat, but 
it died. It was a funny little brown bird, spotted with 
white, seven and a half inches long to the end of the 
tail, or eight to the end of the claws, by nineteen in 
alar extent, — not so long by considerable as a robin, 
though much stouter. This one had three (not two)? 
white bars on its tail, but no noticeable white at the 
tip. Its cunning feet were feathered quite to the ex- 
tremity of the toes, looking like whitish (or tawny- 
white) mice, or as when one pulls stockings over his 
boots. As usual, the white spots on the upper sides of the 
wings are smaller and a more distinct white, while those 
beneath are much larger, but a subdued, satiny white. 
Even a bird’s wing has an upper and under side, and 
the last admits only of more subdued and tender colors. 

1 [Thoreau had once before seen a live barred owl, and he gives an 
account of it in the chapter on ‘‘ Winter Visitors’? in Walden. This 
account does not appear in the published Journal. It was probably 
written in one of those early journals which were destroyed in the 


preparation of the Week and Walden.] 
2 [Now Cryptoglaux acadica.] 8 Nuttall says three. 


SCREECH OWL 173 


SCREECH OWL 


Aug., 1845. After the evening train has gone by 
and left the world to silence and to me, the whip-poor- 
will chants her vespers for half an hour. And when all 
is still at night, the owls take up the strain, like mourn- 
ing women their ancient ululu. Their most dismal 
scream is truly Ben-Jonsonian. Wise midnight hags! 
It is no honest and blunt tu-whit tu-who of the poets, 
but, without jesting, a most solemn graveyard ditty, — 
but the mutual consolations of suicide lovers remem- 
bering the pangs and the delights of supernal love in 
the infernal groves. And yet I love to hear their wail- 
ing, their doleful responses, trilled along the woodside, 
reminding me sometimes of music and singing birds, 
as if it were the dark and tearful side of music, the 
regrets and sighs, that would fain be sung. The spirits, 
the dow spirits and melancholy forebodings, of fallen 
spirits who once in human shape night-walked the earth 
and did the deeds of darkness, now expiating with their 
wailing hymns, threnodiai, their sins in the very scen- 
ery of their transgressions. They give me a new sense 
of the vastness and mystery of that nature which is 
the common dwelling of us both. “ Oh-o-o-0-o that I 
never had been bor-or-or-or-orn!” sighs one on this 
side of the pond, and circles in the restlessness of 
despair to some new perch in the gray oaks. Then, 
“That I never had been bor-or-or-or-orn!” echoes one 
on the further side, with a tremulous sincerity, and 
“Bor-or-or-or-orn” comes faintly from far in the Lin- 
coln woods. 


174 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


Aug. 14, 1854. I hear the tremulous squealing 
scream of a screech owl in the Holden Woods, sounding 
somewhat like the neighing of a horse, not like the snipe. 

May 7, 1855. A short distance beyond this and the 
hawk’s-nest pine, I observed a middling-sized red oak 
standing a little aslant on the side-hill over the swamp, 
with a pretty large hole in one side about fifteen feet 
from the ground, where apparently a limb on which a 
felled tree lodged had been cut some years before and 
so broke out a cavity. I thought that such a hole was 
too good a one not to be improved by some inhabit- 
ant of the wood. Perhaps the gray squirrels I had just 
seen had their nest there. Or was not the entrance big 
enough to admit a screech owl? So I thought I would 
tap on it and put my ear to the trunk and see if I 
could hear anything stirring within it, but I heard no- 
thing. Then I concluded to look into it. So I shinned 
up, aud when I reached up one hand to the hole to pull 
myself up by it, the thought passed through my mind 
perhaps something may take hold my fingers, but no- 
thing did. The first limb was nearly opposite to the 
hole, and, resting on this, I looked in, and, to my great 
surprise, there squatted, filling the hole, which was 
about six inches deep and five to six wide, a salmon- 
brown bird not so big as a partridge, seemingly asleep 
within three inches of the top and close to my face. It 
was a minute or two before I made it out to be an owl. 
It was a salmon-brown or fawn (?) above, the feathers 
shafted with small blackish-brown somewhat hastate (?) 
marks, grayish toward the ends of the wings and 
tail, as far as I could see. A large white circular space 


SCREECH OWL 175 


about or behind eye, banded in rear by a pretty broad 
(one third of an inch) and quite conspicuous perpendic- 
ular dark-brown stripe. Egret,‘ say one and a quarter 
inches long, sharp, triangular, reddish-brown without 
mainly. It lay crowded in that small space, with its 
tail somewhat bent up and one side of its head turned 
up with one egret, and its large dark eye open only by 
a long slit about a sixteenth of an inch wide: visible 
breathing. After a little while I put in one hand and 
stroked it repeatedly, whereupon it reclined its head a 
little lower and closed its eve entirely. Though curious 
to know what was under it, I disturbed it no farther 
at that time. 

In the meanwhile, the crows were making a great 
cawing amid and over the pine-tops beyond the swamp, 
and at intervals I heard the scream of a hawk, proba- 
bly the surviving male hen-hawk, whom they were pes- 
tering (unless they had discovered the male screech 
owl), and a part of them came cawing about me. This 
was a very fit place for hawks and owls to dwell in, — 
the thick woods just over a white spruce? swamp, in 
which the glaucous kalmia grows: the gray squirrels, 
partridges. hawks, and owls, all together. It was prob- 
ably these screech owls which I heard in moonlight 
nights hereabouts last fall. 


Returning by owl’s nest. about one hour before sun- 
set, I climbed up and lookedin again. The owl was gone, 
1 ‘Wilson used the term “egret ” for the “ ears,” or “ horns,” of the 


owls.! 
2 [Black spruce. See note. p. 1S4.] 


176 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


but there were four nearly round dirty brownish white' 
eggs, quite warm, on nothing but the bits of rotten wood 
which made the bottom of the hole. The eggs were very 
nearly as large at one end as the other, slightly oblong, 
12 inches by 12, as nearly as I could measure. I took out 
one. It would probably have hatched within a week, the 
young being considerably feathered and the bill remark- 
ably developed. Perhaps she heard me coming, and so 
left the nest. My bird corresponds in color, as far as 
I saw it, with Wilson’s Striz asio, but not his nevia, 
which Nuttall and others consider a young (?) bird,? 
though the egg was not pure white. I do not remember 
that my bird was barred or mottled at all. 

May 12, 1855. As I approached the owl’s nest, I saw 
her run past the hole up into that part of the hollow 
above it, and probably she was there when I thought she 
had flown on the 7th. I looked in, and at first did not. 
know what I saw. One of the three remaining eggs was 
hatched, and a little downy white young one, two or 
three times as long as an egg, lay helpless between the 


1 MacGillivray describes no eggs of this color, — only white, — and 
the same with Nuttall, except the great gray owl. [Screech owl’s eggs, 
when clean, are always white and the same is true of all our owls, includ- 
ing the great gray owl.] : 

2 [The dichromatism of the screech owl gave our early ornitholo- 
gists much trouble. The red phase was described as Strix asio, and 
the gray, or mottled, phase was given the name of Strix nevia. Wilson 
believed the two to be separate species, but Nuttall, in his first edition, 
called the red the young of the mottled owl (not the other way round, 
as Thoreau hasit). In the edition of 1840, however, Nuttall makes two 
species of the screech owl, as Wilson had done before him, and it was 
left to later workers to discover that the two forms were only color 
phases of a single species, which is now known to science as Otus asio.] 


SCREECH OWL 177 


two remaining eggs. Also a dead white-bellied mouse 
(Mus leucopus)' lay with them, its tail curled round 
one of the eggs. 

May 25, 1855. Scared a screech owl out of an apple 
tree on hill; flew swiftly off at first like a pigeon wood- 
pecker and lit near by facing me; was instantly visited 
and spied at by a brown thrasher ; then flew into a hole 
high in a hickory near by, the thrasher following close to 
the tree. It was reddish or ferruginous. 

May 26, 1855. At the screech owl’s nest T now find 
two young slumbering, almost uniformly gray above, 
about five inches long, with little dark-grayish tufts 
for incipient horns(?). Their heads about as broad as 
their bodies. I handle them without their stirring or 
opening their eyes. There are the feathers of a small 
bird and the leg of the Mus leucopus in the nest. 

Sept. 23, 1855. 8 P. M.—I hear from my chamber 
a screech owl about Monroe’s house this bright moon- 
light night,— a loud, piercing scream, much like the 
whinner of acolt perchance,a rapid trill, then subdued 
or smothered a note or two. 

Oct. 28, 1855. AsI paddle under the Hemlock bank 
this cloudy afternoon, about 3 o’clock, I see a screech 
owl sitting on the edge of a hollow hemlock stump about 
three feet high, at the base of a large hemlock. It sits 
with its head drawn in, eying me, with its eyes partly 
open, about twenty feet off. When it hears me move, it 
turns its head toward me, perhaps one eye only open, with 
its great glaring golden iris. You see two whitish trian- 
gular lines above the eyes meeting at the bill, with a sharp 


1 [Now known as Peromyscus leucopus novebor is.] 


178 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


reddish-brown triangle between and a narrow curved line 
of black under each eye. At this distance and in this 
light, you see only a black spot where the eye is, and the 
question is whether the eyes are open or not. It sits on 
the lee side of the tree this raw and windy day. You 
would say that this was a bird without a neck. Its short 
bill, which rests upon its breast, scarcely projects at all, 
but in a state of rest the whole upper part of the bird from 
the wings is rounded off smoothly, excepting the horns, 
which stand up conspicuously or are slanted back. After 
watching it ten minutes from the boat, I landed two 
rods above, and, stealing quietly up behind the hemlock, 
though from the windward, I looked carefully around 
it, and, tomy surprise, saw the owl still sitting there. So 
I sprang round quickly, with my arm outstretched, and 
caught itin my hand. It was so surprised that it offered 
no resistance at first, only glared at me in mute astonish- 
ment with eyes as big as saucers. But ere long it began 
to snap its bill, making quite a noise, and, as I rolled 
it up in my handkerchief and put it in my pocket, it 
bit my finger slightly. I soon took it out of my pocket 
and, tying the handkerchief, left it on the bottom of 
the boat. So I carried it home and made a small cage 
in which to keep it, for a night. When I took it up, it 
clung so tightly to my hand as to sink its claws into my 
fingers and bring blood. 

When alarmed or provoked most, it snaps its bill and 
hisses. It puffs up its feathers to nearly twice its usual 
size, stretches out its neck, and, with wide-open eyes, 
stares this way and that, moving its head slowly and 
undulatingly from side to side with a curious motion. 


SCREECH OWL 179 


While I write this evening, I see that there is ground for 
much superstition in it. It looks out on me from a dusky 
corner of its box with its great solemn eyes, so perfectly 
still itself. [ was surprised to find that I could imitate its 
note as I remember it, by a guttural whinnering. 

A remarkably squat figure, being very broad in pro- 
portion to its length, with a short tail, and very cat-like 
in the face with its horns and great eyes. Remarkably 
large feet and talons, legs thickly clothed with whitish 
down, down to the talons. It brought blood from my 
fingers by clinging to them. It would lower its head, 
stretch outits neck, and, bending it from side to side, peer 
at you with laughablecircumspection ; from side to side, as 
if to catch or absorb into its eyes every ray of light, strain 
at you with complacent yet earnest scrutiny. Raising 
and lowering its head and moving it from side to side 
in aslow and regular manner, at the same time snapping 
its bill smartly perhaps, and faintly hissing, and puffing 
itself up more and more, — cat-like, turtle-like, both in 
hissing and swelling. The slowness and gravity, not to 
say solemnity, of this motion arestriking. There plainly 
is no jesting in this case. 


General color of the owl a rather pale and perhaps 
slightly reddish brown, the feathers centred with black. 
Perches with two claws above and two below the perch. 
It is a slight body, covered with a mass of soft and 
light-lying feathers. Its head muffled in a great hood. 
It must be quite comfortable in winter. Dropped a 
pellet of fur and bones (?) in his cage. He sat, not 
really moping but trying to sleep, in a corner of his 


180 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


box all day, yet with one or both eyes slightly open 
all the while. I never once caught him with his eyes 
shut. Ordinarily stood rather than sat on his perch. 

Oct. 29, 1855. P. M. — Up Assabet. 

Carried my owl to the hill again. Had to shake him 
out of the box, for he did not go of his own accord. 
(He had learned to alight on his perch, and it was sur- 
prising how lightly and noiselessly he would hop upon 
it.) There he stood on the grass, at first bewildered, 
with his horns pricked up and looking toward me. In 
this strong light the pupils of his eyes suddenly con- 
tracted and the iris expanded till they were two great 
brazen orbs with a centre spot merely. His attitude 
expressed astonishment more than anything. I was 
obliged to toss him up a little that he might feel his 
wings, and then he flapped away low and heavily to a 
hickory on the hillside twenty rods off. (I had let him 
out in the plain just east of the hill.) Thither I fol- 
lowed and tried to start him again. He was now on 
the qui vive, yet would not start. He erected his head, 
showing some neck, narrower than the round head 
above. His eyes were broad brazen rings around bul- 
lets of black. His horns stood quite an inch high, as 
not before. As I moved around him, he turned his 
head always toward me, till he looked directly behind 
himself as he sat crosswise on a bough. He behaved 
as if bewildered and dazzled, gathering all the light 
he could and ever straining his great eyes toward you 
to make out who you are, but not inclining to fly. I 
had to lift him again with a stick to make him fly, 
and then he only rose to a higher perch, where at last 


SCREECH OWL 181 


he seemed to seek the shelter of a thicker cluster 
of the sere leaves, partly crouching there. He never 
appeared so much alarmed as surprised and aston- 
ished. 

When I first saw him yesterday, he sat on the edge 
of a hollow hemlock stump about three feet high, at 
the bottom of a large hemlock, amid the darkness of 
the evergreens that cloudy day. (It threatened to rain 
every moment.) At the bottom of the hollow, or eight- 
een inches beneath him, was a very soft bed of the 
fine green moss (hypnum) which grows on the bank 
close by, probably his own bed. It had been recently 
put there. 

When I moved him in his cage he would cling to the 
perch, though it was in a perpendicular position, one 
foot above another, suggesting his habit of clinging 
to and climbing the inside of hollow trees. I do not 
remember any perpendicular line in his eyes, as in those 
of the cat. 

July 10, 1856. As I was bathing under the swamp 
white oaks at 6 Pp. M., heard a suppressed sound often 
repeated, like, perhaps, the working of beer through a 
bung-hole, which I already suspected to be produced 
by owls. I was uncertain whether it was far or near. 
Proceeding a dozen rods up-stream on the south side, 
toward where a catbird was incessantly mewing, I 
found myself suddenly within a rod of a gray screech 
owl sitting on an alder bough with horns erect, turning 
its head from side to side and up and down, and _peer- 
ing at me in that same ludicrously solemn and com- 
placent way that I had noticed in one in captivity. 


182 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


Another, more red, also horned, repeated the same 
warning sound, or apparently call.to its young, about 
the same distance off, in another direction, on an alder. 
When they took to flight they made some noise with 
their wings. With their short tails and squat figures 
they looked very clumsy, all head and shoulders. Hear- 
ing a fluttering under the alders, I drew near and found 
a young owl, a third smaller than the old, all gray, 
without obvious horns, only four or five feet distant. 
It flitted along two rods, and I followed it. I saw at 
least two or more young. All this was close by that 
thick hemlock grove, and they perched on alders and 
an apple tree in the thicket there. These birds kept 
opening their eyes when I moved, as if to get clearer 
sight of me. The young were very quick to notice any 
motion of the old, and so betrayed their return by look- 
ing in that direction when they returned, though I had 
not heard it. Though they permitted me to come so near 
with so much noise, as if bereft of half their senses, 
they at [once] noticed the coming and going of the 
old birds, even when I did not. There were four or five 
owls in all. I have heard a somewhat similar note, 
further off and louder, in the night. 

Dec. 26,1860. Melvin sent to me yesterday a per- 
fect Strix asio, or red owl of Wilson, — not at all 
gray. This is now generally made the same with the 
neevia, but, while some consider the red the old, others 
consider the red the young. This is, as Wilson says, a 
bright “nut brown” like a hazelnut or dried hazel bur 
(not hazel). It is twenty-three inches in alar extent 
by about eleven long. Feet extend one inch beyond 


GREAT HORNED OWL 183 


tail. Cabot makes the old bird red; Audubon, the 
young. How well fitted these and other owls to with- 
stand the winter! a mere core in the midst of such a 
muff of feathers! Then the feet of this are feathered 
finely to the claws, looking like the feet of a furry 
quadruped. Accordingly owls are common here in win. 
ter; hawks, scarce. 


GREAT HORNED OWL; CAT OWL? 


Nov. 18, 1851. Surveying these days the Ministerial 
Lot. 

Now at sundown I hear the hooting of an owl,—hoo 
hoo hoo, hoorer hoo. It sounds like the hooting of an 
idiot or a maniac broke loose. This is faintly answered 
in a different strain, apparently from a greater distance, 
almost as if it were the echo, 7. e. so far as the succession 
is concerned. This is my music each evening. I heard 
it last evening. The men who help me call it the “ hoot- 
ing owl” and think it is the cat owl. It is a sound ad- 
mirably suited to the swamp and to the twilight woods, 
suggesting a vast undeveloped nature which men have 
not recognized nor satisfied. I rejoice that there are 
owls. They represent the stark, twilight, unsatisfied 
thoughts I have. Let owls do the idiotic and maniacal 
hooting for men. This sound faintly suggests the infi- 
nite roominess of nature, that there is a world in which 
owls live. Yet how few are seen, even by the hunters! 


1 [From Thoreau’s descriptions of the notes of his ‘‘ hooting owls ” 
it seems probable that they were all of this species. There appear to 
have been two pairs of these birds regularly settled in Concord in 
Thoreau’s time, — one in the Walden woods and one in the Ministerial 
Swamp in the southwestern part of the town. | 


184 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


The sun has shone for a day over this savage swamp, 
where the single spruce! stands covered with usnea 
moss, which a Concord merchant mortgaged once to 
the trustees of the ministerial fund and lost, but now 
for a different race of creatures a new day dawns over 
this wilderness, which one would have thought was suf- 
ficiently dismal before. Here hawks also circle by day, 
and chickadees are heard, and rabbits and partridges 
abound. 

Nov. 25, 1851. When surveying in the swamp on 
the 20th last, at sundown, I heard the owls. Hosmer? 
said: “If you ever minded it, itis about the surest sign 
of rain that there is. Don’t you know that last Friday 
night you heard them and spoke of them, and the next 
day itrained?” This time there were other signs of rain 
in abundance. “But night before last,” said I, “ when 
you were not here, they hooted louder than ever, and we 
have had no rain yet.” At any rate, it rained hard the 
21st, and by that rain the river was raised much higher 
than it has been this fall. 

Feb. 3, 1852. My owl sounds hoo hoo hoo, hoo. 

May 1, 1852. When leaving the woods‘ I heard the 
hooting of an owl, which sounded very much like a 
clown calling to his team. 


1 [An old name for the white spruce. Thoreau afterwards learned that 
he had been mistaken as to the identification and that the Concord trees 
were black spruces. | 

2 [Mr. Joseph Hosmer, an old citizen of Concord, who was helping 
Thoreau in his surveying.] 

8 (This was at the cliffs of Fairhaven Hill near Walden Pond on a 
moonlight evening. ] 

4 [Near Walden Pond.] 


GREAT HORNED OWL 185 
June 23, 1852. I hear my old Walden owl. Its first 


note is almost like a somewhat peevish scream or squeal 
of a child shrugging its shoulders, and then succeed two 
more moderate and musical ones. 

July 5, 1852. I hear my hooting owl now just before 
sunset.’ You can fancy it the most melancholy sound 
in Nature, as if Nature meant by this to stereotype and 
make permanent in her quire the dying moans of a 
human being, made more awful by a certain gurgling 
melodiousness. It reminds of ghouls and idiots and in- 
sane howlings. One answers from far woods in a strain 
made really sweet by distance. Some poor weak relic 
of mortality who has left hope behind, and howls like 
an animal, yet with human sobs, on entering the dark 
valley. I find myself beginning with the letters gl when 
-I try to imitate it. Yet for the most part it is a sweet 
and melodious strain to me. 

April 2, 1853. Heard the hooting owl in Ministerial 
Swamp. It sounded somewhat like the hounding or 
howling of some dogs, and as often as the whistle of 
the engine sounded I noticed a resemblance in the tone. 
A singular kind of squealing introduced into its note. 

April 9, 1853. Beyond the desert,’ hear the hooting 
owl, which, as formerly, I at first mistook for the hound- 
ing of a dog, —a squealing eee followed by hoo hoo hoo 
deliberately, and particularly sonorous andringing. This 
at 2 p. M. Now mated. Pay their addresses by day, 
says Brooks.* 


1 [At Ministerial Swamp. ] 
2 [Dugan Desert, near Ministerial Swamp.] 
8 [George Brooks, of Concord, doubtless.] 


186 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


Jan. T, 1854. I went to these woods‘ partly to hear 
an owl, but did not; but, now that I have left them 
nearly a mile behind, I hear one distinctly, hoorer hoo. 
Strange that we should hear this sound so often, loud 
and far, —a voice which we call the owl, — and yet so 
rarely see the bird. Oftenest at twilight. It has a sin- 
gular prominence as a sound; is louder than the voice 
of a dear friend. Yet we see the friend perhaps daily 
and the owl but few times in our lives. It is a sound 
which the wood or the horizon makes. I see the cars 
almost as often as I hear the whistle. 

Dec. 9, 1856. From a little east of Wyman’s I look 
over the pond ? westward. The sun is near setting, away 
beyond Fair Haven. A bewitching stillness reigns 
through all the woodland and over the snow-clad land- 
scape. Indeed, the winter day in the woods or fields has 
commonly the stillness of twilight. The pond is per- 
fectly smooth and full of light. I hear only the strokes 
of a lingering woodchopper at a distance, and the me- 
lodious hooting of an owl, which is as common and 
marked a sound as the axe or the locomotive whistle. 
Yet where does the ubiquitous hooter sit, and who sees 
him? In whose wood-lot is he to be found? Few eyes 
have rested on him hooting; few on him silent on his 
perch even. Yet cut away the woods never so much 
year after year, though the chopper has not seen him 
and only a grove or two is left, still his aboriginal voice 
is heard indefinitely far and sweet, mingled oft, in 
strange harmony, with the newly invented din of trade, 
like a sentence of Allegri sounded in our streets, — 

1 [Ministerial Swamp.] 2 [Walden Pond.] 


GREAT HORNED OWL 187 


hooting from invisible perch at his foes the woodchop- 
pers, who are invading his domains. As the earth only 
a few inches beneath the surface is undisturbed and 
what it was anciently, so are heard still some primeval 
sounds in the air. Some of my townsmen I never see, 
and of a great proportion I do not hear the voices in a 
year, though they live within my horizon; but every 
week almost I hear the loud voice of the hooting owl, 
though I do not see the bird more than once in ten years. 
Dec. 15, 1856. I still recall to mind that character- 
istic winter eve of December 9th; the cold, dry, and 
wholesome diet my mind and senses necessarily fed on, 
—oak leaves, bleached and withered weeds that rose 
above the snow, the now dark green of the pines, and 
perchance the faint metallic chip of a single tree spar- 
row ; the hushed stillness of the wood at sundown, aye, 
all the winter day; the short boreal twilight ; the smooth 
serenity and the reflections of the pond, still alone free 
from ice; the melodious hooting of the owl, heard at 
the same time with the yet more distant whistle of a 
locomotive, more aboriginal, and perchance -more en- 
during here than that, heard above the voices of all the 
wise men of Concord, as if they were not (how little he 
is Anglicized!); the last strokes of the woodchopper, 
who presently bends his steps homeward; the gilded ' 
bar of cloud across the apparent outlet of the pond, 
conducting my thoughts into the eternal west; the deep- 
ening horizon glow; and the hasty walk homeward to 
enjoy the long winter evening. The hooting of the owl! 
That is a sound which my red predecessors heard here 
more than a thousand years ago. It rings far and wide, 


188 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


occupying the spaces rightfully,— grand, primeval, 
aboriginal sound. There is no whisper in it of the 
Buckleys, the Flints, the Hosmers who recently squatted 
here, nor of the first parish, nor of Concord Fight, nor 
of the last town meeting. 

Dec. 19, 1856. As I stand here, I hear the hooting of 
my old acquaintance the owl in Wheeler’s Wood.’ Do 
I not oftenest hear it just before sundown? This sound, 
heard near at hand, is more simply animal and guttural, 
without resonance or reverberation, but, heard here from 
out the depths of the wood, it sounds peculiarly hollow 
and drum-like, as if it struck on a tense skin drawn 
around, the tympanum of the wood, through which all 
we denizens of nature hear. Thus it comes to us an ac- 
credited and universal or melodious sound ; is more than 
the voice of the owl, the voice of the wood as well. The 
owl only touches the stops, or rather wakes the rever- 
berations. For all Nature is a musical instrument on 
which her creatures play, celebrating their joy or grief 
unconsciously often. It sounds now, hoo | hoo hoo (very 
fast) | hoo-rer | hoo. 

May 20, 1858. Saw in the street a young cat owl, 
one of two which Skinner killed in Walden Woods yes- 
terday. It was almost ready to fly, at least two and a 
half feet in alar extent; tawny with many black bars, 
and darker on wings. Holmes, in Patent Office Report,” 
says they “pair early in February.” So I visited the 
nest. It was in a large white pine close on the north side 


1 [Near Walden Pond.] 
2 (1856, p. 122, in paper on “ Birds Injurious to Agriculture,” by 
Ezekiel Holmes, M. D., of Winthrop, Maine, pp. 110-160.] 


GREAT HORNED OWL 189 


of the path, some ten rods west of the old Stratton cel- 
lar in the woods. This is the largest pine thereabouts, 
and the nest is some thirty-five feet high on two limbs 
close to the main stem, and, according to Skinner, was 
not much more than a foot across, made of small sticks, 
nearly flat, “ without fine stuff!” There were but two 
young. This isa path which somebody travels every 
half-day, at least, and only a stone’s throw from the 
great road. There were many white droppings about 
and large rejected pellets containing the vertebre and 
hair of a skunk. As I stood there, I heard the crows 
making a great noise some thirty or forty rods off, and 
immediately suspected that they were pestering one of 
the old owls, which Skinner had not seen. It proved so, 
for, as I approached, the owl sailed away from amidst 
a white pine top, with the crows in full pursuit, and he 
looked very large, stately, and heavy, like a seventy-four 
among schooners. I soon knew by the loud cawing of the 
crows that he had alighted again some forty rods off, and 
there again I found him perched high on a white pine, 
the large tawny fellow with black dashes and large erect 
horns. Away he goes again, and the crows after him. 
June 18, 1858. A boy climbs to the cat owl’s nest 
and casts down what is left of it, a few short sticks 
and some earthy almost turfy foundation, as if it were 
the accumulation of years. Beside much black and white 
skunk-hair, there are many fishes’ scales (!) intimately 
mixed with its substance, and some skunk’s bones. 
Jan. 30, 1859. How peculiar the hooting of an owl! 
It is not shrill and sharp like the scream of a hawk, but 
full, round, and sonorous, waking the echoes of the wood. 


X 
CUCKOOS, KINGFISHERS, AND WOODPECKERS 


BLACK-BILLED CUCKOO; ST. DOMINGO CUCKOO! 


June 18, 1853. Found the nest of a cuckoo, —a long, 
slender, handsome bird, probably St. Domingo cuckoo, 
—at the edge of the meadow on a bent sallow, not in a 
crotch, covered by the broad, shining leaves of a swamp 
white oak, whose boughs stretched over it, two feet or 
more from the ground. The nest was made of dry twigs 
and was small for the size of the bird and very shallow, 
but handsomely lined with an abundance of what looked 
like the dry yellowish-brown ( ?) catkins of the hickory, 
which made a pleasing contrast with the surrounding 
grayish twigs. There were some worm-eaten green leaves 
inwoven. It contained a single greenish-white elliptical 
egg, an inch ormore long. The bird flew off a little way 
and clow-clow-clowed. 

June 27, 1853. The cuckoo’s nest is robbed, or per- 
haps she broke her egg because I found it. Thus three 
out of half a dozen nests which I have revisited have 
been broken up. It is a very shallow nest, six or seven 
inches in diameter by two and a half or three deep, on 
a low bending willow, hardly half an inch deep within ; 
concealed by overlying leaves of a swamp white oak on 


1 [The black-billed, or, as Thoreau called it, after Nuttall, the St. 
Domingo, cuckoo being much the commoner of the two Northern 
species in the Concord region, it is probable that most if not all of his 
cuckoos were of this species. ] 


BLACK-BILLED CUCKOO 191 


the edge of the river meadow, two to three feet from 
ground, made of slender twigs which are prettily orna- 
mented with much ramalina lichen, lined with hickory 
catkins and pitch pine needles. 

May 14, 1854. A St. Domingo cuckoo, black-billed 
with red round eye,a silent, long, slender, graceful bird, 
dark cinnamon (?) above, pure white beneath. It is in 
a leisurely manner picking the young caterpillars out 
of a nest (now about a third of an inch long) with its 
long, curved bill. Not timid. 

July 17, 1854. The cuckoo is a very neat, slender, 
and graceful bird. It belongs to the nobility of birds. 
It is elegant. 

June 5,1856. Acuckoo’s nest with three light bluish- 
green eggs partly developed, short with rounded ends, 
nearly of a size; in the thicket up railroad this side high 
wood, in a black cherry that had been lopped three feet 
from ground, amid the thick sprouts; a nest of nearly 
average depth (?), of twigs lined with green leaves, 
pine-needles, ete., and edged with some dry, branchy 
weeds. The bird stole off silently at first. 

Aug. 20, 1857. As I stand there, I hear a peculiar 
sound which I mistake for a woodpecker’s tapping, but 
I soon see a cuckoo hopping near suspiciously or in- 
quisitively, at length within twelve feet, from time to 
time uttering a hard, dry note, very much like a wood- 
pecker tapping a dead dry tree rapidly, its full clear 
white throat and breast toward me, and slowly lifting its 
tail from time to time. Though somewhat allied to that 
throttled note it makes by night, it was quite different 
from that. 


192 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


BELTED KINGFISHER 


April 24, 1854. The kingfisher flies with a crack 
cr-r-r-ack and a limping or flitting flight from tree 
to tree before us, and finally, after a third of a mile, 
circles round to our rear. He sits rather low over the 
water. Now that he has come I suppose that the fishes 
on which he preys rise within reach. 

April 15, 1855. Saw and heard a kingfisher — do 
they not come with the smooth waters of April ?— hur- 
rying over the meadow as if on urgent business. 

April 22, 1855. The bluish band on the breast of the 
kingfisher leaves the pure white beneath in ‘the form of 
a heart. 

April 11, 1856. Saw a kingfisher on a tree over the 
water. Does not its arrival mark some new movement 
in its finny prey? He is the bright buoy that betrays it! 

July 28, 1858. Heard a kingfisher, which had been 
hovering over the river, plunge forty rods off. 

Aug. 6, 1858. The kingfisher is seen hovering stead- 
ily over one spot, or hurrying away with a small fish in 
his mouth, sounding his alarum nevertheless. 


HAIRY WOODPECKER 


April 9, 1855. Heard a loud, long, dry, tremulous 
shriek which reminded me of a kingfisher, but which I 
found proceeded from a woodpecker which had just 
alighted on an elm; also its clear whistle or chink 
afterward. It is probably the hairy woodpecker, and I 
am not so certain I have seen it earlier this year.’ 

1 [The kingfisher-like rattle is diagnostic of the hairy woodpecker. ] 


HAIRY WOODPECKER 193 


June 5, 1857. In that first apple tree at Wyman’s an 
apparent hairy woodpecker’s nest (from the size of the 
bird), about ten feet from ground. The bird darts 
away with a shrill, loud chirping of alarm, incessantly 
repeated, long before I get there, and keeps it up as 
long as I stay in the neighborhood. The young keep up 
an incessant fine, breathing peep which can be heard 
across the road and is much increased when they hear 
you approach the hole, they evidently expecting the old 
bird. I perceive no offensive odor. I saw the bird fly 
out of this hole, May 1st, and probably the eggs were 
laid about that time. 

Oct. 16, 1859. See a hairy woodpecker on a burnt 
pitch pine. He distinctly rests on his tail constantly. 
With what vigor he taps and bores the bark, making 
it fly far and wide, and then darts off with a sharp 
whistle ! 

May 18, 1860. A hairy woodpecker betrays its hole 
in an apple tree by its anxiety. The ground is strewn 
with the chips it has made, over a large space. The 
hole, so far as I can see, is exactly like that of the 
downy woodpecker,—the entrance (though not so 
round) and the conical form within above, — only 
larger. The bird scolds at me from a dozen rods off. 


DOWNY WOODPECKER 
March 24, 1853. The downy (?) woodpeckers are 


quite numerous this morning, the skirts of their coats 
barred with white and a large, long white spot on their 
backs. They have a smart, shrill peep or whistle, some- 
what like a robin, but more metallic. 


194 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


Jan. 8, 1854. Stood within a rod of a downy wood- 
pecker on an apple tree. How curious and exciting the 
blood-red spot on its hindhead! I ask why it is there, 
but no answer is rendered by these snow-clad fields. It 
is so close to the bark I do not see its feet. It looks be- 
hind as if it had on a black cassock open behind and 
showing a white undergarment between the shoulders 
and down the back. It is briskly and incessantly tap- 
ping all round the dead limbs, but rarely twice in a 
place, as if to sound the tree and so see if it has any 
worm in it, or perchance to start them. How much he 
deals with the bark of trees, all his life long tapping 
and inspecting it! He it is that scatters those frag- 
ments of bark and lichens about on the snow at the 
base of trees. What a lichenist he must be! Or rather, 
perhaps it is fungi makes his favorite study, for he 
deals most with dead limbs. How briskly he glides 
up or drops himself down a limb, creeping round and 
round, and hopping from limb to limb, and now flitting 
with a rippling sound of his wings to another tree! 

April 4, 1855. The rows of white spots near the end 
of the wings of the downy [woodpecker] remind me of 
the lacings on the skirts of a soldier’s coat. 

Dec. 14, 1855. A little further I heard the sound 
of a downy woodpecker tapping a pitch pine in a little 
grove, and saw him inclining to dodge behind the stem. 
He flitted from pine to pine before me. Frequently, 
when I pause to listen, I hear this sound in the orchards 
or streets. This was in one of these dense groves of 
young pitch pines. 

June 20, 1856. Walking under an apple tree in the 


DOWNY WOODPECKER 195 


little Baker Farm peach orchard, heard an incessant 
shrill musical twitter or peeping, as from young birds, 
over my head, and, looking up, saw a hole in an upright 
dead bough, some fifteen feet from ground. Climbed 
up and, finding that the shrill twitter came from it, 
guessed it to be the nest of a downy woodpecker, which 
proved to be the case, —for it reminded me of the hiss- 
ing squeak or squeaking hiss of young pigeon wood- 
peckers, but this was more musical or bird-like. The 
bough was about four and a half inches in diameter, 
and the hole perfectly circular, about an inch and a 
quarter in diameter. Apparently nests had been in 
holes above, now broken out, higher up. When I put 
my fingers in it, the young breathed their shrill twitter 
louder than ever. Anon the old appeared, and came 
quite near, while I stood in the tree, keeping up an in- 
cessant loud and shrill scolding note, and also after I 
descended ; not to be relieved. 

July 19, 1856. The downy woodpecker’s nest which 
I got July 8th was in a dead and partly rotten upright 
apple bough four and three quarters inches in diam- 
eter. Hole perfectly elliptical (or oval) one and two 
sixteenths by one and five sixteenths inches; whole 
depth below it eight inches. It is excavated directly in- 
ward about three and a half inches, with a conical roof, 
also arching at back, with a recess in one side on level 
with the hole, where the bird turns. Judging from an 
old hole in the same bough, directly above, it enlarges 
directly to a diameter of two and one fourth to two and 
one half inches, not in this case descending exactly in 
the middle of the bough, but leaving one side not a 


196 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


_ quarter of an inch thick. At the hole it is left one inch 
thick. At the nest it is about two and three eighths 
inches in diameter. I find nothing in the first but bits 
of rotten wood, remains of insects, ete., when I tip it 
up, — for I cannot see the bottom,—yet in the old 
one there is also quite a nest of fine stubble (?), bark 
shred (?), ete., mixed with the bits of rotten wood. 

[See also under General and Miscellaneous, pp. 415, 
416, 422.] 


ARCTIC THREE-TOED WOODPECKER 


Oct. 8, 1860. Standing by a pigeon-place on the 
north edge of Damon’s lot, I saw on the dead top of 
a white pine four or five rods off — which had been 
stripped for fifteen feet downward that it might die 
and afford with its branches a perch for the pigeons 
about the place, like the more artificial ones that were 
set up —two woodpeckers that were new to me. They 
uttered a peculiar sharp kek kek on alighting (not so 
sharp as that of the hairy or downy woodpecker) and 
appeared to be about the size of the hairy woodpecker, 
or between that and the golden-winged. I had a good 
view of them with my glass as long as I desired. With 
the back to me, they were clear black all above, as well 
as their feet and bills, and each had a yellow or orange 
(or possibly orange-scarlet’?) front (the anterior part 
of the head at the base of the upper mandible). A 
long white line along the side of the head to the neck, 
with a black one below it. The breast, as near as I 
could see, was gray specked with white, and the under 
side of the wing expanded was also gray, with small 


PILEATED WOODPECKER 197 


white spots. The throat white and vent also white or 
whitish. Is this the arctic three-toed?! Probably many 
trees dying on this large burnt tract will attract many 
woodpeckers to it. 


PILEATED WOODPECKER 


July 25, 1857. Our path up the bank here? led by a 
large dead white pine, in whose trunk near the ground 
were great square-cornered holes made by the wood- 
peckers, probably the red-headed. They were seven or 
eight inches long by four wide and reached to the heart 
of the tree through an inch or more of sound wood, and 
looked like great mortise-holes whose corners had been 
somewhat worn and rounded by a loose tenon. The tree 
for some distance was quite honeycombed by them. It 
suggested woodpeckers on a larger scale than ours, as 
were the trees and the forest.* 


FLICKER; PIGEON WOODPECKER 


April 3, 1842. Ihave just-heard the flicker among 
the oaks on the hillside ushering in a new dynasty. It 
is the age and youth of time. Why did Nature set this 
lure for sickly mortals? Eternity could not begin with 


1 [The birds must have been arctic three-toed woodpeckers, though 
Thoreau misplaces the yellow crown-patch. This species, usually very 
rare in Massachusetts, visited the State in considerable numbers in this 
winter of 1860-1861.] 

2 (On the West Branch of the Penobscot, Maine. ] 

3 [These mortise-shaped holes, found abundantly in the forests of 
northern New England, are the work of the pileated woodpecker, which 
Thorean saw and heard in the Maine woods, but somewhat hastily de- 
nominated the red-headed woodpecker from the conspicuous red crest. ]} 


198 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


more security and momentousness than the spring. The 
summer’s eternity is reéstablished by this note. All 
sights and sounds are seen and heard both in time 
and eternity. And when the eternity of any sight or 
sound strikes the eye or ear, they are intoxicated with 
delight. 

April 23,1852. Heard the pigeon woodpecker to-day, 
that long-continued unmusical note, —somewhat like a 
robin’s, heard afar,—yet pleasant to hear because as- 
sociated with a more advanced stage of the season. 

April 6, 1853. Returning by Harrington’s, saw a 
pigeon woodpecker flash away, showing the rich golden 
under side of its glancing wings and the large whitish 
spot on its back, and presently I heard its familiar 
long-repeated loud note, almost familiar as that of a 
barn-door fowl, which it somewhat resembles. 

‘June 21, 1853. Where the other day I saw a pigeon 
woodpecker tapping and enlarging a hole in the dead 
limb of an apple tree, when as yet probably no egg was 
laid, to-day I see two well-grown young woodpeckers 
about as big as the old, looking out at the hole, show- 
ing their handsome spotted breasts and calling lustily 
for something to eat, or, it may be, suffering from the 
heat. Young birds in some situations must suffer 
greatly from heat these days, so closely packed in their 
nests and perhaps insufficiently shaded. It is a wonder 
they remain so long there patiently. I saw a yellow- 
bird’s! nest in the willows on the causeway this after- 
noon and three young birds, nearly ready to fly, over- 
flowing the nest, all holding up their open bills and 


1 [The summer yellowbird, or yellow warbler.] 


FLICKER 199 


keeping them steadily open for a minute or more, on 
noise of my approach. 

Aug. 10, 1854. That is a peculiar and distinct hol- 
low sound made by the pigeon woodpecker’s wings, as 
it flies past near you. 

April 23, 1855. Saw two pigeon woodpeckers ap- 
proach and, I think, put their bills together and utter 
that o-week, o-week. 

April 14, 1856. Hear the flicker’s cackle on the old 
aspen, and his tapping sounds afar over the water. 
Their tapping resounds thus far, with this peculiar 
ring and distinctness, because it is a hollow tree they 
select to play on, as a drum or tambour. It is a hollow 
sound which rings distinct to a great distance, espe- 
cially ovér water. 

April 22, 1856. Going through Hubbard’s root-fence 
field, see a pigeon woodpecker on a fence-post. He 
shows his lighter back between his wings cassock-like 
and like the smaller woodpeckers. Joins his mate on a 
tree and utters the wooing note o-week o-week, ete. 

April 27,1856. The tapping of a woodpecker is made 
a more remarkable and emphatic sound by the hollow- 
ness of the trunk, the expanse of water which conducts 
the sound, and the morning hour at which I commonly 
hear it. I think that the pigeon woodpeckers must be 
building, they frequent the old aspen now so much. 

April 29, 1856. A pigeon woodpecker alights on a 
dead cedar top near me. Its cackle, thus near, sounds 
like eh ch ch eh eh, etc., rapidly and emphatically re- 
peated. 

June 10, 1856. In a hollow apple tree, hole eighteen 


200 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


inches deep, young pigeon woodpeckers, large and well 
feathered. They utter their squeaking hiss whenever I 
cover the hole with my hand, apparently taking it for 
the approach of the mother. A strong, rank fetid smell 
issues from the hole. 

March 1T, 1858. Ah! there is the note of the first 
flicker, a prolonged, monotonous wich-wick-wick-wick- 
wick-wick, ete., or, if you please, guick-quick, heard far 
over and through the dry leaves. But how that single 
sound peoples and enriches all the woods and fields! 
They are no longer the same woods and fields that 
they were. This note really guickens what was dead. It 
seems to put a life into withered grass and leaves and 
bare twigs, and henceforth the days shall not be as they 
have been. It is as when a family, your neighbors, re- 
turn to an empty house after a long absence, and you 
hear the cheerful hum of voices and the laughter of 
children, and see the smoke from the kitchen fire. The 
doors are thrown open, and children go screaming 
through the hall. So the flicker dashes through the 
aisles of the grove, throws up a window here and 
cackles out it, and then there, airing the house. It 
makes its voice ring up-stairs and down-stairs, and so, 
as it were, fits it for its habitation and ours, and takes 
possession. It is as good as a housewarming to all na- 
ture. Now I hear and see him louder and nearer on the 
top of the long-armed white oak, sitting very upright, 
as is their wont, as it were calling for some of his kind 
that may also have arrived. 

April 15, 1858. See a pair of woodpeckers on a 
rail and on the ground a-courting. One keeps hopping 


WOODPECKERS 201 


near the other, and the latter hops away a few feet, and 
so they accompany one another a long distance, utter- 
ing sometimes a faint or short a-week. 

March 23, 1859. The loud peop (?) of a pigeon 
woodpecker is heard . . . and anon the prolonged Joud 
and shrill cackle, calling the thin-wooded hillsides and 
pastures to life. It is like the note of an alarm-clock 
set last fall so as to wake Nature up at exactly this 
date. Up up up up up up up up up! What a rustling 
it seems to make among the dry leaves! 

May 4, 1860. As I stood there I heard a thumping 
sound, which I referred to Peter’s, three quarters of a 
mnile off over the meadow, but it was a pigeon wood- 
pecker excavating its nest within a maple within a rod 
of me. Though I had just landed and made a noise 
with my boat, he was too busy to hear me, but now he 
hears my tread, and I see him put out his head and then 
withdraw it warily and keep still, while I stay there. 

[ See also under General and Miscellaneous, p. 426.] 


WOODPECKERS (SPECIES UNNAMED) 


Jan. 26, 1852. The woodpeckers work in Emerson’s 
wood on the Cliff-top, the trees being partly killed by 
the top, and the grubs having hatched under the bark. 
The woodpeckers have stripped a whole side of some 
trees, and in a sound red oak they have dug out a mor- 
tise-hole with squarish shoulders, as if with a chisel. I 
have often seen these holes. 

March 22, 1853. The tapping of the woodpecker, 
rat-tat-tat, knocking at the door of some sluggish grub 
to tell him that the spring has arrived, and his fate, 


202 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


this is one of the season sounds, calling the roll of birds 
and insects, the reveille. 

May 10, 1853. How far the woodpecker’s tapping is 
heard! And no wonder, for he taps very hard as well as 
fast, to make a hole, and the dead, dry wood is very re- 
sounding withal. Nowhe taps on one part of the tree, and 
it yields one note; then on that side, a few inches distant, 
and it yields another key; propped on its tail the while. 

Jan. 6, 1855. I see where a woodpecker has drilled 
a hole about two inches over in a decayed white maple ; 
quite recently, for the chippings are strewn over the ice 
beneath and were the first sign that betrayed it. The 
tree was hollow. Is it for a nest next season?! There 
was an old hole higher up. 

March 8, 1859. I see there a dead white pine, some 
twenty-five feet high, which has been almost entirely 
stripped of its bark by the woodpeckers. Where any 
bark is left, the space between it and the wood is 
commonly closely packed with the gnawings of worms, 
which appear to have consumed the inner bark. But 

‘where the bark is gone, the wood also is eaten to some 
depth, and there are numerous holes penetrating deep 
into the wood. Over all this portion, which is almost all 
the tree, the woodpeckers have knocked off the bark 
and enlarged the holes in pursuit of the worms. 

March 11, 1859. But methinks the sound of the 
woodpecker tapping is as much a spring note as any 
these mornings ; it echoes peculiarly in the air of a 
spring morning. 

[See also under Robin, p. 391; General and Miscel- 
laneous, p. 431.] 

1 [Probably for winter quarters.] 


XI 
GOATSUCKERS, SWIFTS, AND HUMMINGBIRDS 


WHIP-POOR-WILL 


June 11, 1851. The whip-poor-will suggests how 
wide asunder are the woods and the town. Its note is 
very rarely heard by those who live on the street, and 
then it is thought to be of ill omen. Only the dwellers 
on the outskirts of the village hear it occasionally. It 
sometimes comes into their yards. But go into the 
woods in a warm night at this season, and it is the pre- 
vailing sound. I hear now five or six at once. It is no 
more of ill omen therefore here than the night and the 
moonlight are. It is a bird not only of the woods, but 
of the night side of the woods. 

New beings have usurped the air we breathe, round- 
ing Nature, filling her crevices with sound. To sleep 
where you may hear the whip-poor-will in your dreams ! 


I hear some whip-poor-wills on hills, others in thick 
wooded vales, which ring hollow and cavernous, like an 
apartment or cellar, with their note. As when I hear 
the working of some artisan from within an apart- 
ment. 

June 18, 1851. It is not nightfall till the whip-poor- 
wills begin to sing. 

June 14, 1851. From Conant’s summit I hear as 
many as fifteen whip-poor-wills — or whip-or-I-wills — 


204 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


at once, the succeeding cluck sounding strangely. for- 
eign, like a hewer at work elsewhere. 

Aug. 12, 1851. There was a whip-poor-will in the 
road just beyond Goodwin’s, which flew up and lighted 
on the fence and kept alighting on the fence within a 
rod of me and circling round me with a slight squeak 
as if inquisitive about me. 

Sept. 9,1851. The whip-poor-wills now begin to sing 
in earnest about half an hour before sunrise, as if mak- 
ing haste to improve the short time that is left them. 
As far as my observation goes, they sing for several 
hours in the early part of the night, are silent com- 
monly at midnight, — though you may meet them then 
sitting on a rock or flitting silently about, — then sing 
again just before sunrise. 

[See also under Screech Owl, p. 173; Wood 
Thrush, p. 378.] 


NIGHTHAWK 


June 11, 1851. I hear the nighthawks uttering their 
squeaking notes high in the air now at nine o’clock 
P. M., and occasionally — what I do not remember to 
have heard so late —their booming note. It sounds 
more as if under a cope than by day. The sound is not 
so fugacious, going off to be lost amid the spheres, but 
is echoed hollowly to earth, making the low roof of 
heaven vibrate. Such a sound is more confused and 
dissipated by day. 

June 23, 1851. It is a pleasant sound to me, the 
squeaking and the booming of nighthawks flying over 
high open fields in the woods. They fly like butterflies, 


NIGHTHAWK DISTURBED WHILE COVERING EGGS 


NIGHTHAWK 205 


not to avoid birds of prey but, apparently, to secure 
their own insect prey. There is a particular part of the 
railroad just below the shanty where they may be heard 
and seen in greatest numbers. But often you must look 
a long while before you can detect the mote in the sky 
from which the note proceeds. 

June 1, 1858. Walking up this side-hill, I disturbed 
a nighthawk eight or ten feet from me, which went, 
half fluttering, half hopping, the mottled creature, like 
a winged toad, as Nuttall says the French of Louisi- 
ana (?) call them,! down the hill as far as I could see. 
Without moving, I looked about and saw its two eggs 
on the bare ground, on a slight shelf of the hill, on the 
dead pine-needles and sand, without any cavity or nest 
whatever, very obvious when once you had detected 
them, but not easily detected from their color, a coarse 
gray formed of white spotted with a bluish or slaty 
brown or umber, — a stone — granite — color, like the 
places it selects. I advanced and put my hand on 
them, and while I stooped, seeing a shadow on the 
ground, looked up and saw the bird, which had flut- 
tered down the hill so blind and helpless, circling low 
and swiftly past over my head, showing the white spot 
on each wing in true nighthawk fashion. When I had 
gone a dozen rods, it appeared again higher in the air, 
with its peculiar flitting, limping kind of flight, all 
the while noiseless, and suddenly descending, it dashed 
at me within ten feet of my head, like an imp of dark- 
ness, then swept away high over the pond, dashing 


1 [Nuttall speaks of ‘‘the metaphorical French name of ‘Crapaud 
volans,’ or Flying Toad.”} 


206 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


now to this side now to that, on different tacks, as if, 
in pursuit of its prey, it had already forgotten its eggs 
on the earth. I can see how it might easily come to be 
regarded with superstitious awe. 

June T, 1853. Visited my nighthawk on her nest. 
Could hardly believe my eyes whenI stood within seven 
feet and beheld her sitting on her eggs, her head to 
me. She looked so Saturnian, so one with the earth, so 
sphinx-like, a relic of the reign of Saturn which Jupiter 
did not destroy, a riddle that might well cause a man 
to go dash his head against a stone. It was not an act- 
ual living creature, far lessa winged creature of the air, 
but a figure in stone or bronze, a fanciful production of 
art, like the gryphon or pheenix. In fact, with its breast 
toward me, and owing to its color or size no bill per- 
ceptible, it looked like the end of a brand, such as are 
common in a clearing, its breast mottled or alternately 
waved with dark brown and gray, its flat, grayish, 
weather-beaten crown, its eyes nearly closed, purposely, 
lest those bright beads should betray it, with the stony 
cunning of the Sphinx. A fanciful work in bronze to 
ornament a mantel. It was enough to fill one with awe. 
The sight of this creature sitting on its eggs impressed 
me with the venerableness of the globe. There was 
nothing novel about it. All the while, this seemingly 
sleeping bronze sphinx, as motionless as the earth, was 
watching me with intense anxiety through those narrow 
slits in its eyelids. Another step, and it fluttered down 
the hill close to the ground, with a wabbling motion, as 
if touching the ground now with the tip of one wing, 
now with the other, so ten rods to the water, which it 


NIGHTHAWK 207 


skimmed close over a few rods, then rose and soared in 
the air above me. Wonderful creature, which sits mo- 
tionless on its eggs on the barest, most exposed hills, 
through pelting storms of rain or hail, as if it were a 
rock or a part of the earth itself, the outside of the 
globe, with its eyes shut and its wings folded, and, after 
the two days’ storm, when you think it has become a fit 
symbol of the rheumatism, it suddenly rises into the air 
a bird, one of the most aerial, supple, and graceful of 
creatures, without stiffness in its wings or joints! It was 
a fit prelude to meeting Prometheus bound to his rock 
on Caucasus. 

June 17, 1853. One of the nighthawk’s eggs is 
hatched. The young is unlike any that I have seen, ex- 
actly like a pinch of rabbit’s fur or down of that color 
dropped on the ground, not two inches long, with a 
dimpling or geometrical or somewhat regular arrange- 
ment of minute feathers in the middle, destined to be- 
come the wings and tail. Yet even it half opened its eye, 
and peeped if I mistake not. Was ever bird more com- 
pletely protected, both by the color of its eggs and of its 
own body that sits on them, and of the young bird just 
hatched? Accordingly the eggs and young are rarely 
discovered. There was one egg still, and by the side of 
it this little pinch of down, flattened out and not ob- 
served at first, and a foot down the hill had rolled a half 
of the egg it came out of. There was no callowness, as 
in the young of most birds. It seemed a singular place 
for a bird to begin its life, — to come out of its egg, — 
this little pinch of down, — and lie still on the exact spot 
where the egg lay, on a flat exposed shelf on the side of 


208 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


a bare hill, with nothing but the whole heavens, the 
broad universe above, to brood it when its mother was 
away. 

June 5, 1854. Now, just before sundown, a night- 
hawk is circling, imp-like, with undulating, irregular 
flight over the sprout-land on the Cliff Hill, with an oc- 
casional squeak and showing the spots on his wings. He 
does not circle away from this place, and I associate him 
with two gray eggs somewhere on the ground beneath 
and a mate there sitting. This squeak and occasional 
booming is heard in the evening air, while the stillness 
on the side of the village makes more distinct the in- 
creased hum of insects. 

May 31, 1856. As I returnin the dusk, many night- 
hawks, with their great spotted wings, are circling low 
over the river, as the swallows were when I went out. 
They skim within a rod of me. After dusk these greater 
swallows come forth, and circle and play about over the 
water like those lesser ones, or perhaps making a larger 
circuit, also uttering a louder note. It would not be safe 
for such great birds to fly so near and familiarly by 
day. 

May 26, 1857. As I am going down the footpath 
from Britton’s camp to the spring, I start a pair of 
nighthawks (they had the white on the wing) from 
amid the dry leaves at the base of a bush, a bunch of 
sprouts, and away they flitted in zigzag noiseless flight 
a few rods through the sprout-land, dexterously avoid- 
ing the twigs, uttering a faint hollow what, as if made 
by merely closing the bill, and one alighted flat on a 
stump. 


NIGHTHAWK 209 


June 2, 1858.1 The chewink sang before night, and 
this, as I have before observed, is a very common bird 
on mountain-tops.? It‘seems to love a cool atmosphere, 
and sometimes lingers quite late with us. And the wood 
thrush,’ indefinitely far or near, a little more distant 
and unseen, as great poets are. Early in the evening 
the nighthawks were heard to spark ‘ and boom over 
these bare gray rocks, and such was our serenade at 
first as we lay on our spruce bed. We were left alone 
with the nighthawks. These withdrawn bare rocks must 
be a very suitable place for them to lay their eggs, and 
their dry and unmusical, yet supramundane and spirit- 
like, voices and sounds gave fit expression to this rocky 
mountain solitude. It struck the very key-note of the 
stern, gray, barren solitude. It was a thrumming of the 
mountain’s rocky chords; strains from the music of 
Chaos, such as were heard when the earth was rent 
and these rocks heaved up. Thus they went sparking 
and booming, while we were courting the first access of 
sleep, and I could imagine their dainty limping flight, 
circling over the kindred rock, with a spot of white, 
quartz in their wings. No sound gould be more in 
harmony with that scenery. Though common below, it 
seemed peculiarly proper here. 


1 [In camp near the summit of Mt. Monadnock.] 

2 [This is true only of the lower summits in the latitude of New Eng- 
land. In “ A Walk to Wachusett” he speaks of hearing the bird on or 
near the top of that mountain. ] 

8 [Probably either the hermit thrush or the olive-backed thrush. See 
note on p. 377.] 

4 [Thoreau’s word for the nighthawk’s note, which to most persons 
sounds like speak or peent.] 


210 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


June 3, 1858. Lying up there at this season, when 
the nighthawk is most musical, reminded me of what I 
had noticed before, that this bird is crepuscular in its 
habits. It was heard by night only up to nine or ten 
o'clock and again just before dawn, and marked those 
periods or seasons like a clock. Its note very conven- 
iently indicated the time of night. It was sufficient to 
hear the nighthawk booming when you awoke to know 
how the night got on, though you had no other evidence 
of the hour. 

July 1T, 1860. The righthawk’s ripping sound, heard 
overhead these days, reminds us that the sky is, as it 
were, a roof, and that our world is limited on that side, 
it being reflected as from a roof back to earth. It does 
not suggest an infinite depth in the sky, but a nearness 
to the earth, as of a low roof echoing back its sounds. 

Aug. 9, 1860. But, above all, this’ was an excellent 
place to observe the habits of the nighthawks. They 
were heard and seen regularly at sunset, — one night it 
was at 7.10, or exactly at sunset, — coming upward from 
the lower and more shaded portion of the rocky surface 
below our camp, with their spark spark, soon answered 
by a companion, for they seemed always to hunt in pairs, 
—yet both would dive and boom and, according to 
Wilson, only the male utters this sound. They pursued 
their game thus a short distance apart and some sixty 
or one hundred feet above the gray rocky surface, in 
the twilight, and the constant spark spark seemed to be 
a sort of call-note to advertise each other of their neigh- 
borhood. Suddenly one would hover and flutter more 

1 [Mt. Monadnock again.] 


NIGHTHAWK 211 


stationarily for a moment, somewhat like a kingfisher, 
and then dive almost perpendicularly downward with a 
rush, for fifty feet, frequently within three or four rods 
of us, and the loud booming sound or rip was made just 
at the curve, as it ceased to fall, but whether volunta- 
rily or involuntarily I know not. They appeared to be 
diving for their insect prey. What eyes they must have 
to be able to discern it beneath them against the rocks 
in the twilight! As I was walking about the camp, one 
flew low, within two feet of the surface, about me, and 
lit on the rock within three rods of me, and uttered a 
harsh note like c-o-w, c-o-w, — hard and gritty and al- 
lied to their common notes, — which I thought expres- 
sive of anxiety, or to alarm me, or for its mate. 

I suspect that their booming on a distant part of the 
mountain was the sound which I heard the first night 
which was like very distant thunder, or the fall of a 
pile of lumber. 

They did not fly or boom when there was a cloud or 
fog, and ceased pretty early in the night. They came 
up from the same quarter — the shaded rocks below — 
each night, two of them, and left off booming about 8 
o’clock. Whether they then ceased hunting or withdrew 
to another part of the mountain, I know not. Yet I heard 
one the first night at 11.30 Pp. m., but, as it had been a 
rainy day and did not clear up here till some time late 
in the night, it may have been compelled to do its hunt- 
ing then. They began to boom again at 4 a. M. (other 
birds about 4.30) and ceased about 4.20. By their color 
they are related to the gray rocks over which they flit 
and circle. 


212 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


CHIMNEY SWIFT 5 CHIMNEY SWALLOW 


July 29, 1856. Pratt gave me a chimney swallow’s 
nest, which he says fell down Wesson’s chimney with 
young in it two or three days ago. As it comes to me, 
it is in the form of the segment of the circumference 
of a sphere whose diameter is three and a half inches, 
the segment being two plus wide, one side, of course, 
longer than the other. It bears a little soot on the inner 
side. It may have been placed against a slanting part 
of the chimney, or perhaps some of the outer edge is 
broken off. It is composed wholly of stout twigs, one 
to two inches long, one sixteenth to one eighth inch in 
diameter, held quasi cob-fashion, so as to form a sort of 
basketwork one third to one half inch thick, without any 
lining, at least in this, but very open to the air. These 
twigs, which are quite knubby, seem to be of the apple, 
elm, and the like, and are firmly fastened together by a 
very conspicuous whitish semi-transparent glue, which 
is laid on pretty copiously, sometimes extending con- 
tinuously one inch. It reminds me of the edible nests of 
the Chinese swallow. Who knows but their edibleness 
is due to a similar glue secreted by the bird and used 
still more profusely in building its nests? The chimney 
swallow is said to break off the twigs as it flies. , 

Aug. 23, 1856. J. Farmer says that he found that 
the gummed twig of a chimney swallow’s nest, though 
it burned when held in a flame, went out immediately 
when taken out of it, and he thinks it owing to a pecul- 
iarity in the gum, rendering the twig partly fire-proof, 
so that they cannot be ignited by the sparks in a chim- 


RUBY-THROATED HUMMINGBIRD 213 


ney. I suggested that these swallows had originally 
built in hollow trees, but it would be interesting to as- 
certain whether they constructed their nests in the same 
way and of the same material then. 

[See also under General and Miscellaneous, p. 419. ] 


RUBY-THROATED HUMMINGBIRD 


May 17, 1856. Meanwhile I hear a loud hum and 
see a splendid male hummingbird coming zigzag in long 
tacks, like a bee, but far swifter, along the edge of the 
swamp, in hot haste. He turns aside to taste the honey 
of the Andromeda calyculata ' (already visited by bees) 
within arod of me. This golden-green gem. Its bur- 
nished back looks as if covered with green scales dusted 
with gold. It hovers, as it were stationary in the air,. 
with an intense humming before each little flower-bell of 
the humble Andromeda calyculata, and inserts its long 
‘tongue in each, turning toward me that splendid ruby 
on its breast, that glowing ruby. Even this is coal-black 
in some lights! There, along with me in the deep, wild 
swamp, above the andromeda, amid the spruce. Its hum 
was heard afar at first, like that of a large bee, bringing 
a larger summer. This sight and sound would make me 
think I was in the tropics, —in Demerara or Maracaibo. 

May 29, 1857. Soon I hear the low all-pervading 
hum of an approaching hummingbird circling above 
the rock, which afterward I mistake several times for 
the gruff voices of men approaching, unlike as these 
sounds are in some respects, and I perceive the resem- 


1 [The cassandra, or leather-leaf, now known to botanists as Chame- 
daphne calyculata.] 


214 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


blance even when I know better. Now I am sure it isa 
hummingbird, and now that it is two farmers approach- 
ing. But presently the hum becomes more sharp and 
thrilling, and the little fellow suddenly perches on an ash 
twig within a rod of me, and plumes himself while the 
rain is fairly beginning. He is quite out of proportion to 
the size of his perch. Tt does not acknowledge his weight. 

May 16, 1858. A hummingbird yesterday came into 
the next house and was caught. Flew about our parlor 
to-day and tasted Sophia’s flowers. In some lights you 
saw none of the colors of its throat. In others, in the 
shade the throat was a clear bright scarlet, but in the 
sun it glowed with splendid metallic, fiery reflections 
about the neck and throat. It uttered from time to time, 
as it flew, a faint squeaking chirp or chirrup. The hum 
sounded more hollow when it approached a flower. Its 
wings fanned the air so forcibly that you felt the cool 
wind they raised a foot off, and nearer it was very re- 
markable. Does not this very motion of the wings keep 
a bird cool in hot weather? 

May 17,1858. When the hummingbird flew about the 
room yesterday, his body and tail hung in a singular 
manner between the wings, swinging back and forth 
with a sort of oscillating motion, not hanging directly 
down, but yet pulsating or teetering up and down. 

July 9, 1860. There is a smart shower at 5 P. M., 
and in the midst of ita hummingbird is busy about the 
flowers in the garden, unmindful of it, though you would 
think that each big drop that struck him would be a 
serious accident. 

[ See also under General and Miscellaneous, p. 423. ] 


XII 
FLYCATCHERS 


KINGBIRD 


July 16,1851. I hear the kingbird twittering or chat- 
tering like a stout-chested swallow. 

May 29, 1858. How still the hot noon! People have 
retired behind blinds. Yet the kingbird — lively bird, 
with white belly and tail edged with white, and with 
its lively twittering — stirs and keeps the air brisk. 

June 2, 1854. Are these not kingbird days, when, in 
clearer first June days full of light, this aerial, twitter- 
ing bird flutters from willow to willow and swings on 
the twigs, showing his white-edged tail? 

June 5, 1854. I see at a distance a kingbird or black- 
bird pursuing a crow lower down the hill, like a satel- 
lite revolving about a black planet. 

June 14, 1855. A kingbird’s nest with four eggs on 
a large horizontal stem or trunk of a black willow, four 
feet high, over the edge of the river,.amid small shoots 
from the willow; outside of mikania, roots, and knotty 
sedge, well lined with root-fibres and wiry weeds. 

Jan. 20,1856. A probable kingbird’s nest, on a small 
horizontal branch of a young swamp white oak, amid 
the twigs, about ten feet from ground. This tree is very 
scraggy; has numerous short twigs at various angles 
with the branches, making it unpleasant to climb and 
affording support to birds’ nests. The nest is round, 


216 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


running to rather a sharp point on one side beneath. 
Extreme diameter outside, four and a half to five 
inches ; within, three inches; depth within, two inches; 
without, four or more. The principal materials are ten, 
in the order of their abundance thus : — 

1. Reddish and gray twigs, some a foot and more in 
length, which are cranberry vines, with now and then 
a leaf on, probably such as were torn up by the rakers. 
Some are as big round as a knitting-needle, and would 
be taken for a larger bush. These make the stiff mass 
of the outside above and rim. 

2. Woody roots, rather coarser, intermixed from 
waterside shrubs. Probably some are from cranberry 
vines. These are mixed with the last and with the bot- 
tom. ; 

3. Softer and rather smaller roots and root-fibres of 
herbaceous plants, mixed with the last and a little fur- 
ther inward, for the harshest are always most external. 

4, (Still to confine myself to the order of abundance) 
withered flowers and short bits of the gray downy stems 
of the fragrant everlasting ; these more or less com- 
pacted and apparently agglutinated from the mass of 
the solid bottom,-and more loose, with the stems run 
down to a point on one side the bottom. 

5. What I think is the fibrous growth of a willow, 
moss-like with a wiry dark-colored hair-like stem (pos- 


sibly it is a moss). This, with or without the tuft, is the 
lining, and lies contiguous in the sides and bottom. 


KINGBIRD 217 


6. What looks like brown decayed leaves and con- 
ferve from the dried bottom of the riverside, mixed 
with the everlasting-tops internally in the solid bottom. 

7. Some finer brown root-fibres, chiefly between the 
lining of No. 6 and hair and the coarser fibres of 
No. 3. 

8. A dozen whitish cocoons, mixed with the ever- 
lasting-tops and dangling about the bottom peak ex- 
ternally; a few within the solid bottom. Also eight or 
ten very minute cocoons mixed with these, attached in 
a cluster to the top of an everlasting. 

9. A few black much branched roots (?) (perhaps 
some utricularia from the dried bottom of river), mixed 
with Nos. 2 and 3. 

10. Some horsehair, white and black, together with 
No. 5 forming the lining. 

There are also, with the cocoons and everlasting- 
tops externally, one or two cotton-grass heads, one 
small white feather, and a little greenish-fuscous moss 
from the button-bush, and, in the bottom, a small shred 
of grape-vine bark. 

Aug. 5, 1858. [The black willows on the river- 
banks] resound still with the sprightly twitter of the 
kingbird, that aerial and spirited bird hovering over 
them, swallow-like, which loves best, methinks, to fly 
where the sky is reflected beneath him. Also now from 
time to time you hear the chattering of young blackbirds 
or the dink of bobolinks there, or see the great bittern 
flap slowly away. The kingbird, by his activity and 
lively note and his white breast, keeps the air sweet. 
He sits now on a dead willow twig, akin to the flecks 


218 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


of mackerel sky, or its reflection in the water, or the 
white clamshell, wrong side out, opened by a musquash, 
or the fine particles of white quartz that may be found 
in the muddy river’s sand. He is here to give a voice to 
all these. The willow’s dead twig is aerial perch enough 
for him. Even the swallows deign to perch on it. 

Aug. 6, 1858. If our sluggish river, choked with 
potamogeton, might seem to have the slow-flying bit- 
tern for its peculiar genius, it has also the sprightly and 
aerial kingbird to twitter over and lift our thoughts to 
clouds as white as its own breast. 

Aug. T, 1858. The sprightly kingbird glances and 
twitters above the glossy leaves of the swamp white oak. 
Perchance this tree, with its leaves glossy above and 
whitish beneath, best expresses the life of the kingbird 
and is its own tree. 


PHEBE; PEWEE 


April 2, 1852. What ails the pewee’s tail? It is 
loosely hung, pulsating with life. What mean these 
wag-tail birds? Cats and dogs, too, express some of 
their life through their tails. 


For a long distance, as we paddle up the river, we 
hear the two-stanza’d lay of the pewee on the shore, — 
pee-wet, pee-wee, etc. Those are the two obvious facts 
to eye and ear, the river and the pewee. 

April 11, 1852. As I go over the railroad bridge, I 
hear the pewee singing pewet pewee, pee-wet pee-wee. 
The last time rising on the last syllable, sometimes re- 
peating it thus many times, pe-wee. 


PHCEBE 219 


April 6, 1856. Just beyond Wood’s Bridge, I hear 
the pewee. With what confidence after the lapse of 
many months, I come out to this waterside, some warm 
and pleasant spring morning, and, listening, hear, from 
farther or nearer, through the still concave of the air, 
the note of the first pewee! If there is one within half 
a mile, it will be here, and I shall be sure to bear its 
simple notes from those trees, borne over the water. 
It is remarkable how large a mansion of the air you 
can explore with your ears in the still morning by the 
waterside. 

April 1, 1859. At the Pokelogan' up the Assabet, 
I see my first pheebe, the mild bird. It flirts its tail 
and sings pre vit, pre vit, pre vit, pre vit incessantly, 
as it sits over the water, and then at last, rising on the 
last syllable, says pre-VEE, as if insisting on that with 
peculiar emphasis. 

May 5, 1860. See at Lee’s a pewee (pheebe) build- 
ing. She has just woven in, or laid on the edge, a fresh 
sprig of saxifrage in flower. I notice that phebes will 
build in the same recess in a cliff year after year. It 
is a constant thing here, though they are often dis- 
turbed. Think how many pewees must have built 
under the eaves of this cliff since pewees were created 
and this cliff itself built! You can possibly find the 


1[A term evidently imported by Thoreau from Maine, where he 
learned it from the loggers and Indians. It is used to signify a little 
bay in the river-shore which leads nowhere and is perhaps derived 
from ‘‘ poke” (= pouch or pocket) and “ logan,” a bay-like inlet to the 
river. “Logan” is supposed to be a corruption of the word “lagoon.” 
Thoreau supposed “ pokelogan ” to be an Indian word, but his Indian 
guide told him there was “no Indian in ’em.”] 


220 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


crumbling relics of how many, if you should look care- 
fully enough! It takes us many years to find out that 
Nature repeats herself annually. But how perfectly 
regular and calculable all her phenomena must appear 
to a mind that has observed her for a thousand years! 


OLIVE-SIDED FLYCATCHER ; PE-PE 


June 6, 1857. As I sit on Lee’s Cliff, I see a pe-pe! 
on the topmost dead branch of a hickory eight or ten 
rods off. Regularly, at short intervals, it utters its 
monotonous note like ¢ill-till-till, or pe-pe-pe. Looking 
round for its prey and occasionally changing its perch, 
it every now and then darts off (phebe-like), even five 
or six rods, toward the earth to catch an insect, and 
then returns to its favorite perch. If I lose it fora 
moment, I soon see it settling on the dead twigs again 
and hear its ¢2/d, till, till. It appears through the glass 
mouse-colored above and head (which is perhaps 
darker), white throat, and narrow white beneath, with 
no white on tail. 


WOOD PEWEE 


May 22, 1854. I hear also pe-a-wee pe-a-wee, and 
then occasionally pee-yu, the first syllable in a differ- 
ent and higher key, emphasized, — all very sweet and 
naive and innocent. 

May 23, 1854. The wood pewee sings now in the 
woods behind the spring in the heat of the day (2 P. M.), 

1 [This is one of Nuttall’s names for the olive-sided flycatcher. He 


indicated the pronunciation thus: pé-pe. Thoreau had met with the 
bird in the spring migrations of the two preceding years. ] 


WOOD PEWEE 221 


sitting on a low limb near me, pe-a-wee, pe-a-wee, etc., 
five or six times at short and regular intervals, look- 
ing about all the while, and then, naively, pee-a-oo, 
emphasizing the first syllable, and begins again. The 
last is, in emphasis, like the scream of a hen-hawk. It 
flies off occasionally a few feet, and catches an insect 
and returns to its perch between the bars, not allow- 
ing this to interrupt their order. 

June 27, 1858. Find two wood pewees’ nests, made 
like the one I have. One on a dead horizontal limb of 
a small oak, fourteen feet from ground, just on a hori- 
zontal fork and looking as old as the limb, color of the 
branch, three eggs far advanced. The other, with two 
eggs, was in a similar position exactly over a fork, but 
on a living branch of a slender white oak, eighteen feet 
from ground; lichens without, then pine-needles, lined 
with usnea, willow down. Both nests three to five feet 
from main stem. 

Aug. 13, 1858. I come to get the now empty nests of 
the wood pewees found June 27th. In each case, on 
approaching the spot, I hear the sweet note of a pewee 
lingering about, and this alone would have guided me 
within four or five rods. I do not know why they 
should linger near the empty nest, but perhaps they 
have built again near there or intend to use the same 
nest again (?). Their full strain is pe-ah-ee’ (perhaps 
repeated), rising on the last syllable and emphasizing 
that, then pe’-ee, emphasizing the first and falling on 
the last, all very sweet and rather plaintive, suggesting 
innocence and confidence in you. In this case the bird 
uttered only its last strain, regularly at intervals. 


222 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


These two pewee nests are remarkably alike in their 
position and composition and form, though half a mile 
apart. They are both placed on a horizontal branch 
of a young oak (one about fourteen, the other about 
eighteen, feet from ground) and three to five feet from 
main trunk, in a young oak wood. Both rest directly 
on a horizontal fork, and such is their form and com- 
position that they have almost precisely the same color 
and aspect from below and from above. 

The first is on a dead limb, very much exposed, is 
three inches in diameter outside to outside, and two 
inches in diameter within, the rim being about a quarter 
of an inch thick, and it is now one inch deep within. 
Its framework is white pine needles, especially in the 
rim, and a very little fine grass stem, covered on the 
rim and all without closely with small bits of lichen 
(cetraria ?), slate-colored without and blackish beneath, 
and some brown caterpillar (?) or cocoon (?) silk with 
small seed-vessels in it. They are both now thin and 
partially open at the bottom, so that I am not sure they 
contain all the original lining. This one has no distinct 
lining, unless it is a very little green usnea amid the 
loose pine-needles. The lichens of the nest would readily 
be confounded with the lichens of the limb. Looking 
down on it, it is a remarkably round and neat nest. 

The second nest is rather more shallow now and 
half an inch wider without, is lined with much more 
usnea (the willow down which I saw in it June 27 is 
gone; perhaps they cast it out in warm weather!), and 
shows a little of some slender brown catkin (oak ?) be- 
neath, without. 


WOOD PEWEE 223 


These nests remind me of what I suppose to be the 
yellow-throat vireo’s and hummingbird’s. The lining of 
a nest is not in good condition — perhaps is partly gone 
—when the birds have done with it. 

Aug. 14, 1858. The more characteristic notes [of 
late] would appear to be the wood pewee’s and the 
goldfinch’s, with the squeal of young hawks. These 
might be called the pewee-days. 

Aug. 18, 1858. I sit under the oaks at the east end 
of Hubbard’s Grove, and hear two wood pewees sing- 
ing close by. They are perched on dead oak twigs four 
or five rods apart, and their notes are so exactly alike 
that at first I thought there was but one. One appeared 
to answer the other, and sometimes they both sung to- 
gether, — even as if the old were teaching her young. 
It was not the usual spring note of this bird, but a 
simple, clear pe-e-eet, rising steadily with one impulse 
to the end. They were undistinguishable in tone and 
rhythm, though one which I thought might be the 
young was feebler. In the meanwhile, as it was perched 
on the twig, it was incessantly turning its head about, 
looking for insects, and suddenly would dart aside or 
downward a rod or two, and I could hear its bill snap 
as it caught one. Then it returned to the same or an- 
other perch. 


XIII 
LARKS, CROWS, AND JAYS 


SHORE LARK 


March 24, 1858. Returning about 5 p. M. across the 
Depot Field, I scare up from the ground a flock of 
about twenty birds, which fly low, making a short cir- 
cuit to another part of the field. At first they remind me 
of bay-wings, except that they are in a flock, show no 
white in tail, are, I see, a little larger, and utter a faint 
sveet sveet merely,a sort of sibilant chip. Starting them 
again, I see that they have black tails, very conspicuous 
when they pass near. They fly in a flock somewhat like 
snow buntings, occasionally one surging upward a few 
feet in pursuit of another, and they alight about where 
they first were. It is almost impossible to discover them 
on the ground, they squat so flat and so much resemble 
it, running amid the stubble. But at length I stand 
within two rods of one and get a good view of its mark- 
ings with my glass. They are the Alauda alpestris,! 
or shore lark, quite a sizable and handsome bird. 

Oct. 4, 1859. Going over the large hillside stubble- 
field west of Holden Wood, I start up a large flock of 
shore larks; hear their sveet sveet and sveet sveet sveet, 
and see their tails dark beneath. They are very wary, 
and run in the stubble for the most part invisible, while 
one or two appear to act the sentinel on rock, peeping 


1 [Now called Otocoris alpestris.] 


BLUE JAY 225 


out behind it perhaps, and give their note of alarm, 
when away goes the whole flock. Such a flock circled 
back and forth several times over my head, just like 
ducks reconnoitring before they alight. If you look 
with a glass you are surprised to see how alert these 
spies are. When they alight in some stubbly hollow 
they set a watch or two on the rocks to look out for 
foes. They have dusky bills and legs. 


BLUE JAY 


1846-47.1 The blue jays suffered few chestnuts to 
reach the ground, resorting to your single tree in flocks 
in the early morning, and picking them out of the burs 
at a great advantage. 

Nov. 16, 1850. I hear deep amid the birches some 
row among the birds or the squirrels, where evidently 
some mystery is being developed to them. The jay is 
on the alert, mimicking every woodland note. What 
has happened? Who’s dead? The twitter retreats be- 
fore you, and you are never let into the secret. Some 
tragedy surely is being enacted, but murder will out. 
How many little dramas are enacted in the depth of 
the woods at which man is not present! 

Dec. 31, 1850. The blue jays evidently notify each 
other of the presence of an intruder, and will some- 
times make a great chattering about it, and so com- 
municate the alarm to other birds and to beasts. 

July 8, 1852. The jay’s note, resounding along a 
raw wood-side, suggests a singular wildness. 

Feb. 2,1854. The scream of the jay is a true winter 


1 [Undated entry in journal of this period.] 


226 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


sound. It is wholly without sentiment, and in harmony 
with winter. I stole up within five or six feet of a pitch 
pine behind which a downy woodpecker was pecking. 
From time to time he hopped round to the side and ob- 
served me without fear. They are very confident birds, 
not easily scared, but incline to keep the other side of 
the bough to you, perhaps. 

Feb. 12,1854. You hear the lisping tinkle of chick- 
adees from time to time and the unrelenting steel-cold 
scream of a jay, unmelted, that never flows into a song, 
a sort of wintry trumpet, screaming cold; hard, tense, 
frozen music, like the winter sky itself; in the blue livery 
of winter’s band. It is like a flourish of trumpets to the 
winter sky. There is no hint of incubation in the jay’s 
scream. Like the creak of a cart-wheel. 

March 12, 1854. I hear a jay loudly screaming phe- 
phay phe-phay, — a loud, shrill chickadee’s phebe. 

March 10, 1856. The pinched crows are feeding in 
the road to-day in front of the house and alighting on 
the elms, and blue jays also, as in the middle of the 
hardest winter, for such is this weather. The blue jays 
hop about in yards.' 

June 5, 1856. A blue jay’s nest on a white pine, 
eight feet from ground, next to the stem, of twigs lined 
with root-fibres; three fresh eggs, dark dull greenish, 
with dusky spots equally distributed all over, in Hos- 
mer (?) pines twenty-seven paces east of wall and 
fifty-seven from factory road by wall. Jay screams as 
usual. Sat till I got within ten feet at first. 


1 [The jay is not so terrestrial in its habits as the crow and therefore, 
unlike its relative, is a hopper, not a walker.] 


BLUE JAY 227 


Oct. 11, 1856. In the woods I hear the note of the 
jay, a metallic, clanging sound, sometimes a mew. Re- 
fer any strange note to him. 

Oct. 5, 1857. There is not that profusion and conse- 
quent confusion of events which belongs to a summer’s 
walk. There are few flowers, birds, insects, or fruits 
now, and hence what does occur affects us as more 
simple and significant. The cawing of a crow, the 
scream of a jay. The latter seems to scream more fitly 
and with more freedom now that some fallen maple 
leaves have made way for his voice. The jay’s voice 
resounds through the vacancies occasioned by fallen 
maple leaves. 

Nov. 8, 1858. The jay is the bird of October. I 
have seen it repeatedly flitting amid the bright leaves, 
of a different color from them all and equally bright, 
and taking its flight from grove to grove. It, too, with 
its bright color, stands for some ripeness in the bird 
harvest. And its scream! it is as if it blowed on the 
edge of an October leaf. It is never more in its element 
and at home than when flitting amid these brilliant 
colors. No doubt it delights in bright color, and so has 
begged for itself a brilliant coat. It is not gathering 
seeds from the sod, too busy to look around, while flee- 
ing the country. It is wide awake to what is going on, 
on the qui vive. It flies to some bright tree and bruits 
its splendors abroad. 

Nov. 10, 1858. Hearing in the oak and near by a 
sound as if some one had ‘broken a twig, I looked up 
and saw a jay pecking at an acorn. There were several 
jays busily gathering acorns on a scarlet oak. I could 


228 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


hear them break them off. They then flew to a suitable 
limb and, placing the acorn under one foot, hammered 
away at it busily, looking round from time to time to 
see if any foe was approaching, and soon reached the 
meat and nibbled at it, holding up their heads to swal- 
low, while they held it very firmly with their claws. 
(Their hammering made a sound like the woodpeck- 
er’s.) Nevertheless itsometimes dropped to the ground 
before they had done with it. 

Nov. 13, 1858. I see some feathers of a blue jay 
seattered along a wood-path, and at length come to the 
body of the bird. What a neat and delicately orna- 
mented creature, finer than any work of artin a lady’s 
boudoir, with its soft light purplish-blue crest and its 
dark-blue or purplish secondaries (the narrow half) 
finely barred with dusky. It is the more glorious to live 
in Concord because the jay is so splendidly painted. 

June 10, 1859. Surveying for D. B. Clark on “ Col- 
lege Road,” so called in Peter Temple’s deed in 1811, 
Clark thought from a house so called once standing on 
it. Cut a line, and after measured it, in a thick wood, 
which passed within two feet of a blue jay’s nest which 
was about four feet up a birch, beneath the leafy 
branches and quite exposed. The bird sat perfectly still 
with its head up and bill open upon its pretty large 
young, not moving in the least, while we drove a stake 
close by, within three feet, and cut and measured, being 
about there twenty minutes at least. 

Oct. 27, 1860. As I am coming out of this,' looking 
for seedling oaks, I see a jay, which was screaming at 

1 [A white pine wood.] 


AMERICAN CROW 229 


me, fly to a white oak eight or ten rods from the wood 
in the pasture and directly alight on the ground, pick 
up an acorn, and fly back into the woods with it. This 
was one, perhaps the most effectual, way in which this 
wood was stocked with the numerous little oaks which 
I saw under that dense white pine grove. Where will 
you look for a jay sooner than in a dense pine thicket ? 
It is there they commonly live, and build. 


What if the oaks are far off? Think how quickly a 
jay can come and go, and how many times in a day! 

Oct. 29,1860. Again, as day before yesterday, sitting 
on the edge of a pine wood, I see a jay fly toa white oak 
half a dozen rods off in the pasture, and, gathering an 
acorn from the ground, hammer away at it under its 
foot on a limb of the oak, with an awkward and rapid 
seesaw or teetering motion, it has to lift its head so high 
to acquire the requisite momentum. The jays scold 
about almost every white oak tree, since we hinder their 
coming to it. 

[See also under Hawks, p. 168; General and Mis- 
cellaneous, pp. 414, 416.] 


AMERICAN CROW 


Sept. 1T, 1852. The crows congregate and pursue me 
through the half-covered woodland path, cawing loud 
and angrily above me, and when they cease, I hear 
the winnowing sound of their wings. What ragged 
ones ! 

Nov. 1, 1853. As I return, I notice crows flying 
southwesterly in a very long straggling flock, of which 


230 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


I see probably neither end. A small flock of red-wings 
singing as in spring. 

Jan. 8, 1855. I hear a few chickadees near at hand, 
and hear and see jays further off, and, as yesterday, a 
crow sitting sentinel on an apple tree. Soon he gives 
the alarm, and several more take their places near him. 
Then off they flap with their caw of various hoarseness. 

Jan. 12, 1855. Perhaps what most moves us in win- 
ter is some reminiscence of far-off summer. How we 
leap by the side of the open brooks! What beauty in 
the running brooks! What life! What society! The 
cold is merely superficial ; itis summer still at the core, 
far, far within. It is in the cawing of the crow, the 
crowing of the cock, the warmth of the sun on our 
‘backs. I hear faintly the cawing of a crow far, far 
away, echoing from some unseen wood-side, as if dead- 
ened by the springlike vapor which the sun is drawing 
from the ground. It mingles with the slight murmur of 
the village, the sound of children at play, as one stream 
empties gently into another, and the wild and tame are 
one. What a delicious sound! It is not merely crow 
calling to crow, for it speaks to me too. I am part of 
one great creature with him; if he has voice, I have 
ears. I can hear when he calls, and have engaged not to 
shoot nor stone him if he will caw to me each spring. 
On the one hand, it may be,is the sound of children at 
school saying their a, b, ab’s, on the other, far in the 
weod-fringed horizon, the cawing of crows from their 
blessed eternal vacation, out at their long recess, chil- 
dren who have got dismissed! While the vaporous in- 
cense goes up from all the fields of the spring — if it 


AMERICAN CROW 231 


were spring. Ah, bless the Lord,O my soul! bless him 
for wildness, for crows that will not alight within gun- 
shot! and bless him for hens, too, that croak and cackle 
in the yard ! 

May 5, 1855. Looking over my book, I found I had 
done my errands, and said to myself I would find a 
crow’snest. (I had heard a crow scold at a passing hawk 
a quarter of an hour before.) I had hardly taken this 
resolution when, looking up, I saw a crow wending his 
way across an interval in the woods towards the highest 
pines in the swamp, on which he alighted. I directed my 
steps to them and was soon greeted with an angry caw, 
and, within five minutes from my resolve, I detected a 
new nest close to the top of the tallest white pine in the 
swamp. A crow circled cawing about it within gunshot, 
then over me surveying, and, perching on an oak directly 
over my head within thirty-five feet, cawed angrily. 
But suddenly, as if having taken a new resolution, it 
flitted away, and was joined by its mate and two more, 
and they went off silently a quarter of a mile or more 
and lit in a pasture, as if they had nothing to concern 
them in the wood. 

May 7,1855. Climbed to two crows’ nests, — or maybe 
one of them a squirrel’s, —in Hubbard’s Grove. Do 
they not sometimes use a squirrel’s nest for a founda- 
tion? A ruby-crested wren is apparently attracted and 
eyes me. It is wrenching and fatiguing, as well as dirty, 
work to climb a tall pine with nothing, or maybe only 
dead twigs and stubs, to hold by. You must proceed 
with great deliberation and see well where you put your 
hands and your feet. 


232 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


May 11, 1855. You can hardly walk in a thick pine 
wood now, especially a swamp, but presently you will 
have a crow or two over your head, either silently flit- 
ting over, to spy what you would be at and if its nest 
is in danger, or angrily cawing. It is most impressive 
when, looking for their nests, you first detect the pre- 
sence of the bird by its shadow. 

Dec. 15, 1855. How like a bird of ill omen the 
crow behaves! Still holding its ground in our midst 
like a powwow that is not to be exterminated! Some- 
times when I am going through the Deep Cut, I look up 
and see half a dozen black crows flitting silently across 
in front and ominously eying down; passing from one 
wood to another, yet as if their passage had reference 
to me. , 

Jan. 22, 1856. Somebody has been fishing in the 
pond this morning, and the water in the holes is be- 
ginning to freeze. I see the track of a crow, the toes 


2 ee 
as usual less spread and the middle one making a more 
curved furrow in the snow than the partridge, as if 
they moved more unstably, recovering their balance, 
—feeble on their feet. The inner toe a little the 
nearest to the middle one. This track goes to every 
hole but one or two out of a dozen,— directly from 
hole to hole, sometimes flying a little, — and also to an 
apple-core on the snow. I am pretty sure that this bird 
was after the bait which is usually dropped on the ice 
or in the hole. E. Garfield says they come regularly 
to his holes for bait as soon as he has left. So, if the 


AMERICAN CROW 233 


pickerel are not fed, it is. It had even visited, on the 
wing, a hole, now frozen and snowed up, which I made 
far from this in the middle of the pond several days 
since, as I discovered by its droppings, the same kind 
that it had left about the first holes. 


I brought home and examined some of the droppings! 
of the crow mentioned [above]. They were brown and 
dry, though partly frozen. After long study with a mi- 
croscope, I discovered that they consisted of the seeds 
and skins and other indigestible parts of red cedar 
berries and some barberries (I detected the imbricated 
scale-like leaves of a berry stem and then the seeds 
and the now black skins of the cedar berries, but easily 
the large seeds of the barberries) and perhaps some- 
thing more, and I knew whence it had probably come, 
i. e. from the cedar woods and barberry bushes by 
Flint’s Pond. These, then, make part of the food of 
crows in severe weather when the snow is deep, as at 
present. 

Jan. 24, 1856. I knew that a crow had that day 
plucked the cedar berries and barberries by Flint’s 
Pond and then flapped silently through the trackless 
air to Walden, where it dined on fisherman’s bait, 
though there was no living creature to tell me. 


Here are the tracks of a crow, like those of the 22d, 
with a long hind toe, nearly two inches. The two feet 


1 [Evidently the pellets of indigestible matter which the crow, in 
common with hawks, owls, gulls, and some other birds, disgorges from 
time to time.] 


234 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


are also nearly two inches apart. I see where the bird 
alighted, descending with an impetus and breaking 
through the slight crust, planting its feet side by 
side. 

How different this partridge-track, with its slight 
hind toe, open and wide-spread toes on each side, both 
feet forming one straight line, exactly thus: — 


+*¢ tC eH fF eC HE 


(Five inches from centre to centre.) The middle toe 
alternately curved to the right and to the left, and what 
is apparently the outer toe in each case shorter than 
the inner one. 

Jan. 31, 1856. But what track is this, just under 
the bank? 


% ly 


wot 


It must be a bird, which at last struck the snow with 
its wings and took to flight. There were but four hops 
in all, and then it ended as above, though there was 
nothing near enough for it to hop upon from the snow. 
The form of the foot was somewhat like that of a 
squirrel, though only the outline was distinguished. 
The foot was about two inches long, and it was about 

two inches from outside of one foot to outside of the 
" other. Sixteen inches from hop to hop, the rest in 

proportion. Looking narrowly, I saw where one wing 

struck the bank ten feet ahead, thus: === as it passed. 


= _ = 


AMERICAN CROW 235 


A quarter of a mile down-stream it occurred again, thus: 
and near by still less of a track, 


iy but marks as if it had pecked in 
— . tl the snow. Could it be the track 
‘ton s of a crow with its toes unusually 


close together? Or was it an owl?! 

Feb. 1, 1856. Nut Meadow Brook open for some 
distance in the meadow. . . . I see where a crow has 
walked along its side. In one place it hopped, and its 
feet were side by side, as in the track of yesterday, 
though a little more spread, the toes. I have but 
little doubt that yesterday’s track was a crow’s. 

The two inner toes are near together ; the mid- 
dle, more or less curved often. ; 

Feb. 6, 1856. Goodwin says that he has caught two 
crows this winter in his traps set in water for mink, 
and baited with fish. The crows, probably put to it for 
food and looking along the very few open brooks, at- 
tracted by this bait, got their feet into the traps. 

Feb. 27, 1857. I see many crows on the hillside, with 
their sentinel on a tree. They are picking the cow- 
dung scattered about, apparently for the worms, etc., 
it contains. They have done this in so many places that 
it looks as if the farmer had been at work with his 
maul. They must save him some trouble thus,” 

Sept. 30, 1857. I was telling him* how some crows 
two or three weeks ago came flying with a scolding caw 

1 Probably a crow. Vide Feb. 1st. Hardly a doubt of it. [The crow, 
though habitually a walker, sometimes hops when in a particular 


hurry. ] 
2 Notice the like extensively early in March, 1860. 
3 [George Minott. ] 


236 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


toward me as I stood on “Cornel Rock,” and alighted 
within fifty feet on a dead tree above my head, un- 
usually bold. Then away go all but one, perchance, to a 
tall pine in the swamp, twenty rods off; anon he fol- 
lows. Again they go quite out of sight amid the tree- 
tops, leaving one behind. This one, at last, quite at 
his leisure, flaps away cawing, knowing well where to 
find his mates, though you might think he must winter 
alone. 

Minott said that as he was going over to Lincoln one 
day thirty or forty years ago, taking his way through 
Ebby Hubbard’s woods, he heard a great flock of crows 
cawing over his head, and one alighted just within gun- 
shot. He raised his little gun marked London, which 
he knew would fetch down anything that was within 
gunshot, and down came the crow; but he was not 
killed, only so filled with shot that he could not fly. 
As he was going by John Wyman’s at the pond, with 
the live crow in his hand, Wyman asked him what he 
was going to do with that crow, to which he answered, 
“Nothing in particular,” — he happened to alight 
within gunshot, and so he shot him. Wyman said that 
he’d like to have him. “ What do you want to do with 
him?” asked M. “If you’ll give him to me, I’ll tell 
you,” said the other. To which Minott said, “ You may 
have him and welcome.” Wyman then proceeded to 
inform him that the crows had eaten a great space in 
Josh Jones the blacksmith’s corn-field, which Minott 
had ‘passed just below the almshouse, and that Jones 
had told him that if he could kill a crow in his corn- 
field he would give him half a bushel of rye. He could 


AMERICAN CROW 23T 


guess what he wanted the crow for. So Wyman took 
the crow and the next time he went into town he tossed 
him over the wall into the corn-field and then shot him, 
and, carrying the dead crow to Jones, he got his half- 
bushel of rye. 

Oct. 29,1857. A flock of about eighty crows flies 
ramblingly over toward the sowing, cawing and loiter- 
ing and making a great ado, apparently about nothing. 

Nov. 18, 1857. Crows will often come flying much 
out of their way to caw at me. 

Jan. 18, 1859. P. M. — Up Assabet to bridge. 

Two or more inches of snow fell last night. In the 
expanse this side Mantatuket Rock I see the tracks of 
a crow or crows in and about the button-bushes and 
willows. They have trampled and pecked much in some 
spots under the button-bushes where these seeds are still 
left and dibbled into the snow by them. It would seem, 
then, that they eat them. The only other seeds there 
can be there are those of the mikania, for I look for 
them. You will see a crow’s track beginning in the 
middle of the river, where one alighted. I notice such a 
track as this, where one alighted, and 
apparently struck its spread tail into id if 
the snow at the same time with its feet. %°: ; bese ~ 
I see afterward where a wing’s quills 
have marked the snow much like a partridge’s. The 
snow is very light, so that the tracks are rarely dis- 
tinct, and as they often advance by hops some might 
mistake it for a squirrel’s or mink’s track. I suspect 
that they came here yesterday after minnows when 
the fishermen were gone, and that has brought them 


238 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


here to-day in spite of the snow. They evidently look 
out sharp for a morsel of fish. I see where, by the 
red maple above Pinxter Swamp, they have picked 
over the fine dark-greenish moss from button-bush, and 
the leaves which had formed a squirrel’s nest, knock- 
ing it down on to the river and there treading about 
and pecking a small piece, apparently for some worms 
or insects that were in it, as if they were hard pushed. 

Jan. 19, 1859. By the swamp between the Hollow 
and Peter’s I see the tracks of a crow or crows, chiefly 
in the snow, two or more inches deep, on a broad frozen 
ditch where mud has been taken out. The perpendicu- 
lar sides of the ditch expose a foot or two of dark, 
sooty mud which had attracted the crows, and I see 
where they have walked along beneath it and pecked 
it. Even here also they have alighted on any bare spot 
where a foot of stubble was visible, or even a rock. 
Where one walked yesterday, I see, notwithstanding 
the effect of the sun on it, not only the foot-tracks, 
but the distinct impression of its tail where it alighted, 
counting distinctly eleven (of probably twelve) feath- 
ers, — about four inches of each, — the whole mark be- 
ing some ten inches wide and six deep, or more like a 
semicircle than that of yesterday. The same crow, or 
one of the same, has come again to-day, and, the snow 
being sticky this warm weather, has left a very dis- 
tinct track. The width of the whole track is about two 
and three quarters inches, length of pace about seven 
inches, length of true track some two inches (not includ- 
ing the nails), but the mark made in setting down the 
foot and withdrawing it is in each case some fifteen or 


AMERICAN CROW 239 


eighteen inches long, for its hind toe makes a sharp 
scratch four or five inches long before it settles, and 
when it lifts its foot again, it makes two other fine 
scratches with its middle and outer toe on each side, 
the first some nine inches long, the second six. The 
inner toe is commonly close to the middle one. It 
makes a peculiar curving track (or succession of curves), 
stepping round the planted foot each time with a 
sweep, thus :— 


—— SS oe ee 
ee Se | oe ee 


You would say that it toed in decidedly and walked 
feebly. It must be that they require but little and 
glean that very assiduously. 

March 4, 1859. What a perfectly New England 
sound is this voice of the crow! If you stand perfectly 
still anywhere in the outskirts of the town and listen, 
stilling the almost incessant hum of your own personal 
factory, this is perhaps the sound which you will be 
most sure to hear rising above all sounds of human 
industry and leading your thoughts to some far bay in 
the woods where the crow is venting his disgust. This 
bird sees the white man come and the Indian with- 
draw, but it withdraws not. Its untamed voice is still 
heard above the tinkling of the forge. It sees a race 
pass away, but it passes not away. It remains to re- 
mind us of aboriginal nature. 

March 5, 1859. I see crows walking about on the ice 
half covered with snow in the middle of the meadows, 
where there is no grass, apparently to pick up the worms 
and other insects left there since the midwinter freshet. 


240 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


Dec. 31, 1859. Crows yesterday flitted silently, if not 
ominously, over the street, just after the snow had fallen, 
as if men, being further within, were just as far off as 
usual. This is a phenomenon of both cold weather and 
snowy. You hear nothing; you merely see these black 
apparitions, though they come near enough to look down 
your chimney and scent the boiling pot, and pass be- 
tween the house and barn. 

Jan. 30, 1860. There are certain sounds invariably 
heard in warm and thawing days in winter, such as 
the crowing of cocks, the cawing of crows, and some- 
times the gobbling of turkeys. The crow, flying high, 
touches the tympanum of the sky for us, and reveals 
the tone of it. What does it avail to look at a ther- 
mometer or barometer compared with listening to his 
note? He informs me that Nature is in the tenderest 
mood possible, and I hear the very flutterings of her 
heart. 

Crows have singular wild and suspicious ways. You 
will see a couple flying high, as if about their business, 
but lo, they turn and circle and caw over your head again 
and again fora mile ; and this is their business, —as if a 
mile and an afternoon were nothing for them to throw 
away. This even in winter, when they have no nests to be 
anxious about. But it is affecting to hear them cawing 
about their ancient seat (as at F. Wheeler’s wood) which 
the choppers are laying low. 

March 2,1860. Seethirty or more crows come flying in 
the usual irregular zigzag manner in the strong wind, 
from over M. Miles’s, going northeast, — the first migra- 
tion of them, — without cawing. 


AMERICAN CROW 241 


May 13, 1860. See two crows pursuing and diving at 
a hen-hawk very high in the air over the river. He is 
steadily circling and rising. While they, getting above, 
dive down toward him, passing within a foot or two, mak- 
ing a feint, he merely winks, as it were, bends or jerks his 
wings slightly as if a little startled, but never ceases 
soaring, nor once turns to pursue or shake them off. It 
seemed as if he was getting uncomfortably high for them. 

Oct. 6, 1860. As I go over the hill, I see a large 
flock of crows on the dead white oak and on the ground 
under the living one. I find the ground strewn with white 
oak acorns, and many of these have just been broken in 
two, and their broken shells are strewn about, so that I 
suppose the crows have been eating them. Some are 
merely scratched, as if they had been pecked at without 
being pierced ; also there are two of the large swamp 
white oak acorn-cups joined together dropped under this 
oak, perhaps by a crow, maybe a quarter of a mile from 
its tree, and that probably across the river. Probably 
a crow had transported one or more swamp white oak 
acorns this distance. They must have been too heavy for 
a jay. 

The crow, methinks, is our only large bird that hovers 
and circles about in flocks in an irregular and straggling 
manner, filling the air over your head and sporting in 
it as if at home here. They often burst up above the 
woods where they were perching, like the black frag- 
ments of a powder-mill just exploded. 

One crow lingers on a limb of the dead oak till Iam 
within a dozen rods. There is strong and blustering 
northwest wind, and when it launches off to follow its 


242 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


comrades it is blown up and backward still nearer to me, 
and it is obliged to tack four or five times just like a 
vessel, a dozen rods or more each way, very deliberately, 
first to the right, then to the left, before it can get off ; 
for as often as it tries to fly directly forward against the 
wind, it is blown upward and backward within gunshot, 
and it only advances directly forward at last by stooping 
very low within a few feet of the ground where the trees 
keep off the wind. Yet the wind is not remarkably 
strong. 

Dec. 30, 1860. I saw the crows a week ago perched 
on the swamp white oaks over the road just beyond 
Wood's Bridge, and many acorns and bits of bark and 
moss, evidently dropped or knocked off by them, lay on 
the snow beneath. One sat within twenty feet over my 
head with what looked like a piece of acorn in his bill. 
To-day I see that they have carried these same white 
oak acorns, cups and all, to the ash tree by the riverside, 
some thirty rods southeast, and dropped them there. 
Perhaps they find some grubs in the acorns, when they 
do not find meat. The crows now and of late frequent 
thus the large trees by the river, especially swamp white 
oak, and the snow beneath is strewn with bits of bark 
and moss and with acorns (commonly worthless). They 
are foraging. Under the first swamp white oak in Hub- 
bard’s great meadow (Cyanean) I see a little snap-turtle 
(shell some one and a quarter inches in diameter — on his 
second year, then) on its back on the ice — shell, legs, 
and tail perfect, but head pulled off, and most of the 
inwards with it by the same hole (where the neck was). 
What is left smells quite fresh, and this head must have 


AMERICAN CROW 243 


been torn off to-day — or within a day or two. I see two 
crows on the next swamp white oak westward, and I can 
searcely doubt that they did it. Probably one found 
the young turtle at an open and springy place in the 
meadow, or by the river, where they are constantly prey- 
ing, and flew with it to this tree. Yet it is possible (?) 
that it was frozen to death when they found it. 

Jan. 11, 1861. Horace Mann brings me the contents 
of a crow’s stomach in alcohol. It was killed in the vil- 
lage within a day or two. It is quite a mass of frozen- 
thawed apple, — pulp and skin, — with a good many 
pieces of skunk-cabbage berries one fourth inch or less 
in diameter, and commonly showing the pale-brown 
or blackish outside, interspersed, looking like bits of 
acorns, — never a whole or even half a berry, — and two 
little bones as of frogs (?) or mice (?) or tadpoles ; also 
a street pebble a quarter of an inch in diameter, hard to 
be distinguished in appearance from the cabbage seeds. 

[See also under Herring Gull, pp. 14,17; Ruffed 
Grouse, p. 98; Hen-Hawks, p. 142; Fish Hawk, pp. 
156, 157; Blue Jay, p. 226; General and Miscellane- 
ous, pp. 416, 427, 431, 433.] 


XIV 
BLACKBIRDS, ORIOLES, ETC. 


BOBOLINK 


June 29, 1851. At a distance in the meadow I hear 
still, at long intervals, the hurried commencement of 
the bobolink’s strain, the bird just dashing into song, 
which is as suddenly checked, as it were, by the warder 
of the seasons, and the strain is left incomplete forever. 
Like human beings they are inspired to sing only for a 
short season.! 

May 16, 1852. The bobolink sits on a hardhack, 
swaying to and fro, uncertain whether to begin his 
strain, dropping a few bubbling notes by way of pre- 
lude, — with which he overflows. 

Aug. 15, 1852. Some birds fly in flocks. I see a 
dense, compact flock of bobolinks going off in the air 
over a field. They cover the rails and alders, and go 
rustling off with a brassy, tinkling note like a ripe crop 
as I approach, revealing their yellow breasts and bellies. 
This is an autumnal sight, that small flock of grown 
birds in the afternoon sky. 

May 10, 1853. When I heard the first’ bobolink 
strain this morning I could not at first collect myself 
enough to tell what it was I heard, —a reminiscence of 
last May in all its prime occurring in the midst of the ex- 
perience of this in its unripe state. Suddenly, the season 


1 T have since heard some complete strains. 


BOBOLINK 245 


being sufficiently advanced, the atmosphere in the right 
condition, these flashing, scintillating notes are struck 
out from it where that dark mote disappears through 
it, as sparks by a flint, with a tinkling sound. This 
flashing, tinkling meteor bursts through the expectant 
meadow air, leaving a train of tinkling notes behind. 
Successive regiments of birds arrive and are disbanded 
in our fields, like soldiers still wearing their regimen- 
tals. I doubted at first if it were not a strain brought 
on a few days in advance by an imitative catbird or 
thrush (?) from where he had been staying. 
May 12, 1853. This, too, is the era of the bobolink, 
now, when apple trees are ready to burst into bloom. 
May 17, 1853. The bobolink skims by before the 
wind how far without motion of his wings! sometimes 
borne sidewise as he turns his head — for thus he can 
fly —and tinkling, linking, incessantly all the way. 
May 25,1857. It is interesting to hear the bobolinks 
from the meadow sprinkle their lively strain along amid 
the tree-tops as they fly over the wood above our heads. 
It resounds in anovel manner through the aisles of the 
wood, and at the end that fine buzzing, wiry note. 
June 1, 1857. [hear the note of a bobolink concealed 
in the top of an apple tree behind me. Though this 
bird’s full strain is ordinarily somewhat trivial, this one 
appears to be meditating a strain as yet unheard in 
meadow or orchard. Paulo majora canamus. He is just 
touching the strings of his theorbo, his glassichord, his 
water organ, and one or two notes globe themselves and 
fall in liquid bubbles from his teeming throat. It is as 
if he touched his harp within a vase of liquid melody, 


246 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


and when he lifted it out, the notes fell like bubbles 
from the trembling strings. Methinks they are the most 
liquidly sweet and melodious sounds I ever heard. 
They are refreshing to my ear as the first distant tin- 
kling and gurgling of a rill to a thirsty man. Oh, never 
advance farther in your art, never let us hear your full 
strain, sir. But away he launches, and the meadow is 
all bespattered with melody. His notes fall with the 
apple blossoms, in the orchard. The very divinest part 
of his strain dropping from his overflowing breast sin- 
gultim, in globes of melody. It is the foretaste of such 
strains as never fell on mortal ears, to hear which we 
should rush to our doors and contribute all that we 
possess and are. Or it seemed as if in that vase full of 
melody some notes sphered themselves, and from time 
to time bubbled up to the surface and were with diff- 
culty repressed. 

June 2, 1857. That bobolink’s song affected me as if 
one were endeavoring to keep down globes:of melody 
within a vase full of liquid, but some bubbled up irre- 
pressible, — kept thrusting them down with a stick, but 
they slipped and came up one side. 

June 26, 1857. I must be near bobolinks’ nests many 
times these days,— in E. Hosmer’s meadow by. the 
garlic and here in Charles Hubbard’s, — but the birds 
are so overanxious, though you may be pretty far off, 
and so shy about visiting their nests while you are there, 
that you watch them in vain. The female flies close past 
and perches near you on a rock or stump and chirps 
whit tit, whit tit, whit it tit tit te incessantly. 

Aug. 18, 1858. Miss Caroline Pratt saw the white 


COWBIRD 247 


bobolink yesterday where Channing saw it the day be- 
fore, in the midst of a large flock. I go by the place 
this afternoon and see very large flocks of them, cer- 
tainly several hundreds in all, and one has a little white 
on his back, but I do not see the white one. Almost 
every bush along this brook is now alive with these 
birds. You wonder where they were all hatched, for 
you may have failed to find a single nest. I know eight 
or ten active boys who have been searching for these 
nests the past season quite busily, and they have found 
but two at most. Surely but a small fraction of these 
birds will ever return from the South. Have they so 
many foes there? Hawks must fare well at present. 
They go off in a straggling flock, and it is a long time 
before the last loiterer has left the bushes near you. 

July 15, 1860. I hear this forenoon the link link of 
the first bobolink going over our garden, —though I 
hear several full strains of bobolinks to-day, as in May, 
carrying me back to Apple Sunday, but they have been 
rare a long time. Now as it were the very cope of the 
dark-glazed heavens yields a slightly metallic sound 
when struck. 


COWBIRD ; COW BLACKBIRD; COW TROOPIAL 


July 16, 1851. The red-wings and crow blackbirds 
are heard chattering on the trees, and the cow troopials 
are accompanying the cows in the pastures for the sake 
of the insects they scare up. Oftentimes the thought- 
less sportsman has lodged his charge of shot in the cow’s 
legs or body in his eagerness to obtain the birds. 

Sept. 4, 1858. In Potter’s dry pasture I saw the 


248 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


ground black with blackbirds (troopials?). As I ap- 
proach, the front rank rises and flits a little further 
back into the midst of the flock,—it rolls up on the 
edges, — and, being thus alarmed, they soon take to 
flight, with a loud rippling rustle, but soon alight again, 
the rear wheeling swiftly into place like well-drilled 
soldiers. Instead of being an irregular and disorderly 
crowd, they appear to know and keep their places and 
wheel with the precision of drilled troops. 

June 11, 1854. Saw in and near some woods foug or 
five cow blackbirds, with their light-brown heads, — 
their strain an imperfect, milky, gurgling conqueree, an 
unsuccessful effort. It made me think, for some reason, 
of streams of milk bursting out a sort of music between 
the staves of a keg. 

July 18, 1856. In Hubbard’s euphorbia pasture, cow 
blackbirds about cows. At first the cows were resting 
and ruminating in the shade, and no birds were seen. 
Then one after another got up and went to feeding, 
straggling into the midst of the field. With a chatter- 
ing appeared a cowbird, and, with a long slanting flight, 
lit close to a cow’s nose, within the shadow of it, and 
watched for insects, the cow still eating along and al- 
most hitting it, taking no notice of it. Soon it is joined 
by two or three more birds. 

Sept. 6, 1858. Going over Clamshell Plain, I see a 
very large flock of a hundred or more cowbirds about 
some cows. They whirl away on some alarm and alight 
on a neighboring rail fence, close together on the rails, 
one above another. Then away they whirl and settle on 
a white oak top near me. Half of them are evidently 


RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD 249 


quite young birds, having glossy black breasts with a 
drab line down middle. The heads of all are light- 
colored, perhaps a slaty drab, and some apparently 
wholly of this color. 

[ See also under Domestic Fowl, p. 485. ] 


RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD 


Oct. 5, 1851. I hear the red-wing blackbirds by the 
riverside again, as if it were a new spring. They appear 
to have come to bid farewell. The birds appear to de- 
part with the coming of the frosts, which kill vegetation 
and, directly or indirectly, the insects on which they feed. 

April 22, 1852. The strain of the red-wing on the 
willow spray over the water to-night is liquid, bub- 
bling, watery, almost like a tinkling fountain, in perfect 
harmony with the meadow. It oozes, trickles, tinkles, 
bubbles from his throat, —bob-y-lee-e-e, and then its 
shrill, fine whistle. 

May 7, 1852. The red-wing’s shoulder, seen in a 
favorable light, throws all epaulets into the shade. It 
is General Abercrombie, methinks, when they wheel 
partly with the red to me. 

May 8, 1852. The blackbirds have a rich sprayey 
warble now, sitting on the top of a willow or an elm. 
They possess the river now, flying back and forth 
across it. 

March 19, 1853. This morning I hear the blackbird’s 
fine clear whistle and also his sprayey note, as he is 
swayed back and forth on the twigs of the elm or of 
the black willow over the river. His first note may be 
a chuck, but his second is a rich gurgle or warble. 


250 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


May 14, 1858. The still dead-looking willows and 
button-bushes are alive with red-wings, now perched 
on a yielding twig, now pursuing a female swiftly over 
the meadow, now darting across the stream. No two 
have epaulets equally brilliant. Some are smal] and 
almost white, and others a brilliant vermilion. They 
are handsomer than the golden robin, methinks. The 
yellowbird, kingbird, and pewee, beside many swal- 
lows, are also seen. But the rich colors and the rich 
and varied notes of the blackbirds surpass them 
all. 

June 24, 1853. Also got a blackbird’s nest whose 
inhabitants had flown, hung by a kind of small dried 
rush (?) between two button-bushes which crossed above 
it; of meadow-grass and sedge, dried Mikania scandens 
vine, horse-tail, fish-lines, and a strip apparently of a 
lady’s bathing-dress, lined with a somewhat finer grass; 
of a loose and ragged texture to look at. Green mikania 
running over it now. 

April 18, 1854. Heard a red-wing sing his bobylee 
in new wise, as if he tossed up a fourpence and it rat- 
tled on some counter in the air as it went up. 

May 16, 1854. Looked into several red-wing black- 
birds’ nests which are now being built, but no eggs yet. 
They are generally hung between two twigs, say of 
button-bush. I noticed at one nest what looked like a 
tow string securely tied about a twig at each end about 
six inches apart, left loose in the middle. It was not 
a string, but I think a strip of milkweed pod, ete.,— 
water asclepias probably, — maybe a foot long and very 
strong. How remarkable that this bird should have 


| 
| ¥ 
| ‘ 


RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD’S NEST AND EGGS 


RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD 251 


found out the strength of this, which I was so slow to 
find out! + 

May 13, 1855. I heard from a female red-wing that 
peculiar rich screwing warble — not 0 gurgle ee — made 
with 7, not with J. 

June 14, 1855. See young red-wings; like grizzly- 
black vultures, they are still so bald. 

June 1, 1857. A red-wing’s nest, four eggs, low in a 
tuft of sedge in an open meadow. What Champollion 
can translate the hieroglyphics on these eggs? It is 
always writing of the same character, though much 
diversified. While the bird picks up the material and 
lays the egg, who determines the style of the marking? 
When you approach, away dashes the dark mother, be- 
traying her nest, and then chatters her anxiety from a 
neighboring bush, where she is soon joined by the red- 
shouldered male, who comes scolding over your head, 
chattering and uttering a sharp phe phee-e. 

March 19, 1858. By the river, see distinctly red- 
wings and hear their conqueree. They are not associ- 
ated with grackles.? They are an age before their 
cousins, have attained to clearness and liquidity. They 
are officers, epauletted ; the others are rank and file. I 
distinguish one even by its flight, hovering slowly from 
tree-top to tree-top, as if ready to utter its liquid notes. 
Their whistle is very clear and sharp, while the grackle’s 
is ragged and split. 

It is a fine evening, as I stand on the bridge. The 
waters are quite smooth ; very little ice to be seen. The 


1 [See under Yellow Warbler, pp. 350-352.] 
2 [That is, rusty blackbirds. See note on p. 255.] 


252 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


red-wing and song sparrow are singing, and a flock of 
tree sparrows is pleasantly warbling. A new era has 
come. The red-wing’s gurgle-ee is heard when smooth 
waters begin ; they come together. 

March 11, 1859. I see and hear a red-wing. It sings 
almost steadily on its perch there, sitting all alone, as 
if to attract companions (and I see two more, also soli- 
tary, on different tree-tops within a quarter of a mile), 
calling the river to life and tempting ice to melt and 
trickle like its own sprayey notes. Another flies over 
on high, with a tchuck and at length a clear whistle. 
The birds anticipate the spring; they come to melt the 
ice with their songs. 

March 15, 1860. Here is a flock of red-wings. I 
heard one yesterday, and I see a female among these.' 
These are easily distinguished from grackles by the 
richness and clarity of their notes, as if they were a 
more developed bird. How handsome as they go by in 
a checker, each with a bright scarlet shoulder! They 
are not so very shy, but mute when we come near. I 
think here are four or five grackles with them, which 
remain when the rest fly. They cover the apple trees 
like a black fruit. 

March 17,1860. How handsome a flock of red-wings, 
ever changing its oval form as it advances, by the rear 
birds passing the others! 

April 29, 1860. I listen to a concert of red-wings, 
—their rich sprayey notes, amid which a few more 


1 [The date is, of course, a very early one for female red-winged 
blackbirds, which ordinarily do not arrive till some time after the 
males. ] 


MEADOWLARK; LARK 253 


liquid and deep in a lower tone or undertone, as if it 
bubbled up from the very water beneath the button- 
bushes ; as if those singers sat lower. Some old and 
skillful performer touches these deep and liquid notes, 
and the rest seem to get up a concert just to encourage 
him. Yet it is ever a prelude or essay with him, as 
are all good things, and the melody he is capable of 
and which we did not hear this time is what we remem- 
ber. The future will draw him out. The different in- 
dividuals sit singing and pluming themselves and not 
appearing to have any conversation with one another. 
They are only tuning all at once; they never seriously 
perform ; the hour has not arrived. Then all go off with 
a hurried and perhaps alarmed tchuck tchuck. 

[See also under Blackbirds, pp. 260, 261, 263; 
Robin, pp. 888, 390; Bluebird, p. 401; General and 
Miscellaneous, p. 426.] 


MEADOWLARK ; LARK 


July 16, 1851. The lark sings in the meadow; the 
very essence of the afternoon is in his strain. This is a 
New England sound, but the cricket is heard under all 
sounds. 

Oct. 6, 1851.1 (1 hear a lark singing this morn (Oc- 
tober 7th), and yesterday saw them in the meadows. 
Both larks and blackbirds are heard again now occa- 
sionally, seemingly after a short absence, as if come to 
bid farewell.) 

April 14, 1852. Going down the railroad at nine 
A.M., I hear the lark singing from over the snow. This 


1 [Entered under this date, though written the next day.] 


254 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


for steady singing comes next to the robin now. It will 
come up very sweet from the meadows ere long. 

May 3, 1852. Some of the notes, the trills, of the 
lark sitting amid the tussocks and stubble are like my 
seringo-bird.’ May these birds that live so low in the 
grass be called the cricket birds? and does their song 
resemble the cricket’s, an earth-song? 

April 6, 1858. I cannot describe the lark’s song. I 
used these syllables in the morning to remember it by, 
— heetar-su-e-oo. 

Nov. 1, 1853. Now that the sun is fairly risen, I see 
and hear a flock of larks in Wheeler’s meadow on left 
of the Corner road, singing exactly as in spring and 
twittering also, but rather faintly or suppressedly, as if 
their throats. had grown up or their courage were less. 

March 26,1855. The lark sings, perched on the top 
of an apple tree, seel-yah seel-yah, and then perhaps see/- 
yah-see-e, and several other strains, quite sweet and plain- 
tive, contrasting with the cheerless season and the bleak 
meadow. Further off I hear one like ah-tick-seel-yah. 

March 28, 1858. The first lark of the 23d sailed 
through the meadow with that peculiar prolonged chip- 
ping or twittering sound, perhaps sharp clucking. 

[See also under Slate-colored Junco, p. 302.] 


BALTIMORE ORIOLE; GOLDEN ROBIN; FIERY HANG- 
BIRD 


May 8, 1852. Two gold robins; they chatter like 
blackbirds; the fire bursts forth on their backs when 
they lift their wings. 

1 [See note to Savannah Sparrow, p. 290. ] 


BALTIMORE ORIOLE 255 
May 18, 1852. These days the golden robin is the 


important bird in the streets, on the elms. 

May 10, 1853. You hear the clear whistle and see 
the red or fiery orange of the oriole darting through. 
Hosmer’s orchard. But its note is not melodious and 
rich. It is at most a clear tone, the healthiest of your 
city beaux and belles. 

May 25, 1855. The golden robin keeps whistling 
something like Hat it, Potter, eat it! 

June 28,1857. I hear on all hands these days, from 
the elms and other trees, the twittering peep of young 
gold robins, which have recently left their nests, and 
apparently indicate their locality to their parents by 
thus incessantly peeping all day long. 

Dec. 22, 1859. As we passed under the elm beyond 
George Heywood’s, I looked up and saw a fiery hang- 
bird’s nest dangling over the road. What a reminis- 
cence of summer, a fiery hangbird’s nest dangling from 
an elm over the road when perhaps the thermometer 
is down to —20 (?), and the traveller goes beating his 
arms beneath it! It is hard to recall the strain of that 
bird then. 

[See also under General and Miscellaneous, pp. 426, 
430.] 


RUSTY BLACKBIRD; RUSTY GRACKLE; GRACKLE ! 


April 9,1855. Wilson says that the only note of the 
rusty grackle is a chuck, though he is told that at Hud- 
son’s Bay, at the breeding-time, they sing with a fine 


1 [So usually called by Thoreau, who used only the name crow black- 
bird for the bird now commonly called the bronzed grackle.] 


256 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


note.’ Here they utter not onlya chuck, but a fine shrill 
whistle. They cover the top of a tree now, and their 
concert is of this character: They all seem laboring to- 
gether to get out a clear strain, as it were wetting their 

‘whistles against their arrival at Hudson’s Bay. They 
begin as it were by disgorging or spitting it out, like so 
much tow, from a full throat, and conclude with a clear, 
fine, shrill, ear-piercing whistle. Then away they go, all 
chattering together. 

April 11, 1856. Going up the railroad, I see a male 
and female rusty gracklealight on an oak near me, the 
latter apparently a flaxen brown, with a black tail. She 
looks like a different species of bird. Wilson had heard 
only a tchuck from the grackle, but this male, who was 
courting his mate, broke into incipient warbles, like a 
bubble burst as soon as it came to the surface, it was so 
aerated. Its air would not be fixed long enough. 

Oct. 14, 1857. I see a large flock of grackles, prob- 
ably young birds, quite near me on William Wheeler’s 
apple trees, pruning themselves and trying to sing. 
They never succeed ; make a sort of musical splutter- 
ing. Most, I think, have browuish heads and necks, and 
some purple reflections from their black bodies. 

Oct. 16, 1857. I saw some blackbirds, apparently 
grackles, singing, after their fashion, on a tree by the 
river. Most had those grayish-brown heads and necks ; 
some, at least, much ferruginous or reddish brown 
reflected. They were pruning themselves and splitting 
their throats in vain, trying to sing as the other day. 


1 [The only song they are known to possess is the whistle that Thoreau 
here describes. ] 


RUSTY BLACKBIRD 257 


All the melody flew off in splinters. Also a robin sings 
once or twice, just as in spring ! 

March 18, 1858. The blackbird — probably grackle 
this time — wings his way direct above the swamp north- 
ward, with a regular ¢chuck, carrier haste, calling the 
summer months along, like a hen her chickens. 

Oct. 16, 1858. See a large flock of grackles steer- 
ing for a bare elm-top near the meadows. As they fy 
athwart my view, they appear successively rising half a 
foot or a foot above one another, though the flock is mov- 
ing straight forward. I have not seen red-wings for a 
long while, but these birds, which went so much further 
north to breed, are still arriving from those distant re- 
gions, fetching the year about. ; 

March 14, 1859. I see a large flock of grackles 
searching for food along the water’s edge, just below 
Dr. Bartlett’s. Some wade in the water. They are within 
a dozen rods of me and the road, It must be something 
just washed up that they are searching for, for the water 
has just risen and is still rising fast. Is it not insects 
and worms washed out of the grass? and perhaps the 
snails? When a grackle sings, it is as if his mouth 
were full of cotton, which he was trying to spit out. 

March 8, 1860. Seeasmall flock of grackles on the wil- 
low-row above railroad bridge. How they sit and makea 
business of chattering! for it cannot be called singing, and 
no improvement from ageto age perhaps. Yet, as nature 
is a becoming, their notes may become melodious at last. 
Atlength, on my very near approach, they flit suspiciously 
away, uttering a few subdued notes as they hurry off. 

[See also under Blackbirds, p. 260.] 


258 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


BRONZED GRACKLE 3; CROW BLACKBIRD 


May 11, 1854. Now at last I see crow blackbirds 
without doubt. . . . They fly as if carrying or drag- 
ging their precious long tails, broad at the end, through 
the air. Their note is like a great rusty spring, and also 
a hoarse chuck. 

June 6, 1854. A crow blackbird’s nest in a white 
maple this side the Leaning Hemlocks, in a crotch seven 
or eight feet from ground ; somewhat like a robin’s, 
but larger, made of coarse weed stems, mikania, 
and cranberry vines (without leaves), fish-lines, etc., 
without, and of mud lined with finer fibres or roots 
within; four large but blind young covered with dark 
down. 

April 14, 1855. I see half a dozen crow blackbirds 
uttering their coarse rasping char char, like great rusty 
springs, on the top of an elm by the riverside; and 
often at each char they open their great tails. They also 
attain to a clear whistle with some effort, but seem to 
have some difficulty in their throats yet. 

May 11, 1855. A crow blackbird’s nest, about eight 
feet up a white maple over water, —a large, loose nest 
without, some eight inches high, between a small twig 
and main trunk, composed of coarse bark shreds and 
dried last year’s grass, without mud; within deep and 
size of robin’s nest ; with four pale-green eggs, streaked 
and blotched with black and brown. Took one. Young 
bird not begun to form. 

Feb. 3, 1856. Analyzed the crow blackbird’s nest 
from which I took an egg last summer, eight or ten feet 


CROW BLACKBIRD 259 


up a white maple by river, opposite Island. Large, of 
an irregular form, appearing as if wedged in between a 
twig and two large contiguous trunks. From outside to 
outside it measures from six to eight inches ; inside, 
four; depth, two; height, six. The foundation is a loose 
mass of coarse strips of grape-vine bark chiefly, some 
eighteen inches long by five eighths of an inch wide ; also 
slender grass and weed stems, mikania stems, a few cellu- 
lar river weeds, as rushes, sparganium, pipe-grass, and 
some soft, coarse, fibrous roots. The same coarse grape- 
vine bark and grass and weed stems, together with some 
harder, wiry stems, form the sides and rim, the bark 
being passed around the twig. The nest is lined with 
the finer grass and weed stems, etc. The solid part of 
the nest is of half-decayed vegetable matter and mud, 
full of fine fibrous roots and wound internally with grass 
stems, etc., and some grape bark, being an inch and a 
half thick at bottom. Pulled apart and lying loose, it 
makes a great mass of material. This, like similar 
nests, is now a great haunt for spiders. 

April 15, 1856. Coming up from the riverside, I hear 
the harsh rasping char-r char-r of the crow blackbird, 
like a very coarsely vibrating metal, and, looking up, 
see three flying over. 


BLACKBIRDS (MISCELLANEOUS) 
May 8, 1852. The blackbirds fly in flocks and sing 


in concert on the willows, — what a lively, chattering 
concert! a great deal of chattering with many liquid 
and rich warbling notes and clear whistles, — till now 
a hawk sails low, beating the bush, and they are silent 


260 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


or off, but soon begin again. Do any other birds sing 
in such deafening concert ? 

March 18,1858. Several times I hear and see black- 
birds flying northsingly, high overhead, chucking as if to 
find their mates, migrating; or are they even now getting 
near their own breeding-place? Perchance these are 
blackbirds that were hatched here, — that know me! 

March 29, 1858. It would be worth the while to at- 
tend more to the different notes of the blackbirds. Me- 
thinks I may have seen the female red-wing within a 
day or two; or what are these purely black ones without 
the red shoulder?! It is pleasant to see them scattered 
about on the drying meadow. The red-wings will stand 
close to the water’s edge, looking larger than usual, 
with their red shoulders very distinct and handsome in 
that position, and sing okolee, or bob-y-lee, or what-not. 
Others, on the tops of trees over your head, out of a 
fuzzy beginning spit forth a clear, shrill whistle inces- 
santly, for what purpose I don’t know. Others, on the 
elms over the water, utter still another note, each time 
lifting their wings slightly. Others are flying across the 
stream with a loud char-r, char-r. 

April 4, 1858. After turning Lee’s Cliff I heard, 
methinks, more birds singing even than in fair weather, 
—tree sparrows, whose song has the character of the 
canary’s, ’. hyemalis’s chill-lill, the sweet strain of the 
fox-colored sparrow, song sparrows, a nuthatch, jays, 
crows, bluebirds, robins, and a large congregation of 
blackbirds. They suddenly alight with great din in a 
stubble-field just over the wall, not perceiving me and 

1 [This was before he had learned to distinguish the rusty blackbird.] 


BLACKBIRDS 261 


my umbrella behind the pitch pines, and there feed 
silently ; then, getting uneasy or anxious, they fly up on 
to an apple tree, where being reassured, commences a 
rich but deafening concert, o-gurgle-ce-e, o-gurgle-ee-e, 
some of the most liquid notes ever heard, as if pro- 
duced by some of the water of the Pierian spring, flow- 
ing through some kind of musical water-pipe and at the 
same time setting in motion a multitude of fine vibrat- 
ing metallic springs. Like a shepherd merely meditat- 
ing most enrapturing glees on such a water-pipe. A 
more liquid bagpipe or clarionet, immersed like bubbles 
in a thousand sprayey notes, the bubbles half lost in 
the spray. When I show myself, away they go with a 
loud harsh charr-r, charr-r. At first I had heard an in- 
undation of blackbirds approaching, some beating time 
with a loud chuck, chuck, while the rest played a hur- 
ried, gurgling fugue. 

June 11, 1853. Probably blackbirds were never less 
numerous along our river than in these years. They do 
not depend on the clearing of the woods and the culti- 
vation of orchards, etc. Streams and meadows, in which 
they delight, always existed. Most of the towns, soon 
after they were settled, were obliged to set a price upon 
their heads. In 1672, according to the town records of 
Concord, instruction was given to the selectmen, “ That 
incorigment be given for the destroying of blackbirds 
and jaies.” (Shattuck,' page 45.) 

April 3, 1856. Hear also squeaking notes of an ad- 
vancing flock of red-wings,? somewhere high in the sky. 


1 [Lemuel Shattuck’s History of Concord.] 
2 Or grackles ; am uncertain which makes that squeak. 


262 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


At length detect them high overhead, advancing north- 
east in loose array, with a broad extended front, com- 
peting with each other, winging their way to some 
northern meadow which they remember. The note of 
some is like the squeaking of many signs, while others 
accompany them with a steady dry tchuckh, tchuck. 

Aug. 18, 1858. I also see large flocks of blackbirds, 
blackish birds with chattering notes. It is a fine sight 
when you can look down on them just as they are set- 
tling on the ground with outspread wings, — a hovering 
flock. 

March 18, 1859. I see a small flock of blackbirds 
flying over, some rising, others falling, yet all advancing 
together, one flock but many birds, some silent, others 
tchucking, — incessant alternation. This harmonious 
movement as in a dance, this agreeing to differ, makes 
the charm of the spectacle to me. One bird looks frac- 
tional, naked, Ifke a single thread or ravelling from the 
web to which it belongs. Alternation! Alternation! 
Heaven and hell! Here again in the flight of a bird, its 
ricochet motion, is that undulation observed in so many 
materials, as in the mackerel sky. 

March 28,1859. As we were paddling over the Great 
Meadows, I saw at a distance, high in the air above the 
middle of the meadow, a very compact flock of black- 
birds advancing against the sun. Though there were 
more than a hundred, they did not appear to occupy 
more than six feet in breadth, but the whole flock was 
dashing first to the right and then to the left. When 
advancing straight toward me and the sun, they made 
but little impression on the eye,—so many fine dark 


BLACKBIRDS 263 


points merely, seen against the sky, —but as often as 
they wheeled to the right or left, displaying their wings 
flatwise and the whole length of their bodies, they were 
a very conspicuous black mass. This fluctuation in the 
amount of dark surface was a very pleasing phenome- 
non. It reminded me of those blinds whose sashes [sic] 
are made to move all together by a stick, now admitting 
nearly all the light and now entirely excluding it; so 
the flock of blackbirds opened and shut. But at length 
they suddenly spread out and dispersed, some flying 
off this way, and others that, as, when a wave strikes 
against a cliff, it is dashed upward and lost in fine 
spray. So they lost their compactness and impetus and 
broke up suddenly in mid-air. 

April 25, 1860. I hear the greatest concerts of black- 
birds —red-wings and crow blackbirds — nowadays, es- 
pecially of the former (also the 22d and 29th). The 
maples and willows along the river, and the button- 
bushes, are all alive with them. They look like a black 
fruit on the trees, distributed over the top at pretty 
equal distances. It is worth while to see how slyly they 
hide at the base of the thick and shaggy button-bushes 
at this stage of the water. They will suddenly cease 
their strains and flit away and secrete themselves low 
amid these bushes till you are past ; or youscare up an 
unexpectedly large flock from such a place, where you 
had seen none. 

I pass a large quire in full blast on the oaks, etc., on 
the island in the meadow northwest of Peter’s. Sud- 
denly they are hushed, and I hear the loud rippling 
rush made by their wings as they dash away, and, look- 


264 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


ing up, I see what I take to be a sharp-shinned hawk 
just alighting on the trees where they were, having 
failed to catch one. They retreat some forty rods off, 
to another tree, and renew their concert there. The 
hawk plumes himself, and then flies off, rising gradually 
and beginning to circle, and soon it joins its mate, and 
soars with it high in the sky and out of sight, as if the 
thought of so terrestrial a thing as a blackbird had 
never entered its head. It appeared to have a plain red- 
dish-fawn breast. The size more than anything made 
me think it a sharp-shin. 


[See also under General and Miscellaneous, pp. 
412, 418, 425.] 


XV 
FINCHES 


PINE GROSBEAK 


Dec. 24, 1851. Saw also some pine grosbeaks, mag- 
nificent winter birds, among the weeds and on the apple 
trees; like large catbirds at a distance, but, nearer at 
hand, some of them, when they flit by, are seen to have 
gorgeous heads, breasts, and rumps (?), with red or 
crimson reflections, more beautiful than a steady bright 
red would be. The note I heard, a rather faint and in- 
nocent whistle of two bars. 

July 15, 1858. When half-way down the mountain,! 
amid the spruce, we saw two pine grosbeaks, male and 
female, close by the path, and looked for a nest, but 
in vain. They were remarkably tame, and the male a 
brilliant red orange, — neck, head, breast beneath, and 
rump, — blackish wings and tail, with two white bars 
on wings. (Female, yellowish.) The male flew nearer 
inquisitively, uttering a low twitter, and perched fear- 
lessly within four feet of us, eying us and pluming 
himself and plucking and eating the leaves of the 
Amelanchier oligocarpa on which he sat, for several 
minutes. The female, meanwhile, was a rod off. They 
were evidently breeding there. Yet neither Wilson nor 
Nuttall speak of their breeding in the United States.” 

[ See also under General and Miscellaneous. ] 


1 (Mt. Lafayette.] 
2 [The pine grosbeak breeds very sparingly in the White Mountain 


266 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


PURPLE FINCH 


Oct. T, 1842. A little girl has just brought me a 
purple finch, or American linnet. These birds are now 
moving south. It reminds me of the pine and spruce, 
and the juniper and cedar on whose berries it feeds. It 
has the crimson hues of the October evenings, and its 
plumage still shines as if it had caught and preserved 
some of their tints (beams?). We know it chiefly as a 
traveller. It reminds me of many things I had forgot- 
ten. Many a serene evening lies snugly packed under 
its wing. 

April 15, 1854. The arrival of the purple finches 
appears to be coincident with the blossoming of the 
elm, on whose blossom it feeds. 

May 24, 1855. Heard a purple finch sing more than 
one minute without pause, loud and rich, on an elm 
over the street. Another singing very faintly on a 
neighboring elm. 

April 12, 1856. There suddenly flits before me and 
alights on a small apple tree in Mackay’s field, as I go 
to my boat, a splendid purple finch. Its glowing red- 
ness is revealed when it lifts its wings, as when the 
ashes is blown from a coal of fire. Just as the oriole 
displays its gold. 
region. Mr. J. E. Cabot’s statement in the Atlantic for December, 1857, 
that he had seen the bird “at the White Mountains in August” seems 
to have escaped Thoreau’s attention. Perhaps the descendants of these 
birds of Thoreau’s still haunt the mountain. Thirty years later at least, 
in June, 1888, the writer, in company with Mr. Bradford Torrey, found 


several pine grosbeaks high up on Lafayette and heard from two of 
them their beautiful song.] 


RED CROSSBILL 267 


April 3, 1858. Going down-town this morning, I am 
surprised by the rich strain of the purple finch from the 
elms. Three or four have arrived and lodged against 
the elms of our street, which runs east and west across 
their course, and they are now mingling their loud and 
rich strains with that of the tree sparrows, robins, 
bluebirds, etc. The hearing of this note implies some 
improvement in the acoustics of the air. It reminds 
me of that genial state of the air when the elms are in 
bloom. They sit still over the street and make a busi- 
ness of warbling. They advertise me surely of some 
additional warmth and serenity. How their note rings 
over the roofs of the village! You wonder that even 
the sleepers are not awakened by it to inquire who is 
there, and yet probably not another than myself in all 
the town observes their coming, and not half a dozen 
ever distinguished them in their lives. And yet the very 
mob of the town know the hard names of Germanians 
or Swiss families which once sang here or elsewhere. 


RED CROSSBILL 


April 13, 1860. At first I had felt disinclined to 
make this excursion up the Assabet, but it distinctly oc- 
curred to me that, perhaps, if I came against my will, 
as it were, to look at the sweet-gale as a matter of 
business, I might discover something else interesting, 
as when I discovered the sheldrake. As I was paddling 
past the uppermost hemlocks I saw two peculiar and 
plump birds near me on the bank there which reminded 
me of the cow blackbird and of the oriole at first. I 
saw at once that they were new to me, and guessed 


268 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


that they were crossbills, which was the case, — male 
and female. The former was dusky-greenish (through 
a glass), orange, and red, the orange, etc., on head, 
breast, and rump, the vent white; dark, large bill; the 
female more of a dusky slate-color, and yellow instead 
of orange and red. They were very busily eating the 
seeds of the hemlock, whose cones were strewn on the 
ground, and they were very fearless, allowing me to ap- 
proach quite near. 

When I returned this way I looked for them again, 
and at the larger hemlocks heard a peculiar note, cheep, 
cheep, cheep, cheep, in the rhythm of a fish hawk but 
faster and rather loud, and looking up saw them fly to 
the north side and alight on the top of a swamp white 
oak, while I sat in my boat close under the south bank. 
But immediately they recrossed and went to feeding on 
the bank within a rod of me. They were very parrot- 
like both in color (especially the male, greenish and 
orange, etc.) and in their manner of feeding, — holding 
the hemlock cones in one claw and rapidly extracting 
the seeds with their bills, thus trying one cone after 
another very fast. But they kept their bills a-going so 
that, near as they were, I did not distinguish the cross. 
I should have looked at them in profile. At last the two 
hopped within six feet of me, and one within four feet, 
and they were coming still nearer, as if partly from 
curiosity, though nibbling the cones all the while, when 
my chain fell down and rattled loudly, — for the wind 
shook the boat, — and they flew off arod. In Bechstein! 


1 [J. M. Bechstein, M. D., Cage and Chamber-Birds, translated from 
the German and edited by H. G. Adams, London, 1858, p. 174.] 


LESSER REDPOLL 269 


I read that “it frequents fir and pine woods, but only 
when there are abundance of the cones.” It may be 
that the abundance of white pine cones last fall had 
to do with their coming here. The hemlock cones were 
very abundant too, methinks. 


LESSER REDPOLL; LINARIA ® 


Nov. 12, 1852. Saw a flock of little passenger birds! 
by Walden, busily pecking at the white birch catkins ; 
about the size of a chickadee; distinct white bar on 
wings ; most with dark pencilled breast, some with whit- 
ish; forked tail; bright chestnut or crimson (?) front- 
let; yellowish shoulders or sack. When startled, they 
went off with a jingling sound somewhat like emptying 
a bag of coin. Is it the yellow redpoll? 

Dec. 9,1852. Those little ruby-crowned wrens (?) ? 
still about. They suddenly dash away from this side to 
that in flocks, with a tumultuous note, half jingle, half 
rattle, like nuts shaken in a bag, or a bushel of nut- 
shells, soon returning to the tree they had forsaken on 
some alarm. They are oftenest seen on the white birch, 
apparently feeding on its seeds, scattering the scales 
about. 

Jan. 3, 1853. The red-crowns here still. They ap- 
pear to frequent one clump of birches a long time, for 
here the snow beneath is covered with the seeds they 
have loosened, while elsewhere there are none. They 
hang by the twigs while they peck the catkins, and 
others are busy on the snow beneath, picking up what 


1 Fringilla linaria [now called Acanthis linaria, the redpoll]. 
2 Lesser redpolls. 


270 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


‘drops. They are continually in motion, with a jingling 
twitter and occasional mew, and suddenly, when dis- 
turbed, go off with a loud jingle like the motion of a 
whole bag of nuts. 

March.5, 1853. F. Brown! showed me to-day some 
lesser redpolls which he shot yesterday. They turn out 
to be my falsely-called chestnut-frontleted bird of the 
winter. “ Linaria minor, Ray. Lesser Redpoll Linnet. 
From Pennsylvania and New Jersey to Maine, in win- 
ter; inland to Kentucky. Breeds in Maine, Nova 
Scotia,? Newfoundland, Labrador, and the Fur Coun- 
tries.”” — Audubon’s Synopsis. They have a sharp bill, 
black legs and claws, and a bright-crimson crown or 
frontlet, in the male reaching to the base of the bill, 
with, in his case, a delicate rose or carmine on the 
breast and rump. Though this is described by Nuttall 
as an occasional visitor in the winter, it has been the 
prevailing bird here this winter. 

Dec. 19, 1854. Off Clamshell I heard and saw a large 
flock of Fringilia linaria over the meadow. . . . Sud- 
denly they turn aside in their flight and dash across 
the river to a large white birch fifteen rods off, which 
plainly they had distinguished so far. I afterward saw 
many more in the Potter swamp up the river. They 
were commonly brown or dusky above, streaked with 
yellowish white or ash, and more or less white or ash 
beneath. Most had a crimson crown or frontlet, and a 
few a crimson neck and breast, very handsome. Some 


1 [Frank Brown, of Concord, who made a collection of mounted birds.] 
? [There are no authentic records of the bird’s breeding in Maine or 
Nova Scotia. ] 


LESSER REDPOLL 271 


with a bright-crimson crown and clear-white breasts. I 
suspect that these were young males. They keep up an 
incessant twittering, varied from time to time with 
some mewing notes, and occasionally, for some unknown 
reason, they will all suddenly dash away with that uni- 
versal loud note (twitter) like a bag of nuts. They are 

busily clustered in the tops of the birches, picking the 
seeds out of the catkins, and sustain themselves in all 
kinds of attitudes, sometimes head downwards, while 
about this. Common as they are now, and were winter 
before last, I saw none last winter. 

Jan. 19, 1855. It may be that the linarias come into 
the gardens now not only because all nature is a wilder- 
ness to-day, but because the woods where the wind has 
not free play are so snowed up, the twigs are so deeply 
covered, that they cannot readily come at their food. 

Jan. 20, 1855. I see the tracks of countless little 
birds, probably redpolls, where these have run over 
broad pastures and visited every weed, —johnswort and 
coarse grasses, — whose oat-like seed-scales or hulls 
they have scattered about. It is surprising they did not 
sink deeper in the light snow. Often the impression is 
so faint that they seem to have been supported by their 
wings. 

Jan. 24, 1860. See a large flock of lesser redpolls, 
eating the seeds of the birch (and perhaps alder) in 
Dennis Swamp by railroad. They are distinct enough 
from the goldfinch, their note more shelly and gen- 
eral as they fly, and they are whiter, without the black 
wings, beside that some have the crimson head or head 
and breast. They alight on the birches, then swarm on 


272 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


the snow beneath, busily picking up the seed in the 
copse. 

Jan. 27, 1860. Half a dozen redpolls busily picking 
the seeds out of the larch cones behind Monroe’s. They 
are pretty tame, and I stand near. They perch on the 
slender twigs which are beaded with cones, and swing 
and teeter there while they perseveringly peck at them, 
trying now this one, now that, and sometimes appearing 
to pick out and swallow them quite fast. I notice no red- 
ness or carmine at first, but when the top of one’s head 
comes between me and the sun it unexpectedly glows. 

Jan. 29, 1860. To-day I see quite a flock of the les- 
ser redpolls eating the seeds of the alder, picking them 
out of the cones just as they do the larch, often head 
downward ; and I see, under the alders, where they 
have run and picked up the fallen seeds, making chain- 
like tracks, two parallel lines. 

[See also under General and Miscellaneous, pp. 
419-421.] 


AMERICAN GOLDFINCH 


July 24, 1852. I heard this afternoon the cool water 
twitter of the goldfinch, and saw the bird. They come 
with the springing aftermath. It is refreshing as a cup 
of cold water to a thirsty man to hear them, now only 
one at a time. 

Aug. 26,1856. As I stand there, a young male gold- 
finch darts away with a twitter from a spear thistle 
top close to my side, and, alighting near, makes frequent 
returns as near to me and the thistle as it dares pass, 
not yet knowing man well enough to fear him. 


AMERICAN GOLDFINCH 273 


Aug. 28, 1856. A goldfinch twitters away from every 
thistle now, and soon returns to it when I am past. I 
see the ground strewn with the thistle-down they have 
scattered on every side. 

April 19, 1858. I hear the pine warbler there, and 
also what I thought a variation of its note, quite differ- 
ent, yet I thought not unfamiliar to me. Afterwards, 
along the wall under the Middle Conantum Cliff, I saw 
mauy goldfinches, male and female, the males singing 
in a very sprightly and varied manner, sitting still on 
bare trees. Also uttered their watery twitter and their 
peculiar mewing. In the meanwhile I heard a faint 
thrasher’s note, as if faintly but perfectly imitated by 
some bird twenty or thirty rods off. This surprised me 
very much. It was equally rich and varied, and yet I 
did not believe it to be a thrasher. Determined to find 
out the singer, I sat still with my glass in hand, and at 
length detected the singer, a goldfinch sitting within 
gunshot all the while. This was the most varied and 
sprightly performer of any bird I have heard this year, 
and it is strange that I never heard the strain before. 
It may be this note which is taken for the thrasher’s 
before the latter comes. 

Aug. 9, 1858. Edward Bartlett shows me this morn- 
ing a nest which he found yesterday. It is saddled on 
the lowest horizontal branch of an apple tree in Abel 
Heywood’s orchard, against a small twig, and answers 
to Nuttall’s description of the goldfinch’s nest, which 
it probably is. The eggs were five, pure white or with 
a faint bluish green tinge, just begun to be developed. 
I did not see the bird. 


274 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


It is but little you learn of a bird in this irregular 
way,—having its nest and eggs shown you. How 
much more suggestive the sight of the goldfinch going 
off on a jaunt over the hills, twittering to its plainer 
consort by its side! 


The goldfinch nest of this forenoon is saddled on a 
horizontal twig of an apple, some seven feet from ground 
and one third of an inch in diameter, supported on one 
side by a yet smaller branch, also slightly attached to 
another small branch. It measures three and one half 
inches from outside to outside, one and three quarters 
inside, two and one-half from top to bottom, or to a 
little below the twig, and one and one half inside. It is 
a very compact, thick, and warmly lined nest, slightly 
incurving on the edge within. It is composed of fine 
shreds of bark — grape-vine and other — and one piece 
of twine, with, more externally, an abundance of pale- 
brown slender catkins of oak (?) or hickory (?), mixed 
with effete apple blossoms and their peduncles, show- 
ing little apples, and the petioles of apple leaves, some- 
times with half-decayed leaves of this year attached, 
last year’s heads of lespedeza, and some other heads 
of weeds, with a little grass stem or weed stem, all 
more or less disguised by a web of white spider or cater- 
pillar silk, spread over the outside. It is thickly and 
very warmly lined with (apparently) short thistle-down, 
mixed with which you see some grape-vine bark, and 
the rim is composed of the same shreds of bark, catkins, 
and some fine fibrous stems, and two or three hairs (of 
horse) mixed with wool (?) ; for only the hollow is lined 


AMERICAN GOLDFINCH 275 


with the looser or less tenacious thistle-down. This nest 
shows a good deal of art. 

Aug. 11, 1858. Heard a fine, sprightly, richly war- 
bled strain from a bird perched on the top of a bean- 
pole. It was at the same time novel yet familiar to me. 
I soon recognized it for the strain of the purple finch, 
which I have not heard lately. But though it appeared 
as large, it seemed a different-colored bird. With my 
glass, four rods off, I saw it to be a goldfinch. It kept 
repeating this warble of the purple finch for several 
minutes. A very surprising note to be heard now, when 
birds generally are so silent. Have not heard the purple 
finch of late. I conclude that the goldfinch is a very 
fine and powerful singer, and the most successful and 
remarkable mocking-bird that we have. In the spring I 
heard it imitate the thrasher exactly, before that bird had 
arrived, and now it imitates the purple finchas perfectly, 
after the latter bird has ceased to sing! It is a surprising 
vocalist. It did not cease singing till I disturbed it by 
my nearer approach, and then it went off with its usual 
mew, succeeded by its watery twitter in its ricochet flight. 

Aug. 14, 1858. The Canada thistle down is now 
begun to fly, and I see the goldfinch upon it. Cardu- 
elis.' Often when I watch one go off, he flies at first one 
way, rising and falling, as if skimming close over un- 
seen billows, but directly makes a great circuit as if he 
had changed his mind, and disappears in the opposite 
direction, or is seen to be joined there by his mate. 


Dec. 22,1858. P. M.—To Walden. 


1 [Nuttall placed the American goldfinch with the European bird in 
the subgenus Carduelis, from carduus, thistle. ] 


276 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


I see in the cut near the shanty-site quite a flock of 
F. hyemalis* and goldfinches together, on the snow 
and weeds and ground. Hear the well-known mew and 
watery twitter of the last and the drier chilé chilt of the 
former. These burning yellow birds with a little black 
and white on their coat-flaps look warm above the snow. 
There may be thirty goldfinches, very brisk and pretty 
tame. They hang head downwards on the weeds. I 
hear of their coming to pick sunflower seeds in Melvin’s 
garden these days. 

March 24, 1859. Returning, above the railroad cause- 
way, I see a flock of goldfinches, first of spring, flitting 
along the causeway-bank. They have not yet the bright 
plumage they will have, but in some lights might be 
mistaken for sparrows. There is considerable difference 
in color between one and another, but the flaps of their 
coats are black, and their heads and shoulders more or 
less yellow. They are eating the seeds of the mullein 
and the large primrose, clinging to the plants sidewise 
in various positions and pecking at the seed-vessels. 

Nov. 15, 1859. About the 23d of October I saw a 
large flock of goldfinches (judging from their motions 
and notes) on the tops of the hemlocks up the Assabet, 
apparently feeding on their seeds, then falling. They 
were collected in great numbers on the very tops of these 
trees and flitting from one to another. Rice has since 
described to me the same phenomenon as observed by 
him there since (says he saw the birds picking out the 
seeds), though he did not know what birds they were. 
William Rice says that these birds get so much of the 

1 [Now called Junco hyemalis, the slate-colored snowbird.] 


SNOW BUNTING 27T 


lettuce seed that you can hardly save any. They get 
sunflower seeds also. Are called “lettuce-birds” in 
the books. 


SNOW BUNTING; ARCTIC SNOWBIRD 


Dec. 29, 1853. The driving snow blinds you, and 
where you are protected, you can see but little way, 
it is so thick. Yet in spite, or on account, of all, I see 
the first flock of arctic snowbirds (EZimberiza nivalis)! 
near the depot, white and black, with a sharp, whistle- 
like note. . . . These are the true winter birds for you, 
these winged snowballs. I could hardly see them, the 
air was so full of driving snow. What hardy creatures! 
Where do they spend the night? 

Jan. 2, 1854. A flock of snow buntings flew over the 
fields with a rippling whistle, accompanied sometimes 
by a tender peep and a ricochet motion. 

Jan. 2, 1856. Crossing the railroad at the Heywood 
meadow, I saw some snow buntings rise from the side 
of the embankment, and with surging, rolling flight 
wing their way up through the cut. 

Returning, I saw, near the back road and railroad, 
a small flock of eight snow buntings feeding on the 
seeds of the pigweed, picking them from the snow, — 
apparently flat on the snow, their legs so short, — and, 
when I approached, alighting on the rail fence. They 
were pretty black, with white wings and a brown cres- 
cent on their breasts. They have come with this deeper 
snow and colder weather. 

1 [Now called Plectrophenaz nivalis.] 


278 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


Jan. 6, 1856. While I am making a path to the 
pump, I hear hurried rippling notes of birds, look up, 
and see quite a flock of snow buntings coming to alight 
amid the currant-tops in the yard. It is a sound almost 
as if made with their wings. What a pity our yard was 
made so tidy in the fall with rake and fire, and we have 
now no tall crop of weeds rising above this snow to 
invite these birds! 

Jan. 21, 1857. As I flounder along the Corner road 
against the root fence, a very large flock of snow bunt- 
ings alight with a wheeling flight amid the weeds rising 
above the snow in Potter’s heater piece,!— a hundred 
or two of them. They run restlessly amid the weeds, so 
that I can hardly get sight of them through my glass ; 
then suddenly all arise and fly only two or three rods, 
alighting within three rods of me. (They keep up a 
constant twittering.) It was as if they were any instant 
ready for a longer flight, but their leader had not so 
ordered it. Suddenly away they sweep again, and I see 
them alight in a distant field where the weeds rise above 
the snow, but in a few minutes they have left that also and 
gone further north. Beside their rippling note, they have 
a vibratory twitter, and from the loiterers you hear quite 
a tender peep, as they fly after the vanishing flock. 

What independent creatures! They go seeking their 
food from north to south. If New Hampshire and 
Maine are covered deeply with snow, they scale down 


1 [A “heater piece,’’ in the parlance of old New England, is a tri- 
angular plot of ground, so called from its resemblance in shape to a 
flat-iron heater, a triangular piece of cast iron which was heated and 
put into the old-fashioned flat-iron.] 


SNOW BUNTING 279 


to Massachusetts for their breakfasts. Not liking the 
grain in this field, away they dash to another distant 
one, attracted by the weeds rising above the snow. Who 
can guess in: what field, by what river or mountain 
they breakfasted this morning. They did not seem to 
regard me so near, but as they went off, their wave 
actually broke over me as a rock. They have the plea- 
sure of society at their feasts, a hundred dining at once, 
busily talking while eating, remembering what occurred 
at Grinnell Land. As they flew past me they presented 
a pretty appearance, somewhat like broad bars of white 
alternating with bars of black. 

March 2, 1858. See a large flock of snow buntings, 
the white birds of the winter, rejoicing in the snow. I 
stand near a flock in an open field. They are trotting 
about briskly over the snow amid the weeds, — appar- 
ently pigweed and Roman wormwood, —as it were to 
keep their toes warm, hopping up to the weeds. Then 
they restlessly take to wing again, and as they wheel 
about one, it is a very rich sight to see them dressed in 
black and white uniforms, alternate black and white, 
very distinct and regular. Perhaps no colors would be 
more effective above the snow, black tips (considerably 
more) to wings, then clear white between this and the 
back, which is black or very dark again. One wonders 
if they are aware what a pleasing uniform appearance 
they make when they show their backs thus. They 
alight again equally near. Their track is much like a 
small crow’s track, showing a long heel and furrowing 
the snow between with their toes. 

Nov. 7, 1858. Going up the lane beyond Farmer’s, 


280 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


I was surprised to see fly up from the white, stony 
road, two snow buntings, which alighted again close 
by, one on a large rock, the other on the stony ground. 
They had pale-brown or tawny touches. on the white 
breast, on each side of the head, and on the top of the 
head, in the last place with some darker color. Had 
light-yellowish bills. They sat quite motionless within 
two rods, and allowed me to approach within a rod, as 
if conscious that the white rocks, etc., concealed them. 
It seemed as if they were attracted to surfaces of the 
same color with themselves, — white and black (or quite 
dark) and tawny. One squatted flat, if not both. ‘Their 
soft rippling notes as they went off reminded me of the 
northeast snow-storms to which ere long they are to be 
an accompaniment. 

Dec. 12, 1858. P. M.— Up river on ice to Fair Haven 
Hill. 

Crossing the fields west of our Texas ' house, I see an 
immense flock of snow buntings, I think the largest that 
I ever saw. There must be a thousand or two at least. 
There is but three inches, at most, of crusted and dry 
frozen snow, and they are running amid the weeds which 
rise above it. The weeds are chiefly Juncus tenuis (?), 
but its seeds are apparently gone. I find, however, the 
glumes of the piper grass? scattered about where they 
have been. The flock is at first about equally divided 
into two parts about twenty rods apart, but birds are 


1 [“ Texas” was a part of Concord where the Thoreau family lived 
from 1844 to 1850.] 

2 [A local name for the couch, quitch, or witch grass (Agropyron 
repens). See Walden, Riverside Literature Series, Notes, p. 391.] 


SNOW BUNTING 281 


incessantly flitting across the interval to join the pio- 
neer flock, until all are united. They are very restless, 
running amid the weeds and continually changing their 
ground. They will suddenly rise again a few seconds 
after they have alighted, as if alarmed, but after a short 
wheel settle close by. Flying from you, in some posi- 
tions, you see only or chiefly the black part of their 
bodies, and then, as they wheel, the white comes into 
view, contrasted prettily with the former, and in all 
together at the same time. Seen flying higher against a 
cloudy sky, they look like large snowflakes. When they 
rise all together their note is like the rattling of nuts in 
a bag, as if a whole binful were rolled from side to side. 
They also utter from time to time —i. e., individuals 
do—a clear rippling note, perhaps of alarm, or a call. 
It is remarkable that their notes above described should 
resemble the lesser redpoll’s! Away goes this great 
wheeling, rambling flock, rolling through the air, and 
you cannot easily tell where they will settle. Suddenly 
the pioneers (or a part not foremost) will change their 
course when in full career, and when at length they 
know it, the rushing flock on the other side will be 
fetched about as it were with an undulating jerk, as in 
the boys’ game of snap-the-whip, and those that occupy 
the place of the snapper are gradually off after their 
leaders on the new tack. As far as I observe, they con- 
fine themselves to upland, not alighting in the meadows. 
Like a snow-storm they come rushing down from the 
north. The extremities of the wings are black, while the 
parts next their bodies are black [sic]. They are unusu- 
ally abundant now. 


282 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


Jan. 6,1859. Near Nut Meadow Brook, on the Jimmy 
Miles road, I see a flock of snow buntings. They are 
feeding exclusively on . . . Roman wormwood. Their 
tracks where they sink in the snow are very long, i. e., 
have a very long heel, thus: 


< —/_ —e. 
—> ss ——=e. 


or sometimes almost in a single straight line. They made 
notes when they went, — sharp, rippling, like a vibrat- 
ingspring. They had run about to every such such [sic], 
leaving distinct tracks raying from and to them, while 
the snow immediately about the weed was so tracked and 
pecked where the seeds fell that no track was distinct. 
J? 


And much more tracked up 


March 3, 1859. Going by the solidago oak ! at Clam- 
shell Hill bank, I heard a faint rippling note and, look- 
ing up, saw about fifteen snow buntings sitting in the 
top of the oak, all with their breasts toward me, — 
sitting so still and quite white, seen against the white 
cloudy sky, they did not look like birds but the ghosts 
of birds, and their boldness, allowing me to come quite 


1 [A particular tree so named by Thoreau. ] 


SNOW BUNTING 283 


near, enhanced this impression. These were almost as 
white as snowballs, and from time to time I heard a 
low, soft rippling note from them. I could see no fea- 
tures, but only the general outline of plump birds in 
white. It was a very spectral sight, and after I had 
watched them for several minutes, I can hardly say that 
I was prepared to see them fly away like ordinary bunt- 
ings when I advanced further. At first they were al- 
most concealed by being almost the same color with 
the cloudy sky. 

Dec. 23, 1859. In this slight snow I am surprised to 
see countless tracks of small birds, which have run over 
it in every direction from one end to the other of this 
great meadow since morning. By the length of the hind 
toe I know them to be snow buntings. Indeed, soon after 
I see them running still on one side of the meadow. I 
was puzzled to tell what they got by running there. Yet 
I [saw them] stopping repeatedly and picking up some- 
thing. Of course I thought of those caterpillars which 
are washed out by a rain and freshet at this season, but 
I could not find one of them. It rained on the 18th and 
again the 20th, and over a good part of the meadow 
the top of the stubble left by the scythe rises a little 
above the ice, i. e.an inch or two, not enough to disturb 
a skater. The birds have.run here chiefly, visiting each 
little collection or tuft of stubble, and found their food 
chiefly in and about this thin stubble. I examined such 
places a long time and very carefully, but I could not 
find there the seed of any plant whatever. It was merely 
the stubble of sedge, with never any head left, and a 
few cranberry leaves projecting. All that I could find 


284 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


was pretty often (in some places very often) a little 
black, or else a brown, spider (sometimes quite a large 
one) motionless on the snow or ice; and therefore I am 
constrained to think that they eat them, for I saw them 
running and picking in exactly such places a little way 
from me, and here were their tracks all around. Yet 
they are called graminivorous [sic]. Wilson says that 
he has seen them feeding on the seeds of aquatic plants 
on the Seneca River, clinging to their heads. I think he 
means wool-grass. Yet its seeds are too minute and in- 
volved in the wool. Though there was wool-grass here- 
abouts, the birds did not go near it. To be sure, it has 
but little seed now. If they are so common at the ex- 
treme north, where there is so little vegetation but per- 
haps a great many spiders, is it not likely that they feed 
on these insects ? 

It is interesting to see how busy this flock is, explor- 
ing this great meadow to-day. If it were not for this 
slight snow, revealing their tracks but hardly at all con- 
cealing the stubble, I should not suspect it, though I 
might see them at their work. Now I see them running 
briskly over the ice, most commonly near the shore, 
where there is most stubble (though very little) ; and 
they explore the ground so fast that they are continu- 
ally changing their ground, and if I do not keep my 
eye on them I lose the direction. Then here they come, 
with a stiff rip of their wings as they suddenly wheel, 
and those peculiar rippling notes, flying low quite across 
the meadow, half a mile even, to explore the other side, 
though that too is already tracked by them. Not the 
fisher nor skater range the meadow a thousandth part 


VESPER SPARROW; BAY-WING. 285 


so much in a week as these birds in aday. They hardly 
notice me as they come on. Indeed, the flock, flying 
about as high as my head, divides, and half passes 
on each side of me. Thus they sport over these broad 
meadows of ice this pleasant winter day. Thespiders lie 
torpid and plain to see on the snow, and if it is they 
that they are after they never know what kills them. 

Jan. 3, 1860. Saw four snow buntings by the railroad 
causeway, just this side the cut, quite tame. They arose 
and alighted on the rail fence as we went by. Very 
stout for their length. Look very pretty when they fly 
and reveal the clear white space on their wings next the 
body, — white between the blacks. They were busily 
eating the seed of the piper grass on the embankment 
there, and it was strewn over the snow by them like oats 
in a stable. Melvin speaks of seeing flocks of them on 
the river meadows in the fall, when they are of a differ- 
ent color. 

[See also under Vesper Sparrow, below; General 
and Miscellaneous, p. 431.] 


VESPER SPARROW; GRASS FINCH; BAY-WING 


Jan. 1, 1854. The white-in-tails, or grass finches, 
linger pretty late, flitting in flocks before, but they come 
so near winter only as the white in their tail indicates. 
They let it come near enough to whiten their tails, per- 
chance, and they are off. The snow buntings and the 
tree sparrows are the true spirits of the snow-storm ; 
they are the animated beings that ride upon it and have 
their life in it. 

July 15, 1854. I hear a bay-wing on the wall near 


286 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


by, sounding far away, —a fainter song sparrow strain, 
somewhat. I see its open mouth and quivering throat, 
yet can hardly believe the seemingly distant strain pro- 
ceeds from it, yaw yaw, twee twee, twitter twitter, te twee 
twe tw tw tw, and so ends with a short and rapid trill. 

April 29, 1855. This morning it snows, but the 
ground is not yet whitened. This will probably take 
the cold out of the air. Many chip-birds are feeding 
in the yard, and one bay-wing. The latter incessantly 
scratches like a hen, all the while looking about for 
foes. The bay on its wings is not obvious except when 
it opens them. The white circle about the eye is visible 
afar. Now itmakes a business of pluming itself, doubling 
prettily upon itself, now touching the root of its tail, 
now thrusting its head under its wing, now between its 
wing and back above, and now between its legs and its 
belly ; and now it drops flat on its breast and belly 
and spreads and shakes its wings, now stands up and 
repeatedly shakes its wings. It is either cleaning itself 
of dirt acquired in scratching and feeding, — for its feet 
are black with mud, —or it is oiling its feathers thus. It 
is rather better concealed by its color than the chip- 
bird with its chestnut crown and light breast. The 
chip-bird scratches but slightly and rarely; it finds 
what it wants on the surface, keeps its head down more 
steadily, not looking about. I see the bay-wing eat 
some worms. 

April 18, 1856. 1 hear a bay-wing on the railroad 
fence sing — the rhythm — somewhat like, char char 
(or here here), che che, chip chip chip (fast), chitter 
chitter chitter chit (very fast and jingling), tchea tchea 


VESPER SPARROW ; BAY-WING 287 


Ginglingly). It has another strain, considerably differ- 
ent, but a second also sings the above. Two on different 
posts are steadily singing the same, as if contending 
with each other, notwithstanding the cold wind. 

June 23, 1856. Bay-wings sang morning and even- 
ing about R.’s house,’ often sitting on a bean-pole and 
dropping down and running and singing on the bare 
ground amid the potatoes. Its note somewhat like 
Come, here here, there there, — quick quick quick (fast), 
—or I’m gone. 

May 12, 1857. While dropping beans in the garden 
at Texas? just after sundown (May 138th), I hear from 
across the fields the note of the bay-wing, Come here 
here there there quick quick quick or I’m gone, (which 
I have no doubt sits on some fence-post or rail there), 
and it instantly translates me from the sphere of my 
work and repairs all the world that we jointly inhabit. 
It reminds me of so many country afternoons and even- 
ings when this bird’s strain was heard far over the 
fields, as I pursued it from field to field. The spirit of 
its earth-song, of its serene and true philosophy, was 
breathed into me, and I saw the world as through a 
glass, as it lies eternally. Some of its aboriginal con- 
tentment, even of its domestic felicity, possessed me. 
What he suggests is permanently true. As the bay-wing 
sang many a thousand years ago, so sang he to-night. In 
the beginning God heard his song and pronounced it 
good, and hence it has endured. It reminded me of 


1 [Mr. Daniel Ricketson’s house in New Bedford, where Thoreau was 
2 [See note on p. 280.] 


288 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


many a summer sunset, of many miles of gray rails, of 
many a rambling pasture, of the farmhouse far in the . 
fields, its milk-pans and well-sweep, and the cows com- 
ing home from pasture. 

I would thus from time to time take advice of the 
birds, correct my human views by listening to their 
volucral (?). He is a brother poet, this small gray bird 
(or bard), whose muse inspires mine. His lay is an idyl 
or pastoral, older and sweeter than any that is classic. 
He sits on some gray perch like himself, on a stake, per- 
chance, in the midst of the field, and you can hardly 
see him against the ploughed ground. You advance step 
by step as the twilight deepens, and lo! he is gone, and 
in vain you strain your eyes to see whither, but anon 
his tinkling strain is heard from some other quarter. 
One with the rocks and with us. 

Methinks I hear these sounds, have these reminis- 
cences, only when well employed, at any rate only when 
I have no reason to be ashamed of my employment. 
Iam often aware of acertain compensation of this kind 
for doing something from a sense of duty, even uncon- 
sciously. Our past experience is a never-failing capital 
which can never be alienated, of which each kindred 
future event reminds us. If you would have the song 
of the sparrow inspire you a thousand years hence, let 
your life be in harmony with its strain to-day. 

I ordinarily plod along a sort of whitewashed prison 
entry, subject to some indifferent or even grovelling 
mood. I do not distinctly realize my destiny. I have 
turned down my light to the merest glimmer and am 
doing some task which I have set myself. I take in- 


VESPER SPARROW; BAY-WING 289 


credibly narrow views, live on the limits, and have no 
recollection of absolute truth. Mushroom institutions 
hedge me in. But suddenly, in some fortunate moment, 
the voice of eternal wisdom reaches me, even in the 
strain of the sparrow, and liberates me, whets and clar- 
ifies my senses, makes me a competent witness. 

April 2, 1858. On the side of Fair Haven Hill I go 
looking for bay-wings, turning my glass to each spar- 
row on a rock or tree. At last I see one, which flies 
right up straight from a rock eighty or one hundred 
feet and warbles a peculiar long and pleasant strain, 
after the manner of the skylark, methinks, and close by 
I see another, apparently a bay-wing, though I do not 
see its white in tail, and it utters while sitting the same 
subdued, rather peculiar strain. 

April 15, 1859. The bay-wing now sings — the first 
I have been able to hear —both about the Texas house 
and the fields this side of Hayden’s, both of them sim- 
ilar dry and open pastures. I heard it just before noon, 
when the sun began to come out, and at 3 P. M., sing- 
ing loud and clear and incessantly. It sings with a pleas- 
ing deliberation, contrasting with the spring vivacity 
of the song sparrow, whose song many would confound 
it with. It comes to revive with its song the dry uplands 
and pastures and grass-fields about the skirts of vil- 
lages. Only think how finely our life is furnished in all 
its details, — sweet wild birds provided to fill its in- 
terstices with song! It is provided that while we are 
employed in our corporeal, or intellectual, or other, ex- 
ercises we shall be lulled and amused or cheered by 
-the singing of birds. When the laborer rests on his 


290 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


spade to-day, the sun having just come out, he is not 
left wholly to the mercy of his thoughts, nature is not 
a mere void to him, but he can hardly fail to hear the 
pleasing and encouraging notes of some newly arrived 
bird. The strain of the grass finch is very likely to fall 
on his ear and convince him, whether he is conscious 
of it or not, that the world is beautiful and life a fair 
enterprise to engage in. It will make him calm and 
contented. If you yield for a moment to the impres- 
sions of sense, you hear some bird giving expression 
to its happiness in a pleasant strain. We are provided’ 
with singing birds and with ears to hear them. What 
an institution that! Nor are we obliged to catch and 
cage them, nor to be bird-fanciers in the common sense. 
Whether a man’s work be hard or easy, whether he be 
happy or unhappy, a bird is appointed to sing to a man 
while he is at his work. 


SAVANNAH SPARROW ; SERINGO-BIRD 


May 1, 1852. I hear the note of the shy Savannah 
sparrow (Ff. Savanna),' that plump bird with a dark- 


1 Probably have seen it before, — seringo. [Though here, where the 
“ geringo-bird ” makes its first appearance in the Journal, its identity 
with the Savannah sparrow seems to have been unquestioned by Tho- 
reau, it proved afterwards to be almost as puzzling to him as the ever 
elusive “ night-warbler.” The probability is that the “seringo” in 
this and most other cases was the Savannah sparrow, but it may some- 
times have been the yellow-winged, or grasshopper, sparrow, or even, 
as Thoreau once suspected, the grass finch, or vesper sparrow. It is 
quite likely that at times the bird he saw was not the bird he heard. 
Passerculus dwichensis is the scientific name now in use. 
Only a few of the many references to the bird in the Journal are here 
given.] 


VESPER SPARROW ON NEST 


SAVANNAH SPARROW 291 
Streaked breast that runs and hides in the grass, whose 
note sounds so like a cricket’s in the grass. (I used to 
hear it when I walked by moonlight last summer.) I 
hear it now from deep in the sod, — for there is hardly 
grass yet. The bird keeps so low you donot seeit. You 
do not suspect how many there are till at length their 
heads appear. The word seringo reminds me of its note, 
—as if it were produced by some kind of fine metallic 
spring. It is an earth-sound. 

March 18, 1853. With regard to my seringo-bird 
(and others), I think that my good genius withheld his 
name that I might learn his character. 

April 22, 1856. The seringo also sits on a post, with 
a very distinct yellow line over the eye, and the rhythm 
of its strain is ker chick | ker che | ker-char-r+-r-r | 
chick, the last two bars being the part chiefly heard. 


TREE SPARROW 


April 2, 1853. The tree sparrows and a few blue 
snowbirds in company sing (the former) very sweetly 
in the garden this morning. I now see a faint spot on 
the breast. It says something like a twee twee, chit chit, 
chit chit chee var-r. 

Jan. 1,1854. The snow is the great betrayer. It not 
only shows the tracks of mice, otters, etc., etc., which 
else we should rarely if ever see, but the tree sparrows 
are more plainly seen against its white ground, and they 
in turn are attracted by the dark weeds which it reveals. 
It also drives the crows and other birds out of the woods 
to the villages for food. 

March 30, 1854. Great flocks of tree sparrows and 


292 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


some £’. hyemalis on the ground and trees on the Island 
Neck, making the air and bushes ring with their jin- 
gling. The former — some of them — say somewhat like 
this: a che che, ter twee twee, tweer tweer twa. It 
sounded like a new bird. 

April 19, 1854. Hear the tree sparrows at willow 
hedgerow this morning, — ah ha ha yip yip yip yip, 
or twitter twitter twe twe twe, or ah ha ha twitter twit- 
ter twe,— very canary-like, yet clear, as if aspirated 
vowels alone, —no ¢ or r. 

Dec. 4, 1856. Saw and heard cheep faintly one little 
tree sparrow, the neat chestnut crowned and winged and 
white-barred bird, perched on a large and solitary white 
birch. So clean and tough, made to withstand the win- 
ter. This color reminds me of the upper side of the 
shrub oak leaf. I love the few homely colors of Nature 
at this season,—her strong wholesome browns, her 
sober and primeval grays, her celestial blue, her viva- 
cious green, her pure, cold, snowy white. 

Dec. 17, 1856. A flock of a dozen or more tree spar- 
rows flitting through the edge of the birches, etc., by 
the meadow front of Puffer’s. They make excursions 
into the open meadow and, as I approach, take refuge 
in the brush. I hear their faint cheep, a very feeble evi- 
dence of their existence, and also a pretty little sup- 
pressed warbling from them. 


That feeble cheep of the tree sparrow, like the tin- 
kling of an icicle, or the chafing of two hard shrub oak 
twigs, is probably a call to their mates, by which they 
keep together. These birds, when perched, look larger 


TREE SPARROW ‘293 


than usual this cold and windy day: they are puffed up 
for warmth, have added a porch to their doors. 

Jan. 6, 1857. Though there is an extremely cold, 
cutting northwest wind, against which I see many trav- 
ellers turning their backs, and so advancing, I hear and 
see an unusual numberof merry little tree sparrows about 
the few weeds that are to be seen. They look very chip- 
per, flitting restlessly about and jerking their long tails. 

Oct. 18, 1857. See a pretty large flock of tree spar- 
rows, very lively and tame, drifting along and pursuing 
each other along a bushy fence and ditch like driving 
snow. Two pursuing each other would curve upward 
like a breaker in the air and drop into the hedge again. 

Nov. 20, 1857. The hardy tree sparrow has taken 
the place of the chipping and song sparrow, so much 
like the former that most do not know it is another. 
His faint lisping chip will keep our spirits up till an- 
other spring. 

Jan. 6, 1858. The North River! is not frozen over. 
I see tree sparrows twittering and moving with a low 
creeping and jerking motion amid the chenopodium in 
a field, upon the snow, so chubby or puffed out on ac- 
count of the cold that at first I took them for the arctic 
birds, but soon I see their bright-chestnut crowns and 
clear white bars; as the poet says, “a thousand feeding 
like one,” ?—though there are not more than a dozen 
here. 

Jan. T, 1858. P. M. —I see some tree sparrows feed- 
ing on the fine grass seed above the snow, near the road 


1 [The Assabet, or North Branch of the Concord River.] 
2 [Wordsworth said, “‘ There are forty feeding like one.”’] 


294 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


on the hillside below the Dutch house. They are flit- 
ting along one at a time, their feet commonly sunk in 
the snow, uttering occasionally a low sweet warble and 
seemingly as happy there, and with this wintry prospect 
before them for the night and several months to come, 
as any man by his fireside. One occasionally hops or 
flies toward another, and the latter suddenly jerks away 
from him. They are reaching or hopping up to the fine 
grass, or oftener picking the seeds from the snow. At 
length the whole ten have collected within a space a 
dozen feet square, but soon after, being alarmed, they 
utter a different and less musical chirp and flit away 
into an apple tree. 

March 20, 1858. A. M.— By river. 

The tree sparrow is perhaps the sweetest and most 
melodious warbler at present and for some days. It is 
peculiar, too, for singing in concert along the hedge- 
rows, much like a canary, especially in the mornings. 
Very clear, sweet, melodious notes, between a twitter 
and a warble, of which it is hard to catch the strain, 
for you commonly hear many at once. 

Dec. 17, 1859. I see on the pure white snow what 

_looks like dust for half a dozen inches under a twig. 
Looking closely, I find that the twig is hardhack and 
the dust its slender, light-brown, chaffy-looking seed, 
which falls still in copious showers, dusting the snow, 
when I jar it; and here are the tracks of a sparrow? 
which has jarred the twig and picked the minute seeds 
a long time, making quite a hole in the snow. The seeds 
are so fine that it must have got more snow than seed at 


1 [Very likely the tree sparrow, which feeds largely on weed seeds.] 


TREE SPARROW 295 


each peck. But they probably look large to its micro- 
scopic eyes. I see, when I jar it, that a meadow-sweet 
close by has quite similar, but larger, seeds. This the 
reason, then, that these plants rise so high above the 
snow and retain their seed, dispersing it on the least jar 
over each successive layer of snow beneath them ; or it 
is carried to a distance by the wind. What abundance 
and what variety in the diet of these small granivorous 
birds, while I find only a few nuts still! These stiff weeds 
which no snow can break down hold their provender. 
What the cereals are to men, these are to the sparrows. 
The only threshing they require is that the birds fly 
against their spikes or stalks. A little further I see the 
seed-box (?) (Ludwigia) full of still smaller, yellowish 
seeds. And on the ridge north is the track of a partridge 
amid the shrubs. It has hopped up to the low clusters of 
smooth sumach berries, sprinkled the snow with them, 
and eaten all but afew. Also, here only, or where it has 
evidently jarred them down — whether intentionally or 
not, I am not sure — are the large oval seeds of the stiff- 
stalked lespedeza, which I suspect it ate, with the sumach 
berries. There is much solid food in them. When the 
snow is deep the birds could easily pick the latter out 
of the heads as they stand on the snow. 

Dec. 31, 1859. There is a great deal of hemlock scales 
scattered over the recent snow (at the Hemlocks), evi- 
dently by birds on the trees, and the wind has blown 
them southeast, — scales, seeds, and cones, — and I see 
the tracks of small birds that have apparently picked 
the seeds from the snow also. It may have been done by 
goldfinches. I see a tree sparrow hopping close by, and 


296 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


perhaps they eat them on the snow. Some of the seeds 
have blown at least fifteen rods southeast. So the hem- 
lock seed is important to some birds in the winter. 

Jan. 16, 1860. I see a flock of tree sparrows busily 
picking something from the surface of the snow amid 
some bushes. I watch one attentively, and find that it is 
feeding on the very fine brown chaffy-looking seed of 
the panicled andromeda. It understands how to get its 
dinner, to make the plant give down, perfectly. It flies 
up and alights on one of the dense brown panicles of the 
hard berries, and gives it a vigorous shaking and beat- 
ing with its claws and bill, sending down a shower of 
the fine chaffy-looking seed on to the snow beneath. It 
lies very distinct, though fine almost as dust, on the 
spotless snow. It then hops down and briskly picks up 
from thesnow what it wants. How very clean and agree- 
able to the imagination, and withal abundant, is this 
kind of food! How delicately they fare! These dry 
persistent seed-vessels hold their crusts of bread until 
shaken. The snow is the white table-cloth on which they 
fall. No anchorite with his water and his crust fares 
more simply. It shakes down a hundred times as much 
as it wants at each shrub, and shakes the same or an- 
other cluster after each successive snow. How bounti- 
fully Nature feeds them! No wonder they come to spend 
the winter with us, and are at ease with regard to their 
food. These shrubs ripen an abundant crop of seeds to 
supply the wants of these immigrants from the far north 
which annually come to spend the winter with us. How 
neatly and simply it feeds! 

This shrub grows unobserved by most, only known 


TREE SPARROW 297 


to botanists, and at length matures its hard, dry seed- 
vessels, which, if noticed, are hardly supposed to contain 
seed. But there is no shrub nor weed which is not known 
to some bird. Though you may have never noticed it, the 
tree sparrow comes from the north in the winter straight 
to this shrub, and confidently shakes its panicle, and then 
feasts on the fine shower of seeds that falls from it. 

Jan. 24, 1860. As I stand at the south end of J. P. 
B.’s moraine, I watch six tree sparrows, which come from 
the wood and alight and feed on the ground, which is 
there bare. They are only two or three rods from me, 
and are incessantly picking and eating an abundance 
of the fine grass (short-cropped pasture grass) on that 
knoll, as a hen or goose does. I see the stubble an inch 
or two long in their bills, and how they stuff it down. 
Perhaps they select chiefly the green parts. So they 
vary their fare and there is no danger of their starving. 
These six hopped round for five minutes over a space 
a rod square before I put them to flight, and then I 
noticed, in a space only some four feet square in that 
rod, at least eighteen droppings (white at one end, the 
rest more slate-colored). So wonderfully active are they 
in their movements, both external and internal. They 
do not suffer for want of a good digestion, surely. No 
doubt they eat some earth or gravel too. So do par- 
tridges eat a great deal. These birds, though they have 
bright brown and buff backs, hop about amid the little 
inequalities of the pasture almost unnoticed, such is 
their color and so humble are they. 

[See also under Vesper Sparrow, p. 285; Song 
Sparrow, pp. 309, 310; Sparrows, pp. 323, 324. ] 


298 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


CHIPPING SPARROW ; CHIP-BIRD 


May 1, 1852. 5 A.M. — A smart frost in the night, 
the ploughed ground and platforms white with it. [hear 
the little forked-tail chipping sparrow (P'ringilla soci- 
alis)! shaking out his rapid tchi-tchi-tchi-tchi-tchi-tchi, 
a little jingle, from the oak behind the Depot. 

July 21,1852. 4 A. M. — Robins sing as loud as in 
spring, and the chip-bird breathes in the dawn. 

July 25, 1852. 4 A. M.— This early twitter or breath- 
ing of chip-birds in the dawn sounds like something or- 
ganic in the earth. This isa morning celebrated by birds. 
Our bluebird sits on the peak of the house, and warbles 
as in the spring, but as he does not now by day. 

March 22, 1853. As soon as those spring mornings 
arrive in which the birds sing, I am sure to be an early 
riser. I am waked by my genius. I wake to inaudible 
melodies and am surprised to find myself expecting the 
dawn in so serene and joyful and expectant a mood. I 
have an appointment with spring. She comes to the 
window to wake me, and I go forth an hour or two 
earlier than usual. It is by especial favor that I am 
waked, — not rudely but gently, as infants should be 
waked. Though as yet the trill of the chip-bird is not 
heard, — added, —like the sparkling bead which bursts 
on bottled cider or ale. 

April 9, 1858. The chipping sparrow, with its ashy- 
white breast and white streak over eye and undivided 
chestnut crown, holds up its head and pours forth its 
che che che che che che. 


1 [Now known as Spizella passerina.] 


CHIPPING SPARROW 299 


June 2,1853. 3.30 A.M.— When I awakeI hear the 
low universal chirping or twittering of the chip-birds, 
like the bursting bead on the surface of the uncorked 
day. First come, first served! You must taste the first 
glass of the day’s nectar, if you would get all the spirit 
of it. Its fixed air begins to stir and escape. Also the 
robin’s morning song is heard as in the spring, earlier 
than the notes of most other birds, thus bringing back 
the spring; now rarely heard or noticed in the course 
of the day. 

April 17,1860. I hear this forenoon the soothing and 
simple, though monotonous, notes of the chip-bird, tell- 
ing us better than our thermometers what degree of 
summer warmth is reached; adds its humble but very 
pleasant contribution to the steadily increasing quire 
of the spring. It perches on a cherry tree, perchance, 
near the house, and unseen, by its steady che-che-che- 
che-che-che, affecting us often without our distinctly 
hearing it, it blends all the other and previous sounds 
of the season together. It invites us to walk in the yard 
and inspect the springing plants. 

[See also under Vesper Sparrow, p. 286 ; Sparrows, 
p- 318 ; Yellow Warbler, p. 349.] 


FIELD SPARROW; RUSH SPARROW; HUCKLEBERRY-BIRD 


July 16, 1851. The rush sparrow jingles her small 
change, pure silver, on the counter of the pasture. 

April 27, 1852. Heard the field or rush sparrow 
this morning (Fringilla juncorum),! George Minott’s 


1 [Rush sparrow and Fringilla juncorum are Nuttall's names, which 
he got from earlier authors. They seem singularly inappropriate for a 


300 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


“huckleberry-bird.” It sits on a birch and sings at short 
intervals, apparently answered from a distance. It is 
clear and sonorous heard afar; but I found it quite im- 
possible to tell from which side it came; sounding like 
phe, phe, phe, pher-pher-tw-tw-tw-t-t-t-t, — the first three 
slow and loud, the next two syllables quicker, and the 
last part quicker and quicker, becoming a clear, sono- 
rous trill or rattle, like a spoon in a saucer. 

April 30, 1852. Half an hour before sunset. The 
robins sing powerfully on the elms ; the little frogs peep ; 
the woodpecker’s harsh and long-continued cry is heard 
from the woods; the huckleberry-bird’s simple, sono- 
rous trill. 

May 1, 1852. The tinkle of the huckleberry-bird 
comes up from the shrub oak plain. He commonly lives 
away from the habitations of men, in retired bushy fields 
and sprout-lands. 

April 18, 1854. On the hill near Moore’s hear the 
é-é-é. How sweet it sounds in a clear warm morning 
in a wood-side pasture amid the old corn-hills, or in 
sprout-lands, a [sic] clear and distinct, “like a spoon in 
a cup,” the last part very fast and ringing. 

June 24, 1857. Returning, heard a fine, clear note 
from a bird ona white birch near me,— whit whit, whit 
whit, whit whit, (very fast) ter phe phe phe, — sound- 
ing perfectly novel. Looking round, I saw it was the 
huckleberry-bird, for it was near and plain to be seen. 

April 22, 1859. When setting the pines at Walden 


bird of the upland pastures. The scientific name now in use for the field 
sparrow is Spizella pusilla.] 


FIELD SPARROW 301 


the last three days, I was sung to by the field sparrow. 
For music I heard their jingle from time to time. 
That the music the pines were set to, and I have no 
doubt they will build many a nest under their shelter. 
It would seem as if such a field as this —a dry open or 
" half-open pasture in the woods, with small pines scat- 
tered in it— was well-nigh, if not quite, abandoned to 
this one alone among the sparrows. The surface of the 
earth is portioned out among them. By a beautiful law 
of distribution, one creature does not too much interfere 
with another. I do not hear the song sparrow here. As 
the pines gradually increase, and a wood-lot is formed, 
these birds will withdraw to new pastures, and the 
thrushes, etc., will take their place. Yes, as the walls 
of cities are fabled to have been built by music, so my 
pines were established by the song of the field sparrow. 
They commonly place their nests here under the shelter 
of a little pine in the field. 

[ See also under General and Miscellaneous, p. 403. ] 


SLATE-COLORED JUNCO; SLATE-COLORED SNOWBIRD; 
FRINGILLA HYEMALIS [JUNCO HYEMALIS] 


April 14, 1852. The slate-colored snowbird’s (for 
they are still about) is a somewhat shrill jingle, like. the 
sound of ramrods when the order has been given to a 
regiment to “return ramrods” and they obey strag- 
glingly. 

March 25, 1858. The Fringilla hyemalis sing most 
in concert of any bird nowadays that I hear. Sitting 
near together onan oak or pine in the woods or an elm 
in the village, they keep up a very pleasant, enlivening, 


302 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


and incessant jingling and twittering chil/-lill-lill, so 
that it is difficult to distinguish a single bird’s note, — 
parts of it much like a canary. This sound advances me 
furthest toward summer, unless it be the note of the 
lark, who, by the way, is the most steady singer at pre- 
sent. Notwithstanding the raw and windy mornings, it 
will sit on a low twig or tussock or pile of manure in the 
meadow and sing for hours, as sweetly and plaintively 
as in summer. 

March 28, 1858. The woods ring with the cheerful 
jingle of the /’. hyemalis. This is a very trig and com- 
pact little bird, and appears to be in good condition. 
The straight edge of slate on their breasts contrasts re- 
markably with the white from beneath; the short, light- 
colored bill is also very conspicuous amid the dark slate ; 
and when they fly from you, the two white feathers in 
their tails are very distinct at a good distance. They are 
very lively, pursuing each other from bush to bush. 

Dee. 1, 1856. Slate-colored snowbirds flit before me 
in the path, feeding on the seeds on the snow, the count- 
less little brown seeds that begin to be scattered over 
the snow, so much the more obvious to bird and beast. 
A hundred kinds of indigenous grain are harvested now, 
broadcast upon the surface of the snow. Thus at a crit- 
ical season these seeds are shaken down on to a clean 
white napkin, unmixed with dirt and rubbish, and off 
this the little pensioners pick them. Their clean tableis 
thus spread a few inches or feet above the ground. Will 
wonder become extinct in me? Shall I become insen- 
sible as a fungus? 

Oct. 26,1857. At the hewing-place on the flat above, 


SLATE-COLORED SNOWBIRD; JUNCO 303 


many sparrows are flitting past amid the birches and 
sallows. They are chiefly Fringilla hyemalis. How 
often they may be seen thus flitting along in a strag- 
gling manner from bush to bush, so that the hedgerow 
will be all alive with them, each uttering a faint chip 
from time to time, as if to keep together, bewildering 
you so that you know not if the greater part are gone 
by or still to come! One rests but a moment on the 
tree before you and is gone again. You wonder if they 
know whither they are bound, and how their leader is 
appointed. 


Those sparrows, too, are thoughts I have. They come 
and go; they flit by quickly on their migrations, utter- 
ing only a faint chip, 1 know not whither or why ex- 
actly. One will not rest upon its twig for me to scruti- 
nize it. The whole copse will be alive with my rambling 
thoughts, bewildering me by their very multitude, but 
they will be all gone directly without leaving me a 
feather. My loftiest thought is somewhat like an eagle 
that suddenly comes into the field of view, suggesting 
great things and thrilling the beholder, as if it were 
bound hitherward with a message for me; butit comes no 
nearer, but circles and soars away, growing dimmer, dis- 
appointing me, till it is lost behind.a cliff or a cloud. 

May 20, 1858. The note of the /”. hyemalis, or chill- 
lill, is a jingle, with also a shorter and drier crackling 
or shuffling chip as it flits by. 

June 2, 1858. Some forty or fifty rods below the very 
apex southeast, or quite on the top of fhe mountain,’ I 

1 [Mt. Monadnock. ] 


304 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


saw a little bird flit out from beneath a rock close by 
the path on the left of it, where there were only very 
few scattered dwarf black spruce! about, and, looking, 
I found a nest with three eggs. It was the Pringilla 
hyemalis, which soon disappeared around a projecting 
rock. It was near by a conspicuous spruce, six or eight 
feet high, on the west edge of a sort of hollow, where a 
vista opened south over the precipice, and the path as- 
cended at once more steeply. The nest was sunk in the 
ground by the side of a tuft of grass, and was pretty 
deep, made of much fine dry grass or sedge (?) and 
lined with a little of a delicate bluish hair-like fibre (?) 
two or three inches long. The eggs were three, of a reg- 
ular oval form, faint bluish-white, sprinkled with fine 
pale-brown dots, in two of the three condensed into a 
ring about the larger end. They had apparently just 
begun todevelop. The nest and tuft were covered by a 
projecting rock. Brewer says that only onenest is known 
to naturalists? We saw many of these birds flitting 
about the summit, perched on the rocks and the dwarf 
spruce, and disappearing behind the rocks. It is the 
prevailing bird now up there, 7. e. on the summit. They 
are commonly said to go to the fur countries to breed, 
though Wilson says that some breed in the Alleghanies. 
The New York Reports make them breed on the moun- 
tains of Oswego County and the Catskills.? This was 
a quite interesting discovery. They probably are never 

1 [The red spruce of the uplands of northern New England was not 
generally distinguished from the black in Thoreau’s day.] 

2 [“Synopsis of the Birds of North America,” appended to the 1840 


Boston edition of Wilson’s American Ornithology (p. '703).] 
3 Prevail in Nova Scotia according to Bryant and Cabot. 


SONG SPARROW 805 


seen in the surrounding low grounds at this season. The 
ancestors of this bird had evidently perceived on their 
flight northward that here was a small piece of arctic 
region, containing all the conditions they require, — 
coolness and suitable food, ete., ete., — and so for how 
long have builded here. For ages they have made their 
home here with the Arenaria Grenlandica and Poten- 
tilla tridentata. They discerned arctic isles sprinkled in 
our southern sky. I did not see any of them below the 
rocky and generally bare portion of the mountain. It 
finds here the same conditions as in the north of Maine 
and in the fur countries, — Labrador mosses, etc. Now 
that the season is advanced, migrating birds have gone 
to the extreme north or gone to the mountain-tops. By 
its color it harmonized with the gray and brownish-gray 
rocks. We felt that we were so much nearer to peren- 
nial spring and winter. 

[ See also under Sparrows, etc., p. 323 ; General and 
Miscellaneous, pp. 413, 428.] 


SONG SPARROW 


1837-47.' The song sparrow, whose voice is one of 
the first heard in the spring, sings occasionally through- 
out the season, — from a greater depth in the summer, 
as it were behind the notes of other birds. 

July 16, 1851. The song sparrow, the most familiar 
and New England bird, is heard in fields and pastures, 
setting this midsummer day to music, as if it were the 
music of a mossy rail or fence post; a little stream of 
song, cooling, rippling through the noon, — the usually 

1 [Undated paragraph in Journal transcript covering this period.] 


306 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


unseen songster usually unheard like the cricket, it is so 
common, — like the poet’s song, unheard by most men, 
whose ears are stopped with business, though perchance 
it sang onthe fence before the farmer’s house this morn- 
ing for an hour. There are little strains of poetry in our 
animals. 

March 18, 1852. This snow has not driven back the 
birds. I hear the song sparrow’s simple strain, most . 
genuine herald of the spring, and see flocks of chubby 
northern birds with the habit of snowbirds, passing north. 

April 1, 1852. As I come over the Turnpike, the 
song sparrow’s jingle comes up from every part of the 
meadow, as native as the tinkling rills or the blossoms 
of the spirea, the meadow-sweet, soon to spring. Its 
cheep is like the sound of opening buds. The sparrow is 
continually singing on the alders along the brook-side, 
while the sun is continually setting. 

April 1, 1853. The three spots on breast of the song 
sparrow seem to mark a difference of sex.1 At least, the 
three-spotted is the one I oftenest hear sing oflate. The 
accompanying one is lighter beneath and one-spotted. 
One of the former by J. P. Brown’s meadow-side, select- 
ing the top of a bush, after lurking and feeding under 
the alders, sang olit olit olit| (faster) chip chip chip 
che char| (fast) che wiss wiss wiss. The last bar was 
much varied, and sometimes one olit omitted in the first. 
This, I have no doubt, is my bird of March 18th. An- 
other three-spotted sang vit chit chit char| weeter char | 
tee chu. 


1 [No sexual difference is recognized in the song sparrow’s mark- 
ings. | 


SONG SPARROW 307 


April 2, 1853. The song sparrows, the three-spotted, 
away by the meadow-sides, are very shy and cunning: 
instead of flying will frequently trot along the ground 
under the bushes, or dodge through a wall like a swal- 
low; and I have observed that they generally bring 
some object, as a rail or branch, between themselves and 
the face of the walker, — often with outstretched necks 
will peep at him anxiously for five or ten minutes. 

May 11, 1853. Inearly stepped upon a song sparrow 
and astriped snake at the same time. The bird fluttered 
away almost as if detained. I thought it was a case of 
charming, without doubt, and should think so still if I 
had not found her nest with five eggs there, which will 
account for her being so near the snake that was about 
to devour her. 

Oct. 30, 1853. By the bathing-place, I see a song 
sparrow. . . . He drops stealthily behind the wall and 
skulks amid the bushes ; now sits behind a post, and 
peeps round at me, ever restless and quirking his tail, 
and now and then uttering a faint chip. 

March 11, 1854. Song sparrows toward the water, 
with at least two kinds or variations of their strain hard 

quick 
to imitate. Ozit, ozit, ozit, psa te te te te te ter twe ter 
is one; the other began chip chip che we, etc., etc. 

March 16, 1854. A. M.— Another fine morning. 

Willows and alders along watercourses all alive these 
mornings and ringing with the trills and jingles and 
warbles of birds, even as the waters have lately broken 
loose and tinkle below, — song sparrows, blackbirds, not 
to mention robins, etc., etc. The song sparrows are very 


308 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


abundant, peopling each bush, willow, or alder for a 
quarter of a mile, and pursuing each other as if now 
selecting their mates. It is their song which especially 
fills the air, made an incessant and undistinguishable 
trill and jingle by their numbers. 

March 20, 1855. A flurry of snow at 7 a. m. I go to 
turn my boat up. Four or five song sparrows are flitting 
along amid the willows by the waterside. Probably they 
came yesterday with the bluebirds. From distant trees 
and bushes I hear a faint tinkling ¢e te te te ¢é and at 
last a full strain whose rhythm is whit whit whit, ter 
tche, tchear tche, deliberately sung, or measuredly, while 
the falling snow is beginning to whiten the ground, — 
not discouraged by such a reception. 

March 21, 1855. The song sparrow is now seen 
dodging behind the wall, with a quirk of its tail, or flit- 
ting along the alders or other bushes by the side of the 
road, especially in low ground, and its pleasant strain is 
heard at intervals in spite of the cold and blustering 
wind. It is the most steady and resolute singer as yet, 
its strain being heard at intervals throughout the day, 
more than any as yet peopling the hedgerows. 

March 22,1855. I hear a song sparrow on an alder- 
top sing ozit ozit oze-e-e | (quick) tchip tchip tchip tchip 
tchay | te tchip ter che ter tchay; also the same short- 
ened and very much varied. Heard one sing uninter- 
ruptedly, i. e. without a pause, almost a minute. 

April 22,1855. See a song sparrow getting its break- 
fast in the water on the meadow like a wader. 

April 6, 1856. Apparently song sparrows may have 
the dark splash on each side of the throat but be 


SONG SPARROW 309 


more or less brown on the breast and head. Some are 
quite light, some quite dark. Here is one of the light- 
breasted on the top of an apple tree, sings unweariedly 
at regular intervals something like tchulp | chilt chilt, 
chilt chilt, (faster and faster) chilt chilt, chilt chilt | 
tuller tchay ter splay-ee. The last, or third, bar I am not 
sure about. It flew too soon for me. I only remember 
that the last part was sprinkled on the air like drops 
from a rill, as if its strain were moulded by the spray 
it sat upon. 

June 22, 1856. Ricketson says that they say at New 
Bedford that the song sparrow says, Maids, maids, 
maids, — hang on your tea-kettle-ettle-ettle-ettle-ettle. 

Jan. 21,1857. Minott tells me that Sam Barrett told 
him once when he went to mill that a song sparrow took 
up its quarters in his grist-mill and stayed there all 
winter. When it did not help itself he used to feed it 
with meal, for he was glad of its company ; so, what with 
the dashing water and the crumbs of meal, it must have 
fared well. 

Jan. 28, 1857. Am again surprised to see a song 
sparrow sitting for hours on our wood-pile in the yard, 
in the midst of snow in the yard. It is unwilling to 
move. People go to the pump, and the cat and dog walk 
round the wood-pile without starting it. I examine it 
at my leisure through a glass. Remarkable that the 
coldest of all winters these summer birds should remain. 
Perhaps it is no more comfortable this season further 
south, where they are accustomed to abide. In the after- 
noon this sparrow joined a flock of tree sparrows on 
the bare ground west of the house. It was amusing to 


310 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


see the tree sparrows wash themselves, standing in the 
puddles and tossing the water over themselves. Minott 
says they wade in to where it is an inch deep and then 
“‘splutter splutter,”’ throwing the water over them. 
They have had no opportunity to wash for a month, per- 
haps, there having been no thaw. The song sparrow did 
not go off with them. 

Feb. 2,1858. Still rains, after a rainy night with a 
little snow, forming slosh. As I return from the post- 
office, I hear the hoarse, robin-like chirp of a song spar- 
row on Cheney’s ground, and see him perched on the 
topmost twig of a heap of brush, looking forlorn and 
drabbled and solitary in the rain. 

March 18, 1858. 7 A. M.— By river. 

Almost every bush has its song sparrow this morning, 
and their tinkling strains are heard on all sides. You 
see them just hopping under the bush or into some 
other covert, as you go by, turning with a jerk this way 
and that, or they flit away just above the ground, which 
they resemble. It is the prettiest strain I have heard yet. 

June 13, 1858. I see a song sparrow’s nest here in a 
little spruce just by the mouth of the ditch.’ It rests on 
the thick branches fifteen inches from the ground, firmly 
made of coarse sedge without, lined with finer, and then 
a little hair, small within, —a very thick, firm, and port- 
able nest, an inverted cone;—four eggs. They build 
them in a peculiar manner in these sphagnous swamps, 
elevated apparently on account of water and of differ- 
ent materials. Some of the eggs have quite a blue 


ground. 
1 [At Ledum Swamp, in Concord.] 


FOX SPARROW 311 


March 3, 1860. The first song sparrows are very 
inconspicuous and shy on the brown earth. You hear 
some weeds rustle, or think you see a mouse run amid 
the stubble, and then the sparrow flits low away. 

[See also under Robin, p. 387; Bluebird, pp. 398, 
399; General and Miscellaneous, pp. 406, 418, 425, 
426.] 


FOX SPARROW ; FOX-COLORED SPARROW 


_ March 31,1852. Methinks I would share every crea- 
ture’s suffering for the sake of its experience and joy. 
The song sparrow and the transient fox-colored spar- 
row, — have they brought me no message this year? 
Do they go to lead heroic lives in Rupert’s Land? 
They are so small, I think their destinies must be large. 
Have I heard what this tiny passenger has to say, while 
it flits thus from tree to tree? Is not the coming of the 
fox-colored sparrow something more earnest and sig- 
nificant than I have dreamed of? Can I forgive myself 
if I let it go to Rupert’s Land before I have appre- 
ciated it? God did not make this world in jest; no, nor 
in indifference. These migrating sparrows all bear mes- 
sages that concern my life. I do not pluck the fruits 
in their season. I love the birds and beasts because 
they are mythologically in earnest. I see that the spar- 
row cheeps and flits and sings adequately to the great 
design of the universe; that man does not communi- 
cate with it, understand its language, because he is not 
at one with nature. I reproach myself because I have 
regarded with indifference the passage of the birds; I 
have thought them no better than I. 


312 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


March 14, 1854. A large company of fox-colored 
sparrows in Heywood’s maple swamp close by. I heard 
their loud, sweet, canary-like whistle thirty or forty rods 
off, sounding richer than anything yet; some on the 
bushes singing, twee twee twa twa ter tweer tweer twa, 
— this is the scheme of it only, there being no dental 
grit toit. They were shy, flitting before me, and I heard 
a slight susurrus where many were busily scratch- 
ing amid the leaves of the swamp, without seeing 
them, and also saw many indistinctly. Wilson never 
heard but one sing, their common note there being a 
cheep. 

March 25, 1858. P. M.— To bank of Great Meadows 
by Peter’s. 

Cold northwest wind as yesterday and before. .. . 

Going across A. Clark’s field behind Garfield’s, I 
see many fox-colored sparrows flitting past in a strag- 
gling manner into the birch and pitch pine woods on 
the left, and hear a sweet warble there from time to 
time. They are busily scratching like hens amid the 
dry leaves of that wood (not swampy), from time to 
time the rearmost moving forward, one or two at a time, 
while a few are perched here and there on the lower 
branches of a birch or other tree; and I hear a very 
clear and sweet whistling strain, commonly half-finished, 
from one every two or three minutes. It is too irregular 
to be readily caught, but methinks begins like ar tche 
tche tchear, te tche tchear, etc., etc., but is more clear 
than these words would indicate. The whole flock is 
moving along pretty steadily. 

[See also under Sparrows, etc., pp. 320, 321.] 


TOWHEE; CHEWINK 313 


TOWHEE; CHEWINK ; GROUND-ROBIN 


1850. Many a time I have expected to find a wood- 
chuck, or rabbit, or a gray squirrel, when it was the 
ground-robin rustling the leaves. 

1850. I noticed a singular instance of ventriloquism 
to-day in a male chewink singing on the top of a young 
oak. It was difficult to believe that the last part 
of his strain, the concluding jingle, did not proceed 
from a different quarter, a woodside many rods off. 
Hip-you, he-he-he-he. It was long before I was satis- 
fied that the last part was not the answer of his 
mate given in exact time. I endeavored to get between 
the two; indeed, I seemed to be almost between them 
already. 

May 1,1852. I hear the first towhee finch. He says 
to-wee, to-wee, and another, much farther off than I sup- 
posed when I went in search of him, says whip your 
ch-r-r-r-r-r-r, with a metallic ring. 

May 23, 1853. How different the ramrod jingle of 
the chewink or any bird’s note sounds now at 5 P.M. in 
the cooler, stiller air, when also the humming of insects 
is more distinctly heard, and perchance some impurity 
has begun to sink to earth strained by the air! Or is 
it, perchance, to be referred to the cooler, more clarified 
and pensive state of the mind, when dews have begun 
to descend in it and clarify it? Chaste eve! A certain 
lateness in the sound, pleasing to hear, which releases 
me from the obligation to return in any particular 
season. I have passed the Rubicon of staying out. I 
have said to myself, that way is not homeward; I will 


314 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


wander further from what I have called my home — 
to the home which is forever inviting me. In such an 
hour the freedom of the woods is offered me, and the 
birds sing my dispensation. 

June 9,1855. A chewink’s nest sunk in ground under 
a bank covered with ferns, dead and green, and huckle- 
berry bushes ; composed of dry leaves, then grass stub- 
ble, and lined with a very few slender, reddish moss 
stems; four eggs, rather fresh; merely enough moss 
stems to indicate its choice. 

May 17, 1858. I see a chewink flit low across the 
road with its peculiar flirting, undulating motion. 

Sept. 19, 1858. Hear a chewink’s chewink. But how 
ineffectual is the note of a bird now! We hear it as if 
we heard it not, and forget it immediately. In spring 
it makes its due impression, and for a long time will 
not have done echoing, as it were, through our minds. 
It is even as if the atmosphere were in an unfavorable 
condition for this kind of music. Every musician knows 
how much depends on this. 

[ See also under Nighthawk, p. 209; Wood Thrush, 
p. 878; General and Miscellaneous, pp. 404,414.) - 


ROSE-BREASTED GROSBEAK 


June 18, 1853. What was that rare and beautiful 
bird in the dark woods under the Cliffs, with black 
above and white spots and bars, a large triangular 
blood-red spot on breast, and sides of breast and be- 
neath white? Note a warble like the oriole, but softer 
and sweeter. It was quite tame. I cannot find this bird 


ROSE-~BREASTED GROSBEAK 315 


described. I think it must be a grosbeak.’ At first I 
thought I saw a chewink, as it sat within a rod side- 
ways to me, and I was going to call Sophia to look at 
it, but then it turned its breast full toward me and I 
saw the blood-red breast, a Jarge triangular painted 
spot occupying the greater part of the breast. It was 
in the cool, shaded underwood by the old path just 
under the Cliff. It is a memorable event to meet with 
so rare a bird. Birds answer to flowers, both in their 
abundance and their rareness. The meeting with a 
rare and beautiful bird like this is like meeting with 
some rare and beautiful flower, which you may never 
find again, perchance, like the great purple fringed 
orchis, at least. How much it enhances the wildness 
and the richness of the forest to see in it some beautiful 
bird which you never detected before! 

May 24, 1855. Hear a rose-breasted grosbeak. At 
first thought it a tanager, but soon I perceived its more 
clear and instrumental — should say whistle, if one 
could whistle like a flute; a noble singer, reminding 
me also of a robin; clear, loud and flute-like; on the 
oaks, hillside south of Great Fields. Black all above 
except white on wing, with a triangular red mark on 
breast but, as I saw, all white beneath this. Female 
quite different, yellowish olivaceous above, more like a 
muscicapa. Song not so sweet as clear and strong. Saw 
it fly off and catch an insect like a flycatcher. 


1 Probably a rose-breasted grosbeak. [Though the rose-breasted 
grosbeak was formerly much less common about houses than it is now, 
being chiefly confined to the woods, it is doubtful if it was quite so rare 
in Concord as Thoreau thought at the time.] 


316 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


May 21, 1856. Saw two splendid rose-breasted gros- 
beaks with females in the young wood in Emerson’s lot. 
What strong-colored- fellows, black, white, and fiery 
rose-red breasts! Strong-natured, too, with their stout 
bills. A clear, sweet singer, like a tanager but hoarse 
somewhat,! and not shy. 

July 15, 1858. At the base of the mountain,” over 
the road, heard (and saw), at the same place where I 
heard him the evening before, a splendid rose-breasted 
grosbeak singing. I had before mistaken him at first 
for a tanager, then for a red-eye, but was not satisfied ; 
but now, with my glass, I distinguished him sitting 
quite still, high above the road at the entrance of the 
mountain-path in the deep woods, and singing stead- 
ily for twenty minutes. It was remarkable for sitting 
so still and where yesterday. It was much richer and 
sweeter and, I think, more powerful than the note of 
the tanager or red-eye. It had not the hoarseness of 
the tanager, and more sweetness and fullness than the 
red-eye. Wilson does not give their breeding-place. 
Nuttall quotes Pennant as saying that some breed in 
New York but most further north. They, too, appear 
to breed about the White Mountains. 

June 2, 1859. Found within three rods of Flint’s 
Pond a rose-breasted grosbeak’s nest. It was in a 
thicket where there was much cat-briar, in a high blue- 
berry bush, some five feet from the ground, in the forks 
of the bush, and of very loose construction, being made 


1 [The song, of course, is not really hoarse as compared with the 
tanager’s. See p. 317.] 
2 [Mt. Lafayette.] 


INDIGO-BIRD 317 


of the dead gray extremities of the cat-briar, with its 
tendrils (and some’of this had dropped on the ground 
beneath), and this was lined merely with fine brown 
stems of weeds like pinweeds, without any leaves or 
anything else, —a slight nest on the whole. Saw the 
birds. The male uttered a very peculiar sharp click- 
ing or squeaking note of alarm while I was near the 
nest. 

June 14, 1859. The rose-breasted grosbeak is com- 
mon now in the Flint’s Pond woods. It is not at all 
shy, and our richest singer, perhaps, after the wood 
thrush. The rhythm is very like that of the tanager, 
but the strain is perfectly clear and sweet. One sits on 
’ the bare dead twig of a chestnut, high over the road, 
at Gourgas Wood, and over my head, and sings clear 
and loud at regular intervals,—the strain about ten 
or fifteen seconds long, rising and swelling to the end, 
with various modulations. Another, singing in emula- 
tion, regularly answers it, alternating with it, from a 
distance, at least a quarter of a mile off. It sings thus 
long at a time, and I leave it singing there, regardless 
of me. 

July 9, 1860. See two handsome rose-breasted gros- 
beaks on the Corner causeway. One utters a peculiar 
squeaking or snapping note, and, both by form of bill 
and this note, and color, reminds me of some of those 
foreign birds with great bills in cages. 


INDIGO-BIRD 


June 9, 1857. In the sprout-land beyond the red 
huckleberry, an indigo-bird, which chips about me as 


318 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


if it had a nest there. This is a splendid and marked 
bird, high-colored as is the tanager, looking strange in 
this latitude. Glowing indigo. It flits from top of one 
bush to another, chirping as if anxious. Wilson says 
it sings, not like most other birds in the morning and 
evening chiefly, but algo in the middle of the day. In 
this I notice it is like the tanager, the other fiery-plu- 
maged bird. They seem to love the heat. It probably had 
its nest in one of those bushes. 


SPARROWS, ETC. (MISCELLANEOUS ) 


1837-47. It is a marvel how the birds contrive to 
survive in this world. These tender sparrows that flit 
from bush to bush this evening, though it is so late, do - 
not seem improvident, [but appear] to have found a 
roost for the night. They must succeed by weakness 
and reliance, for they are not bold and enterprising, 
as their mode of life would seem to require,,but very 
weak and tender creatures. I have seen a little chip- 
ping sparrow, come too early in the spring, shivering 
on an apple twig, drawing in its head and striving to 
warm it in its muffled feathers; and it had no voice to 
intercede with nature, but peeped as helpless as an in- 
fant, and was ready to yield up its spirit and die with- 
out any effort. And yet this was no new spring in the 
revolution of the seasons. 

Nov. 9, 1850. A rusty sparrow or two only remains 
to people the drear spaces. It goes to roost without 
neighbors. 

June 30, 1851. The cuckoo is faintly heard from a 
neighboring grove. Now that itis beginning to be dark, 


SPARROWS 319 


as I am crossing a pasture I hear a happy, cricket-like, 
shrill little lay from a sparrow, either in the grass or 
else on that distant tree, as if it were the vibrations of 
a watch-spring ; its vespers. 

Sept. 28, 1851. Flocks of small birds—apparently 
sparrows, bobolinks (or some bird of equal size with a 
pencilled breast which makes a musical clucking), and 
piping goldfinches—are flitting about like leaves and 
hopping up on to the bent grass stems in the garden, 
letting themselves down to the heavy heads, either shak- 
ing or picking out a seed or two, then alighting to pick 
it up. I am amused to see them hop up on to the slen- 
der, drooping grass stems; then slide down, or let them- 
selves down, as it were foot over foot, with great flut- 
tering, till they can pick at the head and release a few 
seeds; then alight to pick them up. They seem to pre- 
fer a coarse grass which grows like a weed in the gar- 
den between the potato-hills, also the amaranth. 

March 20, 1852. As to the winter birds, —those 
which came here in the winter, —I saw first that rusty 
sparrow-like bird flying in flocks with the smaller spar- 
rows early in the winter and sliding down the grass 
stems to their seeds, which clucked like a hen, and F. 
Brown thought to be the young of the purple finch; 
then I saw, about Thanksgiving time and later in the 
winter, the pine grosbeaks, large and carmine, a noble 
bird ; then, in midwinter, the snow bunting, the white 
snowbird, sweeping low like snowflakes from field to 
field over the walls and fences. And now, within a day 
or two, I have noticed the chubby slate-colored snow- 
bird (Fringilla hyemalis?), and I drive the flocks be- 


320 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


fore me on the railroad causeway as I walk. It has two 
white feathers in its tail. 

Jan. 20, 1853. I see where snowbirds’ in troops have 
visited each withered chenopodium that rises above the 
snow in the yard— and some are large and bushlike — 
for its seeds, their well-filled granary now. There are a 
few tracks reaching from weed to weed, where some have 
run, but under the larger plants the snow is entirely 
trodden and blackened, proving that a large flock has 
been there and flown. 

March 31, 1853. I afterward heard a fine concert 
of little songsters along the edge of the meadow. Ap- 
proached and watched and listened for more than half 
an hour. There were many little sparrows, difficult to 
detect, flitting and hopping along and scratching the 
ground like hens, under the alders, willows, and cor- 
nels in a wet leafy place, occasionally alighting on a low 
twig and preening themselves. They had btight-bay 
crowns, two rather indistinct white bars on wings, an 
ashy breast and dark tail. These twittered sweetly, 
some parts very much like a canary and many together, 
making it the fullest and sweetest I have heard yet, — 
like a shopful of canaries. The blackbirds may make 
more noise. About the size of a song sparrow. I think 
these are the tree sparrow. Also, mixed with them, and 
puzzling me to distinguish for a long time, were many 
of the fox-colored (?) sparrows mentioned above, with 
a creamy cinnamon-tinged ashy breast, cinnamon shoul- 
derlet, ashy about side head and throat, a fox-colored 


1 [Thoreau used the term snowbird indefinitely, of any small sparrow- 
like bird, seen in winter. ] 


SPARROWS 321 


tail; a size larger than the others; the spot on breast 
very marked. Were evidently two birds intimately 
mixed. Did not Peabody confound them when he men- 
tioned the mark on the breast of the tree sparrow?? 
The rich strain of the fox-colored sparrow, as I think 
it is, added much to the quire. The latter solos, the 
former in concert. I kept off a hawk by my presence. 
These were for a long time invisible to me, except when 
they flitted past. 

Feb. 13, 1855. One of these pigweeds in the yard 
lasts the snowbirds all winter, and after every new 
storm they revisit it. How inexhaustible their granary! 

March 14, 1855. I observe the tracks of sparrows 
leading to every little sprig of blue-curls amid the 
other weeds which (its seemingly empty pitchers) rises 
above the snow. There seems, however, to be a little 
seed left in them. This, then, is reason enough why 
these withered stems still stand, —that they may raise 
these granaries above the snow for the use of the snow- 
birds. 

Oct. 11, 1856. The sprout-land and stubble behind 
the Cliffs are all alive with restless flocks of sparrows 
of various species. I distinguish /’. hyemalis, song 
sparrow, apparently /’. jwncorwm or maybe tree spar- 
row,” and chip-birds (?). They are continually flitting 
past and surging upward, two or more in pursuit of 
each other, in the air, where they break like waves, 
and pass along with a faint cheep. On the least alarm 
many will rise from a juniper bush on to a shrub oak 


1 [Thoreau afterwards detected the breast spot of the tree sparrow.] 
2 Probably not. [Too early in the season. ] 


3822 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


above it, and, when all is quiet, return into the juniper. 
perhaps for its berries. It is often hard to detect them 
as they sit on the young trees, now beginning to be bare, 
for they are very nearly the color of the bark and are 
very cunning to hide behind the leaves. 

Oct. 19, 1856. The fall, now and for some weeks, ,is 
the time for flocks of sparrows of various kinds flitting 
from bush to bush and tree to tree — and both bushes 
and trees are thinly leaved or bare—and from one 
seared meadow to another. They are mingled together, 
and their notes, even, being faint, are, as well as their 
colors and motions, much alike. The sparrow youth are 
on the wing. They are still further concealed by their 
resemblance in color to the gray twigs and stems, which 
are now beginning to be bare. 


I have often noticed the inquisitiveness of birds, as 
the other day of a sparrow, whose motions I should not 
have supposed to have any reference to me, if I had 
not watched it from first to last. I stood on the edge of 
@ pine and birch wood. It flitted from seven or eight 
rods distant to a pine within a rod of me, where it 
hopped about stealthily and chirped awhile, then flew 
as many rods the other side and hopped about there a 
spell, then back to the pine again, as near me as it 
dared, and again to its first position, very restless all 
the while. Generally I should have supposed that there 
was more than one bird, or that it was altogether acci- 
dental, — that the chipping of this sparrow eight or 
ten rods [away] had no reference to me, — for I could 
see nothing peculiar about it. But when I brought my 


SPARROWS 323 


glass to bear on it, I found that it was almost steadily 
eying me and was all alive with excitemenf. 

March 20,1859. P. M.—I see under the east side of 
the house, amid the evergreens, where they were shel- 
tered from the cold northwest wind, quite a parcel of 
sparrows, chiefly #’. hyemalis, two or three tree sparrows, 
and one song sparrow, quietly feeding together. I watch 
them through a window within six or eight feet. They 
evidently love to be sheltered from the wind, and at 
least are not averse to each other’s society. The tree 
sparrows sing a little. One perches on a bush to sing, 
while others are feeding on the ground, but he is very 
restless on his perch, hopping about and stooping as if 
dodging those that fly over. He must perch on some 
bit of stubble or twig to sing. They are evidently pick- 
ing up the seeds of weeds which lie on the surface of 
the ground invisible to our eyes. They suffer their 
wings to hang rather loose. The F’. hyemalis is the 
largest of the three. They have remarkably distinct 
light-colored bills, and when they stretch, show very 
distinct clear-white lateral tail-feathers. This stretching 
seems to be contagious among them, like yawning with 
us. They have considerable brown on the quill-feathers. 
The tree sparrows are much brighter brown and white 
than the song sparrow. The latter alone scratches once 
or twice, and is more inclined to hop or creep close to 
the ground, under the fallen weeds. Perhaps it deserves 
most to be called the ground-bird. 

April 8, 1859. These windy days the sparrows resort 
to the pines and peach trees on the east side of our 
house for shelter, and there they sing all together, — 


324 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


tree sparrows, fox-colored sparrows, and song sparrows. 
The /. hyemalis with them do not sing so much of late. 
The first two are most commonly heard together, the 
fine canary-like twitter of the tree sparrow appearing 
to ripen or swell from time to time into the clear, rich 
whistle of the fox-colored sparrow, so that most refer 
both notes to one bird. 

[See also under General and Miscellaneous, p. 405.] 


XVI 
TANAGERS AND SWALLOWS 


SCARLET TANAGER 


July 8, 1852. I hear many scarlet tanagers, the first 
I have seen this season, which some might mistake 
for a red-eye. A hoarse, rough strain, comparatively, 
but more easily caught owing to its simplicity and 
sameness ; something like heer chip-er-way-heer chory 
chay. 

May 20, 1853. Saw a tanager in Sleepy Hollow. It 
most takes the eye of any bird. You here have the red- 
wing reversed, — the deepest scarlet of the red-wing 
spread over the whole body, not on the wing-coverts 
merely, while the wings are black. It flies through the 
green foliage as if it would ignite the leaves. 

May 23,1858. At Loring’s Wood heard and saw a 
tanager. That contrast of a red bird with the green 
pines and the blue sky! Even when I have heard his 
note and look for him and find the bloody fellow, sitting 
on a dead twig of a pine, I am always startled. (They 
seem to love the darkest and thickest pines.) That in- 
credible red, with the green and blue, as if these were 
the trinity we wanted. Yet with his hoarse note he pays 
for his color. I am transported ; these are not the woods 
I ordinarily walk in. He sunk Concord in his thought. 
How he enhances the wildness and wealth of the woods! 
This and the emperor moth make the tropical phenomena 


326 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


of our zone. There is warmth in the pewee’s strain, but 
this bird’s colors and his note tell of Brazil. 

May 29, 1853. At A. Hosmer’s hill on the Union 
Turnpike I see the tanager hoarsely warbling in the 
shade ; the surprising red bird, a small morsel of Brazil, 
advanced picket of that Brazilian army, — parrot-like. 
But no more shall we see; it is only an affair of out- 
posts. It appears as if he loved to contrast himself with 
the green of the forest. 

May 23, 1854. We soon get through with Nature. 
She excites an expectation which she cannot satisfy. 
The merest child which has rambled into a copsewood 
dreams of a wilderness so wild and strange and inex- 
haustible as Nature can never show him. The red-bird 
which I saw on my companion’s string on election days ! 
I thought but the outmost sentinel of the wild, immor- 
tal camp, — of the wild and dazzling infantry of the 
wilderness, — that the deeper woods abounded with red- 
der birds still; but, now that I have threaded all our 
woods and waded the swamps, I have never yet met with 
his compeer, still less his wilder kindred. The red-bird 
which is the last of Nature is but the first of God. The 


1 [“ Old election day” in Massachusetts came on the last Wednesday 
in May. It was the day when the Legislature met, to organize, to count 
the vote for governor and lieutenant-governor, and to hear an “ election 
sermon” in one of the Boston churches. The actual voting for gov- 
ernor, lieutenant-governor, and State senators came on the first Monday 
in April, and the representatives to the General Court were elected at 
different times in the different towns. The last of these May “ elec- 
tions ” was held in 1831, but “ old election day ” was observed as a sort 
of holiday for years after, and it was the custom to conduct shooting- 
matches on that day, when birds of all kinds were shot indiscriminately. 
See p. 358.] 


SCARLET TANAGER 327 


White Mountains, likewise, were smooth molehills to 
my expectation. We condescend to climb the crags of 
earth. It is our weary legs alone that praise them. That 
forest on whose skirts the red-bird flits is not of earth. 
J expected a fauna more infinite and various, birds of 
more dazzling colors and more celestial song. 

May 28, 1855. I see a tanager, the most brilliant 
and tropical-looking bird we have, bright-scarlet with 
black wings, the scarlet appearing on the rump again 
between wing-tips. He brings heat, or heat him. A re- 
markable contrast with the green pines. At this dis- 
tance he has the aspect and manners of a parrot, with 
a fullness about the head and throat and beak, indo- 
lently inspecting the limbs and twigs — leaning over to 
it — and sitting still a long time. The female, too, is a 
neat and handsome bird, with the same indolent ways, 
but very differently colored from the male; all yellow 
below with merely dusky wings, and a sort of clay(?)- 
color on back. 

June 24, 1857. Looked over Farmer’s eggs and list 
of names. He has several which I have not. Is not his 
“ chicklisee,” after all, the Maryland yellow-throat? 
The eggs were numbered with a pen, —1, 2, 3, etc., — 
and corresponding numbers written against the names 
on the cover of the pasteboard box in which were the 
eggs. Among the rest I read, “ Fire never redder.” 
That must be the tanager. He laughed and said that 
this was the way he came to call it by that name: Many 
years ago, one election-day, when he and other boys, or 
young men, were out gunning to see how many birds 
they could kill, Jonathan Hildreth, who lived near by, 


328 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


saw one of these birds on the top of a tree before him in 
the woods, but he did not see a deep ditch that crossed 
his course between him and it. As he raised his gun, he 
exclaimed, “ Fire never redder!” and, taking a step or 
two forward, with his eye fixed on the bird, fell head- 
long into the ditch, and so the name became a byword 
among his fellows. 

June 23, 1858. The tanager’s nest of the 19th is four 
and a half to five inches wide and an inch or more deep, 
considerably open to look through ; the outside, of many 
very slender twigs, apparently of hemlock, some um- 
belled pyrola with seed-vessels, everlasting, etc. ; within, 
quite round and regular, of very slender or fine stems, 
apparently pinweed or the like, and pine-needles ; hardly 
any grass stubble about it. The egg is a regular oval, 
nine tenths of an inch long by twenty-seven fortieths, 
pale-blue, sprinkled with purplish-brown ‘spots, thick- 
est on the larger end. To-day there are three rather 
fresh eggs in this nest. Neither going nor returning 
do we see anything of the tanager, and conclude it 
to be deserted, but perhaps she stays away from it 
long. 

May 24, 1860. As I sit just above the northwest end 
of the Cliff, I see a tanager perched on one of the top- 
most twigs of a hickory, holding by the tender leafets, 
now five inches long, and evidently come to spy after 
me, peeping behind a leafet. He is between me and the 
sun, and his plumage is incredibly brilliant, all aglow. 
It is our highest-colored bird, —a deep scarlet (with a 
yellower reflection when the sun strikes him), in the 
midst of which his pure-black wings look high-colored 


CLIFF SWALLOW 329 


also. You can hardly believe that a living creature can 
wear such colors. A hickory, too, is the fittest perch 
for him. 


PURPLE MARTIN 


June 15,1852. The chuckling warble of martins 
heard over the meadow, from a village box. 


[ See also under General and Miscellaneous, pp. 408, 
409.] 


CLIFF SWALLOW; REPUBLICAN SWALLOW 


1850. Returning, I saw in Sudbury twenty-five nests 
of the new (cliff?) swallow ' under the eaves of a barn. 
They seemed particularly social and loquacious neigh- 
bors, though their voices are rather squeaking. Their 
nests, built side by side, looked somewhat like large 
hornets’ nests, enough so to prove a sort of connection. 
Their activity, sociability, and chattiness make them 
fit pensioners and neighbors of man— summer com- 
panions — for the barn-yard. 

Nov. 9, 1857. Mr. Farmer tells me that one Sunday 
he went to his barn, having nothing to do, and thought 
he would watch the swallows, republican swallows. The 
old bird was feeding her young, and he sat within fif- 
teen feet, overlooking them. There were five young, and 
he was curious to know how each received its share; 

1 [This bird was then a comparatively recent addition to the avi- 
fauna of eastern Massachusetts, whither it had spread from its early 
home in the West. The name ‘‘ republican ’’ was given to it by Audu- 
bon on account of its social nesting habits. The notion that its irruption 


into the East was coincident with the rise of the Republican Party, and 
that this gave it its popular name, is, of course, a false one.] 


330 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


and as often as the bird came with a fly, the one at the 
door (or opening) took it, and then they all hitched 
round one notch, so that a new one was presented at 
the door, who received the next fly; and this was the in- 
variable order, the same one never receiving two flies 
in succession. At last the old bird brought ‘a very small 
fly, and the young one that swallowed it did not desert 
his ground but waited to receive the next, but when 
the bird came with another, of the usual size, she com- 
menced a loud and long scolding at the little one, till it 
resigned its place, and the next in succession received 
the fly. 


BARN SWALLOW 


May 19, 1852. A barn swallow accompanied me 
across the Depot Field, methinks attracted by the in- 
sects which I started, though I saw them not, wheeling 
and tacking incessantly on all sides and repeatedly 
dashing within a rod of me. It is an agreeable sight to 
watch one. Nothing lives in the air but is in rapid 
motion. 

April 30, 1855. I observed yesterday that the barn 
swallows confined themselves to one place, about fifteen 
rods in diameter, in Willow Bay, about the sharp rock. 
They kept circling about and flying up the stream (the 
wind easterly), about six inches above the water, — it 
was cloudy and almost raining, — yet I could not per- 
ceive any insects there. Those myriads of little fuzzy 
gnats mentioned on the 21st and 28th must afford an 
abundance of food to insectivorous birds. Many new 
birds should have arrived about the 21st. There were 


BARN SWALLOWS 


TREE SWALLOW 331 


plenty of myrtle-birds and yellow redpolls' where the 
gnats were. The swallows were confined to this space 
when I passed up, and were still there when I returned, 
an hour and a half later. I saw them nowhere else. 
They uttered only a slight twitter from time to time and 
when they turned out for each other on meeting. Get- 
ting their meal seemed to be made a social affair. Pray, 
how long will they continue to circle thus without rest- 
ing? 


TREE SWALLOW; WHITE-BELLIED SWALLOW 


June 12, 1852. Small white-bellied (?) swallows ina 
row (a dozen) on the telegraph-wire over the water by 
the bridge. This perch is little enough departure from 
unobstructed air to suit them. Pluming themselves. If 
you could furnish a perch aerial enough, even birds of 
paradise would alight. Swallows have forked tails, and 
wings and tails are about the same length. They do 
not alight on trees, methinks, unless on dead and bare 
boughs, but stretch a wire over water and they perch 
on it. This isamong the phenomena that cluster about 
the telegraph. 

June 14, 1855. I told C.? to look into an old mortise- 
hole in Wood’s Bridge for a white-bellied swallow’s 
nest, as we were paddling under; but he laughed, in- 
credulous. I insisted, and when he climbed up he scared 
out the bird. Five eggs. “You see the feathers about, 
do you not?” “Yes,” said he. 


1 [Myrtle warblers and yellow palm warblers.] 
2 [W. E. Channing.] 


332 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


BANK SWALLOW 


May 23, 1854, Saw in Dakin’s land, near the road, 
at the bend of the river, fifty-nine bank swallows’ holes 
in a small upright bank within a space of twenty by 
one and a half feet (in the middle), part above and 
part below the sand-line. This would give over a hun- 
dred birds to this bank. They continually circling about 
over the meadow and river in front, often in pairs, one 
pursuing the other, and filling the air with their twit- 
tering. 

May T, 1856. In the first hollow in the bank this 
side of Clamshell, where sand has been dug for the 
meadow, are a hundred or more bank swallows at 2 P. M. 
(I suspect I have seen them for some time) engaged in 
prospecting and digging their holes and circling about. 
It is a snug place for them,—though the upright 
portion of the bank is only four or five feet high, —a 
semi-circular recess facing the southeast. Some are 
within scratching out the sand,—TI see it cast out of 
the holes behind them, — others hanging on to the en- 
trance of the holes, others on the flat sandy space be- 
neath in front, and others circling about, a dozen rods 
off over the meadow. Theirs is a low, dry, grating twit- 
ter, or rather rattle, less metallic or musical than the 
vite vite and twittering notes of barn and white-bellied 
swallows. They are white-bellied, dark winged and 
tailed, with a crescent of white [sic] nearly around the 
lower part of the neck, and mouse-colored heads and 
backs. The upper and greater part of this bank is a 
coarse sliding gravel, and they build only in the per- 


BANK SWALLOW 333 


pendicular and sandy part (I sit and watch them within 
three or four rods) and close to the upper part of it. 
While I am looking, they all suddenly with one consent 
take to wing, and circle over the hillside and meadow, 
as if they chose to work at making their holes a little 
while at a time only. I find the holes on an average 
about a foot deep only as yet, some but a few inches. 

May 12, 1856. I see, in the road beyond Luther 
Hosmer’s, in different places, two bank swallows which 
were undoubtedly killed by the four days’ northeast rain 
we have just had. 

May 18, 1856. In the swallows’ holes behind Den- 
nis’s, I find two more dead bank swallows, and one on 
the sand beneath, and the feathers of two more which 
some creature has eaten. This makes at least seven dead 
bank swallows in consequence of the long, cold north- 
east rain. A male harrier, skimming low, had nearly 
reached this sandpit before he saw me and wheeled. 
Could it have been he that devoured the swallows ? 

The swallows were 103+ alar extent, 4} inches 
long; a wing 43+ by 1}. Above they were a light 
brown on their backs, wings blackish, beneath white, 
with a dark-brown band over the breast and again white 
throat and side of neck; bill small and black; reddish- 
brown legs, with long, sharp, slender claws. It chanced 
that each one of two I tried weighed between five and 
six sixteenths of an ounce, or between five and six drams 
avoirdupois. This seems to be the average weight, or 
say six drams because they have pined a little. A man 
who weighs one hundred and fifty pounds weighs sixty- 
four hundred times as much as one. The wing of one 


3384 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


contains about seven square inches, the body about five, 
or whole bird nineteen. If a man were to be provided 
with wings, etc.,in proportion to his weight, they would 
measure about 844 square feet, and one wing would 
cover 311 feet, or be about 33 feet long by 14 wide. 
This is to say nothing of his muscles. 

Dec. 4, 1856. I notice that the swallow-holes in the 
bank behind Dennis’s, which is partly washed away, 
are flat-elliptical, three times or more as wide horizon- 
tally as they are deep veeeny or about three inches 
by one. 

Nov. 20, 1857. Some bank swallows’ nests are ex- 
posed by the caving of the bank at Clamshell. The very 
smallest hole is about two and a half inches wide hori- 
zontally, by barely one high. All are much wider than 
high (vertically). One nest, with an egg in it still, is 
completely exposed. The cavity at the end is shaped 
like a thick hoe-cake or lens, about six inches wide and 
two plus thick, vertically. The nest is a regular but 
shallow one made simply of stubble, about five inches 
in diameter, and three quarters of an inch deep. 

Jan. 24,1858. The inside of the swallow-holes there 
appears quite firm yet and regular, with marks where 
it was pecked or scratched by the bird, and the top is 
mottled or blotched, almost as if made firm in spots by 
the saliva of the bird. There is a low oven-like expan- 
sion at the end, and a good deal of stubble for the nest. 
I find in one an empty black cherry stone and the re- 
mains of a cricket or two. Probably a mouse left them 
there. 

June 28, 1858. Get an egg out of a deserted bank 


SWALLOWS 835 


swallow’s nest, in a bank only about four feet high dug 
in the spring for a bank wall near Everett’s. The nest 
is flattish and lined abundantly with the small, some- 
what downy, naturally curved feathers of poultry. Egg 
pure white, long, oval, twenty-seven fortieths by eighteen 
fortieths of an inch. 


SWALLOWS (GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS ) 


July 16, 1851. The twittering of swallows is in the 
air, reminding me of water. 

July 23, 1851. The swallow’s twitter is the sound of 
the lapsing waves of the air, or when they break and 
burst, as his wings represent the ripple. He has more 

‘air in his bones than other birds ; his feet are defective. 
The fish of the air. His note is the voice of the air. As 
fishes may hear the sound of waves lapsing on the sur- 
face and see the outlines of the ripples, so we hear the 
note and see the flight of swallows. 

Aug. 17, 1851. The birds seem to know that it will 
not rain just yet. The swallows skim low over the pas- 
tures, twittering as they fly near me with forked tail, 
dashing near me as if I seared up insects for them. I 
see where a squirrel has been eating hazelnuts on a 
stump. 

Aug. 4, 1855. Just after bathing at the rock near 
the Island this afternoon, after sunset, I saw a flock of 
thousands of barn swallows and some white-bellied, and 
perhaps others, for it was too dark to distinguish them. 
They came flying over the river in loose array, wheeled 
and flew round in a great circle over the bay there, 
about eighty feet high, with a loud twittering as if seek- 


3386 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


ing a resting-place, then flew up the stream. I was very 
much surprised at their numbers. Directly after, hear- 
ing a buzzing sound, we found them all alighted on the 
dense golden willow hedge at Shattuck’s shore, parallel 
with the shore, quite densely leaved and eighteen feet 
high. They were generally perched five or six feet from 
the top, amid the thick leaves, filling it for eight or ten 
rods. They were very restless, fluttering from one perch 
to another and about one another, and kept up a loud 
and remarkable buzzing or squeaking, breathing or 
hum, with only occasionally a regular twitter, now and 
then flitting alongside from one end of the row to the 
other. It was so dark we had to draw close to see them. 
At intervals they were perfectly still for a moment, as 
if at asignal. At length, after twenty or thirty minutes 
of bustle and hum, they all settled quietly to rest on 
their perches, I supposed for the night. We had rowed 
up within a rod of one end of the row, looking up so as 
to bring the birds between us and the sky, but they 
paid not the slightest attention to us. What was re- 
markable was: first, their numbers ; second, their perch- 
ing on densely leaved willows; third, their buzzing or 
humming, like a hive of bees, even squeaking notes; 
and fourth, their disregarding our nearness. I supposed 
that they were preparing to migrate, being the early 
broods. 

Aug. 5, 1855. 4 A. M.—On river to see swallows. 

They are all gone; yet Fay saw them there last night 
after we passed. Probably they started very early. I 
asked Minott if he ever saw swallows migrating, not 
telling him what I had seen, and he said that he used 


SWALLOWS 337 


to get up and go out to mow very early in the morning 
on his meadow, as early as he could see to strike, and 
once, at that hour, hearing a noise, he looked up and 
-could just distinguish high overhead fifty thousand 
swallows. He thought it was in the latter part of 
August. 

April 30, 1856. About 3.30 p. M., when it was quite 
cloudy as well as raw, and I was measuring along the 
river just south of the bridge, I was surprised by the 
great number of swallows — white-bellied and barn 
swallows and perhaps republican — flying round and 
round, or skimming very low over the meadow, just laid 
bare, only a foot above the ground. Either from the 
shape of the hollow or their circling, they seemed to 
form a circular flock three or four rods in diameter 
and one swallow deep. There were two or three of these 
centres and some birds equally low over the river. It 
looked like rain, but did not rain that day or the next. 
Probably their insect food was flying at that height 
over the meadow at that time. There were a thousand 
or more of swallows, and I think that they had recently 
arrived together on their migration. Only this could 
account for there being so many together. We were 
measuring through one little circular meadow, and 
many of them were not driven off by our nearness. The 
noise of their wings and their twittering was quite 
loud. 

May 11, 1856. There are many swallows circling low 
over the river behind Monroe’s, — bank swallows, barn, 
republican, chimney, and white-bellied. These are all 
circling together a foot or two over the water, passing 


338 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


within ten or twelve feet of me in my boat. It is re- 
markable how social the different species of swallow are 
one with another. They recognize their affinity more 
than usual. 

July 29, 1856. Pratt says he one day walked out 
with Wesson, with their rifles, as far as Hunt’s Bridge. 
Looking down-stream, he saw a swallow sitting on a 
bush very far off, at which he took aim and fired with 
ball. He was surprised to see that he had touched the 
swallow, for it flew directly across the river toward 
Simon Brown’s barn, always descending toward the 
earth or water, not being able to maintain itself; but 
what surprised him most was to see a second swallow 
come flying behind and repeatedly strike the other with 
all his force beneath, so as to toss him up as often as 
he approached the ground and enable him to continue 
his flight, and thus he continued to do till they were out 
of sight. Pratt said he resolved that he would never fire 
at a swallow again. 

Aug. 26, 1856. The flooded meadow, where the grass- 
hoppers cling to the grass so thickly, is alive with swal- 
lows skimming just over the surface amid the grass- 
tops and apparently snapping up insects there. Are they 
catching the grasshoppers as they cling to bare poles? 
CI see the swallows equally thick there at 5 p. M. when 
I return also.) 

May 20, 1858. P. M.— Up Assabet. 

A cloudy afternoon, with a cool east wind, producing 
a mist. Hundreds of swallows are now skimming close 
over the river, at its broadest part, where it is shallow 
and runs the swiftest, just below the Island, for a dis- 


SWALLOWS 339 


tance of twenty rods. There are bank, barn, cliff, and 
chimney swallows, all mingled together and continually 
scaling back and forth, — a very lively sight. They keep 
descending or stooping to within a few inches of the 
water on a curving wing, without quite touching it, and 
I suppose are attracted by some small insects which 
hover close over it. They also stoop low about me as I 
stand on the flat island there, but I do not perceive the 
insects. They rarely rise more than five feet above the 
surface, and a general twittering adds to the impres- 
sion of sociability. The principal note is the low grat- 
ing sound of the bank swallow, and I hear the vit vit of 
the barn swallow. The cliff swallow, then, is here. Are 
the insects in any measure confined to that part of the 
river? Or are they congregated for the sake of society ? 
I have also in other years noticed them over another 
swift place, at Hubbard’s Bath, and also, when they 
first come, in smaller numbers, over the still and smooth 
water under the lee of the Island wood. They are thick 
as the gnats which perhaps they catch. Swallows are 
more confident and fly nearer to man than most birds. 
It may be because they are more protected by the senti- 
ment and superstitions of men. 


XVII 
WAXWINGS, SHRIKES, AND VIREOS 


CEDAR WAXWING ; CHERRY-BIRD 


June 21,1852. Cherry-birds. I have notseen, though 
I think I have heard them before, — their fine seringo 
note, like a vibrating spring in the air. They are a hand- 
some bird, with their crest and chestnut breasts. There 
is no keeping the run of their goings and comings, but 
they will be ready for the cherries when they shall be 
ripe. 

June 16, 1854. The note of the cherry-bird is fine 
and ringing, but peculiar and very noticeable. With its 
crest it is a resolute and combative-looking bird. 

June 14, 1855. A cherry-bird’s nest and two eggs 
in an apple tree, fourteen feet from ground. One egg, 
round black spots and a few oblong, about equally but 
thinly dispersed over the whole, and a dim, internal, 
purplish tinge about the large end. It is difficult to see 
anything of the bird, for she steals away early, and 
you may neither see nor hear anything of her while ex- 
amining the nest, and so think it deserted. Approach 
very warily and look out for them a dozen or more 
rods off, 

March 1, 1856. Goodwin says that somewhere where 
he lived they called cherry-birds “ port-royals.” 

March 20, 1858. On that same tree by Conant’s or- 
chard, I see a flock of cherry-birds with that alert, chief- 


NORTHERN SHRIKE 341 


tain-like look, and hear their seringo note, as if made 
by their swift flight through the air. They have been 
seen a week or two. 

[ See also under General and Miscellaneous, p. 429]. 


NORTHERN SHRIKE 


Feb. 25, 1839. THE SHRIKE 


Hark! hark! from out the thickest fog 
Warbles with might and main 

The fearless shrike, as all agog 

To find in fog his gain. 


His steady sails he never furls 

At any time o’ year, 

And, perchéd now on Winter’s curls, 
He whistles in his ear. 


Dec. 24, 1850. Saw a shrike pecking to pieces a small 
bird, apparently a snowbird. At length he took him up 
in his bill, almost half as big as himself, and flew slowly 
off with his prey dangling from his beak. I find that I 
had not associated such actions with my idea of birds. 
It was not birdlike. 

Feb. 3, 1856. Returning, saw near the Island a shrike 
glide by, cold and blustering as it was, with a remark- 
ably even and steady sail or gliding motion like a hawk, 
eight or ten feet above the ground, and alight in a tree, 
from which at the same instant a small bird, perhaps 
a creeper or nuthatch, flitted timidly away. The shrike 
was apparently in pursuit. 

Nov. 29, 1858. I see a living shrike caught to-day in 
the barn of the Middlesex House. : 


3842 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


Nov. 30, 1858. The shrike was very violent for a long 
time, beating itself against the bars of its cage at 
Stacy’s. To-day it is quiet and has eaten raw meat. Its 
plain dark ash-colored crown and back are separated 
by a very distinct line from the black wings. It has a 
powerful hawk-like beak, but slender legs and claws. 
Close to, it looks more like a muscicapa' than anything. 

March 7, 1859. 6.30 A. M.—To Hill. 

I come out to hear a spring bird, the ground gener- 
ally covered with snow yet and the channel of the river 
only partly open. On the Hill I hear first the tapping 
of a small woodpecker. I then see a bird alight on the 
dead top of the highest white oak on the hilltop, on the 
topmost point. It is ashrike. While I am watching him 
eight or ten rods off, I hear robins down below, west of 
the hill. Then, to my surprise, the shrike begins to sing. 
It is at first a wholly ineffectual and inarticulate sound 
without any solid tone to it, a mere hoarse breathing, 
as if he were clearing his throat, unlike any bird that 
I know, —a shrill hissing. Then he uttered a kind of 
mew, a very decided mewing, clear and wiry, between 
that of a catbird and the note of the nuthatch, as if to 
lure a nuthatch within his reach; then rose into the 
sharpest, shrillest vibratory or tremulous whistling or 
chirruping on the very highest key. This high gurgling 
jingle was like some of the notes of a robin singing in 
summer. But they were very short spurts in all these 
directions, though there was all this variety. Unless you 
saw the shrike it would be hard to tell what bird it was. 
This variety of notes covered considerable time, but 


1 [That is, a flycatcher.] 


NORTHERN SHRIKE 343 


were sparingly uttered with intervals. It was a decided 
chinking sound — the clearest strain — suggesting much 
ice in the stream. I heard this bird sing once before, 
but that was also in early spring, or about this time. It 
is said that they imitate the notes of the birds in order 
to attract them within their reach. Why, then, have I 
never heard them sing in the winter? (I have seen 
seven or eight of them the past winter quite near.) The 
birds which it imitated —if it imitated any this morn- 
ing — were the catbird and the robin, neither of which 
probably would it catch, — and the first is not here to 
be caught. Hearing a peep, I looked up and saw three 
or four birds passing rather [sic], which suddenly de- 
scended and settled on this oak-top. They were robins, 
but the shrike instantly hid himself behind a bough and 
in half a minute flew off to a walnut and alighted, as 
usual, on its very topmost twig, apparently afraid of its 
visitors. The robins kept their ground, one alighting 
on the very point which the shrike vacated. Is not this, 
then, probably the spring note or pairing note or notes 
of the shrike ? 

Dec. 18, 1859. I see three shrikes in different places 
to-day, — two on the top of apple trees, sitting still in 
the storm, on the lookout. They fly low to another tree 
when disturbed, much like a bluebird, and jerk their 
tails once or twice when they alight. 

Dec. 30, 1859. Going by Dodd’s, I see a shrike 
perched on the tip-top of the topmost upright twig of 
an English cherry tree before his house, standing square 
on the topmost bud, balancing himself by a slight mo- 
tion of his tail from time to time. I have noticed this 


344 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


habit of the bird before. You would suppose it incon- 
venient for so large a bird to maintain its footing there. 
Seared by my passing [?] in the road, it flew off, and 
I thought I would see if it alighted on a similar place. 
It flew toward a young elm, whose higher twigs were 
much more slender, though not quite so upright as 
those of the cherry, and I thought he might be excused 
if he alighted on the side of one; but no, to my surprise, 
he alighted without any trouble upon the very top of 
one of the highest of all, and looked around as before. 


WARBLING VIREO 
[ See under General and Miscellaneous, p. 426.] 


YELLOW-THROATED VIREO 


May 19,1856. Hear and see a yellow-throated vireo, 
which methinks I have heard before. Going and coming, 
he is in the top of the same swamp white oak and sing- 
ing indolently, ullia — eelya, and sometimes varied to 
eelyee. 


VIREOS (UNSPECIFIED AND UNIDENTIFIED) 


May T, 1852. The vireo comes with warm weather, 
midwife to the leaves of the elms. 

Jan. 13,1856. Took to pieces a pensile nest which I 
found the 11th on the south shore of Walden on an 
oak sapling (red or black), about fifteen feet from the 
ground. Though small,it measures three inches by three 
in the extreme, and was hung between two horizontal 
twigs or in a fork forming about a right angle, the third 
side being regularly rounded without any very stiff mate- 


VIREOS 345 


rial. The twigs extended two or three inches beyond the 
nest. The bulk of it is composed of fine shreds or fibres, 
pretty long (say three to six inches), of apparently 
inner oak (?) bark, judging from some scraps of the 
epidermis adhering. It looks at first sight like sedge 
or grass. The bottom, which I accidentally broke off 
and disturbed the arrangement of, was composed of this 
and white and pitch pine needles and little twigs about 
the same size and form, rough with little leaf-stalks 
or feet (probably hemlock (?)'), and also strips and 
curls of paper birch epidermis, and some hornet or 
other wasp nest used like the last. I mention the most 
abundant material first. Probably the needles and twigs 
were used on account of their curved form? and elasticity, 
to give shape to the bottom. The sides, which were not 
so thick, were composed of bark shreds, paper birch, and 
hornet-nest (the two latter chiefly outside, probably to 
bind and conceal and keep out the wind), agglutinated 
together. But most pains was taken with the thin edge 
and for three quarters of an inch down, where, beside 
the bark-fibres, birch paper, and hornets’ nest, some 
silky reddish-brown and also white fibre was used to 
bind all with, almost spun into threads and passed over 
the twigs and agglutinated to them, or over the bark 
edge. The shreds of birch paper were smaller there, 
and the hornets’ nest looked as if it had been reduced 
to a pulp by the bird and spread very thinly here and 
there over all, mixed with the brown silk. This last 
looked like cow’s hair, but as I found a piece of a small 
brown cocoon, though a little paler, I suspect it was 
1 Yes, they are. 2 Perhaps bent by the bird. 


346 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


from that. The white may have been from a cocoon, 
or else vegetable silk. Probably a vireo’s nest, maybe 
red-eye’s. 

In our workshops we pride ourselves on discovering 
a use for what had previously been regarded as waste, 
but how partial and accidental our economy compared 
with Nature’s. In Nature nothing is wasted. Every 
decayed leaf and twig and fibre is only the better fitted 
to serve in some other department, and all at last are 
gathered in her compost-heap. What a wonderful gen- 
ius it is that leads the vireo to select the tough fibres 
of the inner bark, instead of the more brittle grasses, 
for its basket, the elastic pine-needles and the twigs, 
curved as they dried to give it form, and, as I suppose, 
the silk of cocoons, etc., etc., to bind it together with! 
I suspect that extensive use is made of these abandoned 
cocoons by the birds, and they, if anybody, know where 
to find them. There were at least seven materials used 
in constructing this nest, and the bird visited as many 
distinct localities many times, always with the purpose 
or design to find some particular one of these materials, 
as much as if it had said to itself, ‘Now I will go and 
get some old hornets’ nest from one of those that I saw 
Jast fall down in the maple swamp— perhaps thrust 
my bill into them — or some silk from those cocoons I 
saw this morning.” 


1 Some of the same on my red-eye’s nest. 


XVIII 
WARBLERS 


BLACK AND WHITE WARBLER; BLACK AND WHITE 
CREEPER 


May 12, 1855. Watched a black and white creeper 
from Bittern Cliff, a very neat and active bird, explor- 
ing the limbs on all sides and looking three or four 
ways almost at once for insects. Now and then it raises 
its head a little, opens its bill, and, without closing it, 
utters its faint seeser seeser seeser. 

May 30,1857. In the midst of the shower, though 
it was not raining very hard, a black and white creeper 
came and inspected the limbs of a tree before my rock, 
in his usual zigzag, prying way, head downward often, 
and when it thundered loudest, heeded it not. Birds ap- 
pear to be but little incommoded by the rain. Yet they 
do not often sing in it. 

May 16, 1860. Near Peter’s I see a small creeper 
hopping along the branches of the oaks and pines, ever 
turning this way and thatas it hops, making various angles 
with the bough ; 
then flies across ~~ ; S a 
to.another bough, or to the base of another tree, and 
traces that up, zigzag and prying into the crevices. Think 
how thoroughly the trees are thus explored by various 
birds! You can hardly sit near one for five minutes now, 
but either a woodpecker or creeper comes and examines 


348 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


its bark rapidly, or a warbler— a summer yellowbird, for 
example — makes a pretty thorough exploration about 
all its expanding leafets, even to the topmost twig. The 
whole North American forest is being thus explored for 
insect food now by several hundred (?) species of birds. 
Each is visited by many kinds, and thus the equilibrium 
of the insect and vegetable kingdom is preserved. Per- 
haps I may say that each opening bud is thus visited 
before it has fully expanded. 

[ See also under General and Miscellaneous, p. 414.] 


YELLOW WARBLER; SUMMER YELLOWBIRD 


May 7, 1852. The first summer yellowbirds on the 
willow causeway. The birds I have lately mentioned 
come not singly, as the earliest, but all at once, z. e. 
many yellowbirds all over town. Now I remember the 
yellowbird comes when the willows begin to leave out. 
So yellow. They bring summer with them and the sun, 
tche-tche-tche-tcha tcha-tchar. Also they haunt the oaks, 
white and swamp white, where are not leaves. 

May 10, 1858. At this season the traveller passes 
through a golden gate on causeways where these willows 
are planted, as if he were approaching the entrance to 
Fairyland ; and there will surely be found the yellow- 
bird, and already from a distance is heard his note, a 
tche tche tche tcha tchar tcha, — ah, willow, willow. Could 
not he truly arrange for us the difficult family of the 
willows better than Borrer, or Barratt of Middletown? 
And as he passes between the portals, a sweet fragrance 
is wafted to him; he not only breathes but scents and 
tastes the air, and he hears the low humming or susurrus 


YELLOW WARBLER 349 


of a myriad insects which are feeding on its sweets. It 
is, apparently, these that attract the yellowbird. 

May 12, 1853. The yellowbird has another note, 
tchut tchut tchar te tchit e war. 

June 24, 18538. A yellowbird’s nest in a fork of a 
willow on Hubbard’s Causeway, resting chiefly on the 
leading branch; of fine grass, lined with hair, bottom 
outside puffing out with a fine, light, flax-like fibre, 
perhaps the bark of some weed, by which also it is 
fastened to the twigs. It is surprising that so many 
birds find hair enough to line their nests with. If I 
wish for a horsehair for my compass sights I must go 
to the stable, but the hair-bird,! with her sharp eyes, 
goes to the road. 

Jan. 18, 1856. Analyzed a nest which I found Janu- 
ary 7th in an upright fork of a red maple sapling on the 
edge of Hubbard’s Swamp Wood, north side, near river, 
about eight feet from the ground, the deep grooves made 
by the twigs on each side. It may be a yellowbird’s. 

Extreme breadth outside, three inches ; inside, one 
and a half. Extreme height outside, three inches; in- 
side, one and five eighths; sides, three quarters of an 
inch thick. 

It is composed of seven principal materials. (I name 
the most abundant first; I mean most abundant when 
compressed.) 

1. Small compact lengths of silvery pappus about 
seven eighths of an inch long, perhaps of erechthites, 
one half inch deep and nearly pure, a very warm bed, 
chiefly concealed, just beneath the lining inside. 

1 [The chipping sparrow. ] 


850 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


2. Slender catkins, often with the buds and twig ends 
(of perhaps hazel), throughout the whole bottom and 
sides, making it thick but open and light, mixed with 

(8) milkweed silk, i. e. fibres like flax, but white, 
being bleached, also in sides and rim, some of it almost 
threadlike, white with some of the dark epidermis. 
From the pods? ' 

4. Thin and narrow strips of grape-vine bark, chiefly 
in the rim and sides for three quarters of an inch down, 
and here and there throughout. 

5. Wads of apparently brown fern wool, mixed with 
the last three. 

6. Some finer pale-brown and thinner shreds of bark 
within the walls and bottom, apparently not grape. If 
this were added to the grape, these five materials would 
be not far from equally abundant. 

7. Some very fine pale-brown wiry fibres for a lining, 
just above the pappus and somewhat mixed with it, 
perhaps for coolness, being springy. 

Directly beneath the pappus were considerable other 
shreds of grape and the other bark, short and broken. 
In the rim and sides some cotton ravellings and some 
short shreds of fish-line or crow-fence. A red maple leaf 
within the bottom ; a kernel of corn just under the lining 
of fibres (perhaps dropped by a crow or blackbird or 
jay or squirrel while the nest was building). A few short 
lengths of stubble or weed stems in the bottom and 
sides. A very little brown wool, like, apparently, that in 
the nest last described, which may be brown fern wool. 


* No, I am about certain, from comparison, that it is the fibres of the 
bark of the stem. Vide 19th inst. 


YELLOW WARBLER 351 


The milkweed and fern wool conspicuous without the 
rim and about the twigs. I was most struck by that mass 
of pure pappus under the inside lining. 

Jan. 19, 1856. Gathered some dry water milkweed 
stems to compare with the materials of the bird’s nest 
of the 18th. The bird used, I am almost certain, the 
fibres of the bark of the stem,— not the pods, — just 
beneath the epidermis ; only the bird’s is older and more 
fuzzy and finer, like worn twine or string. The fibres 
and bark have otherwise the same appearance under the 
microscope. I stripped off some bark about one sixteenth 
of an inch wide and six inches long and, separating 
ten or twelve fibres from the epidermis, rolled it in my 
fingers, making a thread about the ordinary size. This 
I could not break by direct pulling, and no man could. 
I doubt if a thread of flax or hemp of the same size 
could be made so strong. What an admirable material 
for the Indian’s fish-line! I can easily get much longer 
fibres. I hold a piece of the dead weed 1n my hands, 
strip off a narrow shred of the bark before my neigh- 
bor’s eyes and separate ten or twelve fibres as fine as a 
hair, roll them in my fingers, and offer him the thread 
to try its strength. He is surprised and mortified to find 
that he cannot break it. Probably both the Indian and 
the bird discovered for themselves this same (so to call 
it) wild hemp. The corresponding fibres of the mikania 
seem not so divisible, become not so fine and fuzzy ; 
though somewhat similar, are not nearly so strong. I 
have a hang-bird’s nest from the riverside, made almost 
entirely of this, in narrow shreds or strips with the epi- 
dermis on, wound round and round the twigs and woven 


352 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


into a basket. That is, this bird has used perhaps the 
strongest fibre which the fields afforded and which most 
civilized men have not detected. 

Knocked down the bottom of that summer yellow- 
bird’s nest made on the oak at the Island last sum- 
mer. It is chiefly of fern wool and also, apparently, 
some sheep’s wool (?), with a fine green moss (ap- 
parently that which grows on button-bushes) inmixed, 
and some milkweed fibre, and all very firmly agglu- 
tinated together. Some shreds of grape-vine bark about 
it. Do not know what portion of the whole nest it is. 

[ See also under Flicker, p. 198.] 


MYRTLE WARBLER ; MYRTLE-BIRD 


May 6, 1855. Myrtle-birds very numerous just be- 
yond Second Division. They sing like an instrument, 
teee teee te,ttt,¢tt,on very various keys, 7. e. high 
or low, sometimes beginning like phe-be.1 As I sat by 
roadside one drew near, perched within ten feet, and 
dived once or twice with a curve to catch the little 
black flies about my head, coming once within three 
feet, not minding me much. I could not tell at first 
what attracted it toward me. It saw them from twenty- 
five feet off. There was a little swarm of small flies, 
regularly fly-like with large shoulders, about my head. 
Many white-throated sparrows there. 


1 [The song that Thoreau heard was, of course, that of the white 
throated sparrows he saw at the same place. He was long in learning 
the real authorship of this song, which he at first credited to the chicka- 
dee and then for several years to the “ myrtle-bird.”] 


MYRTLE WARBLER 353 


Oct. 19, 1856. See quite a flock of myrtle-birds, — 
which I might carelessly have mistaken for slate-colored 
snowbirds,— flitting about on the rocky hillside under 
Conantum Cliff. They show about three white or light- 
colored spots when they fly, commonly no bright yel- 
low, though some are pretty bright. They perch on the 
side of the dead mulleins, on rocks, on the ground, and 
directly dart off, apparently in pursuit of some insect. 
I hear no note from them. They are thus near or on 
the ground, then, not as in spring. 

Oct. 21,1857. Isee many myrtle-birds now about the 
house this forenoon, on the advent of cooler weather. 
They keep flying up against the house and the window 
and fluttering there, as if they would come in, or alight 
on the wood-pile or pump. They would commonly be 
mistaken for sparrows, but show more white when they fly, 
beside the yellow on the rump and sides of breast seen 
near to and two white bars on the wings. Chubby birds. 


PINE WARBLER 


April 23, 1852. I hear this morning, in the pine 
woods above the railroad bridge, for the first time, 
that delicious cool-sounding wetter-wetter-wetter-wetter- 
wet! from that small bird (pine warbler?) in the tops 
of the pines. I associate it with the cool, moist, ever- 
green spring woods. 

April 2, 1853. Heard and saw what I call the pine 
warbler, —vetter vetter vetter vetter vet,—the cool 
woodland sound. The first this year of the higher-col- 
ored birds, after the bluebird and the blackbird’s wing; 
is it not? It so affects me as something more tender. 


354 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


April 8, 1853. Saw and heard my small pine warbler 
shaking out his trills, or jingle, even like money com- 
ing to its bearings. They appear much the smaller from 
perching high in the tops of white pines and flitting 
from tree to tree at that height. 

April 9, 1853. On a pitch [pine] on side of J. Hos- 
mer’s river hill, a pine warbler, by ventriloquism sound- 
ing farther off than it was, which was seven or eight 
feet, hopping and flitting from twig to twig, apparently 
picking the small flies at and about the base of the 
needles at the extremities of the twigs. Saw two after- 
ward on the walls by roadside. 
~ April 9, 1856. While I am looking at the hazel, I 
hear from the old locality, the edge of the great pines 
and oaks in the swamp by the railroad, the note of the 
pine warbler. It sounds far off and faint, but, coming 
out and sitting on the iron rail, I am surprised to see 
it within three or four rods, on the upper part of a 
white oak, where it is busily catching insects, hopping 
along toward the extremities of the limbs and looking 
off on all sides, twice darting off like a wood pewee 
two rods over the railroad after an insect and return- 
’ ing to the oak, and from time to time uttering its simple, 
rapidly iterated, cool-sounding notes. When heard a 
little within the wood, as he hops to that side of the 
oak, they sound particularly cool and inspiring, like 
a part of the evergreen forest itself, the trickling of 
the sap. Its bright-yellow or golden throat and breast, 
ete., are conspicuous at this season, —a greenish yellow 
above, with two white bars on its bluish-brown wings. 
It sits often with loose-hung wings and forked tail. 


PINE WARBLER 355 


April 11, 1856. Hear in the old place, the pitch pine 
grove on the bank by the river, the pleasant ringing 
note of the pine warbler. Its a-che, vitter vitter, vitter 
vitter, vitter vitter, vitter vitter, vet rings through the 
open pine grove very rapidly. I also heard it at the 
old place by the railroad, as I came along. It is re- 
markable that I have so often heard it first in these 
two localities, 7. ¢. where the railroad skirts the north 
edge of a small swamp densely filled with tall old white 
pines and a few white oaks, and in a young grove com- 
posed wholly of pitch pines on the otherwise bare, very 
high and level bank of the Assabet. When the season 
is advanced enough, I am pretty sure to hear its ring- 
ing note in both those places. 

April 15, 1859. The warm pine woods are all alive 
this afternoon with the jingle of the pine warbler, the 
for the most part invisible minstrel. That wood, for 
example, at the Punk Oak, where we sit to hear it. It 
is surprising how quickly the earth, which was covered 
half an inch deep this morning, and since so wet, has 
become comparatively dry, so that we sit on the ground 
or on the dry leaves in woods at 8 p. M. and smell the 
pines and see and hear the flies, etc., buzz about, though 
the sun did not come out till 12 m. This morning, the 
aspect of winter; at mid-forenoon, the ground reeking 
with moisture; at 3 P. M., sit on dry leaves and hear 
the flies buzz and smell the pines! That wood is now 
very handsome seen from the westerly side, the sun 
falling far through it, though some trunks are wholly 
in shade. This warbler impresses me as if it were 
calling the trees to life. I think of springing twigs. Its 


856 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


jingle rings through the wood at short intervals, as if, 
like an electric shock, it imparted a fresh spring life to 
them. You hear the same bird, now here now there, as 
it incessantly flits about, commonly invisible and utter- 
ing its simple jingle on very different keys, and from 
time to time a companion is heard farther or nearer. 
This is a peculiarly summer-like sound. Go to a warm 
pine wood-side on a pleasant day at this season after 
storm, and hearit ring with the jingle of the pine warbler. 


OVEN-BIRD ; GOLDEN-CROWNED THRUSH 3 
“¢ NIGHT-WARBLER ” ? 


June 11, 1851. I hear the night-warbler breaking 
out as in his dreams, made so from the first for some 
mysterious reason. 

June 29, 1851. The night-warbler sings the same 
strain at noon. 

May 10, 1853. P. M. — Hear the night-warbler now 
distinctly. It does not soon repeat its note, and disap- 
pears with the sound. 

June 19, 1853. Heard my night-warbler on a soli- 
tary white pine in the Heywood Clearing by the Peak. 
Discovered it at last, looking like a small piece of 
black bark curving partly over the limb. No fork to 
its tail. It appeared black beneath ; was very shy, not 
bigger than a yellowbird, and very slender. 

1 [Practically all of Thoreau’s references, however slight, to his mys- 
terious ‘‘night-warbler” are here printed. He never satisfied himself 
as to the identity of the bird, but the accumulated evidence makes it 
clear that the night-warbler’s song was no other than the flight-song of 


the oven-bird, though the somewhat similar aerial song of the Mary- 
land yellow-throat deceived him on one occasion. ] 


OVEN-BIRD; “«NIGHT-WARBLER” 357 


May 28, 1854. The night-warbler, after his strain, 
drops down almost perpendicularly into a tree-top and 
is lost. 

May 29, 1854. Saw what I thought my night-war- 
bler, — sparrow-like with chestnut (?) stripes on 
breast, white or whitish below and about eyes, and 
perhaps chestnut (??) head. 

May 3, 1857. Emerson says that Brewer tells him 
my “night warbler” is probably the Nashville war- 
bler. 

May 12, 1857. A night-warbler, plainly light be- 
neath. It always flies to a new perch immediately after 
its song. 

May 16, 1858. A golden-crowned thrush hops quite 
near. It is quite small, about the size of the creeper, 
with the upper part of its breast thickly and distinctly 
pencilled with black, a tawny head; and utters now 
only a sharp cluck for a chip. See and hear a redstart, 
the rhythm of whose strain is tsetse, tse’-tse, tse’, em- 
phasizing the last syllable of all and not ending with 
the common ésear. Hear the night-warbler. 

May 17, 1858. Just after hearing my night-warbler 
I see two birds on a tree. The one which I examined 
—as well as I could without a glass — had a white 
throat with a white spot on his wings, was dark above 
and moved from time to time like a creeper, and it was 
about the creeper’s size. The other bird, which I did 
not examine particularly, was a little larger and more 
tawny. 

May 19, 1858. Heard the night-warbler begin his 


1 Perhaps golden-crowned thrush. 


358 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


strain just like an oven-bird! I have noticed that when 
it drops down into the woods it darts suddenly one side 
to a perch when low. 

Aug. 5, 1858. While passing there, I heard what I 
should call my night-warbler’s note, and, looking up, 
saw the bird dropping to a bush on the hillside. 
Looking through the glass, I saw that it was the 
Maryland yellow-throat!! and it afterward flew to the 
button-bushes in the meadow. 

May 8, 1860. The night-warbler’s note. 

May 18, 1860. The night-warbler is a powerful 
singer for so small a bird. It launches into the air 
above the forest, or over some hollow or open space in 
the woods, and challenges the attention of the woods 
by its rapid and impetuous warble, and then drops 
down swiftly into the tree-tops like a performer with- 
drawing behind the scenes, and he is very lucky who 
detects where it alights. 

Aug. 28, 1860. Hear the night-warbler and the 
whip-poor-will. 


AMERICAN REDSTART 


May 10, 1853. I hear, and have for a week, in the 
woods, the note of one or more small birds somewhat 
like a yellowbird’s. What is it? Is it the redstart? I 
now see one of these. The first I have distinguished. 
And now I feel pretty certain that my black and yellow 
warbler of May 1st was this. As I sit, it inquisitively 
hops nearer and nearer. It is one of the election-birds! 
of rare colors which I can remember, mingled dark and 


1 [Birds shot on election day. See p. 326.] 


AMERICAN REDSTART 359 


reddish. This reminds me that I supposed much more 
variety and fertility in nature before I had learned the 
numbers and the names of each order. I find that I 
had expected such fertility in our Concord woods alone 
as not even the completest museum of stuffed birds of 
all the forms and colors from all parts of the world 


comes up to. 
[See also under Oven-bird, p. 357.] 


WARBLERS (IN GENERAL) 


April 19, 1854. Within a few days the warblers 
have begun to come. They are of every hue. Nature 
made them to show her colors with. There are as many 
as there are colors and shades. In certain lights, as yes- 
terday against the snow, nothing can be more splendid 
and celestial than the color of the bluebird. 


XIX 
TITLARKS, THRASHERS, AND WRENS 


AMERICAN PIPIT; TITLARK 


Oct. 26, 1853. I hear a faint twittering of the spar- 
rows in the grass, like crickets. Those flitting spar- 
rows ' which we have had for some weeks, are they not 
the sober snowbirds (tree sparrows?)? They fly in a 
great drifting flock, wheeling and dashing about, as if 
preluding or acting a snow-storm, with rapid te te te. 
They are as dry and rustling as the grass. 

Nov. 6, 18538. It is remarkable how little we attend 
to what is passing before us constantly, unless our gen- 
ius directs our attention that way. There are these 
little sparrows with white in tail, perhaps the prevailing 
bird of late, which have flitted before me so many falls 
and springs,” and yet they have been as it were stran- 
gers to me, and I have not inquired whence they came 
or whither they were going, or what their habits were. 
It is surprising how little most of us are contented to 
know about the sparrows which drift about in the air 
before us just before the first snows. I hear the downy 
woodpecker’s metallic tchip or peep. Now I see where 
many a bird builded last spring or summer. These are 
leaves which do not fall. 


1 [From other entries in the Journal it is evident that these ‘‘ spar- 
rows ” which Thoreau saw in large flocks in the fall were titlarks. | 

2 [Though common in the autumn, the titlark is rare in the spring in 
New England. Thoreau was probably only taking it for granted that 
he had often seen these birds in the spring. ] 


BROWN THRASHER 361 


MOCKINGBIRD 


Aug. 18, 1854. I think I saw a mockingbird on a 
black cherry near Pedrick’s. Size of and like a cat- 
bird ; bluish-black side-head, a white spot on closed 
wings, lighter breast and beneath; but he flew before I 
had fairly adjusted my glass. There were brown thrash- 
ers with it making their clicking note. 


CATBIRD 


May 8, 1852. I hear a catbird singing within a rod 
among the alders, but it is too dark to see him. Now he 
stops and half angrily, half anxiously and inquisitively, 
inquires char-char, sounding like the caw of a crow, not 
like a cat. 

May 21,1852. The catbird sings like a robin some- 
times, sometimes like a blackbird’s sprayey warble. 
There is more of squeak or mew, and also of clear 
whistle, than in the thrasher’s note. 

[ See also under General and Miscellaneous, p. 427. ] 


BROWN THRASHER 


May 3, 1852. Hear the first brown thrasher, — two 
of them. . . . They drown all the rest. He says cher- 
ruwit, cherruwit ; go ahead, go ahead ; give it to him, 
give it to him; ete., etc., ete. 

May 16, 1852. The thrasher has a sort of laugh in 
his strain which the catbird has not. 

May 18, 1852. This afternoon the brown thrashers 
are very numerous and musical. They plunge down- 
ward when they leave their perch, in a peculiar way. 


362 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


It is a bird that appears to make a business of singing 
for its own amusement. There is great variety in its 
strains. It is not easy to detect any repetition. 

June 24, 1853. The brown thrasher’s nest has been 
robbed, probably by some other bird. It rested on a 
branch of a swamp-pink and some grape-vines, effect- 
ually concealed and protected by grape-vines and 
green-briar in a matted bower above it. The foundation 
of pretty stout twigs, eight or nine inches in diameter, 
surmounted by coarse strips of grape bark, giving 
form to the nest, and then lined with some harsh, wiry 
root-fibres ; within rather small and shallow, and the 
whole fabric of loose texture, not easy to remove. 

April 30, 1856. A fine. morning. I hear the first 
brown thrasher singing within three or four rods of me 
on the shrubby hillside in front of the Hadley place. I 
think I had a glimpse of one darting down from a sap- 
ling-top into the bushes as I rode by the same place 
on the morning of the 28th. 

This, I think, is the very place to hear them early, 
a dry hillside sloping to the south, covered with young 
wood and shrub oaks. I am the more attracted to that 
house as a dwelling-place. To live where you would. 
hear the first brown thrasher! First, perchance, you 
have a glimpse of one’s ferruginous long brown back, 
instantly lost amid the shrub oaks, and are uncertain 
if it was a thrasher, or one of the other thrushes; and 
your uncertainty lasts commonly a day or two, until 
its rich and varied strain is heard. Surveying seemed 
a noble employment which brought me within hearing 
of this bird. I was trying to get the exact course of a 


WINTER WREN 363 


wall thickly beset with shrub oaks and birches, mak- 
ing an opening through them with axe and knife, while 
the hillside seemed to quiver or pulsate with the sud- 
den melody. Again, it is with the side of the ear that 
you hear. The music or the beauty belong not to 
your work itself but some of its accompaniments. 
You would fain devote yourself to the melody, but 
you will hear more of it if you devote yourself to your 
work. 

May 4, 1859. We hear a thrasher sing for half an 
hour steadily, — a very rich singer and heard a quarter 
of a mile off very distinctly. This is first heard com- 
monly at planting-time. He sings as if conscious of his 
power. 

June 19,1860. Observe a nest crowded full with four 
young brown thrashers half fledged. You would think 
they would die of heat, so densely packed and over- 
flowing. Three head one way, and the other lies across. 
How quickly a fox would gobble them up! 


WINTER WREN 
July 10, 1858. The Fringilla hyemalis was most 


common in the upper part of the ravine,’ and I saw a 
large bird of prey, perhaps an eagle, sailing over the 
head of the ravine. The wood thrush and veery? sang 
regularly, especially morning and evening. But, above 
all, the peculiar and memorable songster was that 


1 [Tuekerman’s Ravine on the side of Mt. Washington] 

2 [Doubtless the olive-backed thrush and Bicknell’s thrush, which 
are the only thrushes found on the upper slopes of Mt. Washington. 
See note on wood thrush, p. 377.] 


864 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


Monadnock-like one,' keeping up an exceedingly brisk 
and lively strain. It was remarkable for its incessant 
twittering flow. Yet we never got sight of the bird, 
at least while singing, so that I could not identify it, 
and my lameness? prevented my pursuing it. I heard 
it afterward, even in the Franconia Notch. It was sur- 
prising for its steady and uninterrupted flow, for when 
one stopped, another appeared to take up the strain. 
It reminded me of a fine corkscrew stream issuing with 
incessant lisping tinkle from a cork, flowing rapidly, 
and I said that he had pulled out the spile and left it 
running.* That was the rhythm, but with a sharper 
tinkle of course. It had no more variety than that, but 
it was more remarkable for its continuance and mo- 
notonousness than any bird’s note I ever heard. It evi- 
dently belongs only to cool mountainsides, high up amid 
the fir and spruce. I saw once flitting through the fir- 
tops restlessly a small white and dark bird, sylvia-like, 
which may have been it. Sometimes they appeared to 
be attracted by our smoke. The note was so incessant 
that at length you only noticed when it ceased. 


SHORT-BILLED MARSH WREN 


Aug. 5, 1858. Just opposite this bay,‘ I heard a pe- 
culiar note which I thought at first might be that of a 
kingbird, but soon saw for the first time a wren within 


1 [On June 4 of the same year he had heard on Mt. Monadnock “a 
very peculiar lively and interesting strain from some bird,” but had 
been unable to see the singer. ] 

2 [He had sprained his ankle the day before. ] 

8 [The song described is evidently that of the winter wren.] 

4 [Lily Bay in the Sudbury River and in the town of Sudbury.] 


SHORT-BILLED MARSH WREN 365 


two or three rods perched on the tall sedge or the wool- 
grass and making it,— probably the short-billed marsh 
wren. It was peculiarly brisk and rasping, not at all 
musical, the rhythm something like shar te ditile ittle 
ittle ittle ittle, but the last part was drier or less liquid 
than this implies. It was a small bird, quite dark 
above and apparently plain ashy-white beneath, and 
held its head up when it sang, and also commonly its 
tail. It dropped into the deep sedge on our approach, 
but did not go off, as we saw by the motion of the 
grass; then reappeared and uttered its brisk notes 
quite near us, and, flying off, was lost in the sedge 
again. 

[ See also under General and Miscellaneous, p. 424. ] 


XX 
CREEPERS, NUTHATCHES, TITS, AND KINGLETS 


BROWN CREEPER 


Nov. 26, 1859. I see here to-day one brown creeper 
busily inspecting the pitch pines. It begins at the base, 
and creeps rapidly upward by starts, adhering close to 
the bark and shifting a little from side to side often till 
near the top, then suddenly darts off downward to the 
base of another tree, where it repeats the same course. 
This has no black cockade, like the nuthatch. 

[ See also under General and Miscellaneous, pp. 416, 
422.] 


WHITE-BELLIED NUTHATCH 


April 6, 1856. I went to the oaks. Heard there a 
nuthatch’s faint vibrating tut-tut, somewhat even like 
croaking of frogs, as it made its way up the oak bark 
and turned head down to peck. Anon it answered its 
mate with a gnah gnah. 

Dec. 5, 1856. As I walk along the side of the Hill, 
a pair of nuthatches flit by toward a walnut,’ flying 
low in midcourse and then ascending to the tree. I 
hear one’s faint tut tut or gnah gnah — no doubt heard a 
good way by its mate now flown into the next tree — 
as it is ascending the trunk or branch of a walnut in a 
zigzag manner, hitching along, prying into the crevices 


1 [Thoreau was accustomed to use the name walnut for the various 
species of hickory.] 


WHITE-BELLIED NUTHATCH 367 


of the bark; and now it has found a savory morsel, 
which it pauses to devour, then flits to a new bough. 
It is a chubby bird, white, slate-color, and black. 

Jan. 5, 1859. As I go over the causeway, near the 
railroad bridge, I hear a fine busy twitter, and, looking 
up, see a nuthatch hopping along and about a swamp white 
oak branch, inspecting every side of it, as readily hang- 
ing head-downwards as standing upright, and then it 
utters a distinct gnah, as if to attract a companion. 
Indeed, that other, finer twitter seemed designed to 
keep some companion in tow, or else it was like a very 
busy man talking to himself. The companion was a 
single chickadee, which lisped six or eight feet off. 
There were, perhaps, no other birds than these two 
within a quarter of a mile. And when the nuthatch 
flitted to another tree two rods off, the chickadee un- 
failingly followed. 

March 5, 1859. Going down-town this forenoon, I 
heard a white-bellied nuthatch on an elm within twenty 
feet, uttering peculiar notes and more like a song than 
Iremember to have heard from it. There was a chick- 
adee close by, to which it may have been addressed. 
It was something like to-what what what what what, 
rapidly repeated, and not the usual gnah gnah; and 
this instant it occurs to me that this may be that earli- 
est spring note which I hear, and have referred to a 
woodpecker! (This is before J have chanced to see a 
bluebird, blackbird, or robin in Concord this year.) It 
is the spring note of the nuthatch. It paused in its pro- 
gress about the trunk or branch and uttered this lively 
but peculiarly inarticulate song, an awkward attempt to 


368 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


warble almost in the face of the chickadee, as if it were 
one of its kind. It was thus giving vent to the spring 
within it. If I am not mistaken, it is what I have heard 
in former springs or winters long ago, fabulously early 
in the season, when we men had but just begun to anti- 
cipate the spring, —for it would seem that we, in our 
anticipations and sympathies, include in succession the 
moods and expressions of all creatures. When only the 
snow had begun to melt and no rill of song had 
broken loose, a note so dry and fettered still, so inartic- 
ulate and half thawed out, that you might (and would 
commonly) mistake for the tapping of a woodpecker. 
As if the young nuthatch in its hole had listened only 
to the tapping of woodpeckers and learned that music, 
and now, when it would sing and give vent to its spring 
ecstasy, it can modulate only some notes like that. 
That is its theme still. That is its ruling idea of 
song and music, — only a little clangor and liquidity 
added to the tapping of the woodpecker. It was the 
handle by which my thoughts took firmly hold on 
spring. 

[ See also under General and Miscellaneous, pp. 415, 
416.] 

CHICKADEE 

[Dated only 1838.] Sometimes I hear the veery’s 
silver clarion, or the brazen note of the impatient jay, 
or in secluded woods the chickadee doles out her scanty 
notes, which sing the praise of heroes, and set forth 
the loveliness of virtue evermore. — Phe-be. 

Nov. 9,1850. The chickadees, if I stand long enough, 
hop nearer and nearer inquisitively, from pine bough 


CHICKADEE 369 


to pine bough, till within four or five feet, occasionally 
lisping a note. 

Oct. 10, 1851. As I stood amid the witch-hazels 
near Flint’s Pond, a flock of a dozen chickadees came 
flitting and singing about me with great ado, —a most 
cheering and enlivening sound, — with incessant day- 
day-day and a fine wiry strain betweenwhiles, flitting 
ever nearer and nearer and nearer, inquisitively, till 
the boldest was within five feet of me; then suddenly, 
their curiosity satiated, they flit by degrees further 
away and disappear, and I hear with regret their re- 
treating day-day-days. 

March 10, 1852. Heard the phebe note of the 
chickadee to-day for the first time. I had at first heard 
their day-day-day ungratefully,—ah! you but carry 
my thoughts back to winter, — but anon I found that 
they too had become spring birds ; they had changed 
their note. Even they feel the influence of spring. 

Oct. 28, 1852. The chickadees flit along, following 
me inquisitively a few rods with lisping, tinkling note, 
— flit within a few feet of me from curiosity, head 
downward on the pines. 

March 22, 1853. I hear the phebe note of the 
chickadee, one taking it up behind another as in a catch, 
phe-bee phe-bee. 

Dec. 1, 1853. Those trees and shrubs which retain 
their withered leaves through the winter — shrub oaks 
and young white, red, and black oaks, the lower branches 
of larger trees of the last-mentioned species, hornbeam, 
etc., and young hickories — seem to form an interme- 
diate class between deciduous and evergreen trees. They 


370 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


may almost be called the ever-reds. Their leaves, which 
are falling all winter long, serve as a shelter to rabbits 
and partridges and other winter quadrupeds and birds. 
Even the little chickadees love to skulk amid them and 
peep out from behind them. I hear their faint, silvery, 
lisping notes, like tinkling glass, and occasionally a 
sprightly day-day-day, as they inquisitively hop nearer 
and nearer to me. They are our most honest and inno- 
cent little bird, drawing yet nearer to us as the winter 
advances, and deserve best of any of the walker. 

Feb. 9, 1854. Ido not hear Therien’s' axe far of late. 
The moment I cameon his chopping-ground, the chick- 
adees flew to me, as if glad to see me. They are a pecul- 
iarly honest and sociable little bird. I saw them go to 
his pail repeatedly and peck his bread and butter. They 
came and went a dozen times while I stood there. He 
said that a great flock of them came round him the other 
day while he was eating his dinner and lit on his clothes 
“just like flies.” One roosted on his finger, and another 
pecked a piece of bread in his hand. They are consid- 
erable company for the woodchopper. I heard one wiry 
phe-be. They love to hop about wood freshly split. Ap- 
parently they do not leave his clearing all day. They 
were not scared when he threw down wood within a few 
feet of them. When I looked to see how much of his 
bread and butter they had eaten, I did not perceive that 
any was gone. He could afford to dine a hundred. 

Jan. T, 1855. Here comes a little flock of titmice, 
plainly to keep me company, with their black caps and 


1 [Aleck Therien, the French-Canadian woodchopper celebrated in 
Walden.] 


CHICKADEE 371 


throats making them look top-heavy, restlessly hopping 
along the alders, with a sharp, clear, lisping note. 

Dec. 15, 1855. This morning it has begun to snow 
apparently in earnest. The air is quite thick and the 
view confined. It is quite still, yet some flakes come 
down from one side and some from another, crossing 
each other like woof and warp apparently, as they are 
falling in different eddies and currents of air. In the 
midst of it, I hear and see afew little chickadees prying 
about the twigs of the locusts in the graveyard. They 
have come into town with the snow. They now and then 
break forth into a short, sweet strain, and then seem 
suddenly to check themselves, as if they had done it be- 
fore they thought. 

June 38,1856. While running a line in the woods, 
close to the water, on the southwest side of Loring’s 
Pond, I observed a chickadee sitting quietly within a 
few feet. Suspecting a nest, I looked and found it in a 
small hollow maple stump which was about five inches 
in diameter and two feet high. I looked down about 
a foot and could just discern the eggs. Breaking off a 
little, I managed to get my hand in and took out some 
eggs. There were seven, making by their number an 
unusual figure as they lay in the nest, a sort of egg ro- 
sette, a circle around with one (or more) in the middle. 
In the meanwhile the bird sat silent, though rather rest- 
less, within three feet. The nest was very thick and 
warm, of average depth, and made of the bluish-slate 
rabbit’s (?) fur. The eggs were a perfect oval, five 
eighths inch long, white with small reddish-brown or 
rusty spots, especially about larger end, partly devel- 


872 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


oped. The bird sat on the remaining eggs next day. I 
called off the boy in another direction that he might 
not find it. 

Oct. 17, 1856. As I stood looking at Emerson’s 
bound under the railroad embankment, I heard a smart 
tche-day-day-day close to my ear, and, looking up, saw 
four of these birds, which had come to scrape acquaint- 
ance with me, hopping amid the alders within three and 
four feet of me. I had heard them further off at first, 
and they had followed me along the hedge. They day- 
day’d and lisped their faint notes alternately, and then, 
as if tomake me think they had some other errand than to 
peer at me, they pecked the dead twigs with their bills, — 
the little top-heavy, black-crowned, volatile fellows. 

Dec. 3, 1856. Six weeks ago I noticed the advent of 
chickadees and their winter habits. As you walk along . 
a wood-side, a restless little flock of them, whose notes 
you hear at a distance, will seem to say, “Oh, there he 
goes! Let’s pay our respects to him.” And they will 
flit after and close to you, and naively peck at the near- 
est twig to you, as if they were minding their own busi- 
ness all the while without any reference to you. 

Nov. 8, 1857. I do not know exactly what that sweet 
word is which the chickadee says when it hops near to 
me now in those ravines. 

March 21, 1858. Standing. by the mud-hole in the 
swamp, I hear the pleasant phebe note of the chickadee. 
It is, methinks, the most of a wilderness note of any 
yet. It is peculiarly interesting that this, which is one 
of our winter birds also, should have a note with which 
to welcome the spring. 


CHICKADEE 373 


Nov.T, 1858. We are left to the chickadee’s familiar 
notes, and the jay for trumpeter. What struck me was 
a certain emptiness beyond, between the hemlocks and 
the hill, in the cool, washed air, as if l appreciated even 
here the absence of insects from it. It suggested agree- 
ably to me a mere space in which to walk briskly. The 
fields are bleak, and they are, as it were, vacated. The 
very earth is like a house shut up for the winter, and I 
go knocking about it in vain. But just then I heard a 
chickadee on a hemlock, and was inexpressibly cheered 
to find that an old acquaintance was yet stirring 
about the premises, and was, I was assured, to be 
there all winter. All that is evergreen in me revived 
at once. 

Dec. 28, 1858. I notice a few chickadees there in the 
edge of the pines, in the sun, lisping and twittering 
cheerfully to one another, with a reference to me, I 
think, — the cunning and innocent little birds. One a 
little further off utters the phoebe note. There is a foot 
more or less of clear open water at the edge here, and, 
seeing this, one of these birds hops down as if glad to 
find any open water at this season, and, after drinking, 
it stands in the water on a stone up to its belly and dips 
its head and flirts the water about vigorously, giving 
itself a good washing. I had not suspected this at this 
season. No fear that it will catch cold. 

Oct. 15, 1859. The chickadees sing as if at home. 
They are not travelling singers hired by any Barnum.! 
Theirs is an honest, homely, heartfelt melody. Shall not 


1 [Jenny Lind made her American tour under an engagement with 
P. T. Barnum in 1850-1851.] 


3874 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


the voice of man express as much content as the note of 
a bird? 

Nov. 26, 1859. The chickadee is the bird of the wood 
the most unfailing. When, in a windy, or in any, day, 
you have penetrated some thick wood like this, you are 
pretty sure to hear its cheery note therein. At this sea- 
son it is almost their sole inhabitant. 

Dec. 12, 1859. Seeing a little hole in the side of a 
dead white birch, about six feet from the ground, I 
broke it off and found it to be made where a rotten limb 
had broken off. The hole was about an inch over and 
was of quite irregular and probably natural outline, 
and, within, the rotten wood had been removed to the 
depth of two or three inches, and on one side of this 
cavity, under the hole, was quite a pile of bird-drop- 
pings. The diameter of the birch was little more than 
two inches, —if at all. Probably it was the roosting- 
place of achickadee. The bottom was an irregular sur- 
face of the rotten wood, and there was nothing like a nest. 

Jan. 12, 1860. As I stand by the hemlocks, I am 
greeted by the lively and unusually prolonged tche de 
de de de de of a little flock of chickadees. The snow 
has ceased falling, the sun comes out, and it is warm 
‘and still, and this flock of chickadees, little birds that 
perchance were born in their midst, feeling the influ- 
ences of this genial season, have begun to flit amid the 
snow-covered fans of the hemlocks, jarring down the 
snow, —for there are hardly bare twigs enough for 
them to rest on, —or they plume themselves in some 
snug recess on the sunny side of the tree, only pausing 
to utter their tche de de de. 


CHICKADEE 875 


Jan. 18, 1860. Standing under Lee’s Cliff, several 
chickadees, uttering their faint notes, come flitting near 
to me as usual. They are busily prying under the bark 
of the pitch pines, occasionally knocking off a piece, 
while they cling with their claws on any side of the 
limb. Of course they are in search of animal food, but 
I see one suddenly dart down to a seedless pine seed 
wing on the snow, and then up again. C.! says that he 
saw them busy about these wings on the snow the other 
day, so I have no doubt that they eat this seed. 

Jan. 20,1860. The snow and ice under the hemlocks 
is strewn with cones and seeds and tracked with birds 
and squirrels. What a bountiful supply of winter food 
is here provided for them! No sooner has fresh snow 
fallen and covered up the old crop than down comes a 
new supply all the more distinct on the spotless snow. 
Here comes a little flock of chickadees, attracted by me 
as usual, and perching close by boldly; then, descending 
to the snow and ice, I see them pick up the hemlock 
seed which lies all around them. Occasionally they take 
one to a twig and hammer at it there under their claws, 
perhaps to separate it from the wing, or even the shell. 
The snowy ice and the snow on shore have been black- 
ened with these fallen cones several times over this 
winter. The snow along the sides of the river is also all 
dusted over with birch and alder seed, and I see where 
little birds have picked up the alder seed. 

[See also under White-bellied Nuthatch, p. 367; 
General and Miscellaneous, p. 404.] 


1 [W. E. Channing.] 


376 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


RUBY-CROWNED KINGLET 


April 25, 1854. Saw a golden-crested wren! in the 
woods near Goose Pond. It sounded far off and like an 
imitation of a robin,?—a long strain and often repeated. 
I was quite near it before I was aware of it, it sounding 
still like a faint imitation of a robin. Some chickadees 
and yellow redpolls were first apparent, then my wren 
on the pitch pines and young oaks. He appeared curi- 
ous to observe me. A very interesting and active little 
fellow, darting about amid the tree-tops, and his song 
quite remarkable and rich and loud for his size. Begins 
with a very fine note, before its pipes are filled, not 
audible at a little distance, then woriter weter, etc., etc., 
winding up with ¢eter teter, all clear and round.’ This 
was at 4 Pp. M., when most birds do not sing. I saw it 
yesterday, pluming itself and stretching its little wings. 

1 [‘* Golden” crossed out in pencil and “‘ ruby ” substituted. ] 


2 And of a golden robin, which later I often mistook for him. 
® His song is comical and reminds me of the thrasher. 


XXI 
THRUSHES 


WOOD THRUSH! 


July 27, 1840. The wood thrush is a more modern 
philosopher than Plato and Aristotle. They are now a 
dogma, but he preaches the doctrine of this hour. 

May 31, 1850. There is a sweet wild world which 
lies along the strain of the wood thrush —the rich 
intervales which border the stream of its song — more 
thoroughly genial to my nature than any other. 

June 22, 1851. I hear around me, but never in sight, 
the many wood thrushes whetting their steel-like notes. 
Such keen singers! It takes a fiery heat, many dry pine 
leaves added to the furnace of the sun, to temper their 
strains! Always they are either rising or falling to a new 
strain. After what a moderate pause they deliver them- 
selves again! saying ever a new thing, avoiding repetition, 
methinks answering one another. While most other birds 
take their siesta, the wood thrush discharges his song. 
It is delivered like a bolas, or a piece of jingling steel. 

1 [The hermit thrush as well as the wood thrush breeds in Concord, 
but Thoreau never learned to distinguish between the songs of the two 
species and they were all wood thrushes to him. In the White Moun- 
tains and the Maine woods he mistook the olive-backed thrush also for 
the wood thrush. It is not unlikely that some of the observations in- 
cluded under this head belong of right to the hermit thrush, but as 
they would apply equally well to the wood thrush they are retained 


here without question. Those that from the date or some other evi- 
dence clearly refer to the hermit are placed under that species. ] 


378 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


July 21,1851. Never yet did I chance to sit in a house, 
except my own house in the woods, and hear a wood 
thrush sing. Would it not be well to sit in such a cham- 
ber within sound of the finest songster of the grove? 

Aug. 12, 1851. The birds utter a few languid and 
yawning notes, as if they had not left their perches, so 
sensible to light to wake so soon, —a faint peeping 
sound from I know not what kind, a slight, innocent, 
half-awake sound, like the sounds which a quiet house- 
wife makes in the earliest dawn. Nature preserves her 
innocence like a beautiful child. I hear a wood thrush 
even now, long before sunrise, as in the heat of the day. 
And the pewee and the catbird and the vireo (red- 
eyed?). I do not hear—or do not mind, perchance — 
the crickets now. Now whip-poor-wills commence to 
sing in earnest, considerably after the wood thrush. The 
wood thrush, that beautiful singer, inviting the day once 
more to enter his pine woods. (So you may hear the 
wood thrush and whip-poor-will at the same time.) Now 
go by two whip-poor-wills, in haste seeking some coverts 
from the eye of day. And the bats are flying about on 
the edge of the wood, improving the last moments of their 
day in catching insects. The moon appears at length, not 
yet as a cloud, but with a frozen light, ominous of her 
fate. The early cars sound like a wind in the woods. The 
chewinks make a business now of waking each other up 
with their low yorrick in the neighboring low copse. 

June 23, 1852. The wood thrush sings at all hours. 
L associate it with the cool morning, sultry noon, and 
serene evening. At this hour’ it suggests a cool vigor. 


1 [Early morning. ] 


WOOD THRUSH 379 


July 5, 1852. Some birds are poets and sing all 
summer. They are the true singers. Any man can write 
verses during the love season. I am reminded of this 
while we rest in the shade on the Major Heywood road 
and listen to a wood thrush, now just before sunset. 
We are most interested in those birds who sing for the 
love of the music and not of their mates ; who meditate 
their strains, and amuse themselves with singing; the 
birds, the strains, of deeper sentiment; not bobolinks, 
that lose their plumage, their bright colors, and their 
song so early. The robin, the red-eye, the veery, the 
wood thrush, etc., etc. 

The wood thrush’s is no opera music; it is not so 
much the composition as the strain, the tone, — cool 
bars of melody from the atmosphere of everlasting 
morning or evening. It is the quality of the song, not 
the sequence. In the peawai’s! note there is some sul- 
triness, but in the thrush’s, though heard at noon, there 
is the liquid coolness of things that are just drawn 
from the bottom of springs. The thrush alone declares 
the immortal wealth and vigor that is in the forest. 
Here is a bird in whose strain the story is told, though 
Nature waited for the science of esthetics to discover 
it to man. Whenever a man hears it, he is young, and 
Nature is in her spring. Wherever he hears it, it is 
a new world and a free country, and the gates of heaven 
are not shut against him. Most other birds sing from 
the level of my ordinary cheerful hours —a carol; but 
this bird never fails to speak to me out of an ether 
purer than that I breathe, of immortal beauty and 


1 [The wood pewee.] 


880 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


vigor. He deepens the significance of all things seen in 
the light of his strain. He sings to make men take 
higher and truer views of things. He sings to amend 
their institutions; to relieve the slave on the plantation 
and the prisoner in his dungeon, the slave in the house 
of luxury and the prisoner of his own low thoughts. 
July 27, 1852. How cool and assuaging the thrush’s 
note after the fever of the day! I doubt if they have 
anything so richly wild in Europe. So long a civiliza- 
tion must have banished it. It will only be heard in 
America, perchance, while our star is in the ascendant. 
I should be very much surprised if I were to hear in 
the strain of the nightingale such unexplored wildness 
and fertility, reaching to sundown, inciting to emigra- 
tion. Such a bird must itself have emigrated long ago. 
Why, then, was I born in America? I might ask. 
May 17, 1853. The wood thrush has sung for some 
time. He touches a depth in me which no other bird’s 
song does. He has learned to sing, and no thrumming 
of the strings or tuning disturbs you. Other birds may 
whistle pretty well, but he is the master of a finer- 
toned instrument. His song is musical, not from associa- 
tion merely, not from variety, but the character of its 
tone. It is all divine,— a Shakespeare among birds, 
and a Homer too. 
June 12, 1858. The note of the wood thrush answers 
to some cool, unexhausted morning vigor in the hearer. 
June 14, 1853. The wood thrush launches forth his 
evening strains from the midst of the pines. I admire 
the moderation of this master. There is nothing tumul- 
tuous in his song. He launches forth one strain with all 


WOOD THRUSH 381 


his heart and life and soul, of pure and unmatchable 
melody, and then he pauses and gives the hearer and 
himself time to digest this, and then another and another 
at suitable intervals. Men talk of the rich song of other 
birds, — the thrasher, mockingbird, nightingale. But 
I doubt, I doubt. They know not what they say! There 
is as great an interval between the thrasher and the 
wood thrush as between Thomson’s “Seasons” and 
Homer. The sweetness of the day crystallizes in this 
morning coolness. 

June 22, 1853. As I come over the hill, I hear the 
wood thrush singing his evening lay. This is the only 
bird whose note affects me like music, affects the flow 
and tenor of my thought, my fancy and imagination. 
It lifts and exhilarates me. It is inspiring. It is a med- 
icative draught to my soul. It is an elixir to my eyes 
and a fountain of youth to all my senses. It changes all 
hours to an eternal morning. It banishes all trivialness. 
It reinstates me in my dominion, makes me the lord of 
creation, is chief musician of my court. This minstrel 
sings in a time, a heroic age, with which no event in 
the village can be contemporary. How can they be con- 
temporary when only the latter is temporary at all? 
How can the infinite and eternal be contemporary with 
the finite and temporal? So there is something in the 
music of the cow-bell, something sweeter and more 
nutritious, than in the milk which the farmers drink. 
This thrush’s song is a ranz des vaches to me. I long 
for wildness, a nature which I cannot put my foot 
through, woods where the wood thrush forever sings, 
where the hours are early morning ones, and there is 


382 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


dew on the grass, and the day is forever. unproved, 
where I might have a fertile unknown for a soil about 
me. I would go after the cows, I would watch the flocks 
of Admetus there forever, only for my board and 
clothes. A New Hampshire everlasting and unfallen. 


All that was ripest and fairest in the wilderness and 
the wild man is preserved and transmitted to us in 
the strain of the wood thrush. It is the mediator be- 
tween barbarism and civilization. It is unrepentant as 
Greece. : 

Dec. 81, 1858. There are a few sounds still which 
never fail to affect me. The notes of the wood thrush 
and the sound of a vibrating chord, these affect me as 
many sounds once did often, and as almost all should. 
The strains of the zolian harp and of the wood thrush 
are the truest and loftiest preachers that I know now 
left on this earth. I know of no missionaries to us hea- 
then comparable to them. They, as it were, lift us up 
in spite of ourselves. They intoxicate, they charm us. 

May 28, 1855. While we sit by the path in the 
depths of the woods three quarters of a mile beyond 
Hayden’s, confessing the influence of almost the first 
summer warmth, the wood thrush sings steadily for half 
an hour, now at 2.30 p. M., amid the pines, — lond and 
clear and sweet. While other birds are warbling between- 
whiles and catching their prey, he alone appears to 
make a business of singing, like a true minstrel. 

July 31, 1858. Got the wood thrush’s nest of June 
19th (now empty). It was placed between many small 
upright shoots, against the main stem of the slender 


WOOD THRUSH 383 


maple, and measures four and a half to five inches in 
diameter from outside to outside of the rim, and one 
and three quarters deep within. It is quite firm (except 
the external leaves falling off), the rim about three 
quarters of an inch thick, and it is composed externally 
of leaves, apparently chiefly chestnut, very much de- 
cayed, beneath which, in the place of the grass and 
stubble of which most nests are composed, are appar- 
ently the midribs of the same leaves, whose whole pulp, 
etc., is gone, arranged as compactly and densely (in 
a curving manner) as grass or stubble could be, upon a 
core, not of mud, but a pale-brown composition quite 
firm and smooth (within), looking like inside of a cocoa- 
nut-shell, and apparently composed of decayed leaf 
pulp (?), which the bird has perhaps mixed and ce- 
mented with its saliva. This is about a quarter of an 
inch thick and about as regular as a half of a cocoanut- 
shell. Within this, the lower part is lined with consider- 
able rather coarse black root-fibre and a very little fine 
stubble. From some particles of fine white sand, etc., 
on the pale-brown composition of the nest, I thought it 
was obtained from the pond shore. This composition, 
viewed through a microscope, has almost a cellular 
structure. 

Aug. 9, 1858. The wood thrush’s was a peculiarly 
woodland nest, made solely of such materials as that 
unfrequented grove afforded, the refuse of the wood or 
shore of the pond. There was no horsehair, no twine 
nor paper nor other relics of art in it. 

[See also under General and Miscellaneous, pp. 
404, 427.] 


384 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


VEERY ; WILSON’S THRUSH 


June 19, 1853. In the middle of the path to Wharf 
Rock at Flint’s Pond, the nest of a Wilson’s thrush, 
five or six inches high, between the green stems of three 
or four golden-rods, made of dried grass or fibres of 
bark, with dry oak leaves attached loosely, making the 
whole nine or ten inches wide, to deceive the eye. Two 
blue eggs. Like an accidental heap. Who taught it to 
do thus? 


HERMIT THRUSH ! 


June 15, 1851. I sit in the shade of the pines to hear 
a wood thrush at noon. The ground smells of dry leaves; 
the heat is oppressive. The bird begins on a low strain, 
i. e. it first delivers a strain on a lower key, then a 
moment after another a little higher, then another still 
varied from the others,—no two successive strains 
alike, but either ascending or descending.” He confines 
himself to his few notes, in which he is unrivalled, as 
if his kind had learned this and no more anciently. 

April 30, 1852. I hear a wood thrush * here, with a 
fine metallic ring to his note. This sound most ade- 
quately expresses the immortal beauty and wildness of 
the woods. I go in search of him. He sounds no nearer. 


1 [See note to wood thrush, p. 377. The hermit thrush was a rare 
bird to Thoreau. He detected it occasionally in spring and autumn, but 
he seems never to have suspected that it was a regular summer resident | 
in Concord and that he had often listened to its song.] 

2 [The song described seems to be that of the hermit thrush. ] 

3 [Thoreau’s April and very early May wood thrushes were all 
doubtless hermit thrushes.] 


HERMIT THRUSH 385 


On a low bough of a small maple near the brook in the 
swamp, he sits with ruffled feathers, singing more low 
or with less power, as it were ventriloquizing ; forthough 
I am scarcely more than a rod off, he seems further off 
than ever. 

May 1,1852. I hear the first catbird also, mewing, 
and the wood thrush, which still thrills me, — a sound 
to be heard in a new country, —from one side of a 
clearing. 

May 3, 1852. The wood thrush reminds me of cool 
mountain springs and morning walks. 

April 27, 1854. The wood thrush afar, — so superior 
a strain to that of other birds. I was doubting if it 
would affect me as of yore, but it did measurably. I did 
not believe there could be such differences. This is the 
gospel according to the wood thrush. He makes a sab- 
bath out of a week-day. I could go to hear him, could 
buy a pew in his church. Did he ever practice pulpit 
eloquence? He is right on the slavery question. 

April 21, 1855. At Cliffs, I hear at a distance a wood 
thrush. It affects us as a part of our unfallen selves. 

June 22, 1856. R. W. E. imitates the wood thrush 
by he willy willy — ha willy willy — O willy O. 

[See also under Nighthawk, p. 209.] 


AMERICAN ROBIN 
March 26, 1846. The change from foul weather to 


fair, from dark, sluggish hours to serene, elastic ones, 
is a memorable crisis which all things proclaim. The 
change from foulness to serenity is instantaneous. Sud- 
denly an influx of light, though it was late, filled my 


3886 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


room. I looked out and saw that the pond was already 
calm and full of hope as on a summer evening, though 
the ice was dissolved but yesterday. There seemed to 
be some intelligence in the pond which responded to the 
unseen serenity in a distant horizon. I heard a robin 
in the distance, — the first I had heard this spring, — 
repeating the assurance. The green pitch pine sud- 
denly looked brighter and more erect, as if now entirely 
washed and cleansed by the rain. I knew it would not 
rain any more. A serene summer-evening sky seemed 
darkly reflected in the pond, though the clear sky was 
nowhere visible overhead. It was no longer the end of 
a season, but the beginning. The pines and shrub 
oaks, which had before drooped and cowered the winter 
through with myself, now recovered their several char- 
acters and in the landscape revived the expression of an 
immortal beauty. Trees seemed all at once to be fitly 
grouped, to sustain new relations to men and to one 
another. There was somewhat cosmical in the arrange- 
ment of nature. O the evening robin, at the close of 
a New England day! If I could ever find the twig he 
sits upon! Where does the minstrel really roost? We 
perceive it is not the bird of the ornithologist that is 
heard, — the Turdus migratorius. 

July 27, 1851. After taking the road by Webster’s? 
beyond South Marshfield, I walked a long way at noon, 
hot and thirsty, before I could find a suitable place to 
sit and eat my dinner, —a place where the shade and 
the sward pleased me. At length I was obliged to put 
up with a small shade close to the ruts, where the only 

1 [Daniel Webster’s house at Marshfield, Mass.] 


AMERICAN ROBIN 387 


stream I had seen for some time crossed the road. Here, 
also, numerous robins came to cool and wash them- 
selves and to drink. They stood in the water up to their 
bellies, from time to time wetting their wings and tails 
and also ducking their heads and sprinkling the water 
over themselves; then they sat on a fence near by to dry. 
Then a goldfinch came and did the same, accompanied 
by the less brilliant female. These birds evidently en- 
joyed their bath greatly, and it seemed indispensable 
to them. 

April 1, 1852. I hear a robin singing in the woods 
south of Hosmer’s, just before sunset. It is a sound as- 
sociated with New England village life. It brings to 
my thoughts summer evenings when the children are 
playing in the yards before the doors and their parents 
conversing at the open windows. It foretells all this 
now, before those summer hours are come. 

April 11, 1852. The song of a robin on an oak in 
Hubbard’s Grove sounds far off. So I have heard a 
robin within three feet in a cage ina dark barroom (how 
unstained by all the filth of that place?) with a kind 
of ventriloquism so singing that his song sounded far 
off on the elms. It was more pathetic still for this. 
The robins are singing now on all hands while the sun 
is setting. At what an expense any valuable work is per- 
formed! At the expense of a life! If you do one thing 
well, what else are you good for in the meanwhile? 

April 13, 1852. The robin is the only bird as yet 
that makes a business of singing, steadily singing, — 
sings continuously out of pure joy and melody of soul, 
carols. The jingle of the song sparrow, simple and 


388 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


sweet as it is, is not of sufficient volume-nor sufficiently 
continuous to command and hold attention, and the 
bluebird’s is but a transient warble, from a throat over- 
flowing with azure and serene hopes; but the song of 
the robin on the elms or oaks, loud and clear and heard 
afar through the streets of a village, makes a fit con- 
clusion to a spring day. The larks are not yet in suf- 
ficient numbers or sufficiently musical. The robin is 
the prime singer as yet. The blackbird’s conqueree, when 
first heard in the spring, is pleasant from the associa- 
tions it awakens, and is best heard by one boating on 
the river. It belongs to the stream. The robin is the 
only bird with whose song the groves can be said to 
be now vocal morning and evening, for, though many 
other notes are heard, none fill the air like this bird. 
As yet no other thrushes. 

April 21, 1852. On the east side of Ponkawtasset I 
hear a robin singing cheerily from some perch in the 
wood, in the midst of the rain, where the scenery is 
now wild and dreary. His song a singular antagonism 
and offset to the storm. As if Nature said, “‘ Have faith; 
these two things I can do.” It sings with power, like a 
bird of great faith that sees the bright future through 
the dark present, to reassure the race of man, like one 
to whom many talents were given and who will improve 
its talents. They are sounds to make a dying man live. 
They sing not their despair. It is a pure, immortal 
melody. 


The birds are singing in the rain about the small 
pond in front, the inquisitive chickadee that has flown 


AMERICAN ROBIN 389 


at once to the alders to reconnoitre us, the blackbirds, 
the song sparrow, telling of expanding buds. But above 
all the robin sings here too, I know not at what dis- 
tance in the wood. “ Did he sing thus in Indian days?” 
T ask myself; for I have always associated this sound 
with the village and the clearing, but now I do detect 
the aboriginal wildness in his strain, and can im- 
agine him a woodland bird, gnd that he sang thus when 
there was no civilized ear to hear him, a pure forest 
melody even like the wood thrush. Every genuine thing 
retains this wild tone, which no true culture displaces. 
I heard him even as he might have sounded to the 
Indian, singing at evening upon the elm above his 
wigwam, with which was associated in the red ‘man’s 
mind the events of an Indian’s life, his childhood. 
Formerly I had heard in it only those strains which 
tell of the white man’s village life; now I heard those 
strains which remembered the red man’s life, such as 
fell on the ears of Indian children, —as he sang when 
these arrowheads, which the rain has made shine so on 
the lean stubble-field, were fastened to their shaft. 
Thus the birds sing round this piece of water, some on 
the alders which fringe, some farther off and higher up 
the hills; it is a centre to them. 

March 18, 1853. I stand still now to listen if I may 
hear the note of any new bird, for the sound of my 
steps hinders, and there are so few sounds at this sea- 
son in a still afternoon like this that you are pretty 
sure to detect one within a considerable distance. 
Hark! Did I not hear the note of some bird then? 
Methinks it could not have been my own breathing 


390 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


through my nose. No, there it is again, —a robin; and 
we have put the winter so much further behind us. 
What mate does he call to in these deserted fields? It 
is, as it were, a scared note as he whisks by, followed 
by the familiar but still anxious toot, toot, toot. He does 
not sing as yet. There were one or two more fine bird- 
like tinkling sounds I could not trace home, not to be 
referred to my breathing. | . 

March 21, 1853. How suddenly the newly arrived 
birds are dispersed over the whole town! How numer- 
ous they must be! Robins are now quite abundant, fly- 
ing in flocks. One after another flits away before you 
from the trees, somewhat like grasshoppers in the 
grass, uttering their notes faintly, —ventriloquizing, 
in fact. I hear one meditating a bar to be sung anon, 
which sounds a quarter of a mile off, though he is within 
two rods. However, they do not yet get to melody. 
I thank the red-wing for a little bustle and commotion 
which he makes, trying to people the fields again. 

March 31, 1853. The robins sing at the very earli- 
est dawn. I wake with their note ringing in my ear. 

April 4, 1853. Last night, a sugaring of snow, which 
goes off in an hour or two in the rain. Rains all day. 
. .. The robins sang this morning, nevertheless, and 
now more than ever hop about boldly in the garden in 
the rain, with full, broad, light cow-colored breasts. 

April 6, 1858. The robin is the singer at present, 
such is its power and universality, being found both in 
garden and wood. Morning and evening it does not 
fail, perched on some elm or the like, and in rainy 
days it is one long morning or evening. The song spar- 


AMERICAN ROBIN 391 


row is still more universal but not so powerful. The lark, 
too, is equally constant, morning and evening, but con- 
fined to certain localities, as is the blackbird to some ex- 
tent. The bluebird, with feebler but not less sweet war- 
bling, helps fill the air, and the phcebe does her part. 
The tree sparrow, #’. hyemalis, and fox-colored sparrows 
make the meadow-sides or gardens where they are flit- 
ting vocal, the first with its canary-like twittering, the 
second with its lively ringing trills or jingle. The third 
is a very sweet and more powerful singer, which would 
be memorable if we heard him long enough. The wood- 
pecker’s tapping, though not musical, suggests pleasant 
associations in the cool morning,— is inspiriting, en- 
livening. 


The robins, too, now toward sunset, perched on the 
old apple trees in Tarbell’s orchard, twirl forth their 
evening lays unweariedly. 

Oct. 10, 1853. This morning it is very pleasant and 
warm. There are many small birds in flocks on the elms 
in Cheney’s field, faintly warbling, — robins and purple 
finches and especially large flocks of small sparrows, 
which make a business of washing and pruning them- 
selves in the puddles in the road, as if cleaning up after a 
long flight and the wind of yesterday. The faint sup- 
pressed warbling of the robins sounds like a reminis- 
cence of the spring. 

March 8, 1855. Stopping in a sunny and sheltered 
place on a hillock in the woods, — for it was raw in the 
wind, —I heard the hasty, shuffling, as if frightened, 
note of a robin from a dense birch wood, —a sort of 


392 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


tche tche tche tche tche, — and then probably it dashed 
through the birches ; and so they fetch the year about. 
Just from the South Shore, perchance, it alighted not 
in the village street, but in this remote birch wood. 
This sound reminds me of rainy, misty April days in 
past years. Once or twice before, this afternoon, I 
thought I heard one and listened, but in vain. 

May 4, 1855. A robin sings when I, in the house, 
cannot distinguish the earliest dawning from the full. 
moonlight. His song first advertised me of the daybreak, 
when I thought it was night, as I lay looking out into 
the full moonlight. I heard a robin begin his strain, 
and yielded the point to him, believing that he was 
better acquainted with the springs of the day than I, — 
with the signs of day. 

June 2, 1855. Mr. Hoar tells me that Deacon Far- 
rar’s son tells him that a white robin has her nest on 
an apple tree near their house. Her mate is of the 
usual color. All the family have seen her, but at the 
last accounts she has not been seen on the nest. 

April 16, 1856. The robins sing with a will now. 
What a burst of melody! It gurgles out of all conduits 
now; they are choked with it. There is such a tide and 
rush of song as when a river is straightened between 
two rocky walls. It seems as if the morning’s throat 
were not large enough to emit all this sound. The robin 
sings most before six o’clock now. I note where some 
suddenly cease their song, making a quite remarkable 
vacuum. 

Feb. 27, 1857. Before I opened the window this cold 
morning, I heard the peep of a robin, that sound so 


AMERICAN ROBIN 393 


often heard in cheerless or else rainy weather, so often 
heard first borne on the cutting March wind or through 
sleet or rain, as if its coming were premature. 

Oct. 21, 1857. I see a robin eating prinos? berries. 
Is not the robin the principal berry-eating bird nowa- 
days? There must be more about the barberry bushes 
in Melvin’s Preserve than anywhere. 

Nov. 3, 1857. I see on many rocks, etc., the seeds 
of the barberry, which have been voided by birds, — 
robins, no doubt, chiefly. How many they must thus 
seatter over the fields, spreading the barberry far and 
wide! That has been their business for a month. 

March 24, 1858. The chip of the ground-bird ? re- 
sembles that of a robin, i. ¢., its expression is the same, 
only fainter, and reminds me that the robin’s peep, 
which sounds like a note of distress, is also a chip, or 
call-note to its kind. 

June 3, 1858. They seemed to me wild robins that 
placed their nests in the spruce up there.’ I noticed 
one nest. William Emerson, senior, says they do not 
breed on Staten Island. They do breed at least at Hud- 
son’s Bay. They are certainly a hardy bird, and are at 
home on this cool mountain-top. 

March 7, 1859. The first note which I heard from 
the robins, far under the hill, was sveet sveet, suggesting 
a certain haste and alarm, and then a rich, hollow, some- 
what plaintive peep or peep-eep-eep, as when in distress 
with young just flown. When you first seethem alighted, 
they have a haggard, an anxious and hurried, look. 


1 [Black alder, or winterberry, (Ilex verticillata).] 
2 That is, song sparrow. 8 [On Mt. Monadnock. ] 


394 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


Oct. 5, 1861. This is a rainy or drizzling day at last, 
and the robins and sparrows are more numerous in the 
yard and about the house than ever. They swarm on 
the ground where stood the heap of weeds which was 
burned yesterday, picking up the seeds which rattled 
from it. Why should these birds be so much more nu- 
merous about the house such a day as this? I think of 
no other reason than because it is darker and fewer 
people are moving about to frighten them. Our little 
mountain-ash is all alive with them. A dozen robins 
on it at once, busily reaching after and plucking the 
berries, actually make the whole tree shake. There are 
also some little birds (1 think purple finches) with 
them. A robin will swallow half a dozen berries, at 
least, in rapid succession before it goes off, and appar- 
ently it soon comes back for more. 

[ See also under Chipping Sparrow, p. 299; General 
and Miscellaneous, pp. 4038, 406, 419, 426, 427.] 


BLUEBIRD 


April 26, 1838. THE BLUEBIRDS 


In the midst of the poplar that stands by our door 
We planted a bluebird box, 

And we hoped before the summer was o’er 

A transient pair to coax. 


One warm summer’s day the bluebirds came 
And lighted on our tree, 

But at first the wand’rers were not so tame 
But they were afraid of me. 


BLUEBIRD 395 


They seemed to come from the distant south, 
Just over the Walden wood, 

And they skimmed it along with open mouth 
Close by where the bellows stood. 


Warbling they swept round the distant cliff, 
And they warbled it over the lea, 

And over the blacksmith’s shop in a jiff 
Did they come warbling to me. 


They came and sat on the box’s top 

Without looking into the hole, 

And only from this side to that did they hop, 
As ’t were a common well-pole. 


Methinks I had never seen them before, 
Nor indeed had they seen me, 

Till I chanced to stand by our back door, 
And they came to the poplar tree. 


In course of time they built their nest 
And reared a happy brood, 

. And every morn they piped their best 
As they flew away to the wood. 


Thus wore the summer hours away 
To the bluebirds and to me, 

And every hour was a summer’s day, 
So pleasantly lived we. 


They were a world within themselves, 
And I a world in me, 


396 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


Up in the tree — the little elves — 
With their callow family. 


One morn the wind blowed cold and strong, 
And the leaves went whirling away ; 

The birds prepared for their journey long 
That raw and gusty day. 


Boreas came blust’ring down from the north, 

And ruffled their azure smocks, 

So they launched them forth, though somewhat loth, 
By way of the old Cliff rocks. 


Meanwhile the earth jogged steadily on 
In her mantle of purest white, 

And anon another spring was born 
When winter was vanished quite. 


And I wandered forth o’er the steamy earth, 
And gazed at the mellow sky, 

But never before from the hour of my birth 
Had I wandered so thoughtfully. 


For never before was the earth so still, 
And never so mild was the sky, 

The river, the fields, the woods, and the hill 
Seemed to heave an audible sigh. 


IT felt that the heavens were all around, 
And the earth was all below, 

As when in the ears there rushes a sound 
Which thrills you from top to toe. 


BLUEBIRD 397 


I dreamed that I was a waking thought, 
A something I hardly knew, 
Not a solid piece, nor an empty nought, 
But a drop of morning dew. 


*T was the world and I at a game of bo-peep, 
As a man would dodge his shadow, 

An idea becalmed in eternity’s deep, 

*Tween Lima and Segraddo. 


Anon a faintly warbled note 
From out the azure deep 
Into my ears did gently float 
As is the approach of sleep. 


It thrilled but startled not my soul ; 
Across my mind strange mem’ries gleamed, 
As often distant scenes unroll 

When we have lately dreamed. 


The bluebird had come from the distant South 
To his box in the poplar tree, 

And he opened wide his slender mouth 

On purpose to sing to me. 


July 16, 1851. The plaintive, spring-restoring peep 
of a bluebird is occasionally heard. 

Oct. 10, 1851. The air this morning is full of blue- 
birds, and again it is spring. 

March 10, 1852. I see flocks of a dozen bluebirds 
together. The warble of this bird is innocent and ce- 
lestial, like its color. Saw a sparrow, perhaps a song 


398 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


sparrow, flitting amid the young oaks where the ground 
was covered with snow. I think that this is an indica- 
tion that the ground is quite bare a little further south. 
Probably the spring birds never fly far over a snow- 
clad country. A woodchopper tells me he heard a robin 
this morning. 

March 15, 1852. A mild spring day. . . . The air 
is full of bluebirds. The ground almost entirely bare. 
The villagers are out in the sun, and every man is 
happy whose work takes him outdoors. ... I lean 
over a rail to hear what is in the air, liquid with the 
bluebirds’ warble. 

April 3, 1852. The bluebird carries the sky on his 
back. 

March 10, 1858. What was that sound that came on 
the softened air? It was the warble of the first blue- 
bird from that scraggy apple orchard yonder. When 
this is heard, then has spring arrived. 

March 18, 1853. I no sooner step out of the house 
than I hear the bluebirds in the air, and far and near, 
everywhere ‘except in the woods, throughout the town 
you may hear them, —the blue curls of their warblings, 
—harbingers of serene and warm weather, little azure 
rills of melody trickling here and there from out the 
air, their short warble trilled in the air reminding of 
so many corkscrews assaulting and thawing the torpid 
mass of winter, assisting the ice and snow to melt and 
the streams to flow. 


The bluebird and song sparrow sing immediately on 
their arrival, and hence deserve to enjoy some preémi- 


BLUEBIRD 399 


nence. They give expression to the joy which the sea- 
son inspires. But the robin and blackbird only peep 
and chuck at first, commonly, and the lark is silent and 
flitting. The bluebird at once fills the air with his sweet 
warbling, and the song sparrow from the top of a rail 
pours forth his most joyous strain. Both express their 
delight at the weather which permits them to return to 
their favorite haunts. They are the more welcome to 
man for it. 

April 5, 1853. The bluebird comes to us bright in 
his vernal dress as a bridegroom. Has he not got new 
feathers then? 

March 11, 1854. Bluebirds’ warbling curls in elms. 

March 19, 1855. When I reach my landing I hear 
my first bluebird, somewhere about Cheney’s trees by 
the river. I hear him out of the blue deeps, but do not 
yet see his blue body. He comes with a warble. Now 
first generally heard in the village. 

April 9, 1856. Meanwhile a bluebird sits on the 
same oak, three rods off, pluming its wings. I hear 
faintly the warbling of one, apparently a quarter of 
a mile off, and am very slow to detect that it is even 
this one before me, which, in the intervals of plum- 
ing itself, is apparently practicing in an incredibly low 
voice. 

May 11,1856. A bluebird’s nest and five eggs in a 
hollow apple tree three feet from ground near the old 
bank swallow pit, made with much stubble and dried 
grass. Can see the bird sitting from without. 

July 12, 1856. Hear the plaintive note of young 
bluebirds, a reviving and gleaming of their blue ray. 


400 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 
Sept. 27, 1856. The bluebird family revisit their 


box and warble as in spring. 

Feb. 18, 1857. I am excited by this wonderful air 
and go listening for the note of the bluebird or other 
comer. The very grain of the air seems to have under- 
gone a change and is ready to split into the form of the 
bluebird’s warble. Methinks if it were visible, or I could 
cast up some fine dust which would betray it, it would | 
take a corresponding shape. The bluebird does not 
come till the air consents and his wedge will enter 
easily. The air over these fields is a foundry full of 
moulds for casting bluebirds’ warbles. Any sound 
uttered now would take that form, not of the harsh, 
vibrating, rending scream of the jay, but a softer, flow- 
ing, curling warble, like a purling stream or the lobes 
of flowing sand and clay. Here is the soft air, and the 
moist expectant apple trees, but not yet the bluebird. 
They do not quite attain to song. 

Feb. 24, 1857. I am surprised to hear the strain of 
a song sparrow from the riverside, and as I cross from 
the causeway to the hill, thinking of the bluebird, I that 
instant hear one’s note from deep in the softened air. 
It is already 40°, and by noon is between 50° and 60°. 
As the day advances I hear more bluebirds and see 
their azure flakes settling on the fence-posts. Their 
short, rich, crispy warble curls through the air. Its 
grain now lies parallel to the curve of the bluebird’s 
warble, like boards of the same lot. 

March 2, 1859. The bluebird which some woodchop- 
per or inspired walker is said to have seen in that sunny 
interval between the snow-storms is like a speck of clear 


BLUEBIRD 401 


blue sky seen near the end of a storm, reminding us of 
an ethereal region and a heaven which we had forgotten. 
Princes and magistrates are often styled serene, but 
what is their turbid serenity to that ethereal serenity 
which the bluebird embodies? His Most Serene Bird- 
ship! His soft warble melts in the ear, as the snow is 
melting in the valleys around. The bluebird comes 
and with his warble drills the ice and sets free the 
rivers and ponds and frozen ground. As the sand flows 
down the slopes a little way, assuming the forms of 
foliage where the frost comes out of the ground, so 
this little rill of melody flows a short way down the 
concave of the sky. The sharp whistle of the blackbird, 
too, is heard like single sparks or a shower of them 
shot up from the swamps and seen against the dark 
winter in the rear. 

March 7,1859. There are few, if any, so coarse and 
insensible that they are not interested to hear that the 
bluebird has come. The Irish laborer has learned to 
distinguish him and report his arrival. It is a part of 
the news of the season to the lawyer in his office and the 
mechanic in his shop, as well as to the farmer. One 
will remember, perchance, to tell you that he saw one 
a week ago in the next town or county. Citizens just 
come into the country to live put up a bluebird box, and 
record in some kind of journal the date of the first ar- 
rival observed, — though it may be rather a late one. 
The farmer can tell you when he saw the first one, if 
you ask him within a week. 

March 10, 1859. The bluebird on the apple tree, 
warbling so innocently to inquire if any of its mates are 


402 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


within call, — the angel of the spring! Fair and inno- 
cent, yet the offspring of the earth. The color of the 
sky above and of the subsoil beneath. Suggesting what 
sweet and innocent melody (terrestrial melody) may 
have its birthplace between the sky and the ground. 

[ See also under Chipping Sparrow, p. 298; Warblers, 
p. 359; Robin, p. 891; General and Miscellaneous, pp. 
408, 425.] 


XXII 
GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 


March 4, 1840. I learned to-day that my ornithology 
had done me no service. The birds I heard, which for- 
tunately did not come within the scope of my science, 
sung as freshly as if it had been the first morning of 
creation, and had for background to their song an un- 
trodden wilderness, stretching through many a Carolina 
and Mexico of the soul. 

April 25, 1841. A momentous silence reigns always 
in the woods, and their meaning seems just ripening into 
expression. But alas! they make no haste. The rush 
sparrow,! Nature’s minstrel of serene hours, sings of an 
immense leisure and duration. 

When I hear a robin sing at sunset, I cannot help 
contrasting the equanimity of Nature with the bustle 
and impatience of man. We return from the lyceum 
and caucus with such stir and excitement as if a crisis 
were at hand ; but no natural scene or sound sympathizes 
with us, for Nature is always silent and unpretending 
as at the break of day. She but rubs her eyelids. 

Sept. 29,1842. To-day the lark sings again down in 
the meadow, and the robin peeps, and the bluebirds, old 
and young, have revisited their box, as if they would 
fain repeat the summer without the intervention of 
winter, if Nature would let them. 

1 [The field sparrow. See note on p. 299.] 


404 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


1850. In all my rambles I have seen no landscape 
which can make me forget Fair Haven. I still sit on its 
Cliff in a new spring day, and look over the awakening 
woods and the river, and hear the new birds sing, with 
the same delight as ever. It is as sweet a mystery to 
me as ever what this world is. Fair Haven Lake in the 
south, with its pine-covered island and its meadows, the 
hickories putting out fresh young yellowish leaves, and 
the oaks light-grayish ones, while the oven-bird thrums 
his sawyer-like strain, and the chewink rustles through 
the dry leaves or repeats his jingle on a tree-top, and 
the wood thrush, the genius of the wood, whistles for 
the first time his clear and thrilling strain, — it sounds 
as it did the first time I heard it. The sight of these 
budding woods intoxicates me, — this diet drink. 

1850. Now, about the first of September, you will see 
flocks of small birds forming compact and distinct 
masses, as if they were not only animated by one spirit 
but actually held together by some invisible fluid or film, 
and will hear the sound of their wings rippling or fan- 
ning the air as they flow through it, flying, the whole 
mass, ricochet like a single bird, — or as they flow over 
the fence. Their mind must operate faster than man’s, 
in proportion as their bodies do. 

Nov. 8, 1850. Everything stands silent and expectant. 
If I listen, I hear only the note of a chickadee, — our 
most common and I may say native bird, most identified 
with our forests, — or perchance the scream of a jay, or 
perchance from the solemn depths of these woods I hear 
tolling far away the knell of one departed. Thought 
rushes in to fill the vacuum. As you walk, however, the 


GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 405 


partridge still bursts away. The silent, dry, almost 
leafless, certainly fruitless woods. You wonder what 
cheer that bird can find in them. The partridge bursts 
away from the foot of a shrub oak like its own dry fruit, 
immortal bird! This sound still startles us. 

Jan. T, 1851. The snow is sixteen inches deep at 
least, but it is a mild and genial afternoon, as if it were 
the beginning of a January thaw. Take away the snow 
and it would not be winter but like many days in the 
fall. The birds acknowledge the difference in the air; the 
jays are more noisy, and the chickadees are oftener heard. 

June 13,1851. I hear, just as the night sets in, faint 
notes from time to time from some sparrow (?) falling 
asleep, —a vesper hymn,—and later, in the woods, the 
chuckling, rattling sound of some unseen bird on the 
near trees. The nighthawk booms wide awake. 

June 14, 1851. Now the sun is fairly gone, I hear 
the dreaming frog,' and the whip-poor-will from some 
darker wood, —it is not far from eight,— and the 
cuckoo. The song sparrows sing quite briskly among 
the willows, as if it were spring again, and the black- 
bird’s harsher note resounds over the meadows, and the 
veery’s comes up from the wood. 


In Conant’s orchard I hear the faint cricket-like song 
of a sparrow saying its vespers, as if it were a link be- 
tween the cricket and the bird. The robin sings now, 
though the moon shines silverly, and the veery jingles 
its trill. 


1 Toad? [Thoreau afterwards learned that his “ dreaming frogs ” 
were toads. In this case it was probably Fowler’s toad. ] 


406 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


July 10,1851. The swallows are improving this short 
day, twittering as they fly, and the huckleberry-bird * 
repeats his jingling strain, and the song sparrow, more 
honest than most. 

July 12, 1851. I hear that sort of throttled or chuck- 
ling note as of a bird flying high, now from this side, 
then from that.? . . . Iam startled by the rapid transit 
of some wild animal across my path, a rabbit or a fox, — 
or you hardly know if it be not a bird. Looking down 
from the cliffs, the leaves of the tree-tops shine more 
than ever by day. Here and there a lightning-bug shows 
his greenish light over the tops of the trees. 

As I return through the orchard, a foolish robin 
bursts away from his perch unnaturally, with the habits 
of man. 

July 18, 1851. I hear, 4 P. M., a pigeon woodpecker 
on a dead pine near by, uttering a harsh and scolding 
seream, spying me. The chewink jingles on the tops of 
the bushes, and the rush sparrow,? the vireo, and oven- 
bird at a distance; and- a robin sings, superior to all; 
and a barking dog has started something on the oppo- 
site side of the river; and now the wood thrush sur- 
passes them all. 

July 16, 1851. Now, at 4p. m., I hear the pewee in 
the woods, and the cuckoo reminds me of some silence 
among the birds I had not noticed. The vireo (red- 
eyed ?) sings like a robin at even, incessantly, — for I 

1 [The field sparrow. See pp. 299, 300.] 

2 [Probably a cuckoo. See Mr. Gerald H. Thayer’s account of the 
nocturnal flights of the black-billed cuckoo in Bird-Lore, September- 


October, 1903, vol. v, pp. 143-145.] 
3 [The field sparrow. See note on p. 299.] 


GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 407 


have now turned into Conant’s woods. The oven-bird 
helps fill some pauses. . . . Here comes a small bird 
with a ricochet flight and a faint twittering note like a 
messenger from Elysium. 

Nov. 9, 1851. Now the leaves are gone the birds’ 
nests are revealed, the brood being fledged and flown. 
There is a perfect adaptation in the material used in 
constructing a nest. There is one which I took from a 
maple on the causeway at Hubbard’s Bridge. It is fas- 
tened to the twigs by white woolen strings (out of a 
shawl?), which it has picked up in the road, though it 
is more than half a mile from a house; and the sharp 
eyes of the bird have discovered plenty of horsehairs 
out of the tail or mane, with which to give it form by 
their spring; with fine meadow hay for body, and the 
reddish woolly material which invests the ferns in the 
spring (apparently) for lining. 

March 10, 1852. I was reminded, this morning be- 
fore I rose, of those undescribed ambrosial mornings 
of summer which I can remember, when a thousand 
birds were heard gently twittering and ushering in the 
light, like the argument to a new canto of an epic and 
heroic poem. The serenity, the infinite promise, of such 
a morning! The song or twitter of birds drips from the 
leaves like dew. Then there was something divine and 
immortal in our life. When I have waked up on my 
couch in the woods and seen the day dawning, and 
heard the twittering of the birds. 

April 2, 1852. 6 A. M.—The sun is up. The water 
on the meadows is perfectly smooth and placid, reflect- 
ing the hills and clouds and trees. The air is full of 


408 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


the notes of birds, — song sparrows, red-wings, robins 
(singing a strain), bluebirds, —and I hear also a lark, 
—as if all the earth had burst forth into song. The 
influence of this April morning has reached them, for 
they live out-of-doors all the night, and there is no 
danger that. they will oversleep themselves such a 
morning. 

April 4, 1852. P. M.—Going across Wheeler’s large 
field beyond Potter’s, saw a large flock of small birds 
go by, I am not sure what kind, the near ones contin- 
ually overtaking the foremost, so that the whole flock 
appeared to roll over as it went forward. When they 
lit on a tree, they appeared at a distance to clothe it 
like dead leaves. 

April 1T, 1852. Gilpin says, “ As the wheeling mo- 
tion of the gull is beautiful, so also is the figured flight 
of the goose, the duck, and the widgeon; all of which 
are highly ornamental to coast-views, bays, and estua- 
ries.” A flight of ducks adds to the wildness of our 
wildest river scenery. Undoubtedly the soaring and 
sailing of the hen-hawk, the red-shouldered buzzard (?), 
is the most ornamental, graceful, stately, beautiful to 
contemplate, of all the birds that ordinarily frequent 
our skies. The eagle is but a rare and casual visitor. 
The goose, the osprey, the great heron, though interest- 
ing, are either transient visitors or rarely seen; they 
either move through the air as passengers or too exclu- 
sively looking for their prey, but the hen-hawk soars 
like a creature of theair. The flight of martins is inter- 
esting in the same way. When I was young and com- 


1 [Remarks on Forest Scenery.] 


GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 409 


pelled to pass my Sunday in the house without the aid 
of interesting books, I used to spend many an hour till 
the wished-for sundown watching the martins soar, 
from an attic window ; and fortunate indeed did I deem 
myself when a hawk appeared in the heavens, though 
far toward the horizon against a downy cloud, and I 
searched for hours till I had found his mate. They, at 
least, took my thoughts from earthly things. 

April 23, 1852. Vegetation starts when the earth’s 
axis is sufficiently inclined ; 7. ¢., it follows the sun. In- 
sects and all the smaller animals (as well as many 
larger) follow vegetation. The fishes, the small fry, 
start probably for this reason; worms come out of the 
trees; buffaloes finally seek new pastures ; water-bugs 
appear on the water, etc., etc. Next, the large fish and 
fish hawks, etc., follow the small fry; flycatchers follow 
the insects and worms. (The granivorous birds, who 
can depend on the supplies of dry seeds of last year, 
are to some extent independent of the seasons, and can 
remain through the winter or come early in the spring, 
and they furnish food for a few birds of prey at that 
season.) Indians follow the buffaloes; trout, suckers, 
etc., follow the water-bugs, etc.; reptiles follow vege- 
tation, insects, and worms; birds of prey, the fly- 
catchers, etc. Man follows all, and all follow the sun. 
The greater or less abundance of food determines mi- 
grations. Ifthe buds are deceived and suffer from frost, 
then are the birds. The great necessary of life for the 
brute creation is food; next, perhaps, shelter, 7. ¢. a 
suitable climate; thirdly, perhaps, security from foes. 

May 3, 1852. It requires so much closer attention to 


410 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


the habits of the birds, that, if for that reason only, I 
am willing to omit the gun. 

May T, 1852. I think that birds vary their notes con- 
siderably with the seasons. When I hear a bird singing, 
I cannot think of any words that will imitate it. What 
word can stand in place of a bird’s note? You would 
have to bury [?] it, or surround it with a chevaux de 
Jrise of accents, and exhaust the art of the musical com- 
poser besides with your different bars, to represent it, 
and finally get a bird to sing it, to perform it. It has 
so little relation to words. The wood thrush‘ says ah- 
tully-tully for one strain. There appear to be one or 
more little warblers in the woods this morning which 
are new to the season, about which I am in doubt, myrtle- 
birds among them. For now, before the leaves, they — 
begin to people the trees in this warm weather. The 
first wave of summer from the south. 

June 4, 1852. The birds sing at dawn. What sounds 
to be awakened by! If only our sleep, our dreams, are 
such as to harmonize with the song, the warbling, of 
the birds, ushering in the day! They appear compara- 
tively silent an hour or two later. 

June 25,1852. Lobserve that young birds are usually 
of a duller color and more speckled than old ones, as if 
for their protection in their tender state. They have not 
yet the markings (and the beauty) which distinguish 
their species, and which betray it often, but by their 
colors are merged in the variety of colors of the season. 

July T, 1852. 4 A.M. — The first really foggy morn- 
ing. Yet before I rise I hear the song of birds from out 

1 [The hermit thrush ?] 


GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 411 


it, like the bursting of its bubbles with music, the bead 
on liquids just uncorked. Their song gilds thus the 
frostwork of the morning. As if the fog were a great 
sweet froth on the surface of land and water, whose 
fixed air escaped, whose bubbles burst with music. The 
sound of its evaporation, the fixed air of the morning 
jus} brought from the cellars of the night escaping. The 
morning twittering of birds in perfect harmony with it. 
. . . The fog condenses into fountains and streams of 
music, as into the strain of the bobolink which I hear, 
and runs off so. The music of the birds is the tinkling 
of the rills that flow from it. I cannot see twenty rods. 

July 30, 1852. What a gem is a bird’s egg, especially 
a blue or a green one, when you see one, broken or whole, 
in the woods! I noticed a small blue egg this afternoon 
washed up by Flint’s Pond and half buried by white 
sand, and as it lay there, alternately wet and dry, no 
color could be fairer, no gem could have a more advan- 
tageous or favorable setting. Probably it was shaken 
out of some nest which overhung the water. I fre- 
quently meet with broken egg-shells where a crow, per- 
chance, or some other thief has been marauding. And 
is not that shell something very precious that houses 
that winged life ? 

Aug. 6, 1852. How different the feeble twittering 
of the birds here at sunrise from the full quire of the 
spring! Only the wood thrush, a huckleberry-bird or 
two, or chickadee, the scream of a flicker or a jay, or 
the caw of a crow, and commonly only an alarmed note 
of a robin. A solitary peawai’ may be heard, per- 

1 [Wood pewee.] 


412 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


chance, or a red-eye, but no thrashers, or catbirds, or 
oven-birds, or the jingle of the chewink. I hear the 
ominous twittering of the goldfinch over all. 

March 18, 1853. How eagerly the birds of passage © 
penetrate the northern ice, watching for a crack by 
which to enter! Forthwith the swift ducks will be seen 
winging their way along the rivers and up the coast. 
They watch the weather more sedulously than the 
teamster. All nature is thus forward to move with the 
revolution of the seasons. Now for some days the birds 
have been ready by myriads, a flight or two south, to 
invade our latitudes and, with this mild and serener 
weather, resume their flight. 


I came forth expecting to hear new birds, and I am 
not disappointed. We know well what to count upon. 
Their coming is more sure than the arrival of the sailing 
and steaming packets. Almost while I listen for this 
purpose, I hear the chuck, chuck of a blackbird in the 
sky, whom I cannot detect. So small an object is lost 
in the wide expanse of the heavens, though no obstacle 
intervenes. When your eye has detected it, you can 
follow it well enough, but it is difficult to bring your 
sight to bear on it, as to direct a telescope to a particular 
star. How many hawks may fly undetected, yet within 
sight, above our heads! And there’s the great gull I 
came to see, already fishing in front of Bittern Cliff. 
Now he stoops to the water for his prey, but sluggishly, 
methinks. He requires a high and perhaps a head wind 
to make his motions graceful. I see no mate. He must 
have come up, methinks, before the storm was over, 


GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 413 


unless he started when I did. I believe iteis only an 
easterly wind or storm brings him up. 

March 21, 1853. Morning along the river. 

The air full of song sparrows, — swedit swedit swedit 
and then a rapid jingle or trill, holding up its head with- 
out fear of me, the innocent, humble bird, or one pur- 
suing another through the alders by the waterside. Why 
are the early birds found most along the water? These 
song sparrows are now first heard commonly. The black- 
birds, too, create some melody. And the bluebirds, how 
sweet their warble in the soft air, heard over the water! 
The robin is heard further off, and seen flying rapidly, 
hurriedly through the orchard. And now the elms sud- 
denly ring with the chili-Uill-lill and canary-like notes of 
the Fringilla hyemalis, which fill the air more than 
those of any bird yet, —a little strange they sound be- 
cause they do not tarry to breed with us, —a ringing 
sound. 

March 22, 1853. Already I hear from the railroad 
the plaintive strain of a lark or two. They sit now 
conspicuous on the bare russet ground. The tinkling 
bubbles of the song sparrow are wafted from distant 
fence-posts, — little rills of song that begin to flow and 
tinkle as soon as the frost is out of the ground. The 
blackbird tries to sing, as it were with a bone in his 
throat, or to whistle and sing at once. Whither so fast, 
the restless creature,— chuck, chuck, at every rod, and 
now and then whistle-ter-ee? The chill-lill of the blue 
snowbirds is heard again. A partridge goes off on 
Fair Haven Hill-side with a sudden whir like the wad 
of a six-pounder, keeping just level with the tops 


414 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


of the sprouts. These birds and quails go off like a 
report. 

April 16, 1853. Birds loosen and expand their feath- 
ers and look larger in the rain. 

May 4, 1853. The woods and paths next them now 
ring with the silver jingle of the field sparrow, the 
medley of the brown thrasher, the honest gui vive of 
the chewink, or his jingle from the top of a low copse 
tree, while his mate scratches in the dry leaves beneath ; 
the black and white creeper is hopping along the oak 
boughs, head downward, pausing from time to time to 
utter its note like a fine, delicate saw-sharpening ; and 
ever and anon rises clear over all the smooth, rich 
melody of the wood thrush. 

May 10,1858. There is now a multiplicity of sounds, 
in which the few faint spring ones are drowned. The 
birds are in full blast, singing, warbling, chirping, 
humming. Yet we do not receive more ideas through 
our ears than before. The storms and ducks of spring 
have swept by and left us to the repose of summer, the 
farmers to the ignoble pursuits of planting and hoeing 
corn and potatoes. The summer is not brgcing, as when 
you hear the note of the jay in the cool air of October 
from the rustling chestnut woods. 

June 16, 1858. Before 4 a. M., or sunrise, the sound 
of chip-birds and robins and bluebirds, etc., fills the 
air and is incessant. It is a crowing on the roost, me- 
thinks, as the cock crows before he goes abroad. They 
do not sing deliberately as at eve, but greet the morn- 
ing with an incessant twitter. Even the crickets seem 
to join the concert. Yet I think it is not the same every 


GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 415 


morning, though it may be fair. An hour or two later 
it is comparative silence. The awaking of the birds, a 
tumultuous twittering. 

Nov. 8, 1853. Birds generally wear the russet dress 
of nature at this season. They have their fall no less 
than the plants; the bright tints depart from their 
foliage or feathers, and they flit past like withered 
leaves in rustling flocks. The sparrow is a withered 
leaf. 

Dec. 5, 1853. Saw and heard a downy woodpecker 
on an apple tree. Have not many winter birds, like 
this and the chickadee, a sharp note like tinkling glass 
or icicles? The chip of the tree sparrow, also, and the 
whistle of the shrike, are they not wintry in the same 
way? And the sonorous hooting owl? But not so the 
jay and Fringilla linaria, and still less the crow. 

Feb. 14, 1854. In Stow’s wood, by the Deep Cut, 
hear the gnah gnah of the white-breasted, black-capped 
nuthatch. I went up the bank and stood by the fence. 
A little family of titmice gathered about me, search- 
ing for their food both on the ground and on the trees, 
with great industry and intentness, and now and then 
pursuing each other. There were two nuthatches at 
least, talking to each other. One hung with his head 
down on a large pitch pine, pecking the bark for a 
long time, — leaden blue above, with a black cap and 
white breast. It uttered almost constantly a faint but 
sharp quivet or creak, difficult to trace home, which ap- 
peared to be answered by a baser and louder gnah gnah 
from the other. A downy woodpecker also, with the 
red spot on his hind head and his cassock open behind, 


416 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


showing his white robe, kept up an incessant loud tap- 
ping on another pitch pine. All at once an active little 
brown creeper makes its appearance, a small, rather 
slender bird, with a long tail and sparrow-colored back, 
and white beneath. It commences at the bottom of a 
tree and glides up very rapidly, then suddenly darts to 
the bottom of a new tree and repeats the same move- 
ment, not resting long in one place or on one tree. These 
birds are all feeding and flitting along together, but 
the chickadees are the most numerous and the most con- 
fiding. I observe that three of the four thus associated, 
viz. the chickadee, nuthatch, and woodpecker, have black 
crowns, — at least the first two, very conspicuous black 
caps. I cannot but think that this sprightly association 
and readiness to burst into song has to do with the 
prospect of spring, — more light and warmth and thaw- 
ing weather. The titmice keep up an incessant faint 
tinkling tchip ; now and then one utters a lively day 
day day, and once or twice one commenced a gurgling 
strain quite novel, startling, and springlike. 

March 1, 1854. As for the birds of the past winter : 
I have seen but three hawks, — one early in the winter 
and two lately; have heard the hooting owl pretty often 
late in the afternoon. Crows have not been numerous, 
but their cawing was heard chiefly in pleasanter morn- 
ings. Blue jays have blown the trumpet of winter as 
usual, but they, as all birds, are most lively in spring- 
like days. The chickadees have been the prevailing 
bird. The partridge common enough. One ditcher tells 
me that he saw two robins in Moore’s Swamp a month 
ago. I have not seen a quail, though a few have been 


GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 417 


killed in the thaws. Four or five downy woodpeckers. 
The white-breasted nuthatch four or five times. Tree 
sparrows one or more at a time, oftener than any bird 
that comes to us from the north. Two pigeon wood- 
peckers, I think, lately. One dead shrike, and perhaps 
one or two live ones. Have heard of two white owls, — 
one about Thanksgiving time and one in midwimter. 
One short-eared owl in December. Several flocks of 
snow buntings for a week in the severest storm, and in 
December, last past. One grebe in Walden just before 
it froze completely. And two brown creepers once in 
middle of February. Channing says he saw a little 
olivaceous-green bird lately. I have not seen an 
linaria, nor a pine grosbeak, nor an J”. hyemalis this 
winter, though the first was the prevailing bird last 
winter. 

March 12, 1854. All these birds do their warbling 
especially in the still, sunny hour after sunrise, as rivers 
twinkle at their sources. Now is the time to be abroad 
and hear them, as you detect the slightest ripple in 
smooth water. As with tinkling sounds the sources of 
streams burst their icy fetters, so the rills of music begin 
to flow and swell the general quire of spring. 

May 10, 1854. In Boston yesterday an ornitholo- 
gist said significantly, “If you held the bird in your 
hand —;” but I would rather hold it in my affections. 

Aug. 10, 1854. The tinkling notes of goldfinches and 
bobolinks which we hear nowadays are of one character 
and peculiar to the season. They are not voluminous 
flowers, but rather nuts, of sound,—ripened seeds of 
sound. It is the tinkling of ripened grains in Nature’s 


418 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


basket. It is like the sparkle on water, —a sound pro- 
duced by friction-on the crisped air. 

April 6, 1855. The banks of the river are alive with 
song sparrows and tree sparrows. They now sing in 
advance of vegetation, as the flowers will blossom, — 
those slight tinkling, twittering sounds called the sing- 
ing 6f birds; they have come to enliven the bare twigs 
before the buds show any signs of starting. 

May 8, 1855. Humphrey Buttrick, one of eight who 
alone returned from Texas out of twenty-four, says he 
can find woodcock’s eggs ; now knows of ‘several nests ; 
has seen them setting with snow around them; and 
that Melvin has seen partridges’ eggs some days ago. 
He has seen crows building this year. Found in a hen- 
hawk’s nest once the legs of a cat. Has known of several 
goshawks’ nests (or what he calls some kind of eagle ; 
Garfield called it the Cape eagle); one in a shrub oak, 
with eggs.' Last year his dog caught seven black ducks 
so far grown that he got sixty cents a pair for them; 
takes a pretty active dog to catch such. He frequently 
finds or hears of them. Knew of a nest this year. Also 
finds wood ducks’ nests. Has very often seen partridges 
drum close to him. Has watched one for an hour. They 
strike the body with their wings. He shot a white- 
headed eagle from Carlisle Bridge. It fell in the water, 
and his dog was glad to let it alone. He suggested that 
my fish hawks found pouts in holes made by ice. 

May 17, 1855. Waked up at 2.30 by the peep of 
robins, which were aroused by a fire at the pail-factory 


1 [There are no authentic records of the nesting of the goshawk in 
Massachusetts.] 


GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 419 


about two miles west. I hear that the air was full of 
birds singing thereabouts. It rained gently at the same 
time, though not steadily. 

Aug. 5, 1855. 8 P. M.— On river to see swallows. 

At this hour the robins fly to high, thick oaks (as 
this swamp white oak) to roost for the night. The wings 
of the chimney swallows flying near me make a whis- 
tling sound like a duck’s. Is not this peculiar among 
the swallows? They flutter much for want of tail. I 
see martins about. Now many swallows in the twilight, 
after circling eight feet high, come back two or three 
hundred feet high and then go down the river. 

Sept. 15, 1855. Three weeks ago saw many brown 
thrashers, catbirds, robins, etc., on wild cherries. They 
are worth raising for the birds about you, though ob- 
jectionable on account of caterpillars. 

Oct. 22, 1855. Birds are certainly afraid of man. 
They [allow] all other creatures,— cows and horses, 
etc., — excepting only one or two kinds, birds or beasts 
of prey, to come near them, but not man. What does 
this fact signify? Does it not signify that man, too, is 
a beast of prey to them? Is he, then, a true lord of cre- 
ation, whose subjects are afraid of him, and with rea- 
son? They know very well that he is not humane, as 
he pretends to be. « 

Dec. 11, 1855. Standing there, though in this bare 
November landscape, I am reminded of the incredible 
phenomenon of small birds in winter, — that ere long, 
amid the cold powdery snow, as it were a fruit of the 
season, will come twittering a flock of delicate crimson- 
tinged birds, lesser redpolls, to sport and feed on the 


420 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


seeds and buds now just ripe for them on the sunny 
side of « wood, shaking down the powdery snow there 
in their cheerful social feeding, as if it were high mid- 
summer to them. These crimson aerial creatures have 
wings which would bear them quickly to the regions of 
summer, but here is all the summer they want. What 
a rich contrast! tropical colors, crimson breasts, on 
cold white snow! Such etherealness, such delicacy in 
their forms, such ripeness in their colors, in this stern 
and barren season! It is as surprising as if you were 
to find a brilliant crimson flower which flourished amid 
snows. They greet the chopper and the hunter in their 
furs. Their Maker gave them the last touch and 
launched them forth the day of the Great Snow.’ He 
made this bitter, imprisoning cold before which man 
quails, but He made at the same time these warm and 
glowing creatures to twitter and be at home in it. He 
said not only, Let there be linnets in winter, but linnets 
of rich plumage and pleasing twitter, bearing summer 
in their natures. The snow will be three feet deep, the 
ice will be two feet thick, and last night, perchance, 
the mercury sank to thirty degrees below zero. All the 
fountains of nature seem to be sealed up. The traveller 
is frozen on his way. But under the edge of yonder 
birch wood will be a little flock of crimson-breasted 
lesser redpolls, busily feeding on the seeds of the birch 
and shaking down the powdery snow! As if a flower 
were created to be now in bloom, a peach to be now 


1 [The “Great Snow ” to which Thoreau refers several times in his 
Journal and in Walden occurred in 1780, as we learn from the entry 
for March 28, 1856.] 


GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 421 


first fully ripe on its stem. I am struck by the perfect 
confidence and success of nature. There is no question 
about the existence of these delicate creatures, their 
adaptedness to their circumstances. There is super- 
added superfluous paintings and adornments, a crystal- 
line, jewel-like health and soundness, like the colors 
reflected from ice-crystals. 

When some rare northern bird like the pine grosbeak 
is seen thus far south in the winter, he does not suggest 
poverty, but dazzles us with his beauty. There is in them 
a warmth akin to the warmth that melts the icicle. 
Think of these brilliant, warm-colored, and richly war- 
bling birds, birds of paradise, dainty-footed, downy-clad, 
in the midst of a New England, a Canadian winter. 
The woods and fields, now somewhat solitary, being de- 
serted by their more tender summer residents, are now 
frequented by these rich but delicately tinted and hardy 
northern immigrants of the air. Here is no imperfection 
to be suggested. The winter, with its snow and ice, is 
not an evil to be corrected. It is as it was designed and 
made to be, for the artist has had leisure to add beauty 
to use. My acquaintances, angels from the north. I had 
a vision thus prospectively of these birds as I stood in 
the swamps. I saw this familiar — too familiar — fact 
at a different angle, and I was charmed and haunted by 
it. But I could only attain to be thrilled and enchanted, 
as by the sound of a strain of music dying away. I had 
seen into paradisaic regions, with their air and sky, and 
I was no longer wholly or merely a denizen of this vulgar 
earth. Yet had I hardly a foothold there. I was only 
sure that I was charmed, and no mistake. It is only 


422 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


necessary to behold thus the least fact or phenomenon, 
however familiar, from a point a hair’s breadth aside 
from our habitual path or routine, to be overcome, en- 
chanted by its beauty and significance. Only what we 
have touched and worn is trivial, — our scurf, repeti- 
tion, tradition, conformity. To perceive freshly, with 
fresh senses, is to be inspired. Great winter itself looked 
like a precious gem, reflecting rainbow colors from one 
angle. 

Dec. 21,1855. Going to the post-office at 9 a. M. this 
very pleasant morning, I hear and see tree sparrows on 
Wheildon’s pines, and just beyond scare a downy wood- 
pecker and a brown creeper in company, from near the 
base of a small elm within three feet of me. The former 
dashes off with a loud rippling of the wing, and the 
creeper flits across the street to the base of another small 
elm, whither I follow. At first he hides behind the base, 
but ere long works his way upward and comes in sight. 
He is a gray-brown, a low curve from point of beak to 
end of tail, resting flat against the tree. 

Dec. 30, 1855. He who would study birds’ nests must 
look for them in November and in winter as well as in 
midsummer, for then the trees are bare and he can see 
them, and the swamps and streams are frozen and he 
can approach new kinds. He will often be surprised to 
find how many have haunted where he little suspected, 
and will receive many hints accordingly, which he can 
act upon in the summer. I am surprised to find many 
new ones (i. e. not new species) in groves which I 
had examined several times with particular care in the 
summer. 


GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 423 


Jan. 18, 1856. Observed some of those little hard 
galls on the high blueberry pecked or eaten into by 
some bird (or possibly mouse), for the little white grubs 
which lie curled up in them. What entomologists the 
birds are! Most men do not suspect that there are grubs 
in them, and how secure the latter seem under these 
thick, dry shells! Yet there is no secret but it is confided 
to some one. 

Feb. 4, 1856. I have often wondered how red cedars 
could have sprung up in some pastures which I knew 
to be miles distant from the nearest fruit-bearing cedar, 
but it now occurs to me that these and barberries, 
etc., may be planted by the crows, and probably other 
birds. 

Feb. 8, 1856. E. Garfield says there were many quails 
here last fall, but that they are suffering now. One 
night as he was spearing on Conant’s cranberry meadow, 
just north the pond, his dog caught a sheldrake in the 
water by the shore. Some days ago he saw what he 
thought a hawk, as white as snow, fly over the pond, 
but it may have been a white owl (which last he never 
saw).! He sometimes sees a hen-hawk in the winter, but 
never a partridge or other small hawk at this season. 
Speaks again of that large speckled hawk he killed 
once, which some called a “Cape eagle.” Had a hum- 
bird’s nest behind their house last summer, and was 
amused to see the bird drive off other birds ; would pur- 
sue arobin and alight on his back; let none come near.. 
I. Garfield saw one’s nest on a horizontal branch of a 
white pine near the Charles Miles house, about seven 

1 Was it a gyrfalcon ? 


424 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


feet from ground. E. Garfield spoke of the wren’s nest 
as not uncommon, hung in the grass of the meadows, 
and how swiftly and easily the bird would run through 
a winrow of hay. 

April 9, 1856. The air is full of birds, and as I go 
down the causeway, I distinguish the seringo note. You | 
have only to come forth each morning to be surely ad- 
vertised of each newcomer into these broad meadows. 
Many a larger animal might be concealed, but a cun- 
ning ear detects the arrival of each new species of bird. 
These birds give evidence that they prefer the fields of 
New England to ajl other climes, deserting for them 
the warm and fertile south. Here is their paradise. It 
is here they express the most happiness by song and 
action. Though these spring mornings may often be 
frosty and rude, they are exactly tempered to their con- 
stitutions, and call forth the sweetest strains. 

June 6, 1856. How well suited the lining of a bird’s 
nest, not only for the comfort of the young, but to keep 
the eggs from breaking! Fine elastic grass stems or 
root-fibres, pine-needles, or hair, or the like. These 
tender and brittle things which you can hardly carry in 
cotton lie there without harm. 

Feb. 20, 1857. What is the relation between a bird 
and the ear that appreciates its melody, to whom, per- 
chance, it is more charming and significant than to any 
else? Certainly they are intimately related, and the one 
was made for the other. It is a natural fact. If I were 
to discover that a certain kind of stone by the pond- 
shore was affected, say partially disintegrated, by a par- 
ticular natural sound, as of a bird or insect, I see that 


GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 425 


one could not be completely described without describ- 
ing the other. I am that rock by the pond-side. 

Sept. T, 1857. Returning to my boat, at the white 
maple, I see a small round flock of birds, perhaps black- 
birds, dart through the air, as thick as a charge of shot, 
— now comparatively thin, with regular intervals of sky 
between them, like the holes in the strainer of a water- 
ing-pot, now dense and dark, as if closing up their 
ranks when they roll over one another and stoop down- 
ward. 

March 17, 1858. Sitting under the handsome scarlet 
oak beyond the hill, I hear a faint note far in the wood 
which reminds me of the robin. Again I hear it; it is 
he, —an occasional peep. These notes of the earliest 
birds seem to invite forth vegetation. No doubt the 
plants concealed in the earth hear them and rejoice. 
They wait for this assurance. 

March 18, 1858. How much more habitable a few 
birds make the fields! At the end of winter, when 
the fields are bare and there is nothing to relieve the 
monotony of the withered vegetation, our life seems 
reduced to its lowest terms. But let a bluebird come 
and warble over them, and what a change! The note 
of the first.bluebird in the air answers to the purling rill 
of melted snow beneath. It is eminently soft and sooth- 
ing, and, as surely as the thermometer, indicates a higher 
temperature. It is the accent of the south wind, its ver- 
nacular. It is modulated by the south wind. The song 
sparrow is more sprightly, mingling its notes with the 
rustling of the brash along the watersides, but it is at 
the same time more ¢errene than the bluebird. The 


426 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


first woodpecker comes screaming into the empty house 
and throws open doors and windows wide, calling out 
each of them to let the neighbors know of its return. 
But heard further off it is very suggestive of ineffable 
associations which cannot be distinctly recalled, — of 
long-drawn summer hours, — and thus it, also, has the 
effect of music. I was not aware that the capacity to 
hear the woodpecker had slumbered within me so long. 
When the blackbird gets to a conqueree he seems to be 
dreaming of the sprays that are to be and on which he 
is to perch. The robin does not come singing, but utters 
a somewhat anxious or inquisitive peep at first. The 
song sparrow is immediately most at home of any that 
I have named. I see this afternoon as many as a dozen 
bluebirds on the warm side of a wood. 


Each new year is a surprise to us. We find that we 
had virtually forgotten the note of each bird, and when 
we hear it again it is remembered like a dream, remind- 
ing us of a previous state of existence. How happens 
it that the associations it awakens are always pleasing, 
never saddening ; reminiscences of our sanest hours? 
The voice of nature is always encouraging. 

May 10, 1858. It is remarkable how many new birds 
have come all at once to-day. The hollow-sounding note 
of the oven-bird is heard from the depth of the wood. 
The warbling vireo cheers the elms with a strain for 
which they must have pined. The trees, in respect to 
these new arrivers, have been so many empty music- 
halls. The oriole is seen darting like a bright flash 
with clear whistle from one tree-top to another over the 


GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 427 


street. The very catbird’s mew in the copse harmonizes 
with the bare twigs, as it were shaming them into life 
and verdure, and soon he mounts upon a tree and is a 
new creature. Toward night the wood thrush ennobles 
the wood and the world with his strain. 

June T, 1858. It is evidence enough against crows 
and hawks and owls, proving their propensity to rob 
birds’ nests of eggs and young, that smaller birds pur- 
sue them so often. You do not need the testimony of 
so many farmers’ boys when you can see and hear the 
small birds daily crying “ Thief and murder” after these 
spoilers. What does it signify, the kingbird, blackbird, 
swallow, etc., etc., pursuing a crow? They say plainly 
enough: “I know you of old, you villain; you want to 
devour my eggs or young. I have often caught you at 
it, and I’ll publish you now.” And probably the crow 
pursuing the fish hawk and eagle proves that the latter 
sometimes devour their young. 

June 16, 1858. No doubt thousands of birds’ nests 
have been destroyed by the flood, — blackbirds’, bobo- 
links’, song sparrows’, etc. I see a robin’s nest high 
above the water with the young just dead and the old 
bird in the water, apparently killed by the abundance 
of rain, and afterward I see a fresh song sparrow’s nest 
which has been flooded and destroyed. 

July 16, 1858. About the mountains were wilder and 
rarer birds, more or less arctic, like the vegetation. I 
did not even hear the robin on them, and when I had 
left them a few miles behind, it was a great change and 
surprise to hear the lark, the wood pewee, the robin, 
and the bobolink (for the last had not done singing). 


428 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


On the mountains, especially at Tuckerman’s Ravine, 
the notes. even of familiar birds sounded strange to me. 
I hardly knew the wood thrush and veery and oven- 
bird at first. They sing differently there.t In two in- 
stances, — going down the Mt. Jefferson road and along 
the road in the Franconia Notch, —I started an LF’. hye- 
malis within two feet, close to the roadside, but looked 
in vain for a nest. They alight and sit thus close. I 
doubt if the chipping sparrow is found about the moun- 
tains. 

March T, 1859. It is a good plan to go to some old 
orchard on the south side of a hill, sit down, and listen, 
especially in the morning when all is still. You can 
thus often hear the distant warble of some bluebird 
lately arrived, which, if you had been walking, would 
not have been audible to you. As I walk, these first 
mild spring days, with my coat thrown open, stepping 
over tinkling rills of melting snow, excited by the sight 
of the bare ground, especially the reddish subsoil where 
it is exposed by a cutting, and by the few green radical 
leaves, I stand still, shut my eyes, and listen from time 
to time, in order to hear the note of some bird of pas- 
sage just arrived. 

April 8, 1859. When the question of the protection 
of birds comes up, the legislatures regard only a low use 
and never a high use; the best-disposed legislators em- 
ploy one, perchance, only to examine their crops and see 
how many grubs or cherries they contain, and never to 
study their dispositions, or the beauty of their plumage, 


1 [His wood thrush and veery of Tuckerman’s Ravine were probably 
the olive-backed thrush and Bicknell’s thrush, respectively.] 


GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 429 


or listen and report on the sweetness of their song. The 
legislature will preserve a bird professedly not because 
it is a beautiful creature, but because it is a good scav- 
enger or the like. This, at least, is the defense set up. 
It is as if the question were whether some celebrated 
singer of the human race — some Jenny Lind or an- 
other —did more harm or good, should be destroyed, 
or not, and therefore a committee should be appointed, 
not to listen to her singing at all, but to examine the 
contents of her stomach and see if she devoured any- 
thing which was injurious to the farmers and gardeners, 
or which they cannot spare. 

Sept. 1, 1859. If you would study the birds now, go 
where their food is, 4. e. the berries, especially to the 
wild black cherries, elder-berries, poke berries, moun- 
tain-ash berries, and ere long the barberries, and for 
pigeons the acorns. In the sprout- -land behind Britton’s 
Camp, I came to a small black cherry full of fruit, and 
then, for the first time for a long while, I see and hear 
cherry-birds — their shrill and fine seringo'— and the 
note of robins, which of late are scarce. We sit near 
the tree and listen to the now unusual sounds of these 
birds, and from time to time one or two come dashing 
from out the sky toward this tree, till, seeing us, they 
whirl, disappointed, and perhaps alight on some neigh- 
boring twigs and wait till we are gone. The cherry- 
birds and robins seem to know the locality of every wild 
cherry in the town. You areas sure to find them on them 
now, as bees and butterflies on the thistles. If we stay 


1 [Thoreau’s word for a note of the quality of the cedar waxwing’s. 
See pp. 290 note, 291.] 


430 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


long, they go off with a fling,to some other cherry tree, 
which they know of but we do not. The neighborhood 
of a wild cherry full of fruit is now, for the notes of 
birds, a little spring come back again, and when, a mile 
or two from this, I was plucking a basketful of elder- 
berries (for which it was rather early yet), there too, 
to my surprise, I came on a flock of golden robins and 
of bluebirds, apparently feeding on them. Excepting 
the vacciniums, now past prime and drying up, the 
cherries and elder-berries are the two prevailing fruits 
now. We had remarked on the general scarcity and 
silence of the birds, but when we came to the localities 
of these fruits, there again we found the berry-eating 
birds assembled, — young (?) orioles and bluebirds at 
the elder-berries. 

Nov. 11,1859. Also, October 24th, riding home from 
Acton, I saw the withered leaves blown from an oak by 
the roadside dashing off, gyrating, and surging upward 
into the air, so exactly like a flock of birds sporting with 
one another that, for a minute at least, I could not be 
sure they were not birds; and it suggested how far the 
motions of birds, like those of these leaves, might be 
determined by currents of air, 7. ¢., how far the bird 
learns to conform to such currents. 

Jan. 5, 1860. How much the snow reveals! I see 
where the downy woodpecker has worked lately by the 

chips of bark and rotten wood scattered over the snow, 
though I rarely see him in the winter. Once to-day, how- 
ever, I hear his sharp voice, even like a woodchuck’s. 
Also I have occasionally seen where (probably) a flock 
of goldfinches in the morning tad settled on a hemlock’s 


GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 4381 


top, by the snow strewn with scales, literally blackened 
or darkened with them for a rod. And now, about the 
hill in front of Smith’s, I see where the quails have run 
along the roadside, and can count the number of the 
bevy better than if I saw them. Are they not peculiar 
in this, as compared with partridges, — that they run 
in company, while at this season I see but [one] or two 
partridges together ? 

Jan. 22, 1860. Birds are commonly very rare in the 
winter. They are much more common at some times 
than at others. I see more tree sparrows in the begin- 
ning of the winter (especially when snow is falling) than 
in the course of it. I think that by observation I could 
tell in what kind of weather afterward these were most 
to be seen. Crows come about houses and streets in 
very cold weather and deep snows, and they are heard 
cawing in pleasant, thawing winter weather, and their 
note is then a pulse by which you feel the quality of the 
air, i. e., when cocks crow. For the most part, lesser 
redpolls and pine grosbeaks do not appear at all. Snow 
buntings are very wandering. They were quite numer- 
ous a month ago, and now seem to have quit the town. 
They seem to ramble about the country at will. 

Jan. 29, 1860. Not only the Indian, but many wild 
birds and quadrupeds and insects, welcomed the apple 
tree to these shores. As it grew apace, the bluebird, 
robin, cherry-bird, kingbird, and many more came with 
a rush and built their nests in it, and so became orchard- 
birds. The woodpecker found such a savory morsel 
under its bark that he perforated it in a ring quite round 
the tree, a thing he had never done before. It did not 


432 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


take the partridge long to find out how sweet its buds 
were, and every winter day she flew and still flies from 
the wood to pluck them, much to the farmer’s sorrow. 
The rabbit too was not slow to learn the taste of its twigs 
and bark. The owl crept into the first one that became 
hollow, and ‘fairly hooted with delight, finding it just 
the place for him. He settled down into it, and has 
remained there ever since. The lackey caterpillar sad- 
dled her eggs on the very first twig that was formed, 
and it has since divided her affections with the wild 
cherry; and the canker-worm also in a measure aban- 
doned the elm to feed on it. And when the fruit was 
ripe, the squirrel half carried, half rolled, it to his hole, 
and even the musquash crept up the bank and greedily 
devoured it; and when it was frozen and thawed, the 
crow and jay did not disdain to peck it. And the 
beautiful wood duck, having made up her mind to stay 
a while longer with us, has concluded that there is no 
better place for her too. 

Aug. 28, 1860. There was no prolonged melody of 
birds on the summit of Monadnock. They for the most 
part emitted sounds there more in harmony with the 
silent rocks, — a faint chipping or chinking, often some- 
what as of two stones struck together. 

Sept. 1, 1860. See how artfully the seed of a cherry 
is placed in order that a bird may be compelled to 
transport it. It.is placed in the very midst of a tempting 
pericarp, so that the creature that would devour a cherry 
must take a stone into its mouth. The bird is bribed 
with the pericarp to take the stone with it and do this 
little service for Nature. Cherries are especially birds’ 


GENERAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 4338 


food, and many kinds are called birds’ cherry, and un- 
less we plant the seeds occasionally, I shall think the 
birds have the best right to them. Thus a bird’s wing 
is added to the cherry-stone which was wingless, and it 
does not wait for winds to transport it. 

Oct. T, 1860. Rice! says that when a boy, playing 
with darts with his brother Israel, one of them sent up 
his dart when a flock of crows was going over. One of 
the crows followed it down to the earth, picked it up, 
and flew off with it a quarter of a mile before it dropped 
it. He has observed that young wood ducks swim faster 
than the old, which is a fortunate provision, for they 
can thus retreat and hide in the weeds while their parents 
fly off. He says that you must shoot the little dipper as 
soon as it comes up, — before the water is fairly off its 
eyes, — else it will dive at the flash. 


1 [Reuben Rice, of Concord. ] 


XXII 
DOMESTIC BIRDS 


DUCKS 


April 7, 1858. Approach near to Simon Brown’s 
ducks, on river. They are continually bobbing their 
heads under water in a shallow part of the meadow, 
more under water than above. I infer that the wild 
employ themselves likewise. You are most struck with 
the apparent ease with which they glide away, — not 
seeing the motion of their feet, — as by their wills. 

June 29, 1856. A man by the riverside! told us that 
he had two young ducks which he let out to seek their 
food along the riverside at low tide that morning. At 
length he noticed that one remained stationary amid the 
grass or salt weeds and something prevented its follow- 
ing the other. He went to its rescue and found its foot 
shut tightly in a quahog’s shell amid the grass which 
the tide had left. He took up all together, carried to his 
house, and his wife opened the shell with a knife, re- 
leased the duck, and cooked the quahog. 

[ See also under Horned Grebe, pp. 1, 2; Domestic 
Fowl, p. 436. ] 


DOMESTIC FOWL 
July 11, 1851. And now, at half-past 10 o’clock, I 


hear the cockerels crow in Hubbard’s barns, and morn- 


1 [In New Bedford, where Thoreau was visiting Mr. Daniel Ricket- 
son. | 


DOMESTIC FOWL 435 


ing is already anticipated. It is the feathered, wakeful 
thought in us that anticipates the following day. This 
sound is wonderfully exhilarating at all times. These 
birds are worth far more to me for their crowing and 
eackling than for their drumsticks and eggs. How 
singular the connection of the hen with man, — that 
she leaves her eggs in his barns always! She is a domes- 
tic fowl, though still a little shyish of him. I cannot 
help looking at the whole as an experiment still and 
wondering that in each case it succeeds. There is no 
doubt at last but hens may be kept. They will put their 
eggs in your barn by a tacit agreement. They will not 
wander far from your yard. 

July 19, 1851. I see that hens, too, follow the cows 
feeding near the house, like the cow troopial, and for 
the same object. They cannot so well scare up insects 
for themselves. This is the dog the cowbird uses to 
start up its insect game. 

July 22, 1851. I hear the cockerels crow through 
it,! and the rich crow of young roosters, that sound in- 
dicative of the bravest, rudest health, hoarse without 
cold, hoarse with rude health. That crow is all-nature- 
compelling; famine and pestilence flee before it. 

Jan. 15, 1852. It is good to see Minott’s hens peck- 
ing and scratching the ground. What never-failing 
health they suggest! Even the sick hen is so naturally 
sick, — like a green leaf turning to brown. No wonder 
men love to have hens about them and hear their creak- 
ing note. They are even laying eggs from time to time 
still,— the undespairing race! 


1 [Fog.] 


436 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


June 17, 1852. I hear the: universal cock-crowing 
with surprise and pleasure, as if I never heard it before. 
What a tough fellow! How native to the earth! Neither 
wet nor dry, cold nor warm, kills him. 

July 6, 1852. When the hen hatches ducks they do 
not mind her clucking. They lead the hen. Chickens 
and ducks are well set on the earth. What great legs 
they have! This part is early developed. A perfect 
Antzus is a young duck in this respect, deriving a 
steady stream of health and strength, for he rarely gets 
off it, ready either for land or water. Nature is not on 
her last legs yet. A chick’s stout legs! If they were a 
little larger they would injure the globe’s tender organi- 
zation with their scratching. Then, for digestion, consider 
their crops and what they put into them in the course of 
a day! Consider how well fitted to endure the fatigue of 
aday’s excursion. A young chick will run all day in pur- 
suit of grasshoppers and occasionally vary its exercise by 
scratching, go to bed at night with protuberant crop, and 
get up early in the morning ready for a new start. 

July 25, 1852. As I came along, the whole earth 
resounded with the crowing of cocks, from the eastern 
unto the western horizon, and as I passed a yard, I saw 
a, white rooster on the topmost rail of a fence pouring 
forth his challenges for destiny to come on. This salu- 
tation was travelling round the world; some six hours 
since had resounded through England, France, and 
Spain; then the sun passed over a belt of silence where 
the Atlantic flows, except a clarion here and there from 
some cooped-up cock upon the waves, till greeted with 
a general all-hail along the Atlantic shore. 


DOMESTIC FOWL 437 


April 2, 1853. The farmers are trembling for their 
poultry nowadays. I heard the scream of hens, and a 
tumult among their mistresses (at Dugan’s), calling 
them and scaring away the hawk, yesterday. They say 
they do not lose by hawks in midsummer. White quotes 
Linnzus as saying of hawks, “ Paciscuntur inducias cum 
avibus, quamdiu cuculus cuculat,” but White doubts it.? 

June 2, 1853. The birds are wide awake, as if know- 
ing that this fog presages a fair day. I ascend Naw- 
shawtuct from the north side. I am aware that I yield 
to the same influence which inspires the birds and the 
cockerels, whose hoarse courage I hear now vaunted. 
So men should crow in the morning. I would crow like 
chanticleer in the morning, with all the lustiness that 
the new day imparts, without thinking of the evening, 
when I and all of us shall go to roost, — with all the 
humility of the cock, that takes his perch upon the 
highest rail and wakes the country with his clarion. 
Shall not men be inspired as much as cockerels ? 

Nov. 28, 1853. The cocks are the only birds I hear, 
but they are a host. They crow as freshly and bravely 
as ever, while poets go down the stream, degenerate 
into science and prose. 

Oct. 19, 1855. Therien tells me, when I ask if he has 
seen or heard any large birds lately, that he heard a 
cock crow this morning, a wild one, in the woods. It 
seems a dozen fowls (chickens) were lost out of the cars 
here a fortnight ago. Poland has caught some, and they 


1 [Gilbert White, Natural History of Selborne, letter of Sept. 13, 
1774, to Daines Barrington. “ They make a truce with the birds as long 
as the cuckoo sings.”’] 


438 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


have one at the shanty, but this cock, at least, is still 
abroad and can’t becaught. Ifthey could survive the win- 
ter, I suppose we should have had wild hens before now. 

July 25, 1856. The haymakers getting in the hay 
from Hubbard’s meadow tell me the cock says we are 
going to have a long spell of dry weather or else very 
wet. “ Well, there ’s some difference between them,” I 
answer; “how do you know it?” “TI just heard a cock 
crow at noon, and that’s a sure sign it will either be 
very dry or very wet.” 

Dec. 4, 1856. Sophia says that just before I came 
home Min’ caught a mouse and was playing with it in 
the yard. It had got away from her once or twice, and 
she had caught it again; and now it was stealing off 
again, as she lay complacently watching it with her 
paws tucked under her, when her friend Riordan’s stout 
but solitary cock stepped up inquisitively, looked down 
at it with one eye, turning his head, then picked it up 
by the tail and gave it two or three whacks on the 
ground, and giving it a dexterous toss into the air, 
caught it in its open mouth, and it went head foremost 
and alive down his capacious throat in the twinkling 
of an eye, never again to be seen in this world, Min, 
all the while, with paws comfortably tucked under her, 
looking on unconcerned. What matters it one mouse 
more or less to her? The cock walked off amid the 
currant bushes, stretched his neck up, and gulped once 
or twice, and the deed was accomplished, and then he 
crowed lustily in celebration of the exploit. It might 
be set down among the gesta (if not digesta) Glallorum. 

1 [The Thoreaus’ cat.] 


DOMESTIC FOWL 439 


There were several human witnesses. It is a question 
whether Min ever understood where that mouse went to. 

Feb. 4, 1857. Minott says that Dr. Heywood used to 
have a crazy hen (and he, too, has had one). She went 
about by herself uttering a peevish craw craw, and did 
not‘lay. One day he was going along on the narrow penin- 
sula of Goose Pond looking for ducks, away in Walden 
Woods a mile and a half from Heywood’s, when he 
met this very hen, which passed close by him, uttering 
as usual a faint craw craw. He knew her perfectly well, 
and says that he was never so surprised at anything 
in his life. How she had escaped the foxes and hawks 
was more than he knew. 

Feb. 8, 1857. Riordan’s solitary cock, standing on 
such an icy snow-heap, feels the influence of the soft- 
ened air, and the steam from patches of bare ground 
here and there, and has found his voice again. The 
warm air has thawed the music in his throat, and he 
crows lustily and unweariedly, his voice rising to the 
last. 

April 26,1857. Riordan’s cock follows close after 
me while spading in the garden, and hens commonly 
follow the gardener and ploughman, just as cowbirds 
the cattle in a pasture. 

Sept. 30, 1857. Talked with Minott, who was sitting, 
as usual, in his wood-shed. His hen and chickens, find- 
ing it cold these nights on the trees behind the house, 
had begun last night to roost in the shed, and one by 
one walked or hopped up a ladder within a foot of his 
shoulder to the loft above. He sits there so much like 
a fixture that they do not regard him. It has got to be 


440 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 


so cool, then, that tender chickens seek a shelter at 
night; but I saw the hens at Clark’s (the R. Brown 
house) were still going to roost in the apple trees. 

Oct. 1, 1858. Let a full-grown but young cock stand 
near you. How full of life he is, from the tip of his bill 
through his trembling wattles and comb and his bright 
eye to the extremity of his clean toes! How alert and 
restless, listening to every sound and watching every 
motion! How various his notes, from the finest and 
shrillest alarum as a hawk sails,over, surpassing the 
most accomplished violinist on the short strings, to a 
hoarse and terrene voice or cluck! He has a word for 
every occasion, — for the dog that rushes past, and part- 
let cackling in the barn. And then how, elevating him- 
self and flapping his wings, he gathers impetus and air 
and launches forth that world-renowned ear-piercing 
strain! not a vulgar note of defiance, but the mere 
effervescence of life, like the bursting of a bubble in a 
wine-cup. Is any gem so bright as his eye? 

Aug. 6, 1860. I heard a cock crow very shrilly and 
distinctly early in the evening of the 8th. This was the 
most distinct sound from the lower world that I heard 
up there at any time, not excepting even the railroad 
whistle, which was louder. It reached my ear perfectly, 
to each note and curl, — from some submontane cock. 
We also heard at this hour an occasional bleat from a 
sheep in some mountain pasture, and a lowing of a cow. 
And at last we saw a light here and there in a farmhouse 
window. We heard no sound of man except the railroad 
whistle and, on Sunday, a church-bell. Heard no dog 

1 [In camp on the summit of Mt. Monadnock.] 


PARROT 441 


that I remember. Therefore I should say that, of all 
the sounds of the farmhouse, the crowing of the cock 
could be heard furthest or most distinctly under these 
circumstances. It seemed to wind its way through the 
layers of air as a sharp gimlet through soft wood, and 
reached our ears with amusing distinctness. 


DOMESTIC PIGEON 


April 16,1855. I am startled sometimes these morn- 
ings to hear the sound of doves alighting on the roof 
just over my head; they come down so hard upon it, 
as if one had thrown a heavy stick on to it, and I wonder 
it does not injure their organizations. Their legs must 
be cushioned in their sockets to save them from the 
shock ? 

PARROT 


May 21,1857. I saw yesterday a parrot exceedingly 
frightened in its cage at a window. It rushed to the 
bars and struggled to get out. A piece of board had 
been thrown from the window above to the ground, 
which probably the parrot’s instinct had mistaken for 
a hawk. Their eyes are very open to danger from 
above. 


2 
MAP OF 


CONCORD, MASS. 


Showing Localities mentioned by 
Thoreau in his Journals 


Compiled by Herbert W.Gleason 
190G 


rape PLAC 
Scace or Mives : ie OF 


————= 


WA V2 L 


oJ, Melvin 


Calla Swamp. 
My ay es 


Strawberry 


/ = « ‘ f 
, iP 
Farmer's . ¢ A.DButtrick 


SUF Beads 


| 5 a |. % } 
= “ayn 
Codar_ : : e 4 AS 
Swamp = ~ oe Wp: an 7 
Mrs, Temples 7 iS Tunes (GA , ™ 


tw 
& s Annursnaok| o i Pont * 


oO , , My ! 
/ AS 3 \ \ 3 ~ ¢ . 
ae 5) mem zara, z bars Roe i f 
ae ‘ V7 se 


G.M.Barrd *P.llutebinson / 
J.Mayward « : /, 


Thoreau's 
= Birthplace 


o 
2 Merri, 
A, a qoao > otto SS 9 Merriam 
/ Beek:Stow's VAS Kotell 


=Swamp; a\ ZS 
=, 1 


% 


<= 
one anon © WW ; “ ‘ BEDFORD 


BRIUGE 


gis GQ, 4 Z > iy a 
F mo a ye 2 
li 


z 
% 


ces 


Os 
\ 


1,0 


esse ie 
J esee\ Soba Mesther ) 
} JP. aN 


BrowaX s 
ON 


(e D.Tarbell F 


oO yy, its oS 

Haywards af Z “ \ a , : Wit, . fae 

ail Pond \ vive 3 \ . oN 
* : wel td Goo 


Ministerial 
Swamp XV 
EN 


Katmias\, z 
Swamp. \'| AS ts bes 


Andioincede Emerson's 


we yy 
No ROAD 


, Se \e 
St T.A. Wheeler 


a3 \.Bconant 
“nite Pope } 
‘ 


} i 


COPYR GHT, 1907, BY HERBCAT W. GLEASON 


1 


FOR INDEX TO MAP SEE OVER 


NOTE TO MAP OF CONCORD 


THE material used in this Map of Concord has been derived from a 
variety of sources. ‘The town bounds, streets, and residences have been 
taken from a township map of Middlesex County made by H. F. Walling 
in 1856, reference also being had to a local map of Concord by the same 
engineer, dated 1852, on which credit for the surveys of White Pond and 
Walden Pond is given to ‘‘H. D. Thoreau, Civ. Eng.’’? The course of 
the Concord River is drawn from an elaborate manuscript plan of Tho- 
reau’s, based on earlier surveys, showing the river from East Sudbury 
to Billerica Dam. This plan, on which Thoreau has entered the results 
of his investigation of the river in the summer of 1859, is now in the 
Concord Public Library. The outlines of Walden and White Ponds 
have also been taken from Thoreau’s original surveys, now in the Con- 
eord Library. Loring’s and Bateman’s Ponds are according to surveys 
by Mr, Albert E. Wood of Concord, and Flint’s Pond is from a survey 
for the Concord Water Works by Mr. William Wheeler, also of Concord. 

All names of places are those used by Thoreau, no attention being 
given to other names perhaps more current either in his own time or at 
present. Only such names of residents are given as are mentioned in 
the Journal. 

A few old wood roads, pasture lanes, ete. (Thoreau’s preferred high- 
ways), are indicated, as to their general direction, by dotted lines. 

The irregularity of the northeastern boundary of Concord arose from 
the fact that when Carlisle was set off from Concord in 1780, the farmers 
living on the border were given the option of remaining within the 
bounds of Concord or of being included in the new town. In 1903 the 
Massachusetts Legislature abolished this old division and continued 
the straight line forming the western half of the boundary directly to 
the river. 

The identification of localities which were named by Thoreau appar- 
ently for his personal use alone has been accomplished, so far as it has 
proceeded, by a careful study of all the Journal references to each local- 
ity, an examination of a large number of Thoreau’s manuscript surveys, 
and an extended personal investigation on the ground. Many of these 
localities are given more than one name in the Journal, and in a few 
cases the same name is given to different localities. Where doubt exists 
as to any particular location, the name is omitted from the map. 

Hon. F. B. Sanborn, Judge John S. Keyes, Dr. Edward W. Emerson, 
the Misses Hosmer, and others among the older residents of Concord 
have been consulted in the preparation of the map, and have kindly 
supplied helpful information from their personal acquaintance with 


Thoreau. 
H. W. Gueason. 
December, 1906. 


INDEX TO MAP OF CONCORD 


Figure’ in parentheses correspond with figures on the map. A letter and figure combined indicate the space with- 
in which the locality may be found, this space bemg determined by the intersection ot imagimary lines drawn trom 


the corresponding 


(1) Agricultural Fair Ground. F7 i 
Alcott, A. Bronson. Fs 
(2) ‘Almshouse. G7 
Andromeda, or Cassan- 
dra, Ponds. J7 


Annursnack Hill. D3 
(3) Arethusa Meadow. H6 
(4) Assabet Bath. E5 
Assabet River, or North 
Branch. E5 
(5) Assabet Spring. ES 
Assabet Stone Bridge. 

(See One-Arch Bridge.) 
Austin, L. H K10 
Back Road. G6 
Baker, Jacob. J8 
Baker, James. JS 
Baker Bridge. J8 
Baker Farm. Ki 
Ball’s Hill. DY 
Bare Hill. 

(See Pine Hill.) 
Barrett, G. M E4 
Barrett, Nathan. Di 
Barrett, Prescott. E5 
(G6) Barrett, Sam. E5 
(7) Barrett’s Bar. D8 
Barrett’s Pond. D5 
(8) Barrett’s Saw and Grist 
Mills. E5 
(9) Bartlett, Dr. F7 
Bateman’s Pond. Co 
Battle-Ground. 

(See Old North Bridge.) 
Bear Garden Hill. HG 
Bear Hill. J9 
Beaver Pond. Lit 
Beck Stow’s Swamp. EQ 
Bedford Levels. F10 
Bedford Road (new). ES 


Bedford Road (old). K9 
Bidens Brook. 
(See Pole Brook.) 
(10) Bigelow, F. E. 
Bittern, or Tupelo, Cliff. 
Blood, Perez. 
‘33 Bloods Pasture. 
12) Boaz’s Meadow. 
13) Boiling Spring. 
Boston, 
Road. 
Botrychium Swamp. 
(See Yellow Birch Swamp. 
Boulder Field. 
Bound Rock. 
Brigham, J. G. 
Brister’s Hill. 
13 Brister’s Spring. 


ue 


or Lexington, 


=| mot: 
CO Anwnaa 


(15) Britton’s Camp. 
(16) Britton’s Hollow. 
(17) Brooks, A. 
Brooks, Geo. 
Brown, J. P. 
(18) Brown’s (J. P.) Pond- 
Hole, or Cold Pool. 
Brown, Simon. 
Brown, Wm. 
Bull, E. W. 


Hoe eb yQtaognra” 
APISOHHAMA 


DOT 


etter and figure’ in the margin. 


Button-bush Pond. 

(See Clematis Pond.) 
Buttrick, Abner. 
Buttrick, Stedman. 
Buttrick’s Hill. 

Calla Swamp. 

(19) Callitriche Pool. 
Cambridge Turnpike. 
Canoe Birch Road. 

(20) Cardinal Shore. 

Carlisle Bridge. 

Carlisle Reach. 

Cassandra Ponds. 

(See Andromeda Ponds. 

Cedar Hill. 

Cedar Swamp, White. 

Channing, W. E. 

Cheney, J. M. 

Clamshell Bank or Hill. 

Clamshell, or Sunset, 

Reach. 

Clark, Brooks. 

Clark, D. 

Clark, Joseph. 

Clematis Brook. 

(25) Clematis, Button-bush, or 

Nightshade, Pond. 

(26) Cliffs. 

(27) Clintonia Swamp. 

Cold Brook. 
College Road. 

(28) Columbine Cliff. 

(29) Common. 
Conant, E. 


(30) Conant House, Site of Old. 


Conantum, 
Copan. 
Corner Bridge. 
(See Lee’s Bridge.) 
Corner Road. 
on Corner Spring. 
32) County House. 
(33) Court-House. 
Creel Brook. 
(See Pole Brook.) 
Curly-Pate Hill. 
(34) Cyanean Meadow. 
Dakin, E. 
Dakin, Dea. L. 
Dakin’s Brook. 
(See Dodge’s Brook.) 
Damon’s Mills. 
Davis’s Hill. 
Deep Cut. 
Dennis, 8. 
(35) Dennis’s Lupine Hill or 
Promontory. 
Derby, J. 
Derby’s Bridge. 
(36) Diving-Ash. 
Dodge’s, or 
Brook. 
ey Dodd, J. M. 
38) Dove Rock. 
Dugan, Jenny. 
(39) Dugan Desert. 
Dunge Hole Brook. 
Easterbrook Country. 


Dakin’s, 


We TAQQWaAUy 
OSAKHHAEDIM 


D4 
F 


G5 


re Cuuemudtnaaunh AUOCOO 
aN WVAAMIAGEEM1-1 AADACAH 


ABaQw 
WAM 


anow 


Atay Ome Aaa 
TE RAMD Dee OF 


Q 
i=) 


(40) Easterbrook House, Site 
of. Cc 


Echo Wood. 

(See Holden Wood.) 
Eddy Bridge. 

(See One-Arch Bridge.) 

41) Egg Rock. 

42) Elfin Burial-Ground. 
Emerson’s Cliif. 
Emerson, R. W. 

(43) Everett, Geo. 
Fair Haven Hill. 

Fair Haven Pond or Bay. 
(44) Fair Haven Pond Island 
(at high water). 

Farmer, J. B 
Farmer’s Cliff. 
Farrar, Dea. Jaraes. 

(45) Farrar’s Blacksmith Shop. a § 
Fitchburg Railroad. 
Flint, J. tr 
Flint’s, or North, Bridge. E7 
Flint’s, or Sandy, Pond. J10 


hota eta Et bs 
7 Toee Ror) oe | ANCHDRO 


Fort Pond Brook. F2 
Fox Castle Swamp. 
(See Owl-Nest Swamp.) 
(46) French’s Rock. ET 
(47) Frost, B. F6 
Garfield, D. J5 
(48) Garrison, J. F7 
(49) Gentian Lane. E7 
(50) Goodwin, John. G6 
Goose Pond. H8 
(51) Gourgas, F. R. F7 
Gowing, J. F9 
Gowing’s Swamp. F9 
Great Fields. F8 
Great Meadows. D8 
Green, Isaiah. AT 
Groton Road. E3 
Hapgood, S. C3 
Harrington, J. G3 
(52) Harrington's Spring. G3 
Hawthorne, Nathaniel. F8 
Hayden, E. G G6 
Hayward,! J. E4 
Hayward,! R. G2 
Hayward’s! Pond. G2 
53) Heywood, A. B. E77 
54) Heywood, Geo. F7 


(55) Heywood’s Brook. 

(56) Heywood’s Meadow. 

(57) Heywood’s Peak. 

(58) Heywood’s Wood-lot. 
Hildreth, G. W. 

Hill. (See Nawshawtuct.) 

(59) Hoar, E. Rockwood. 

(60) Hoar, Samuel. 

Hodgman, J. 
61) ‘‘ Hogepen- Walke.”” 

(62) Holbrook, J. 
Holden, T. 

(63) Holden, or Echo, Wood. 
Holden Spruce Swamp. 
(See Kalmia glauca Swamp. 

(64) Hollowell Place. 

(65) Holt, the. 
Hosmer, Abel. 


moO restos Ummas 
QUANkr ors fondo Ree te | 


woot 


1 This uame is spelled ‘* Hey wood” by Thoreau. 


(66) Hosmer Edmund (before 
) 
Hosmer, Edmund (after 
1853). 
Hosmer, Jesse. 
Hosmer, John. 
Hosmer, Joseph. 
Howard’s Meadow. 
(See Hey wood’s Meadow.) 
Hubbard, C. 

(67) Hubbard, Ebby. 

(68) Hubbard’s Bath. 
Hubbard's Bridge. 
Hubbard’s Brook. 
Hubbard’s Close. 

(69) Hubbard’s Grove. 
Hubbard's Hill. 

Hunt, D. 

Hunt, Wm. 

Hunt House, Old, or Win- 
throp House. 

Hunt’s, or Red, Bridge. 

(70) Hunt’s Pasture. 
Hutchinson, Peter. 

(71) Indian Field. 


Deececaakteyea HOO OQ 
TIN OaAaAS HARA © 


Heo 
SeNaS 


(72)Inn kept by Thoreau’s 

Aunts. 

(73) Island, the (at high water). 
(74) Jail. 

Jarvis, Francis. 
(75) Jones, Mrs. 

Kalmia glauca, or Holden 

Spruce, Swamp. 
Kettell Place. 

(76) Keyes, J. 8. 
Kibbe Place. 
(77) Laurel Glen. 
Leaning Hemlocks. 
(78) Ledum Swamp. 
Lee Farm. 
Lee, I. 8. 
Lee’s, or Corner, Bridge. 
Lee’s Cliff. 
Lee's Hill. 

(See Nawshawtuct.) 
Legross, J. Be 
Lexington Road. 

(See Boston Road.) 

Lily Bay.2 (See Willow 


ee ei] 


ees teat ag tp 


OAAMNE ANANDA 


Bay.) 
(79) Lime-kiln. 
(80) Lime Quarry. 
(81) Linnza Hills. 
Little Goose Pond, or 
Ripple Lake. 
(82) Little Truro. 
(83) Lonely Graveyard. 
Loring’s Pond. 
Lowell Road. 
Mackintosh, W. 
(84) Mantatuket Point or 


Rock. 
Marlborough Road, Old. 
Mason, 
Maynard’s Place. 
Melvin, Geo. 
Melvin, J. 
Melvin Preserve. 
(See Easterbrook Country. 
Merriam, D. 
Merriain, J. 
Merriam, R. 

(85) Merrick’s Pasture. 
Miles, Charles. 
Miles, J. H 
Miles, Martial and War- | 

ren. 


doa woroont aa 
TIMI WWD OAwane Raniakaccd 


ad 


Cy ay 
cr COU SS P> an 


(86) Miles’s Mill, Warren. 
Miles’s Run, Charles. 
Miles Swamp. 

Mill Brook. 

(87) Mill-dam. 

Mill Road. 
Ministeriai Swamp. 
Minn’s Place. 

(88) Minott, Abel. 
Minott, Geo. 

(89) Money-Diggers’ Shore. 

(90) Monroe, Francis. 

(91) Monroe, Wm. 

Moore, J. B. 

Moore's Swamp. 

Mt. Misery. 

Mt. Tabor 

Nashoba Brook. 
Nawshawtuct, or Lee's, 


Hill. 
Nightshade Pond. 

(See Clematis Pond.) 
North Branch. 

(See Assabet River.) 


(92) North Bridge, Site of Old. E7 


(Battle-Ground.) 
North Bridge, Present. 
(See Flint’s Bridge.) 
Nut Meadow Brook. 
One-Arch, Eddy, or Assa- 
bet Stone, Bridge. 
(93) Orchis Swamp. 
(94) Orthodox Church. 
Owl-Nest, or Fox Castle, 


Swamp. 
(95) Painted-Cup Meadow. 
Peter's Path. 


Pine Hill (in Concord). E1 


Pine Hill (in Lincoln), or 
Bare Hill. 
(96) Pinxter Swamp. 
Pleasant Meadow. 
Pole, Creel, or Bidens, 
Brook. 
Ponkawtasset Hill. 
Poplar Hill. 
Potter, Jonas. 
(97) Potter’s Field. 
(98) Potter’s Swamp Meadow. 
(99) Pout’s Nest, or Wyman 
Meadow. 
Pratt, Minot. 
(160) Prescott, G. L. 
\(101) Prichard, M. 
Powder- Mills. 
Puffer, B. 
(102) Purple Utricularia Bay. 


(103) Railroad Depot (Concord). 
Railroad Depot (Lincoln). 


Red Bridge. 
(See Hunt's Bridge.) 
Rice, Israel. 
(104) Rice, Renben. 
\(105) Ripley, Mrs. 
Manse ’ 
Ripley Hill. 
(See Poplar Hill.) 
Ripple Lake 
(See Little Goose Pend.) 
Sandy Pond. 
(See Flint’s Pond). 
Saw Mill Brook (N. E.). 
Saw Mill Brook (8. E.).% 
(106) School where Thoreau 
taught. 
Second Division Brook. 


(Old 


H4 (107) Second Division Spring. H 2 


SAK WA STUNNER ASO 


wah bt ag Py Pa 


Le) 
a 


ee 


emo Sam 
ite D> 


1S + 


erie ad ord 


a 


wattle 


yA yor TORR aba 


ear 


(108) Seven-Star Lane. 
(109) Shattuck, D. 
Shattuck, H. L. 
(110) Shrub Oak Plain. 
Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. F ‘ 
Hl 


Smith, C. 

Smith, J. A. De 
(111) Smith, J.M. F6 

Smith’s Hill. G10 


South Bridge. 
(See Wood’s Bridge.) 
Spanish Brook. 
(See Well Meadow Brook. 
Spencer Brook. 
(112) Squam Harbor. 
(113) Staples, Sam. 
Stone Bridge. 

(14) Stow, Cyrus. 

Strawberry Hill. 
Sudbury Meadows. 
Sudbury Road. 
Sunset Reach. 

(See Clamshell Reach.) 

(115) Swamp Bridge Brook. 
Tarbell, D. 

Tarbell, W. 

(116) Tarbell’s Spring. 
Teimple’s Place. 
Thoreau’s Birthplace. a1 

(117) Thoreau’s Boat-Landing. £ b& 

Econ hee s Grave. 7 
Thoreau’s Hut, Site of. i 7 

(119) Thoreau’s Home in the 

Village. F6 

+ (120) Thereau’s ‘‘Texas”’ House. F 6 
Three Friends’, or Lin- 

coln, Hill. J10 

ona 21) Town Hall. 7 

4 22) Trillium Woods. 
Tupelo Cliff. 

(See Bittern Cliff.) 
Tuttle, Aug. 
Union Turnpike. 

(123) Unitarian (First) Church. 
Virginia Road. 
Walden Pond. 
Walden Road. 

} (124) Walden Woods. 

ja: 25) Warner Pail Factory. 
Well Meadow. 

8 (120) Well Meadow, or Span- 

ish, Brook. 
Weston, Daniel. 
Wetherbee, L. 
Wharf Rock. 
Wheeler, Cyrus. 
Wheeler, F. A. 
Wheeler, Samuel G. 
Wheeler, T. 

(127) Wheeler's Swamp. 

White Pond. 
Willis, J. 
ao Willow Bay, or Lily Bay 
(129) Willow Island. 
Winn, P. 
Winthrop House. 
(See Old Hunt House.) 

(130) Witherell Vale or Glade. ¢ 5 

Wood, Elijah. wes) 


Met eg a OS 
Veagwaas1or 


6 
4 


weooe 


4 
t 
0 


& 


ete wea t aay 
~ 


mz 
= 
OBA FAKANTOR SN NWN HID 


une cuetiidn 


Wood, Jas. ts 
(131) Wood's, or South, Bridge. F 6 
Woodis Park. 
(132) Wood Thrush Path. 
Wright, J 
Wyman Meadow. 
(See Pout’s Nest.) 
Yellow Birch Swamp. 


E5 
H10 
G9 


BT 


2 This name was also viven to a bay on the river in Sudbury. 


2 'Thiera the 


“Saw Mill Brook” most frequently mentioned by Thoreau. 


APPENDIX 


InpEx To Passages RELATING TO Birps IN THOREAU’S 
Works EXciusive oF THE JOURNAL 


Riv. = Riverside Edition. Wal, = Walden Edition. 
Week = A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers. 
Walden = Walden, or Life in the Woods. 


M. W.=The Maine Woods. C. C. = Cape Cod. 
Exc. = Excursions. Misc. = Miscellanies. 
Ref in parentl are to p taken from the Journal (and appearing 


in this book) but usually somewhat revised. 


Bittern, Riv.: Week, 21; Exe., 137. Wal.: Week, 17; Exc., 111. 

Blackbirds, Riv.: Week, 514. Wal.: Week, 417. 

Bluebird, Riv.: Exe., 136. Wal.: Exe., 110. 

Bunting, Black-throated, Riv.: C.C., 156. Wal.: C.C., 131. 

Chickadee, Riv.: Walden, 426; M. W., 130, 144; Exc., 138. 
Wal.: Walden, 304; M. W., 108, 118 ; Exe., 112. 

Coots, sea, Riv.: C. C., 134,135. Wal.: C. C., 113, 114. 

Crow, Riv.: Exe., 189. Wal.: Exe., 113. 

“Dipper,” Riv.: M. W., 226, 227. Wal.: M. W., 184. 

Duck, domestic, Riv.: C. C., (100, 101). Wal.: C. C., (86). 

Duck, Wood, Riv.: Exe., 328. Wal.: Exe., 268. 

Dueks, wild, Riv.: Week, 6; Walden, 385; Exc., 135. Wal.: 
Week, 5; Walden, 274,275; Exce., 110. 

Eagle, Bald, Riv.: M. W., 35, 36, 384. Wal.: M. W., 30, 309. 

Flicker, Riv.: Exe., (137). Wal.: Exe., (111). 

Flycatcher, Olive-sided, Riv.: M. W., 226. Wal.: M. W., 183. 

Fowl, domestic, Riv.: Walden, 199, 200; Exe., 301, 302; Misc., 
360, 361. Wal.: Walden, 140, 141; Exc., 246, 411, 412. 

General and Miscellaneous, Riv.: Week, 70, 71, 208, 293, 419; 
Walden, 135, 330, 478, 479; M. W., 143, 144, 178; C. C., 204, 
299; Exc., 134-140, 182, 218, (230), (360, 361). Wal.: Week, 
56, 57, 167, 236, 237, 339; Walden, 95, 234, 342 ; M. W., 118, 
146, 184; C. C., 170, 184, 185; Exe., 108-114, 149, 179, (187, 
188), (293, 294). 


444 APPENDIX 


Goldfinch, American, Riv.: Exe. 189. Wal.: Exe., 113. 

Goose, Canada, Riv. ; Walden, 385, 421, (482, 483). Wal.: Wal- 
den, 274, 275, 300, (345). : 
Grouse, Ruffed, Riv.: Walden, 352-354, 427, 435; Exe., 134. 

Wal.: Walden, 250-252, 304, 305, 310, 311; Exc., 109. 

Gulls, Riv.: C. C., 83, 84, 104, 105, 306. Wal.: C. C., 71, 72, 89, 
253. 

Hawk, Fish, Riv.: M. W., 178; Exe., 136, 137. Wal.: M. W., 
146; Exc., 110, 111. 

Hawk, Marsh, Riv.: Walden, 479. Wal. : Walden, 342. 

Hawks, Riv.: Walden, 487,488; M. W., 298. Wal.: Walden, 
348, 349 ; M. W., 240, 241. 

Hen-hawks, Riv.: Walden, 248. Wal.: Walden, 176. 

Heron, Great Blue, Riv. : Week, 514. Wal.: Week, 416, 417. 

Heron, Green, Riv.: Week, 309, 310, (311). Wal.: Week, 249, 
(250). 

Jay, Blue, Riv.: Walden, 425, 426; Exc., 138, 243, 244. Wal.- 
Walden, 303, 304; Exc., 112, 199. 

Jay, Canada, Riv.: M. W., 293. Wal. : M. W., 237. 

Loon, Riv. : Walden, 363-368 (mostly from Journal); M. W., 225, 
251, 307, 308, 362, 377; Exc., 140. Wal.: Walden, 258-262 ; 
M. W., 182, 203, 247, 248, 291, 303, 304; Exc. 114. 

Merganser, American, Riv.: M. W., 224, 225, 340, 343, 384, 385. 
Wal.: M. W., 182, 274, 276, 309. 

Nighthawk, Riv. : Walden, 247, 248. Wal.: Walden, 175, 176. 

Owl, Barred, Riv. : Walden, 411, 412. Wal.: Walden, 293. 

Owl, Great Horned, Riv.: Walden (196, 197), 420, 421; M. W., 
384. Wal.: Walden, (138, 139), 300, 301; M. W., 309. 

Owl, Screech, Riv. : Walden, (194, 195). Wal.: Walden, (138). 

Owls, Riv.: Week, 70. Wal.: Week, 56. 

Phalarope, Riv.: C. C., 134. Wal.: C. C., 113. 

Phebe, Riv.: Walden, 491; Exc., 134 note, 138. Wal.: Walden, 
351; Exe., 109 note, 112. 

Pigeon, Passenger, Riv.: Week, 292; Walden, (179), 248. Wal. : 
Week, 235, 236; Walden, (127), 176. 

Plover, Piping, Riv.: C. C., 82, 134, 222. Wal: C. C., 71, 113, 
185. 


APPENDIX 445 


Plover, Upland, Riv. : C.C., 156,196. Wal.: C. C., 181, 132, 164. 
Robin, Riv. ; Walden, (481); Exc., 184. Wal.: Walden, (344) ; 
Exc., 109. ; 
Sandpiper, Spotted, Riv.: M. W., 178,225. Wal.: M. W., 146, 

182. 
Shrike, Riv. : Exc., 134. Weal.: Exc., 109. 
Snipe, Riv. : Exe., 140. Wal. : Exc., 113. 
Sparrow, Song, Riv.: Walden, (480). Wal. : Walden, (343). 
Sparrow, White-throated, Riv.: M. W., 263, 264, 308. Wal.: 
M. W., 213, 214, 248, 249, 
Swallow, Bank, Riv.: C.C., 196. Wal.: C. C., 164. 
Tern (Mackerel Gull), Riv.: C.C., 82. Wal.:C. C., 71. 
Thrasher, Brown, Riv. : Walden, 246, 247. Wal.: Walden, 175. 
Thrush, “ wood,” Riv.: M. W., 229, 376. Wal.: M. W., 186, 303. 
Veery, Riv.: Exe., 138. Wal.: Exc., 112. 
Vireo, Riv.: Exe., 138. Wal.: Exe., 112. 
Whip-poor-will, Riv. : Walden, 194. Wal.: Walden, 137. 
Woodcock, Riv.: Walden, 355. Wal.: Walden, 252, 253. 
Woodpecker, Pileated (“ red-headed”’), Riv.: M. W., 384. Wal.: 
M. W., 309. 


INDEX 


America, the yacht, 164 note. 

Apple tree, its welcome to these 
shores, 431, 432. 

Audubon, John James, quoted and 
cited, 183, 270, 329 note. 

August, tinkling notes of, 417, 418. 

Auk, Little. See Dovekie. 

Autumn, colors of birds in, 415. 


Barrett, Samuel, 113 and note, 309. 

Barroom, a robin in a, 387. 

Bartlett, Edward, 81, 128, 273. 

Bay-wing. See Sparrow, Vesper. 

Bechstein, Dr. J. M., quoted, 268, 
269. 

Bird, in the hand, 417. 

Bird-Lore, cited, 103 note. 

Bittern, the genius of the Concord 
River, 218. 

Bittern, American (Stake-driver), 
63-71; 3, 79. 

Bittern, Green. See Heron, Green. 

Blackbird, Cow. See Cowbird. 

Blackbird, Crow. See Grackle, 
Bronzed. 

Blackbird, Red-winged, 249-253; 
260, 390, 426; liquid notes of, 261; 
song belongs to the stream, 388. 

Blackbird, Rusty, (Grackle), 255- 
267; 251, 252, 260, 413. 

Blackbirds (Miscellaneous), 
264; 399. 

Blake, Harrison G. O., 41. 

Blueberry ‘‘ trees,”’ 108. 

Bluebird, 394-402 ; 298, 388, 391, 403, 
413, 426, 428, 430; the note of the 
first, 425. 

Bobolink, 244-247; 379, 411. 

Bob-white (Quail), 94,95; 414, 416, 
423, 431. 

Boon Plain, 138. 

Bradshaw, Mr., of Wayland, 7, 8. 

Brant, 46 note, 56. 

Breast, of a hawk, the pure white, 
165. 

Brewer, Dr. Thomas M., quoted and 
cited, 124, 304, 357. 

Brewster, William, 138 note. 


269- 


Brooks, George, 113 and note, 116, 
185. 


Brown, Frank, 47, 270, 319. 

Buffle-head, 44, 45; 2 note. 

Bunting, Black-throated, 68 note. 

Bunting, Snow, 277-2865; 285, 319, 
417, 431. 

Buttrick, Humphrey, 104, 418. 


Cabot, J. Elliot, cited, 266 note. 

Cape Cod, 17, 18. 

Cat, the Thoreaus’, 438. 

Catbird, 361; 427. 

Cedar, red, 423. 

Channing, William Ellery, 2d, 52 
and note, 59, 90-92, 105, 247, 331, 
375. . 

Cherries, and the birds, 432, 433. 

Cherry, wild, 419. 

Cherry-bird. See Waxwing, Cedar, 
48. 

Chewink. See Towhee. 

Chickadee (Titmouse), 368-376 ; 226, 
367, 368, 388, 404, 415, 416. 

Chickens. See Fowl, domestic. 

Clark, D. B., 228. 

Climbing a tall pine, 231. 

Cock. See Fowl, domestic. 

Conantum, 22. 

Concord, History of, quoted, 261. 

Coombs, of Concord, 26, 116, 117. 

Cooper, Susan Fenimore, her Rural 
Hours cited, 5 note. 

Coot, American, 83. 


Cowbird (Cow Blackbird, Cow 
Troopial), 247-249; 435. 
Creeper, Black and White. See 


Warbler, Black and White. 
Creeper, Brown, 366; 416, 422. 
Crossbill, Red, 267-269. 

Crow, American, 229-243; 17, 142, 
153, 175, 226, 416; teetering along 
the water’s edge, 14; buffeting a 
fish hawk, 156; alert to detect fish 
hawks, 160, 161; pursued by small 
birds, 427; pursuing fish hawk and 
eagle, 427; their note a pulse, 431; 
and a boy’s dart, 433. 


448 


Cuckoo, Black-billed (St. Domingo), 
190, 191; 111, 406; nocturnal 
flights of, 406 and note. 


Dickcissel, 68 note. 

Dipper, 1-3, 433. 

Dove, Mourning (Turtle), 118, 119; 
113. 

Dovekie (Little Auk), 7, 8. 

Duck, Black, 36-40; 4, 14, 15, 25, 27, 
34, 60, 418. 

Duck, Buffle-head, 44, 45; 2 note. 

Duck, Wood (Summer), 40-44; 68, 
418, 432, 433. 

Ducks, domestic, 484; 1, 2, 436. 

Ducks, wild, (species unnamed), 45- 
61; 4, 61, 408, 412. 

Dugan, of Concord, 112 and note. 


Eagle, 166; in captivity, 146; thought 
likened to, 303. 

Eagle, Bald (White-headed), 148- 
150; 158, 418. 

Hagle, Cape, 418, 423. * 

Ear, the, the bird and, 424. 

East Harbor River, 17. 

Eggs, 411. 

Election day, 326 and note. 

Emerson, Edward W., 118, 123, 128. 

Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 357, 385. 

Emerson, William, 393. 

Ever-reds, the, 369, 370. 


Farmer, Jacob, 92, 102, 130 and note, 
144, 212, 327, 329. 

Feathers, of a hawk’s tail-coverts, 
143, 144. 

Finch; Grass. See Sparrow, Vesper. 

Finch, Purple, 266, 267. 

Fire, birds awakened by a, 418, 
419. 

Flicker (Pigeon Woodpecker), 197- 
201; 406. 

Flight, 408, 409. 

Flint’s Pond, 24, 39, 108. 


Flocks, solidarity of, 404; rolling. 


over in flight, 408, 425. 
Flycatcher, Olive-sided,(Pe-pe), 220. 
Fog, bird-song in, 410, 411. 
Fowl, domestic, 434-440 ; 231. 
Franconia Notch, 364. 
Fringilla hyemalis. 
Slate-colored. 
Frog, dreaming, 405. 
Frost, Rev. Barzillai, 71. 


See Junco, 


INDEX 


Garfield, Daniel, 132. 

Garfield, Edward, 103, 232, 423, 424. 

Gartield, Isaac, 423. 

Garfield, John, 71. 

Genius, wildness of, 145. 

Gilpin, William, quoted, 9, 10, 408. 

Golden-eye (Whistler), 24, 25, 28, 47. 

Goldfinch, American, 272-277 ; 387, 
412, 431. 


-Goodwin, John, 7, 43, 55, 83, 113, 235, 


340. 

Goosander. See Merganser, Ameri- 
can. i 

Goose, Canada, 61-62; 4, 72. 

Goose Pond, 4, 37, 40, 48, 58. 

Goshawk, 418. 

Grackle. See Blackbird, Rusty. 

Grackle, Bronzed, (Crow Blackbird), 
258, 259; 260. 

Grebe, Horned, 1, 2. 

Grebe, Pied-billed, 2, 3. 
Dipper. 

Grosbeak, Pine, 265; 319; dazzling 
beauty of, 421. ‘ 

Grosbeak, Rose-breasted, 314-317. 

Ground-Robin. See Towhee. 

Grouse, Ruffed, (Partridge), 95-109; 
47, 168, 405, 413, 414, 416, 431; tracks 
of, 234; drumming, 418; and apple- 
buds, 432. 

Gull, Herring, 9-17; 46, 50, 61, 412, 
413, 

Gull, Mackerel. See Tern, Common. 

Gun, the, 410. 


See also 


Hair, used in birds’ nests, 349. 

Hair-bird. See Sparrow, Chipping. 

Hangbird, Fiery. See Oriole, Balti- 
more. 

Hawk, Cooper’s, 180, 181. 

Hawk, Fish, 160-162; 110, 418; skel- 
eton of, 79. 

Hawk, Marsh, (Frog Hawk, Hen- 
harrier), 120-127; 333. 

Hawk, Red-shouldered, 138 note. 

Hawk, Red-tailed, (Hen-hawk), 131- 
137. 

Hawk, Rough-legged, 146-148. 

Hawk, Sharp-shinned, 128-130; 264. 

Hawk, Sparrow, 160. 

Hawks (species unnamed), 163- 
168; 59, 409, 436; two at play, 150, 
151. 

Hayden, senior, of Concord, 94. 

Heater piece, 278 note. 


INDEX 


Hen-harrier. See Hawk, Marsh. 
Hen-hawks, 138-146; 418; flight of, 
408. See also Hawk, Red-tailed. 
Hens, 231. See also Fowl, domestic. 

Herbert, Mr., 86. 
a Great Blue, 71-79; 3, 68, 69, 
59. 
a ie Green, (Green Bittern), 79- 
81. 


Heywood, George, 111. 
Hildreth, Jonathan, 327, 328, 
Hoar, Mr., of Concord, 88, 392. 
Hoar, Edward, 7. 
Hodge, Dr. C. F., 103 note. 
Holmes, Dr. Ezekiel, quoted, 188. 
Hosmer, Abel, 115. 
Hosmer, Joseph, 184. 
Huckleberry-bird. 
Field. 
Hummingbird, Ruby-throated, 213, 
214; 423, 


See Sparrow, 


Indian, the, and the robin, 389. 
Indigo-bird, 317, 318. 


Jay, Blue, 225-229 ; 163, 368, 373, 
414, 416. 

Jones, Josh, 236, 237. 

Junco, Slate-colored, (Slate-colored 
Snowbird, Fringilla hyemalis), 
301-305; 260, 276, 319, 320, 323, 324, 
363, 391, 413, 428. 


Kingbird, 215-218. 

Kingfisher, Belted, 192. 

Kinglet, Ruby-crowned, (Ruby-crest- 
ed Wren), 376; 114 note. 


Lark. See Meadowlark. 

Lark, Shore, 224, 226. 

Leaves, rustling of, 48; withered, 
like birds, 430. 

Lightning-bug, 406. 

Linaria. See Redpoll, Lesser. 

Lind, Jenny, 373 note. 

Linnzus, quoted, 436. 

Loon, 3-6. . 

Loon, Red-throated, 7. 

Loring, Mr., of Concord, 54. 


MacGillivray, William, quoted, 133- 
136. 

Maine woods, in the, 105. 

Man, the birds’ fear of, 419. 

Mann, Horace, Jr., 70, 79, 243. 


| Mother-Carey’s-Chicken. 


449 


Marshfield, 386. 

Martin, Purple, 329; watched from 
an attic window, 408, 409. 

Meadow-Hen. See Rail, Virginia. 

Meadowlark (Lark), 253, 254; 302, 
391, 399, 413. 

Melvin, George, 38, 105, 182, 285, 418. 

Merganser, American, (Sheldrake, 
Goosander), 19-36; 14, 74, 423; in- 
tensely white specks, 15; sunk low 
in the water, 50,51; at home on the 
river, 50, 51. 

Merganser, Red-breasted, 33. 

Merriam, Joe, 39. 

Miles, Martial, 125 and note, 172. 

Milkweed, water, fibres of, 250, 351, 
352. 

Minot’s Ledge, 18. 

Minott, George, 37, 39, 56, 65, 69, 115, 
117, 168, 235, 236, 299, 309, 310, 336, 
337, 439. 5 

Mockingbird, 361. 

Moore, J. B., 49. 

Morning, awakening of birds in, 414, 
415. 

Mornings, ambrosial, 407. 

See Pe- 
trel, Wilson’s. 

Mt. Lafayette, 265 and note, 316. 

Mt. Monadnock, 209-211, 303-305, 364 
note, 393 and note, 432, 440 and 
note. 

Mt. Tabor, 112. 

Mt. Washington, 363, 364, 427, 428. 

Musketicook, 80 and note. 

Myrtle-bird. See Warbler, Myrtle. 


Nature, the voice of, 426. 

Nests, adaptation in material of, 
407; to be studied in winter, 422; 
linings of, 424. 

New Bedford, 287 and note, 434 and 
note. 

Nighthawk, 204-211; 405. 

Night-warbler, 356-358. 

Northeast Carry, 105 note. 

Nuthatch, White-bellied, 366-368; 
415, 416. 

Nuttall, Thomas, quoted and cited, 
129, 134, 172 note, 190 note, 205, 220 
note, 265, 270, 299 note, 316. 


Oriole, Baltimore, (Golden Robin, 
Fiery Hangbird), 264, 265; 426, 
430. 


450 


Ornithology, of no service, 403. 

Oven-bird (Golden-crowned Thrush, 
“Night-warbler”’), 366-368; 404, 
426. 

Owl, Barred, 171, 172. 

Owl, Great Horned (Cat), 183-189; 
415, 416. 

Owl, Long-eared, 169, 170. 

Owl, Saw-whet, 172. 

Owl, Screech, 173-183; 432. 

Owl, Short-eared, 170, 171; 417. 

Owl, Snowy (White), 417. 

Owls, eggs of, 176 and note; fitted 
to withstand the winter, 183. 


Parrot, 441. 

Partridge. See Grouse, Ruffed. 

Peabody, W. B. O., his Report on the 
Birds of Massachusetts cited, 64, 
103, 321. 

Peetweet. See Sandpiper, Spotted. 

Pe-pe. See Flycatcher, Olive-sided. 

Petrel, Wilson’s, (Mother-Carey’s- 
Chicken), 18. 

Pewee. See Phoebe. 

Pewee, Wood, 220-223; 379. 

Pheebe (Pewee), 218-220. 

Pigeon, domestic, 440-441. 

Pigeon, Passenger (Wild), 110-118. 

Piper grass, 280 and note. 

Pipit, American, (Titlark), 360. 

Plover, 93. 

Plover, Upland, 91. 

Plymouth, 67 note. 

Pokelogan, 219 and note. 

Pratt, Miss Caroline, 246. 

Pratt, Minot, 212, 338. 

Protection of birds, 428, 429. 

Puffer, of Concord, 103. 


Quahog, a duck caught by a, 434. 
Quail. See Bob-white. 


Rabbit, 432. 

Rail, Carolina, 82. 

Rail, Virginia, (Meadow-Hen), 81. 

Railroad, partridge run over on, 107, 
108. 

Rails (unidentified), 82; 3. 

Redpoll, Lesser, (Linaria), 269-272 ; 
417; the wonder of their presence 
in winter, 419-421. 

Redstart, American, 358, 359. 

Rice, Israel, 16, 115, 433. 

Rice, Reuben, 117, 276, 433. 


INDEX 


Rice, William, 276. 

Ricketson, Daniel, 287 note, 309. 

Robin, American, 385-394; 14, 298- 
300, 343, 399, 403, 406, 413, 416, 418, 
419, 425-427, 429. 

Robin, Golden. See Oriole, Balti- 
more. 

Rockport, 116 and note. 


Sanborn, F. B., 56. 

Sandpiper, Solitary, 90, 91. 

Sandpiper, Spotted, (Peetweet), 91- 
93 


Sawyer, E. J., 103 note. 

Seringo-bird, 254. See also Sparrow, 
Savannah. 

Shadows, of birds, 165. 

Shattuck, Henry, 94. " 

Shattuck, Lemuel, his History of 
Concord, quoted, 261. 


“Sheldrake. See Merganser, Ameri- 


can. 

Shrike, 
417. 

Skinner, the harness-maker, 38, 188, 
189. 

Skinning and stuffing a bird, 23. 

Sky, birds seen in, 412. 

Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, 118. 

Snares, 106. 

Snipe, Wilson’s, 86-89; 84, 159. 

Snow, tracks in, 99-102, 108, 232-235, 
282-284, 321, 431; the great be- 
trayer, 291, 430, 431. 

Snowbird, Slate-colored. See Junco, 
Slate-colored. 

Sora, 82. 

Sparrow, Chipping, (Chip-bird, Hair- 
bird), 298, 299; 286, 349; shivering 
on an apple twig, 318. 

Sparrow, Field, (Rush Sparrow, 
Huckleberry-bird), 299-301; 406, 
414; Nature’s minstrel of serene 
hours, 403. 

Sparrow, Fox, 311, 312; 260, 320, 
321, 324, 391. 

Sparrow, Savannah, (Seringo-bird), 
290, 291; 167. 

Sparrow, Song, 305-311; 14, 324, 387, 
390, 391, 393, 398-400, 405, 406, 413, 
418, 425-427; a true ground-bird, 
323; rills of song from, 413. 

Sparrow, Tree, 291-297; 14, 260, 
285, 309, 310, 320, 321, 323, 324, 391, 
415, 418. 


Northern, 341-344; 415, 


INDEX 


Sparrow, Vesper, (Grass Finch, Bay- 
wing), 285-290. 

Sparrow, White-throated, 352 and 
note. 

Sparrows (miscellaneous), 318-324; 
391, 394; pursued by a hawk, 167; 
a cricket-like song, 405. 

Spruce, black and white, 175 and 
note, 184 and note. 

Spy-glass, advantages of, 19, 149; 
purchase of, 149 note. 

Stake-driver. See Bittern, American. 

Storms, wild life in, 49, 72, 158, 159. 

Stow, Mass., 138 note. 

Suckers, dead, 10. 

Summer, reminiscence of, 230; the 
repose of, 414. 

Sun, the, all things follow, 409. 

Swallow, Bank, 332; 337, 339. 

Swallow, Barn, 330, 331; 335-337, 
339. 

Swallow, Chimney. See Swift, Chim- 
ney. 

Swallow, Cliff (Eave, Republican), 
329, 330; 337, 339. 

Swallow, Tree (White-bellied), 331; 
46, 335-337. 

Swallows (general and miscella- 
neous), 335-339; 11, 63, 406. 

Swift, Chimney (Chimney Swallow), 
212, 213; 337, 339, 419. 


Tanager, Scarlet, 325-329. 

Teal, 4. 

Telltale. See Yellow-legs, Greater. 

Tern, Common, (Mackerel Gull), 17. 

“ Texas,’’ Concord, 280 note, 287, 289. 

Therien, Aleck, 370, 437. 

Thoreau, Sophia E., 88, 438. 

Thoughts, like birds, 303. 

Thrasher, Brown, 361-363; 177, 361, 
414; compared with the wood 
thrush, 381. 

Thrush, Bicknell’s, 363 note, 
note. 

Thrush, Golden-crowned. See Oven- 
bird. 

Thrush, Hermit, 384, 385; 209 note, 
377 note, 410 note. 

Thrush, Olive-backed, 209 note, 263 
note, 428 note. 

Thrush, Wilson’s. See Veery. 

Thrush, Wood, 377-383; 406, 414; 
the genius of the wood, 404; enno- 
bles the wood and the world, 427. 


428 


451 


Thrush Alley, 113. 

Titlark. See Pipit, American. 

Titmouse. See Chickadee. 

Toad, Fowler’s, 405 note. 

Towhee (Chewink, Ground-Robin), 
313, 314; 378, 404, 406, 414; on 
mountain-tops, 209. 

Townsend, Dr. Charles W., cited, 
124 note. 

Tracks, in snow, 99-102, 108, 232-235, 
282-284, 321, 431. 

Troopial, Cow. See Cowbird. 

Tuckerman’s Ravine, 363, 364, 428. 

Turtle, snapping, 242, 243. 


Umbrella, in a boat, 48; as a blind, 
52, 53. 


Veery (Wilson’s Thrush), 384; 368, 
405. 

Vireo, Red-eyed, 406. 

Vireo, Warbling, 426. 

Vireo, Yellow-throated, 344. 

Vireos (unspecified and unidenti- 
fied), 344-346. 


Walden Pond, 1, 3, 10, 31, 32, 47, 54, 
55, 152, 162, 232, 233. 

Warbler, Black and White, (Black 
and White Creeper), 347, 348; 
song of, 414. 

Warbler, Myrtle, (Myrtle-bird), 362, 
363. 

Warbler, Pine, 353-356; 153. 

Warbler, Yellow, (Summer Yellow- 
bird), 348-352; 198. 

Warblers (in general), 359. 

Waxwing, Cedar,(Cherry-bird), 340, 
341; 429. 

Wayland, 7, 8. 

Wetherbee, 114. 

Whip-poor-will, 203, 204; 173, 378. 

Whistler. See Golden-eye. 

White, Gilbert, 436. 

White Mountains, birds of, 427, 428. 
See also Mt. Lafayette and Mt. 
Washington. 

White Pond, 39. 

Wilson, Alexander, quotations and 
citations from, 22, 55, 93, 102, 129, 
144, 157 note, 182, 210, 265, 284, 312, 
316, 318. 

Winter, birds of a, 416, 417; beauti- 
ful birds in, 419-422. 

Woodcock, 84-86; 418. 


452 


Woodpecker, 
196, 197. 
Woodpecker, Downy, 193-196; 360, 

415-417, 422, 430; keeps the other 
side of the bough, 226. 
Woodpecker, Hairy, 192, 193. 
Woodpecker, Pigeon. See Flicker. 
Woodpecker, Pileated, 197. 
Woodpeckers (species unnamed), 
201-202; 391, 431; arrival of the 
first, 426. 
Wren, Ruby-crested. See Kinglet, 
Ruby-crowned. 


Arctic Three-toed, 


INDEX 


Wren, Short-billed Marsh, 364, 365; 
424, 


Wren, Winter, 363, 364. 
Wyman, John, 236, 237. 


Yellowbird, Summer. 
Yellow. 

Yellow-legs, Greater, (Telltale), 89, 
90. 


See Warbler, 


Yellow-throat, Maryland, 356 note, 
358. 


Young birds, in August, 68; colors 
of, 410, 


Che Riverside Press 
CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
U.S.A