Bird Paradise; an intimate account of a life-long friendship with bird parishioners

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THRUSH RAVINE

BIRD PARADISE

AN INTIMATE ACCOUNT
OF A LIFELONG FRIENDSHIP
WITH BIRD PARISHIONERS

By
JOHN BARTLETT WICKS

PHILADELPHIA

GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1914, by
Georce W. Jacoss & Company

Published June, 1914

Oovn ih
Qu
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Wox
ie

All rights reserved
Printed in U.S. A.

In memory of my boyhood home,
and of those who lived and died there,
and lived agatn,

T dedicate this book
to the ever gracious spirit of the lines:

«« How dear to my heart

Are the scenes of my childhood
When fond recollection

Presents them to view.
The orchard, the meadow,

The deep tangled wildwood,
And every loved spot

That my infancy knew.”

1

Lllustrations

Turusw Ravine .
Brrp ParapisE

THe Western Gate
Tanacer Ho tow .
Fox Run 3 =
Warsier Retreat

Grospeak GLEN.
CurckapeeE Ovur.oox
SguirreL Home .

Tue Western Heicur

.

Facing page

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- Frontispiece

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14
30
48
68
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116
150
178

210

Introduction

Years of close and cordial friendship yield
all the cardinal elements of true life. The ex-
perience of youth, and mature age,—the ripening
of advancing years—in short, the friendship of
the entire life, appears in the pages of this book.
The daily intercourse,—life living with life—the
citizens of nature walking hand in hand with
man. Surely the story of such a fellowship
must be replete with thought and things of vital
interest to every soul. The name of the book
‘Bird Paradise’’ is suggested in the very nature
and shaping of the story itself. The wooded tract
on the eastern slope of the old farm has long
borne the name of Bird Paradise. It is an ideal
home of the birds. The life of its many residents
appears in these pages, just as that life is passed
in the daily experience of the creatures, each
page the shaping of an incident complete in
itself. The varied nature of the incidents re-
corded is of the varied nature of the real ex-
perience of true life. The key to it all is in the

7

8 INTRODUCTION

incidents themselves—the living of the daily life.
The outlook of it all is surely heavenward—the
windows of its ‘‘House Beautiful” being open
toward the light, day and night.

Bird Paradise

THE migration of birds yet holds many secrets,
and I conclude will for many years to come.
Just why they migrate in many cases is yet a
mystery. One of the best reasons that I know
contrasts nicely with the action of the human
brother. The bird is free from all care and can
spend the winter in the South without neglecting
a single duty. Why should he not take one of
the many trains offered him and hie away to
warmth and ease? He can do it by easy journey-
ing if he so chooses. An hour’s travel every day
will bring him easily to the haven where he
would be, and the haven is bright with sunshine
and replete with food. On the simple ground of
change of scenery the bird is fully justified, or
change of food, or greater supply. Any of these
will do as a reason. So, too, the claim of a
milder climate has place, easily rivaled by the
strong inducement of plenty of good company.
In fact, I hardly know of any good reason for

9

10 BIRD PARADISE

the bird to refuse the winter outing in the South.
It does not, however, have the character of a
holiday outing as much as I should think it
would. The romping and the playing are in it,
and the feasting also, as well as entire freedom
from care, but the singing, cheery and bright, is
unknown. Why they should drop the song en-
tirely goes unexplained. There they are silent,
save a sort of monotonous chirp. Happier fel-
lows, however, are not to be met with anywhere.
To and fro they go, eating and drinking, careless,
almost entirely, of everything else.

The migration of birds, common as the years
are common, is crowded with mysteries and won-
ders. We know something of them, here and
there an item, but most of it is a sealed book to
us. Why they migrate is a question with a va-
riety of answers and perhaps most of them have
some place in the reply. Some birds change
location doubtless in order to secure their neces-
sary food. Others make the long journey as in-
stinct prompts, knowing nothing of the reason
for the impulse. Still others journey, I believe,
as people travel, for the enjoyment of the thing.
Some journey slowly and are weeks in making
the passage. Others accomplish the flight in a
single journey, like the Labrador plover, which

BIRD PARADISE II

leaves Newfoundland and, keeping well out from
the coast, passes to the tropics without making a
Single stop. Some birds fly in the night, others
in the daytime. Some winter just on the edge
of the snow line, others near the Gulf. Others in
far-off South America. I have often heard their
call in the night-time as they were passing over
and have seen the flocks dropping down to the
ground in the early morning light. In their
flight northward the same rules govern as in the
passage to the South. With some birds as with
geese and ducks the migratory instinct seems to
be a gift to the flock, the single bird being unable
to use it. We often see birds of the migratory
species remaining at the North through the winter.
Someway they fall out of the regular line and
seem unable to pick it up again. As Artemus
Ward would say, ‘‘ There is a good deal of hu-
man nature in birds.”’

The best authority I can command makes the
assertion that nearly 400,000 species of creatures
have been discovered and classified in this world
of ours. Think of it, think of the number, then
of the creatures—each by itself—and the longest
life vouchsafed to man in the realm of time affords

12 BIRD PARADISE

but partial acquaintance with a small portion of
the great host. The largest we see only in part,
and the smallest we do not see at all, only with
the aid of the most powerful glass. Care for
them all, watchful care—the kind that knows
where they all are; just what they are doing—
the ‘“‘open hand,’’ which fills all things living
with plenteousness. Ah! the nearer vision of
the wondrous scenes. Only the infinite gathers
all the wheat in this boundless field. I glance
from this sheet to the window-pane at my side,
and there I note a minute speck, moving briskly
over the hard service. Nothing but the black
mote, visible to the naked eye. I put my glass
over the object and the transformation reveals
the perfect creature after its kind. Unlike the
work of man, the more I magnify the creature
the more wonderful it becomes. Bright colors
appear, and the texture of all I see glows with
a radiance that is surely born from above. As
I gaze, the insect moves from my sight into the
great world space—an aeroplane most perfect.
The thought quickly has place, “‘ the world about
us—a great school—the ‘university of univer-
sities.’’’ Knowledge free as the air we breathe,
the student always graduating, but always a
student.

BIRD PARADISE 13

Our fields have worn very gracefully the gar-
ments of early spring. How bright the green
has been, and what a variety of shades appear
all along the hillside. Just now the dandelion
is changing the color rapidly. How curiously
the golden blossoms are distributed. In a field
just beyond the cemetery they appear in groups,
each a household by itself. Farther along on
the hillside they seem to have place throughout
the entire field with no particular difference
in the distribution. In the old pasture at the
swamp-side they are given a formation like the
well-ordered ranks of a great army. I half fancy
that I can easily point out the headquarters as
well as the other principal places in the camp of
the great host. Far down the Waterville road I
catch glimpses of the blossoms forming a broad,
beautiful selvage at the roadside extending to
the point where the hill hides the view. But
what a pure gold the color is—surely it is a
standard that lacks nothing. The texture of the
blossom rivals the color in beauty of shape and
finish. The entire disk of yellow is made up
of hundreds of minute flowers, each perfect after
its kind. I frequently put one under my glass,
getting a vision that always seems new. The

14 BIRD PARADISE

natural eye sees but a small part of what each
blossom contains. I find often that a tribe of
minute insects occupy the flower, making it their
home. Sometimes there will be several of these
tribes dwelling in the same blossom. Curious
how active these little fellows are. They go in
and out, between the minor blossoms, and seem
to have plenty of room—a palace of gold surely.
How clearly the heart of this common flower is
given expression in Lowell’s familiar lines :

‘“‘My childhood’s earliest thoughts are linked with thee,

The sight of thee calls back the robins’ song,

Who, from the dark old tree
Beside the door sang clearly all day long,

And I secure in childish piety,
Listened as I heard an angel sing

With news from heaven which he could bring
Fresh every day to my untainted ears,
When birds and flowers, and I were happy peers,”’

From some points on our hill I can see with
my field-glass twenty and more teams plowing.
Such an outlook savors altogether of the spring
time. There is something in the steady move-
ment of the teams that is a picture of sturdy
strength, while the bearing of the plowman
uplifts the banner of one who rules. How easy

aslavavg aig

BIRD PARADISE 1g

it all seems when seen from a distance. It is one
of the instances where a certain kind of enchant-
ment becomes the offspring of distance. As I
see it from my far-off point of view the idea of
any effort on the part of the team or driver is
wholly eliminated. As a matter of fact, the oc-
cupation is a kind of service that is far up on
the list of man’s wide field of duties. On a
bright day, with the scene spread out before me,
I cannot very well connect it with the idea of
service and duty at all. It seems more like a
great privilege—a sort of deciphering of wonder-
ful things in a great temple of wonders. The
furrows roll into their places and I fancy the
hearing ear gathers of sounds that are the earth’s
shouts of joy. Why not? More and more I get
the idea that the earth itself is a sort of force,
alive in more senses than I know. Why should
it not cry out with joy when its brother man
extends the hand of cheery help? While I write
the sower is sowing the seed in the great field
opposite my study window. Here again the
machine is doing its work, and here again I
entertain the notion that the happy, mellow
earth opens its heart to receive the gift. Some-
thing there calls for its own, and as surely as
the call is made its own is responding cheerily

16 BIRD PARADISE

to the call. Life finds life, and the husbandman
is ever at the point where the two great seas
meet. Right well he may rejoice, as a student
in the school of schools.

Occasionally I catch sight of a small flock of
shore or horned larks. They are common along
the New England seashore in the winter, scat-
tering out into the country, as the fancy seizes
them. Two little tufts of feathers give them the
appearance of wearing a pair of horns—thus
securing one of their names. The other name
is readily reached from the fact that the seashore
ig their favorite haunt. Unlike most other small
birds, they walk through the grass as they are
feeding. In manners they resemble somewhat
the other members of the family, giving vent to
‘their feelings in a breezy way. I understand
that they extend their journeying over quite a
portion of our north country, frequently passing
well down into the Carolinas. I sometimes come
upon their nests in the spring and I think they
are the earliest housekeepers among our smaller
birds. In the realm of song they are not profi-
cient. Of course they have their common eall
note, and in the breeding season, a succession of

BIRD PARADISE 17

notes that might be termed asong. The nest is
put into a little cavity in the ground, being con-
structed of grass and moss. When I come upon
them suddenly in the field they have a way of
throwing themselves into the air, whirling up-
ward as though shot from some strong bow.
Audubon says that they have the practice of
soaring and singing in the air, like the English
lark, but I have never seen them.

A family of bluebirds have made me a visit
of at least a week’s duration. They do their
own cooking, provide their own lodging, in
short, are no expense to the parson in the slight-
est degree. The young fellows look plump, and
are so. Their new coats fit them without a
wrinkle, but their voices are way off from the
usual cheery song of the race. At first I thought
some new bird had appeared, but investigation
revealed the fact that it was the old, old story, and
bluebird’s way of telling it. There is something
quite interesting in these family outfits, especially
as they draw on to the point of separating for the
rest of life’s journey. There doesn’t seem to be
any particular sentiment in their action, and
they go apart as a sort of matter of course; in

18 BIRD PARADISE

fact, it sometimes appears as though they really
enjoyed it. How is it that so much affection
apparently can be felt for a time, and then all
disappear, as with a turn of the hand? To-day
strong, to-morrow nothing. In brief, now ready
to die in the defense of the child, but soon for-
getting that the child ever was. Verily life’s
paradoxes are many and varied.

I hear the drumming of the partridge from the
eoverts of the swamp. It is a spring sound, and
I sometimes think it is the fellow’s way of doing
his singing. Once in my boyhood I saw the
bird in the act itself. As he went along the log
upon which he was moving, he brought his
wings together in front of him, making the hol-
low sound which we give the name of drumming.
I enjoy watching these birds. They have an
independent way of doing things which renders
them quite attractive. In their leisure moments
they do some playing, but I fancy it does not
come quite natural to them. Of all our native
birds there is none that excels the partridge in
shyness. He is ever on the watch., How he can
get in a stroke of anything else is a problem.
Occasionally one comes into my lawn trees, but

BIRD PARADISE 19

I conclude from his actions that he has been
seriously disturbed in his native haunts, or he
would not be seen so far from home. An event
of my boyhood reads: ‘‘ To-day, in the old cedar
swamp, I came upon a family of partridges that
were only a few days from the nest. There was a
commotion in the camp, and in less than a min-
ute the young fellows all disappeared among the
leaves. With the help of my spaniel dog I found
them all—fifteen in number. After a few minutes
I gave them their freedom again, greatly to the
delight of the parent birds.’’

A pair of bluebirds spent a good part of a day
investigating a cavity in one of my apple trees
this week. They went in and out, talked the
matter over, apparently a dozen times, and I
suppose reached the conclusion that the place
was not suited for their purpose, as I have seen
nothing of them since. The gentility of good
breeding appears in all that the bluebird says
and does. I never have known him to speak
harshly or behave unkindly. If other birds take
his coat he is pretty certain to let them have his
cloak also. His song is always keyed to a gentle
quaver that overflows with peace and good will.

20 BIRD PARADISE

I have seen him give up on the demand of others
until he had nothing left for himself. Not a
word of complaint did he utter ; on the contrary
he seemed more and more the embodiment of the
very spirit of patient, genial good nature. As
he does no striking, of course, he never strikes
back. If, as Burroughs says, ‘‘the bluebird is
the bird of nature, being earth brown below, and
sky blue above,’’ he is certainly most heavenly
through the pure white within. The old saying
that ‘‘it takes two to make a quarrel”’ is illus-
trated nicely in this bird’s behavior. He goes
about owning in fee simple everything, just happy
in the ownership, and yet never proclaims his
rights in any way only by letting the other fellow
have them all. Ah! what grace there is in this
one bird of all the birds. He is a preacher of
righteousness that needeth not to be ashamed.
The parson gives him the right hand of fellow-
ship as one sent by the Master in whom there is
indeed no guile.

Sitting in my porch last evening I noticed,
when it had become quite dark, not only my pair
of bats on duty but several chimney swifts circling
about with them, the entire company intent on
securing a sumptuous supper. They continued

BIRD PARADISE 21

the exercise until I could only see them as they
passed from the shadow of the trees into the
lighter open space. The whole procedure was
exactly what I should expect from the bats but I
never before had seen the swifts up so late. It
occurred to me that flies of a particularly luscious
sort were making a short stop on our hilltop and
the swifts had to keep awake late in the evening
in order to get their share. There seemed to be
a sort of fellowship between the creatures which
argued well for the characters of both. I could
hear the bills of the birds snap as the flies passed
their portals but my bat friends gave no sound.
One of the toothsome viands that the bat enjoys
is the common mosquito. I encourage this taste
in the creatures, feeling that it is a good thing for
the bats and really a commendable use to which
the insects can be put. It may be that the swift
has a relish for the best groomed mosquitoes. If
it be so his indulgence of it to the utmost is fully
approved by the parson.

I notice that the ants are busy with household
duties very similar to those now occupying the
attention of the thrifty housewives in our hill
country. Among the busiest of these active citi-
zens I class those which bear the name of mound

22 BIRD PARADISE

builders. In the old pastures near the swamp
the little mounds of these tireless workers may be
seen scattered over quite an extent of ground.
Two or three of these curious houses have been
erected in my orchard and I saw last evening
that one which I have known many years, located
in the farther part of the cemetery, had been
given a new story this spring. Somewhere in the
ground below, the work of excavation had gone
on, the earth being brought up by the ants in
small particles and added to the stature of the
house. Fifteen or twenty doors were wide open
and hundreds of the dwellers were going and
coming every moment. I used what diplomacy
I was possessed of in trying to fellowship with
my diminutive neighbors, but they were too busy
to make much response to my effort. I half
suspect that they work night and day when they
have anything to do and I am pretty sure they
always have something to do. Why not aschool
of industry right under my eye ever proclaiming
‘“‘to him who works as well as waits all things
come.’’

A friend brought me this morning a curiosity
in the construction of birds’ nests. He found

BIRD PARADISE 23

it on a beam in the barn where a robin had been
in the habit of putting its summer cottage.
There were three complete nests built in a row
and joined together strongly with stalks of dried
grass. I am at a loss just how to account for
such a novelty. A pair of robins frequently
rear two broods in one season, but I have not
known them to add still another. In those cases
where I have known two broods reared the
second nest was a new one in another place. I
never have known them to use a nest the second
time. Ifthe nests were separate and only placed
side by side without being joined together firmly
I should conclude that they were built by the
same pair of birds—a nest yearly for three years.
But here they are with the foundation of dried
grass extending under the three, making them in
that particular virtually one nest. The theory
that three pairs of birds joined in the construc-
tion of the nests is not tenable from the fact that
in a venture of this nature the parties cannot
agree well enough to make such a common plana
real success. I am quite disposed to regard the
venture as that of a single pair of robins who
took a ‘‘long look ahead,’ planning their house
scheme so that three households were successfully
reared in one season. It certainly has the merit

24 BIRD PARADISE

of being a real time-saver and perhaps at times
robin needs to practice economy in that direction.

I hear occasionally the plaintive note of the
wood pewee. It has little in mere sound to rec-
ommend it, but I conclude it carries the heart of
the would-be singer, therefore is always valuable.
Pewee belongs to the family of the flycatchers—
none of them so far as I know noted as the
possessor of beauty of person. Sometimes with
the birds there is lack of personal attraction that
is nicely compensated in great beauty of song, but
nothing of the kind appears with pewee. His
voice, though clear, is keyed so sharply that it
avoids everything musical. Two notes comprise
the venture and the very close of the refrain is its
best feature. Pewee and his young family are all
voracious feeders. All kinds of small insects are
viands at his feasting, and his feasting occupies
his attention every moment through the day. I
notice he has a special fondness for the mosquito
and in their season cheerfully appropriates multi-
tudes of them every day. While nearly all
writers agree that this bird is a migrant—spend-
ing his winters in the South, I often hear his call
in the winter and frequently see him flitting

BIRD PARADISE 25

among the trees. Just what he finds of appetiz-
ing food in the cold weather I do not know. I
conclude, however, from what I have seen, that
the grubs and insects under the bark of the trees
furnish him with an abundant supply. I see
him sometimes enjoying the friendship of the
woodpeckers, so I conclude he is more socially
inclined than some other members of his family.

The birds are now well entered upon their long
vacation season. I fancy a real change in char-
acter marks their demeanor from this time on un-
til the housekeeping season returns again. The
young fellows, as a rule, dress in suits of their
own, though in some cases, as with the bobolinks,
the entire race adopt acommonraiment. In some
instances, notably with the blue jays, the children
of the family are attired in a manner entirely
their own. A year passes before they don their
regular suits. Just how the plumage is shaped
and reshaped, sometimes appearing in the guise
of one color, then another—no mistake made in
any case—is no small mystery. The bobolinks
are now gathered in flocks and in a few days will
be on their way southward. I can easily see how
the annual journey southward is one of large ad-

26 BIRD PARADISE

vantage, but how it should begin as early as it
does with the bobolinks and swallows is certainly
@ puzzling thing. Plenty of food here, and good
weather, ‘‘ why not stay ?’’ is all answered by the
going, and the going seems to be all the answer
there is. Go and come at will seems to be
the law governing the birds’ migration very
largely.

The killdeer plover has taken his flight to the
Sunny South. The other members of his large
family are keeping him company—a merry party
wherever they are. With the killdeers, as with
the other birds, the season has favored the growth
and safety of their young. Years ago we had in
the spring and fall flights what was known as the
field or golden plover. They came to us from
the North at the time of wheat sowing, and usually
spent a month or morein our hill country. They
were sought as a table delicacy, and by some were
‘considered more appetizing than the wild pigeon.
I saw them on the plains of Oklahoma in great
‘flocks, where they spent most of the winter. On
‘some of our long journeys we found them quite
an addition to our daily cuisine. All the plovers
are bright stirring birds, seemingly ever on the

BIRD PARADISE arn

move. In their migratory flight I think they
outdo almost all other birds. Far upin the Arctic
regions they build their nests and rear their
young. Once on the wing for the South they
seem to think that the journey is incomplete un-
less they push far down to distant Patagonia. Not
all the species make this record, but some of them
do and seem to be none the worse for the extended
journey. The song of the plovers is nothing more
than a call note uttered mostly in flight. Asa
scavenger among the grubs and insects they are
very helpful to the farmer, and their cheery way
of making the most of life recommends them
highly.

A friend sends me a clipping from the New
York Times bearing the date of March 8th. It is
an item of news from Montclair, New Jersey, con-
cerning the birds. It announces that almost all
over the mountain top in Montclair to-day could
be seen robins and bluebirds in abundance.
“To-day,” it says, ‘‘the robins are taking pos-
session of their old nestsand putting them in order
for spring.’’ My friend who sends me the para-
graph thinks the last item must be a dream.
Very likely, however, the snow in that locality

28 BIRD PARADISE

has gone and usually the birds come trooping in
as soon as it has melted away, especially if the
weather be warm and sunny. The species named
in the article push northward about March 1st,
keeping pace with the disappearance of the
snow. In 1857 many of them reached us in Feb-
ruary, both February and March being open
warm months. Some of the robins nested and
were caught in the great April snow-storms—
learning when too late that the birds with the
best intentions cannot force the season. Large
numbers of the robins when they migrate stop
for the winter just south of the snow line of lati-
tude. Some go farther, even extending their
journey to the shores of the Gulf. All of them,
however, turn their steps northward about the
first of February—ready, if all things are favora-
ble, to occupy the summer home. A week of
sunny weather now would bring them to us in
large numbers. There seems to be no instinctive
guidance concerning the proper time for the birds
to inaugurate their summer housekeeping.

The junco sparrows are now guests of ours from
the far North. What travelers they are and how
little they show the wear and care of extensive

BIRD PARADISE 29

journeying. Some of these fellows that greet me
so cheerily have roamed over the continent far
within the Arctic regions. Of course I get noth-
ing from them concerning their trip, and still,
perhaps, the case hardly warrants so strong a
statement. There is no experience lost. Wherever
its lines fall it leaves its mark and a little observ-
ance reveals the fact. The junco of extensive
travel is a larger bird than the plodder that has
never been outside itsown dooryard. Whether
he realizes it or not he has gathered from the
wider fields and the harvest a new feather in his
cap. I like to see him wear it; yes, even when
his small head seems to be a little turned by the
experience. I never have heard the fellow’s
song, but read that it is a pleasant sparrow war-
ble. They will stay about here a few days then
take their trolley line for the South, returning in
the spring happy and careless apparently as the
day is long.

A killdeer passed over the rectory last evening
Moving on rapid wing. At every stroke of the
wings he gave his peculiar ery, moving appar-
ently without effort. A pair of killdeers nest
near the swamp, and I hear their sharp call

30 BIRD PARADISE

every day. Of all the birds, this fellow seems
the most nervous. Sitting still is no part of his
experience, and he has shown me how he does it.
I hear him sometimes in the night ; probably an
owl or a fox is the cause of the wakefulness and
hurried call. In the spring lot on the old farm,
a family of killdeer were on duty every season.
Driving the cows home at milking time was sure
to be delayed somewhat by attention given to the
young killdeer. The tip-up is a sort of first
cousin to the killdeer and I sometimes think it a
trifle more nervous. His practice of tilting his
little body every time he utters his brief note
gives him his name. I have often watched these
water birds where there was a clean stretch of
hard sand, and the ease and swiftness with
which they run over it is not excelled by any
other bird.

The little kinglets from the far North looked in
upon me this week. What bright, active fellows
they are and how easily they accomplish their
purposes as they go to and fro in the wide pas-
tures of the trees. The pair that made me a visit
said nothing about the particular places that they
had visited during the summer, neither did they

Tue WESTERN GATE

BIRD PARADISE 3r

make any statement concerning the place where.
they expected to spend the winter. When they
push their flight northward I have the notion
that they find their way well up to the precincts
of the pole. They are chary singers and are not.
given to any extra amount of talking. As Isee
them they are usually in company with the
warblers and are so like the company they are in
that it is sometimes quite difficult to tell them
apart. I am told that they sometimes nest in
northern New York but I have the notion that
most of their nesting is far up in the wilds of
Canada. The descriptions that I have of their
nests are curious, the strangest being the fact
that they frequently put two layers of eggsin the
same nest. Just how they manage to hatch such
@ number deponent saith not. Next month my
visitors will go on their way, finally reaching the
wilds of South America. Back they come in the
spring, repeating the journey year after year.
What witnesses they are to the settled order and
stability of all the ways of bird life.

I have seen a few members of the junco sparrow
family during the past week. What bright lit-
tle fellows they are and what activity they show

22 BIRD PARADISE

as they go to and fro in the trees and hedgerows.
They are socially inclined, for I rarely see them
unless they are in company with not only their
own kind, but with the members of other sparrow
species. That slate-colored coat of theirs reflects
the sunbeams handsomely, while the genial man-
ners of the species mark them as creatures of
good breeding. A little later they will hie away
to the South, turning their backs on snow and
cold. When I want the best of bird manners I
am sure of finding them among the juncos.

At this point in writing these notes I glance
from the window and there a few feet away isa
red squirrel busy with duties which he takes
great pleasure in discharging at this season of the
year. Evidently he had his eye on part of an
apple that lay temptingly on the ground a few
feet from the foot of the tree. It was a real les-
son in squirrel athletics to see him whirling down
the trunk of the tree and returning in the same
manner. The morsel he secured was conveyed to
an old summer nest of his, far up among the
branches. There at his leisure he made a feast
that he gave every evidence of enjoying with real
zest. I suppose the pair that dwell on my emi-
nent domain have a supply of food laid up that
will serve them nicely for at least two winters.

BIRD PARADISE 33

Two species of the kinglet family—the golden
erowned and the ruby crowned—visit us twice
during the year. ‘They nest far to the northward
and look in upon us in the spring and fall as they
journey on the annual migration. I sometimes
think that they rank next to the humming-bird
in smallness of size. I have never seen their nest,
though I am told that they sometimes breed in
northern New York. The nest is described as
quite bulky for the size of the bird. One writer
speaks of one he saw as being nicely constructed
and containing a large number of eggs, placed in
two layers, one above the other. How the in-
cubation under such conditions can be carried out
is something of a problem. When they visit us
in the fall they are usually in company with the
warblers, and it is difficult to tell them apart as
they pass to and fro in the trees. I think I have
seen them here in the winter, and doubtless some
of them tarry in our hill country during the cold
weather. The greater number, however, journey
far down to the genial weather of the torrid zone.
Their song is scarcely more than a call note, re-
peated several times in a bright, cheery way.
When I pass in review the species of birds that
rank in size and habits with these active kinglets,

34 BIRD PARADISE

I get a new revelation of the diversity of gifts, all
in the house of the same spirit. The birds are
interpreters of the abundant life, and the book of
their scripture speaks with full voice of the good-
ness of the common Father.

I passed yesterday a brook that flows from the
hillside—a full, cheery stream in the first step it
takes. I lingered a little while to give greeting
to one of the children of the fields and groves
that always seems to me a living thing. Did
you ever shake hands with a brook %—a real
hearty, whole-souled. hand-shake? If there be a
sacrament of life in the great church of nature I
am sure it is found in the brook, as it is discov-
ered nowhere else. This particular stream rip-
pled away for a hundred yards, then crossed the
road, and just ambled off through a pasture that
seemed made especially for it. The channel in
the field was shallow, too shallow for the water
that would flow in its bed. How easily the
brooklet met the new conditions. Like a good
general in a strange land it threw out skirmish-
ers upon both flanks, and I noticed that in their
advance they covered the entire ground clear to
the base of the hills on each side. The grass in

BIRD PARADISE 35

the wide channel was a bright green, and as the
water flowed along it seemed to play with the
spears of grass as though they were living crea-
tures. I half fancied that the gurgling sounds I
heard were the commands issued to the rippling
cohorts, and I noticed that they were obeyed
implicitly. Below where I stood the scattered
waters joined their forces and I heard that pe-
culiar sound of the wandering streamlet that
always seems to me one of the sweetest sounds
in the great Temple of Nature. From where I
stood I could see the channel for quite a distance,
but the story it told came from the heart of the
brook wandering far beyond my sight—all of it
the perfect gentleness of a waitress in the halls
of the ‘‘ great king.” I parted with the vision,
the words of the wise man giving form to the
lesson, ‘‘The well-spring of wisdom, as a flow-
ing brook.”

It is not often that a member of the hawk
family visits my lawn. It is only occasionally
that I see them in the village. This week, how-
ever, was the hawk’s opportunity, and he im-
proved it after the spirit of his tribe. I heard
the robins and smaller birds sounding their loud
warning cries and knew that some serious trouble

36 BIRD PARADISE

was being experienced. Going down to the gar-
den I soon discovered the cause of the commo-
tion. A sparrow hawk had captured one of the
smaller birds and was so busy dissecting his
prize that he did not see me until I was quite
near him. I felt no enmity toward the fellow,
as I knew he was simply providing food for his
breakfast. I do not see him when I think he is
really hunting for the sport of the thing. It
may be that there are times when he makes a
pastime of securing his meals. He certainly
moves with a celerity and skill that might well
awaken a feeling of real pride over the posses-
sion and use of such a gift. I have seen him
when he took great risks ; in fact, all of the hawk
family will, at times, incur great danger in carry-
ing out their plans. On the old farm the visits
of these birds was a daily occurrence through the
summer. All sorts of devices were used to pre-
vent their depredations. I remember well think-
ing in my boy way that the hawk was really not
to be blamed for being a hawk and using his
powers as it was intended he should use them.

My flicker tenants are present at the summer
trysting place in full season. A whir of wings

BIRD PARADISE 37

followed by a loud call was the first knowledge
I had of their presence. They went up and
down the bird ways of the village park and
made merry in the lawns and orchards. I had
the notion that they were trying to tell our peo-
ple where they had spent the winter, and of the
new life it had put into their keeping. I have
seen the fellows in the South and they carry
about with them the same rollicking spirit that
marks their demeanor here at the North. Flicker
seems to be true to his flicker nature wherever
he may be. Work and play with him are golden
opportunities for being cheery and stout hearted
and he improves to the utmost all that is offered
him in this way. I noticed that the pair who
made me the visit so early in the season called
at the flicker home in the maple front of the
church. The English sparrows vacated the
premises at the first warning. Someway they
have a wholesome fear of flicker and never dis-
pute his title to any of the things in mother
nature’s house. From what I see I judge that
flicker repairs his old home each spring—papers
and paints as it were—using it for several years.
One of my favorite pastimes is watching the
workmen when they are constructing a new
house. The stout bill is all the tool they have,

38 BIRD PARADISE

and they use it with wonderful power and skill.
Some one has said ‘‘that without humor there
can be no genius.’’ By that rule flicker ranks
high as a bird genius. He is all alive with abun-
dant humor.

Among the water birds that spend the summers
in our hill country killdeer ranks with the first.
He comes northward quite early and I conclude
from his actions passes several weeks in real
bird-pastime before he takes up the regular busi-
ness of housekeeping. His entire song is meas-
ured by the one word, which has become his
name, killdeer. Curious how he uses it when on
the wing. He flies rapidly and at almost every
stroke of the wings the note is uttered shrill and
clear. The bird gives one the impression, like
the blue jay, that it is very much in love with its
song. In the marshy ground just east of the vil-
lage there are several places where killdeer nests.
The nest is hardly more than a slight cavity in
the ground, though it is sometimes partially
lined with a few spears of dried grass. The
little stretches of sandy beach that are found
here and there in the marsh are favorite runways
for the killdeer. I have watched them at times
when I thought every bird was full of the spirit

BIRD PARADISE 39

of real gaming. The good sense of the company
seemed to be the real umpire of the game, and
the charge carried the idea with it that it was
honest oversight. The suit worn by these birds
is attractive in appearance and while not con-
spicuous for color is every way becoming in finish
and neatness. No harm ensues to the farmers’
crops in any of the acts of killdeer so far as I
know. On the contrary, he is an all around
good fellow, doing good service at every turn.

In the village cemetery a colony of red ants
preempted a claim some years ago and by an
industrious course of their kind of work reared a
mansion that could be seen from all parts of the
ground. Last spring it became necessary to re-
move the mound. It was done by simply level-
ing it with the surface of the yard. It was a
great surprise to the red-coated citizens of the
borough. I saw them running to and fro, evi-
dently taking observations as to the best method
of repairing damages. The result appears in a
deposit of fine earth over a space measured by
the extent of the original home—perhaps a
quarter of an inch in thickness. What workers
they are! When destruction came upon their
house scattering the entire structure to the winds

40 BIRD PARADISE

not a moment was spent bemoaning the mishap.
At least so it all appeared. With the finishing
of the leveling process came the uprising of every
creature in the band. Hardly an hour passed ere
the old order was restored and the bands of
workers were on duty in every direction. The
strokes of the levelers opened to the light the
inner chambers of the dwelling. The first work
was to put new doors to all these places. I
estimated that on the space of three feet square
there were two or three thousand workers. Ina
few days the first new roof was in place. This
was soon followed by another, and I suppose if
they were left undisturbed this would go on
through the years to the house restored. All
done without one word of protest. What in-
structors the ants are !

Merry-hearted I have written before concern-
ing the flicker and every year I have the truth
of the statement reaffirmed. The pair that have
located in one of my maple trees are the busiest,
merriest creatures that I meet with anywhere.
The first gleam of light in the morning kindles
the fire of flicker’s daily life. I hear him hurry-
ing through the lawn trees uttering his loud

BIRD PARADISE 4!

calls. When I appear on the scene I fancy that
the pair vie together in giving me a cheery greet-
ing. I take it as a morning salutation and I am
sure it does me good. Such an amount of talk-
ing as they do at the door of their house is not
rivaled by any other bird. If free-spirited dis-
cussion contributes to the well-being of the
flicker home, then these birds are greatly blessed.
Some of their talks convey the idea that they do
not always fully agree on the shape and finish of
the house they are building. The disagreements,
however, do not seem to interfere particularly with
the progress of the work. I noticed this evening
that when the rain came on both birds managed
to find cover in the cavity they had made.

I was reading recently of the fact that a few
of the old-time passenger pigeons were still left
far up in the wilds of British Columbia and that
a brief time more would entirely exterminate the
species. It seems impossible that a bird which
was found in every part of our country in such
immense numbers should have reached the end of
its career. We well remember when the spring
and fall flights of these birds fairly darkened the
air. In 1840 the fall flight menaced the wheat

42 BIRD PARADISE

fields with utter destruction. The parson, then
@ mere boy, recalls the fact of being placed in a
part of the wheat field on the old farm while the
workmen were engaged in another portion. His
business was to frighten away the pigeons which
came down upon the stacks of wheat in immense
numbers. What a rushing sound the great flocks
made in passing! Thousands were killed by the
hunters, and thousands more caught in nets,
being kept and fattened for future use. It was a
common saying when the beechnuts were plenti-
fal, ‘‘The woods are full of pigeons.”” I have
seen the ground covered with the great flocks—
thousands being under the eye. Curious how
these birds nested. Multitudes of nests were put
near together, the limbs sometimes breaking
under the weight. I was told of their roosting
places when I was in Oklahoma, where they as-
sembled night after night in vast numbers. Wild
animals of many kinds preyed upon them and
the hunters came from every direction, securing
great quantities of the birds.

Crossing the fields this morning I came upon
@ large flock of meadow-larks. There were fifty
aud more birds in the flock and every one seemed

BIRD PARADISE 43

to be bubbling over with lark fun. When I first
saw them about half the company was occupying
the branches of a large elm tree, the other mem-
bers of the party being on the ground on all sides
of the tree. They seemed to be jollying each
other, after the manner of men, the jokes flying
back and forth thick and fast. Of course I had
no way by which I could be sure as to just what
they were doing, but to all appearance it seemed
to be an occasion of sport pure and simple. I
found myself wondering whether I had not lost
much of what the birds say and do by not being
around early enough in the morning. My inter-
view with the larks was just as day was break-
ing, about five o’clock in the morning. On the
principle that the early bird secures the worm, I
had gotten into the fields by moonlight, hoping to
secure a fine basket of mushrooms. The growth
in the fangus world had not taken place as I an-
ticipated, so I improved the occasion by inter-
viewing the birds. I cherished the notion that
the flock I saw might have been on the wing
most of the night and had just dropped down in
the old pasture to take breakfast. After a little
I noticed they all scattered over the field, each
intent upon securing what he could to break the
morning fast.

44 BIRD PARADISE

There are mornings and mornings in the dis-
pensation of our hill country weather. Each
season of the passing year gives a message all its
own. Curious that the observer usually con-
cludes that the pageant of the present is superior
to all that has preceded it. One of the distin-
guishing marks of personal growth is the vision
broader and richer in each passing moment.
This very week the day was ushered in three
separate times, not a discordant note in the entire
scene. From my garden outlook the Oriskany
Valley, for miles in extent, wore a beautiful veil
of pure white. Here and there the church tower
or the tall tree stood uncovered in the great
temple. When the sun looked out from the
eastern sky its beams of light played along the
slope of the hills, riding glad and free over the
highways of the great fog bank, every one of
them really ‘‘the ransomed of the Lord.’’ Inthe
fulness of the day the open sacrament of heaven
appeared, every breath of thescene ‘‘ the given of
the Lord’s life, radiant with the glory that never
fades.’’

A family of flickers are making daily visits to
my lawn. They come usually in the afternoon

BIRD PARADISE 45

and spend an hour or two in a manner peculiar to
this bird. As they come from the direction of
Burritt’s hill I conclude that their early home
was in that locality. I don’t know that the alti-
tude has anything to do with a bird’s welfare,
but certainly the elevation of 1,650 feet makes an
ideal place to begin the journey of life. It is
quite a lesson in bird coasting to watch the
flickers as they come down from the hill. They
move in broad curves, gliding down to the vil-
lage with the greatest ease. I notice they seem
to have a preference for the large apple tree in
my front yard. When the six birds are duly
gathered in the old tree the fun begins. They
glide around the great trunk, up and down, like
boys at play. I know of no other bird that in-
dulges in bird humor as the flickers do. If I
understand it at all it ripples, innocent and clear,
very much as it does with human beings. The
old birds range about the lawn, uncovering many
- adainty morsel for the hungry youngsters. While
they are at play they use a sort of subdued
chuckle that seems the very embodiment of
cheery sport. I notice that the other birds show
great deference to the flickers. From what I
have seen I judge that the flicker is a peaceable
fellow, but is ready to resent with vigor any tres-

46 BIRD PARADISE

passing upon his rights by other birds. I extend
the right hand of fellowship to them always, being
well assured that they rank among the well-bred
gentlemen of my feathered friends.

Curious that the bird, which at one time was
more plentiful here than all the other species put
together, should have been completely exter-
minated. The wild or passenger pigeon, as it is
sometimes called, has entirely disappeared. Isay
entirely, but I read that a few of them still exist
in the wilds of British America. The last that I
saw was in 1882, in the forests of southern
Oklahoma. Sixty years ago this bird was so
common throughout the settled portions of our
country that at times the growing crops were
greatly injured by their depredations. I recall
the time when they flocked here in vast numbers
—the spring and fall flights lasting for several
days. At times the immense flocks could be seen
in every direction—sometimes darkening the sun
as they passed. Wild pigeons, cooked in differ-
ent ways, formed the staple food of most of our
families for the time being. Many were netted,
and kept in some convenient outhouse, where
they were fattened and used through the season.

BIRD PARADISE 47

I have seen in the spring of the year the ground
in Bird Paradise literally covered with the birds
feeding. They were searching for the sprouting
beechnuts and my father’s common expression
concerning their numbers was, ‘‘ There are acres
of them there.” One of our boyish pastimes
was startling the host by a sudden loud noise.
What a roar of wings followed, and what multi-
tudes of birds rushed to and fro, apparently wild
with fright.

The flickers are busy with their peculiar kind of
nest building. One of the maples on my lawn
furnishes a large dead limb, which they examine
with the greatest care. Several years ago they
excavated a home there, and a family of sprightly
young birds graduated in due time from the cozy
spot. Every year since they gather there in
April, five or six of them, and spend a number
of days, talking and flying about, evidently
greatly in earnest. Sometimes it results ina pair
of them occupying the old mansion for the season.
At other times the result of the conclave is the
abandonment of the locality by all the birds.
Yesterday six of the fellows spent the entire day
going to and fro, busy every moment. From my

48 BIRD PARADISE

study window, I could see the parties, rushing
hither and thither, calling out to each other, and
by turns examining the old maple. How easily
they balanced along in their peculiar way, com-
ing down from the Burritt grove. Then such
scurrying through the trees, around and up the
trunks, in and out of the old nesting place—hour
after hour of it. What a flicker day it was and
how the birds seemed to enjoy every moment.
Toward night I saw them rushing away to the
grove, apparently as far from a decision as to
whom should occupy the old homestead as when
they first took the matter up in the morning.
Judging from what has occurred in previous
years, they will require four or five more days of
conference before the final decision is reached.

Birds, like human beings, have curious freaks.
A large gray woodpecker spent the entire day re-
cently drumming on one of the maple trees
directly in front of my study window. Just what
he meant by it I could not learn. The tree is
perfectly sound, to all appearance, and the fellow
did not seem to secure anything in the way of
food. Occasionally he would pound away ina
sort of ecstasy, as though the work itself was the

TanaAGER HoLLtow

BIRD PARADISE 49

merriest kind of fun; then he would patrol the
limbs, far out to the small twigs, and I half fan-
cied that his manner said several times, ‘‘ Didn’t
I do that well?”’ The robins and blackbirds
were not at all pleased with the fellow’s opera-
tions. They looked him over several times and
sat as near to him as they dared, but did not ven-
ture to interfere with any of his plans. I rather
enjoy seeing both the blackbird and robin non-
plussed now and then. I don’t know that they
learn anything by it, but thereisa sort of ‘‘ quid-
pro-quo’’ in the stroke that looks wholesome. I
noticed that the woodpecker paid no attention to
any of the spectators, but kept strictly to his own
business, though I have not been able, as yet, to
find out just what that was.

The first accents of the morning song of the
birds are now heard about half-past three.
‘Karly to bed and early to rise’’ is the reading
of the entire bird record. The robins seem to be
the pioneers in the great waking up. What an
awakening it is and what a song follows! All
along the line of longitude flashes the first rays of
light. The choir seems to be waiting for them.
From among the apple blossoms of my orchard

50 BIRD PARADISE

there is the response of half a dozen species of
birds. It ripples away down into the meadow
below like the wandering murmur of the brook.
I can hear the members of the great choir joining
in the refrain until thirty and more different
species are greeting the sun, ‘‘ rejoicing to run its
course.’’ Curious that this offering of the birds
is never twice alike. Curious, too, that there are
no discords. The choirs that are trained in the
great temple of nature sing out of the heart, and
heart singing is sure of its footing always. A
favorite nook of mine when all nature is clapping
its hands together is down by the old cemetery
where I get the music of both the field and wood
birds. I like to fancy the entire scene as a great
offering of real worship-——a multitude of ways and
forms, every one in its proper place, and all look-
ing up. No contention among the birds about
the way of getting into the Father’s house or of
the way of getting to His heart when they are
once in the house. Their offering in some ways
is my offering in them. It takes the parson to
the gates wide open, where the morning stars still
sing together, and will forever.

I have just seen a bird known in the books as
the brown creeper. He has many of the habits

BIRD PARADISE 51

of the woodpecker as well as an appearance in
color of plumage very similar. The fellow has a
way of locating his nest in a crevice that often is
not very secure. His song is a pleasant warble
that is not easy to put into words. The worm-
eating warbler is a bird of about the same size as
the creeper, and is very similar in its habits. It
is easy to confound the two if we have only a
distant view of them. Sitting in my friend’s
house in Holland Patent last week, I heard the
call note of the brown creeper. Turning to the
window, there the little fellow was on the trunk
of a tree not more than six feet from where I was
sitting. His movements were not very rapid, and
he did not seem in the least disturbed by his
proximity to the human brother. His spring at-
tire, neat and clean, gave him a very attractive
appearance, while his gentle manners recom-
mended him as a bird well worth knowing. How
easily he traversed the trunk of the old tree.
Round and round he went, working his way up
to the branches—a model of diligence and easy
familiarity. His first cousin, the worm-eating
warbler, is quicker in his movements and wears
a little brighter dress. I never have seen the fel-
low’s nest, but am told that he places it on the
ground, in general appearance much like that of

52 BIRD PARADISE

the oven bird. The song has a domestic flavor
like that of the tree sparrow, and is certainly a
credit to the singer. I give them the full freedom
of my small city, knowing that they can be trusted
anywhere in its streets and houses.

Occasionally I see the kingfisher watching the
gateways of our ponds and creeks. What an
active, contented sportsman he is. Like other
sportsmen, he fails now and then to strike the
quarry, but it inno way dampens his ardor.
Fishing with him is a business and he follows it
with zeal whether the returns be large or small.
I have seen them put forth large effort to capture
our common brook trout, but never with much
success. Fish of slower movement are the game
he seeks and usually secures. I hear his voice
sometimes, but never with anything of a musical
nature in the utterance. A hollow tree furnishes
them with an excellent nesting place, but when
none is convenient they bore a hole deep into the
bank, making a very safe retreat for their young.
I am told that when they secure a large fish they
prepare it for eating by pounding it against the
trunk of a tree until it is reduced to pulp. I
never see them taking any pastime so conclude

BIRD PARADISE 53

they use their business in such a manner that it
serves as a sort of vacation. If the streams keep
open kingfisher stays North well into the winter.
When he journeys South, however, he usually
pushes on to South America—returning with the
first real softening of the spring days. This bird’s
shape and attire give him very. little that is at-
tractive to look upon. Bright colors and beauty
of attire are both denied him. He gives no sign,
however, that he is cognizant of the fact, passing,
as he does, a very cheery sort of life.

A pair of flickers were having a merry time on
my lawn this morning. They seemed to have
lost their shyness in good part and allowed me to
come quite near them. They were intent on
securing a breakfast, still they had time to in-
dulge in some real flicker jollying. I watched
them for some time, and while I did not under-
stand all they said, I caught a part of it. No
way that I know of that uncovers life anywhere
only by living it. To know what the flicker says
one must be what he says. This pair certainly
said ‘‘Good-morning,’’ in their way. I don’t
know that they inquired after the parson’s health,
and yet some of their movements seemed to in-

54 BIRD PARADISE

dicate it. The thing, however, in their manner
that gave me the most satisfaction was the air of
true freedom with which they bore themselves.
The field and the grove, air and water, sunlight
and darkness, the flicker spirit and all bird spirit
seem to say, ‘‘ They are all mine—not a thing in
the wide house of my home that is aught else but
mine.” Free born, free livers, free in every sense
that exalts true character. A long line of illus-
trious ancestors appears in my visitors, and I ex-
tend to them my heartiest fellowship.

The recent warm weather opened a wide door
in the fields and groves. Not that any of the in-
habitants therein really awakened from their
sleep, though possibly some of them might have
done so. But the door was opened and the op-
portunity given to all the residents to say some-
thing if the mood was on. I watched the dane-
ing sunbeams on one of the clear days and surely
their movements were indicative of a lease of new
life. The winds gathered their legions and when
they had once gotten down to their special work
there were no echoes left to slumber in field or
grove. Sometimes I half fancy that the echoes
are living things. Anyway the rollicking winds

BIRD PARADISE 55

awaken them and I don’t know how anything can
sleep and awake without being alive. I saw
some small insects tossing up and down outside
my study window and very likely the warm sun-
beams had quickened them into life as they lay
dormant in the thick mat of grass. What a
multitude of little fellows are tucked away in the
great carpet of grass and how nicely they are
preserved. Someway they die and at the same
time live. The entire surface of the ground with
the covering of grass forms Nature’s vast refrig-
erator. For the needs of a great host of crea-
tures this kind of food is always ready for use.
The crows revel in the feast and I judge never
fail to partake when the opportunity offers.
Dining out is without any question the real forte
of most of our birds.

One of my real favorites among the field birds
is the meadow-lark. He has a way of living
bird life that recommends him highly. His ar-
rival from the South in the spring is a sort of
challenge to his fellow birds, inciting them to
new endeavor in the affairs of life. Their song is
given shape in a sort of ringing cheer that seems
to give the stirring greeting of the meadows

56 BIRD PARADISE

themselves. Their method of flight is breezy,
like their song, and I notice that in graduating
their families from the home nest they push mat-
ters in real lark fashion. Very little skill is
shown in arranging the summer cottage. Some
small depression in the surface of the meadow is
selected and given a lining of dried grass. Both
parent birds join in the nest building and both,
I think, share in the process of incubation.
When once the young fellows appear, the old
birds show a kind of nervous activity quite out of
keeping with their ordinary life. Almost every
moment food is brought to the hungry brood and
no amount, however large, seems to appease in
the slightest degree the insatiable appetites.
Among all our birds the young larks seem to
take up the journey of life with a kind of “ go-as-
you-please’’ character that is most interesting.
They have a practice of using the hillside as a
sort of coasting place, making merry in the exer-
cise like a party of children. Great-hearted,
genial fellows they are, lovable in every sense of
the word.

When preparing these notes I glanced from my
study window and there in the lawn trees were a

BIRD PARADISE wa

number of small birds that I knew from their
actions belonged to the warbler family. They
were the first I had seen of the migrants from the
North. I took my glass and looked them over
and I soon learned that the brown creeper was
there and the worm-eating warbler. The young
of two or three other species were present also,
but I did not see any of the old birds. The
warblers are all born acrobats. Of them it can be
truly said that as they pass through the trees their
movements are all of the go-as-you-please charac-
ter. Occasionally they tumble through the limbs,
as though they had lost their balance, but noth-
ing of that kind ever appears, Iam sure. Even
as I write the little fellows are doing this very
thing and the show of pastime which accom-
panies it determines its meaning. I cannot with-
hold the questions: ‘‘ Just where in the wide
North did you spend the summer? How far
north of the Arctic circle did you locate your
home? Did you in your farthest flight see just
where the Pole is, or just where it ought to be?”’
The answers I get very likely throw light some-
where, but not on the way of the inquirer. Not
yet does the vernacular of the birds find an in-
terpreter in the counsels of men. Right here I
notice a larger bird among the warblers. I am

58 BIRD PARADISE

quite sure it is a member of the sparrow family,
but it passes out to the field before I have a fair
view of his trim form. Very soon the sparrows
from the North will appear, adding not a little to
the attractions of our bird world.

Most of our birds have now graduated their
young, leaving the old birds free to roam far and
wide for the next ten months. Adjourning the
housekeeping adjourns the song also, no more
Singing until they come on for the season’s work
next spring. As a rule the vacation time is the
oceasion for ‘‘ breaking forth into singing,’’ but
it is not so with the birds. They have no use
for music only when they are putting both hands
to toil with all their might. I remember seeing
many of our song birds wintering in Oklahoma,
each having his own special chirp with him, but
not a particle of song. It is a marvel how the
fellows pick it up so easily when they have been
without it so long. The great singers of the hu-
man family need to be in daily practice, and a
silence of ten months would almost destroy voice
and all use of it. Not so, however, with the
birds. They pick up the thread right where
they dropped it and go right on as though they

BIRD PARADISE 59

had been in full practice every day. I notice
that the class of birds that have simply the call
note keep that practically unchanged throughout
the year.

Every morning I have as a most interesting
guest a large and uncommonly intelligent flicker.
He sounds his note once or twice from a distance,
then swings along to the orchard, making his
best bow from the large tree at the garden gate. I
give him most cordial greeting and wish I had
command of the flicker tongue. But what is
command? I certainly know some good things
that he speaks. They come to me freighted with
a friendliness that I can understand and do
greatly enjoy. The large table of my lawn is
always spread and flicker—like the other birds—
sits right down to his morning meal without
waiting for any special invitation. I notice that
his manner of taking his meals is all his own.
He puts his long bill right through the table
spread, down into the soft mold an inch or
more. Just what he gets or just how it is cooked
I have no means of knowing. That he smacks
his lips over the delicate morsels I can attest ;
also that his appetite is always first-class. One

60 BIRD PARADISE

day he brought one of his children with himn—
his oldest son, I fancied—and such a time as he
had in giving the boy a few lessons in flicker
housekeeping. I found time to take in the scene
and do a little hand-clapping over the young fel-
low’s success. Sometimes when I am watching
one of these family scenes I feel that a little
wholesome correction would do the youngster
good, and greatly relieve the mind of the parent
bird, but they get on with little or no discipline
and get on well. My visitor spends an hour or
more with me usually, then hies away to the
grove on Burritt’s Hill, where I presume the
other members of his family await his coming.

Sunday was a full day, rain falling steadily
almost without intermission from sun to gun.
The thirsty earth drank it with avidity and the
plants and trees clapped their hands with joy.
The birds seemed to share in the general out-
burst of praise. Some of the songs were all the
better for the rain. The next morning dawned
bright and fair, all cheery with new life. I was
out early and more than half fancied that garden,
lawn and birds were unusually jubilant with
praise. I put my ear to the service of catching

BIRD PARADISE 61

the sounds that the old brown earth was emitting.
The response was all aglow with life. Every
rootlet, part and creature was alert with that
genial flow of life which never palis on the taste.
The birds caught the key-note of the refrain and
I found it not a little difficult to put in a stroke
of work where all was festal to the eye and ear.
One robin, I am quite sure, continued his song
for a full hour, and the English sparrows rivaled
him in time if not in music. The meadow birds
in the fields beyond the cemetery joined as one
in saluting the morning, and even the crows
seemed to have a little more cheer in their
solemn notes. Someway the morning was so
fresh and fair and everything was so in keeping
with the new day that I was somewhat averse to
even removing the weeds. Each was a temple
not made with hands and to destroy such a
structure is not an easy task. On such a morn-
ing they stand as perfected praise, and who
can wantonly put a jarring note into such an
anthem ?

I notice that the toads are now on duty in larger
numbers. I have a notion that some of them
were late in coming out of their winter quarters.

62 BIRD PARADISE

Just how they tell when to wake up I have no
means of knowing. Very likely all they have
to do with it is simply to obey the summons
when it comes. Curious that I rarely see two
dwelling together in the same house and very
rarely meet two of the same size. The venerable
fellows, large in body as well as in number of
years, I see occasionally. One resides under the
woodbine near the barn door, and has all the ap-
pearance of having numbered a score of years.
He is chary of speech, and when he uses his voice
he gives forth a guttural sound that seems with-
out meaning. His success as a fly catcher is.
pronounced. No one would ever imagine that
the fellow could make a quick movement by his
general appearance. The moment, however, he
sits down—or rather sits up—to one of his daily
meals he appears in a new réle altogether. He
takes his dinner on the wing, and does it with a
skill and grace that becomes him handsomely.
Sometimes I get the idea that when he once be-
gins to eat he has no conception when to stop.
So far as I know he has but very little to do be-
sides eating. If he has any regular work by
which he earns his daily bread he never has
given me an inkling of what it is. The little
house roofed with leaves, just a few feet square,

BIRD PARADISE 63

is the whole world to him, and so far as I can see
it is all he cares for. Toad character has some
things to recommend, but on the whole is not.
very attractive.

I have noticed several robins lately that seemed
in a half-dazed mood. In each case I have found
the bird near the mountain ash tree where it had
been feasting on the berries. Can it be that the
overeating of the bright red fruit produces a
kind of intoxication? Or was it an effect of a
different character? The way in which the birds.
eat these berries savors of a sort of infatuation.
When they are ripe a large flock is on duty every
moment of the day eating with scarcely a particle
of intermission. I do not know of any other
creature that uses them for food. The variety of
food used by birds covers a wide range. I have
no knowledge of seeds or insects that are unused.
Unlike the animals, the birds provide no supply
for the winter months. Their facilities for mov-
ing from place to place are such that a store of
food is unnecessary. Even those who remain at
the North through the winter find sufficient to
supply all their wants without any thought for
the morrow. What a great full storehouse the

64 BIRD PARADISE

bird commissary is! Wherever the fellow stops
on his flight there the storehouse is and there the
food is all prepared for his use. ‘‘ They toil not,
neither do they spin,’’ but the feast is ever spread
for them and they are always ready for it.

I hear occasionally the whistling flight of the
woodcock. Just at the northern gate of the old
swamp seems to be a favorite spot for their daily
gatherings. As they depend largely on the sense
of touch in selecting their food they can do much
of their hunting for it in the night. I often see
in the soft mud where they have been busy prob-
ing for worms and grubs. The long bill is the
member used in the search. The end is keenly
sensitive and the kind of food is determined
easily by the sense of touch. In my boyhood we
often saw the fellows early in the morning wing-
ing their way to the corn-fields, where they pro-
cured a part of their food. The nestlings, like
the young of the partridge, find their way out of
the nest very soon after they are hatched. The
families are usually large, taxing the parent birds
heavily in caring for them. The woodcock uses
two or three call notes, sometimes uttering them
in succession after the pattern of a song. The

BIRD PARADISE 65

nest is not much more than a slight cavity in
the ground, given perhaps a thin lining of dried
grass. Like the other members of the snipe
family the woodcock is an active stirring bird.
During his waking hours he keeps busy most of
the time hunting for food for himself and his
hungry brood. The young woodcock never seems
to reach the point in taking food when he acts as
though he had eaten enough. They are cunning
little fellows and soon learn to secure food for
themselves. I think the sportsmen have done
but little in the way of hunting these birds in our
hill country. Hence, it is not so difficult to in-
terview them as it is in many places where they
make their home.

The morning after the rain the robins seemed
to be unusually lively. The air was cool and
the clouds heavy and dark—not just the condi-
tions wherein I have found the birds stirring
early or actively. As I looked out through the
mists I could see a dozen or more of my red-
breasted friends thoroughly excited and evidently
in a state of war that to all appearances meant
death in the last ditch. At first nothing was
discovered which gave the least indication what

66 BIRD PARADISE

the uproar was about or whether the combatants
were really arranged on two distinct sides. At
times two birds would contend vigorously, the
others looking on quietly or running nervously
about, then the entire company would rush to-
gether screaming loudly and striking most vigor-
ously with bills and wings. They rolled them-
selves into a ball of feathers so tightly packed
that they seemed one solid mass. For several
minutes the battle went on, no one apparently
hurt and nothing really gained by any of the
contestants. Finally a truce was agreed upon.
But the bone of contention, what was it? I could
not uncover it and I doubt if the birds knew what
it was. It was a case of the army marching up
the hill and down again. No one hurt.

The greater surprise that I received. on the
occasion was the perfect command the students
had over that in which they had known no real
experience. When called to tell what they knew,
each one made an almost perfect success of the
effort. ‘Flicker on the Wing” was the subject
of all the orations of the day. Alpha responded
to his name, with light step and an apparent
confidence in himself that fully betokened real

BIRD PARADISE 67

success. The first sentence he muttered was a
bold assertion of winged thought that carried him
bodily nearly over to the little red schoolhouse.
Think of it, a complete novice in every sense of
the word, touching all he was doing, and yet
doing it with the utmost ease—utterance in word
and gesture—bird elocution at its best. Number
two followed, but put his first stroke in the direc-
tion of the rising sun. Away he soared, astonish-
ing the whole audience, but himself more than
all. When he finally paused he found that his
zeal had carried him to the front door of my
neighbor’s cottage. Time was given him to con-
tinue when all seemed favorable in his judgment,
which he did, with renewed success. Number
three came from the door of the tree temple—
announced with the loud calls of the entire
faculty. With just the semblance of a bow he
threw himself into his part, completing the first
sentence far down in the park. He spent an hour
or more in that locality, shouting and clapping
his hands in true flicker fashion.

The bobolinks seem to be out in a little more
than full numbers in the meadows beyond my
garden. This morning they appeared to be. hold-

68 BIRD PARADISE

ing a sort of convention—all singing and talking
at the same time. I could not make outjust what
they were saying, but I was quite sure they were
doing it well. There is nothing slow about the
song of the bobolink. It goes with arush, a great
outpouring of notes that are no sooner poured out
than they begin to pour again, the stream rip-
pling and hurrying all day long. I fancy at
times they reach out a hand for a little praise
from the human brother. This very morning one
came from the field to where I was at work in the
garden. He circled about, singing as only the
bobolink can sing—the same song over aud over,
but new every time. He took a high seat—there
are no low seats among birds—on the old apple
tree, and such a concert as he put in motion is
never known anywhere else. A song fellow
joined him soon, and for five minutes all the gar-
dening that I did was keeping both ears open to
a hymn that is America from start to finish. For
aught the parson knows these fellows have been
trilling their songs for hundreds of years. How
much evolution there has been in getting where
they are I have no means of knowing. They
have certainly got there, and I have a notion
there is nothing new to be added to the song.
What preachers of righteousness they are and

Fox Run

BIRD PARADISE 69

how cleanly they hold the truth. There is no
heresy among the bobolinks.

I notice that the song of the thrushes is shading
off quite perceptibly. Like the other song birds
they have had their carnival of music and are
now passing to the monotonous chirp which will
mark their demeanor for the next ten months.
How do they ever pick up the song again?
Surely the skill with which they do it is one of the
wonderful things in mother nature’s great house.
My thrush parishioners journey far away to their
Southern home. They dwell there for months,
but never once trill their wonderful song. Jour-
neying northward in the spring and lo, the old
song appears—not a note missing, not a strain
lost. Young and old alike come to the house-
keeping of a brief two months simply bubbling
over with song. Why it is so I cannot tell—the
fact is patent, but its best telling abounds in mys-
tery. There is no other place that the thrush
gives me quite so much as he does in the glades
of Bird Paradise. When the song rises from the
lower part of the glen and comes wandering up
the defile I fancy it gathers something from
everything asit passes. By the time it reaches me

70 BIRD PARADISE

it has levied tribute upon trees and brook, shrubs
and flowers—all the wealth of the gorge. It has
multiplied itself a hundred times, and I bow to
the wizard bird that fills me with the inspiration
of the song of songs.

On the Sauquoit road, half a mile from our vil-
lage, is the crossing between the two swamps.
Logs are found here which tradition says were
put in place by a division of Sullivan’s army
during his celebrated march through the Iroquois
country. Among the willows at the roadside a
pair of catbirds build their nest every season.
To look at, the same birds, the same nest, the
same song make up the household and its work
each year. The catbird gets his name from one
of the calls he uses, which sounds at a little dis-
tance like the mewing of ahalf-grown kitten.
Their success in nest construction is only a partial
one, although it serves all the needs of the birds.
As asinger the catbird ranks high. His penchant
for trilling the songs of other birds is well known.
He gives what seem to be almost the precise notes
of several of his fellow birds. I wonder some-
times whether it be asong adopted by the bird
or his own in a special manner, none of it bor-

BIRD PARADISE 71

rowed. The movement of the catbird bears the
stamp of asly, shrewd character, though I know
of nothing standing against him that is not to his
eredit. As I see him he is nearly always gliding
around among the willows, so much so that he
night appropriately take the name of willow bird.
I have seen the catbird several times in the
hedges and thickets in Utica. Like some other
of our wood birds he is becoming more cosmo-
politan in his habits every year.

Nearly all our birds are now here. Another
week will bring the cuckoo, which completes the
list. I notice that the bobolinks and orioles seem
to be on duty in unusual numbers. [I hear their
songs everywhere in the trees and fields, full and
cheery as they should be in the day-dawn of the
spring time. Curious, and ever more curious, to
me is their method of dropping the song when the
nesting season is over, leaving it entirely unused
for three-quarters of the year, then picking it up,
every note in place, and as musical as though they
had been daily practicing allthetime. Someway
in this particular they have gotten well ahead of
the human brother. Curious, too, that among the
birds the gentlemen do all the singing. The

72 BIRD PARADISE

ladies of the house have a cold note or two, but
no song. It occurs to me that it would be an ad-
mirable scheme if the females could put the song
into shape and use it through the long vacation.
But it is not for me to regulate their matters.
Among their own affairs their knowledge of what
is best for them is far in advance of any that the
parson has, and their wisdom is to use the best
they can command.

Bobolinks reached us on the 12th of May.
Here and there the bird had been seen two or
three days before, but the full company did not
appear until the 12th. I was out in my garden
early, just in time to welcome the advance guard
as they alighted from their aerial trolley car.
Their salutation to the parson was given in
song, every one apparently doing his best in mak-
ing the greeting. What an outburst of rattling
notes the song is! I wonder how the fellow ever
gets it into shape twice alike. But he does, and
it certainly, in some respects, has no rival among
bird songs. I notice that the bird’s location
when singing has something to do with the finish
of the song. When he sends forth the music on
the wing he often puts in a note or two that do

BIRD PARADISE 73

not appear at other times. After he has settled
down in the grass he frequently indulges in a
chuckle that gives the song a very pleasant varia-
tion. From the cozy perch in the top of an old
apple tree there is really a little apple blossom
melody indulged in that one can easily imagine is
the carol of the tree itself as it bursts into bloom.
When the females arrive at the Northern home
the song sparkles with new life. In fact the
cheery fellow seems to meet each new turn of life
with a new turn of bobolink speech that fits the
case exactly. No bird of my acquaintance has
more to say than bobolink or can say it any
better.

During my stroll I came upon a family of blue-
birds—two old birds and four young ones in the
family. When I first saw them they were seated
on the telephone wires, and I fancied a mild
lecture was being given by the mother of the
household. No other lecture is ever given by
bluebird. If he knows how to employ his tongue
in scolding or raillery, he never has given the
parson any sign of it. Whether he turns away
wrath or not I do not know, but this is true of him :
he never deals in any reply but the soft answer.

74 BIRD PARADISE

The young fellows of this family were active and
evidently were fast learning the mysteries of bird
life. I have a notion that the families of this
species of birds remain together longer than those
of their fellow birds. The number that I usually
see together are about the measure of a single
household. I am a little at a loss to determine
just what this bird uses for food. I rarely ever
see him using anything—in fact itis the only bird
that seems to get on without a large commissary.
The family I saw kept company with me, for
‘quite a distance, then balanced away to the far
side of the adjacent pasture. What a mellow
richness there is in their song. It is as Bur-
roughs says, ‘‘ purity in its completest sense.’’
He says also that it is the bird of nature, being
in color ‘‘sky blue above, and earth brown be-
low,” adding, ‘‘ that his appearance in the spring
‘denotes that the war between sky and earth is
ended, in him the celestial and terrestrial striking
hands and becoming fast friends.”

I hear the call of the bobolink from high in the
air. The flocks are passing daily and the wonder
is where so many come from. They are all of one
color—a sort of olive green—and seem to be

BIRD PARADISE 75

animated by the common spirit of getting some-
where just as soon as possible. Why they should
start on their Southern journey so early in the
season is a secret which they keep to themselves.
Food is abundant and the weather pleasant, still
at such a time every season they get upon the
wing for their extensive travels. I havea notion
that they take their time in the passage, being
several days reaching their first stopping place in
Pennsylvania. Of course they have no idea of
what is in store for them as they gather the fruits
of their extensive trip. Living on the choicest
viands of the land they soon become candidates
for the epicure’s table. I like the cheery way
with which the bobolinks say their ‘‘ good-bye.”
Vacation with the birds means a long season of
rollicking life with hardly a flaw in the entire
round of festivities.

Several of the robins’ nests in my lawn trees now
shelter the young birds. I notice that with the
advent of the little fellows the care and concern
of the old birds is greatly increased. Itis aston-
ishing what an amount of food a nest of young
birds will consume in one day. Their capacity
for food seems to be unlimited. They feast all
day long, and then wear the air of hungry crea-

76 BIRD PARADISE

tures. I never have known them to refuse food.
If there were any regular meals then it could be
truly said of them that their eating between meals
fills every particle of space from feast to feast.
‘* All the time at it,’? was what a friend of mine
said when the process of feeding for the first time
was brought to his attention. ‘Is it aleaf in the
book of nature which we have not yet quite
understood or are the birds blundering workmen
—building less wisely than they know?” The
answer seems to take this form: These denizens
of the air eat, drink, sleep and be merry, escap-
ing all sickness, ignoring all doctors, and dying
of old age if they have half a chance. One thing
can be said of the food that it rarely ever is of
the kind that pampers the appetit-. Earth-
worms, which constitute the daily bread of the
young robins, so far as I know, are not a rich
viand. Possibly the more they eat of these
wriggling fellows, the morethey want. If adopt-
ing their style of eating involves the necessity of
adopting their kind of food, why of course none
of us would care to dine with the robins.

I saw this morning the largest flock of crow
blackbirds, or grackle, that I have seen in many

BIRD PARADISE 77

years. They located in the large maples just
north of the church, and spent several minutes
in a sort of conclave which was lively, and
which possibly the birds understood. I was
curious to know the number of black fellows in
the party and counted them off until the record
read 135. Their free and easy way of doing
things was most noticeable. I could not discover
that the presiding officer, if there was one, had
the least authority in the assembly. They all
talked at the same time and apparently under-
stood one another. The language they used is
one of the primitive tongues that I suppose has
been in vogue without any perceptible change
for hundreds of years. The smooth flowing song
that followed seemed unusually full of the softer
notes. I suppose the concert was a succession
of set pieces, with their accompanying encores,
prima donnas having to do with them, and stars
also of the other sex. I watched them for some
little time, thinking, perhaps, there might be a
clue uncovered somewhere by which I could
divine the real object that called so many of the
dusky fellows together. I fancied half a dozen
good reasons for their action, but had no way of
determining whether any one of them had the
slightest application to the case in hand. Off

78 BIRD PARADISE

they all went finally to the swamp, where I heard
them still later in the day telling their blackbird
story with the same fervor as when I first saw
them early in the day.

At five o’clock this morning I stood in my
orchard and yielded a listening ear to the con-
cert of the birds. The singers were everywhere,
on all sides of the place where I was standing.
The air was clear and warm, and the sun just
lifting its broad face above the horizon. I was
curious to know how many of the different
species were lifting their voices in common on the
occasion. I jotted down the names, and here
they are: Robins, grackle, flickers, orioles,
hawks, red-headed woodpeckers, marsh spar-
rows, crows, starlings, warblers, swallows,
meadow-larks, pewees, tree sparrows, vireos,
English sparrows, wrens, vesper sparrow, bob-
olinks, purple-crowned sparrows, chimney-swifts,
twenty-one in all—a very fair showing for such
an early hour, and a very fair concert. Curious
how this morning festival of song is rendered
daily, and the listener of even the most critical
taste never detects any discord in the perform-
ance! The fact is, there are no discords in

BIRD PARADISE 79

nature! When discord enters, nature steps out.
The birds lift up their voices together, and,
someway, they all seem to harmonize—no break
in the great anthem from first to last. While
something of this festival can be enjoyed in the
city and larger villages, the beauty and the glory
of it are only found in the open country. To get
its inspiration as often as possible is a duty that
glows with the privilege of new life.

All of the first and second quotas of spring
birds are now here. The advanced guard con-
sists of robins, bluebirds, blackbirds and spar-
rows. Next come the larks, flickers and two or
three species of the sparrows. Then follow the
wood birds, red-headed woodpeckers, swallows,
orioles, bobolinks, and last of all the cuckoo.
How the fellows shape their coming to suit the
weather and the supply of food is outside of my
knowledge. Just now all that are here are get-
ting their full amount of regular food, and seem
to be entirely at home. Curious how they ap-
pear to be entirely at home anywhere that they
happen to be. True, they form attachments for
certain localities, and find their way there with
@ sagacity that is simply wonderful. Still in

80 BIRD PARADISE

their yearly wanderings they give each locality
where they tarry enough of their attention, so
that it really appears as though they regarded it
with a homelike feeling. All the Northern birds
that I saw wintering in Oklahoma seemed en-
tirely contented and happy. I apprehend that
when they are once entered upon their vacation
any place where they are is the spot where they
like to be. Plenty of good food, with fairly
comfortable quarters, gives most of our birds a
homelike feeling.

All the members of the swallow family seem
to be masters of the science and beanty of flight.
Each species illustrates movements that it has in
common with all the others, and each excels in
some special grace. The eave swallow is par-
ticularly graceful in some of its upward eurves—
@ trait of character gradually attained, doubt-
less, from the Jong practice of moving in that
manner, as they leave their nests under the eaves
of the barn. A colony of these fellows practice
a: very pleasant kind of social bird life. The
nests are placed on some slight projection, shel-
tered by the overhanging roof, and are very good
examples of the skill of birds having for their

BIRD PARADISE 81

material the mud of the roadside. They scein to
be quite firm and with thorough repairing are
used year after year. Some of them have pas-
sageways like the neck of a bottle, and frequently
at each opening may be seen the heads of the
parent birds quietly surveying the outside world.
The young of the swallow family must be adepts
in the use of their wings, for I never have seen
them tumbling about half fledged. I fancy they
keep close within the home nest until they are
quite fully grown, then flight is a sort of second
nature to them. I have no way of computing
the number of insects a swallow secures as he
goes to and fro through the day, but it must be
a large number. I hear the little bills snap
sharply, and know that each stroke is the full
end of a fly’s career. Multiplying swallows are
carrying large destruction into the crowded
ranks of the great fly host.

Among my parishioners none ranks higher in
my regard than the wide-awake flicker. His
doing, I am sure, is always up to the full mark
of the Scriptural injunction, ‘‘ With all his
might.’’ Six years ago a pair of them located
their summer home in one of my lawn maples.

82 BIRD PARADISE

They had some difficulties to surmount in getting
their house in order, and for a time I was quite
doubtful about their success in the enterprise.
The youngsters graduated in due time, and I
concluded that some of them would occupy the
old homestead every season. In a certain way
they have. Each spring they come to the old
place, and for several days hold a sort of bird car-
nival. I get the notion each time that it is a kind
of house-warming given by the pair that have
just set up housekeeping in the old home. Each
time, however, I have been mistaken. Since that
first season there has been the annual gathering
at the old hearthstone, any amount of flicker fun
and talk but no family life has come from it.
As I write this I glance from my study window,
and there the birds are busy with their regular
spring orgies. I say orgies, for the word seems
to express exactly what they are doing. Half
an hour ago they came balancing down from
Burritt’s Hill, six of them in all, and their rol-
licking call has been the very pulse beat of the
village air ever since. They dart about among
the trees apparently as full of fun as a party of
boys. Up the trunks of the maples they scramble,
chasing each other around the great limbs, ever
on the move. If they have looked in at the old

BIRD PARADISE 83

home once they have a dozen times. About the
only language they use is the word flicker, pro-
nounced with a great variety of inflections.

Only one place that I know of about here
where the eave swallow nests. Under the eaves
of the barn on the old Osborn place near Day-
tonville I counted forty nests last year. In my
boyhood they made their homes every year on
several different farms in this locality. The
largest number I ever saw in any one place was
at the barn of Harvey Head on the Cassville
road. I have forgotten the number of nests he
used to report but I remember the swallows were
about the building in great numbers. Mr. Head
gave them large welcome and they repaid it in
the destruction of thousands of insects. Barns,
as they are now built, furnish but little oppor-
tunity for the swallow to place his nest securely.
The flight of this bird is true to all the traditions
of his large family. His movement is easy and
graceful and from anything I can discover may
be continued almost indefinitely without any ap-
parent weariness. The nests are curious pockets
built of mud with short necks through which the
bird reaches the inner parts of the house. Some

84. BIRD PARADISE

writers classify this and the cliff or bank swallow
as one. species, As they pass in flight there
seems to be no perceptible difference in shape or
color. The song is a slight twitter usually given
when on the wing.

I received a curious invitation from my flicker
friends last week—at least, so it seemed to me.
On Friday morning the town crier of this small
city went to and fro in my lawn trees proclaim-
ing most vigorously some event of great impor-
tance. I went out to the church steps and was
hardly more than nicely fixed in my favorite
seat when the whole matter was made clear. It
was commencement week in the flicker university
and the faculty and entire body of students were
ready to give the parson special welcome to all
the exercises. They did give the welcome and I
accepted the greeting with both hands and all
my heart. The day was ideal and I soon got the
notion that the entire affair was of great moment
to all concerned. The whole school of flickers
were graduating—each valedictorian of his class.
The great maple front of the church, long years
in building, was the temple of their lifelong
instruction. "What to say and do on the great

BIRD PARADISE 85

occasion was all nicely pictured out by the two
professors—faculty of the institution. The lawn
of the rectory and church was the broad stage
whereon the entire exercises were conducted.
Just what was said as the students were called
to take their parts I could not quite divine. The
outcome, however, was the key to all that fol-
lowed. The four students, each in his turn,
stepped boldly out and in the ‘“‘born anew’’ of
the moment went cheerily forward to the first full
sweep of flicker life.

The bobolink trills his song now only occa-
sionally. Its bubbling over joy has sensibly
changed into a kind of bird music that has a
good many slow and heavy notes. Curious that
when the fellow’s work and care are put aside
the best part of him should go with them. I
wonder if there be any scheme that could be put
into operation whereby we might preserve not
only this bird’s song, but the songs of all birds,
through the vacation season. We need a Bur-
bank to work in this direction, and it may not
be a fruitless venture. The bird uses his short
note or chirp the whole year through, and why
should he not use his song? I often ask myself

86 BIRD PARADISE

the questions, From what source did the bobo-
link derive his song, and how does he keep the
delicious medley in shape so handsomely? It
rattles off a thousand times or more during the
song season with never a note seemingly missing.
I have tried again and again to reduce the refrain
to a word form but never have made any large
success of the effort. About the first of August
the song ceases altogether. A month is then
given to a kind of wild, free bird play. Then
comes the first stroke of migration, ending with
a change of name to Pennsylvania reed bird.
About the last of September he wings his way
still farther southward, again receiving a new
name, that of rice bird. In December he reaches
the shores of the Gulf, and a little later floats
across to the wilds of South America where he
spends the remaining winter months.

One of our bright colored wood songsters bears
the name of indigo bird, or woodfinch. An-
other name he sometimes receives is that of blue-
finch. He is also called the indigo bunting.
He finds his way to the Northern home about the
middle of May, and while he is not a great singer
he adds a very pleasing melody to the forest

BIRD PARADISE 87

choir. He belongs to the large sparrow family
and the keen instincts of his race help him
wonderfully in running the gauntlet of his many
enemies. They are not very plentiful, for I
rarely ever see more than a single pair in any one
season. I find them often in company with the
rose-breasted grosbeak, so I conclude they are
fast friends. A favorite resort for this bird is a
clearing near the wood, partly grown up with
bushes. I notice that his perch for singing is
some small tree in the clearing, where, seated on
the topmost bough, he trills a song that ranks
well with those of his fellow birds. I never have
known any blemishes on his character. On the
contrary he has a very clean record. Of course
he meets with the vicissitudes that all bright
colored birds meet with. His brilliant hue be-
trays his hiding place, and I suppose that is one
reason why his family numbers so few members.
In my boyhood they frequently came into the
orchard of the old homestead, and we saw several
pair each season. The dense wood, however, is
the fellow’s place of greater safety and he rarely
ventures beyond its bounds.

This week brought the birds in full numbers.
I have already seen five or six different species.

88 BIRD PARADISE

The weather has not been perfect, but it seems to
make no difference with the birds. They go
about with their usual spirit, apparently as con-
tent with the storm as with thesunshine. Of the
early comers the robin is the most active. Just
how he keeps up his natural motion all day long
is a problem to the parson. He does it, how-
ever, and for anything I can see “‘ brings back at
eve, immaculate, the manners of the morn.”’ I
have been wondering a little how much truth
there is in the saying that the male birds are the
first to arrive in the Northern haunts. Iam quite
sure that the two sexes appeared here together this
year. Perhaps it is an off year, or it may be that
the birds are off. Why should they not be, now
and then? They have a right to make mistakes,
and very likely make them. As I write half a
dozen birds are rollicking on my lawn, giving
every sign of being perfectly happy. The earth-
worms seem to be ready for them, also the nicely
prepared insects that have lain all winter in the
grass. What a table is ready for them and how
they partake of its bounty, never in the slightest
degree acting as though they were not sure of
their next meal. Robin faith has a good deal of
that character which secures the ‘‘ Be it unto you
even as thou wilt.’’

BIRD PARADISE 89

A_ red squirrel invaded the precincts of one of
my robin homes and no doubt got some new ideas
touching robin hospitality. I was sitting on the
poreh at the time and my first knowledge of the
adventure was a great fluttering noise in one of
the maples. Almost immediately this was fol-
lowed by Mr. Squirrel’s advent, every movement
he made fairly crowded with hurry. Two robins
were waiting upon him and they attended to all
the details of the matter with scrupulous care.
As he tumbled from the tree and struck the
ground one of the birds struck him. He rolled
over two or three times, then tried the treeagain.
Here both robins met him and for a few moments
the mixture of birds and squirrel was much closer
than the four-footed fellow had any taste for.
This time he sprang far out on to the lawn and
made his way rapidly to his home in one of the
large trees on the opposite side of the church. I
rather enjoyed squirrel’s discomfiture for I know
he has ruined more than one bird home in my
lawn trees this season.

Among my bird visitors this week was an entire
family of orioles. They came into the lawn

QO BIRD PARADISE

maples very quietly, but they were no sooner
seated in the easy chairs of the branches than
they began to call loudly for the daily bread.
The old birds responded quickly to the call and
the more they responded the more there was of
the call. Orioles are true to their kind in giving
place to hunger that never seems to be appeased.
Bird hunger is a commodity that is always kept
in store and is always storing up the more—
never by any manner of means crying out enough.
I was hardly aware of orioles’ value as a farm
helper, until I saw their work in supplying this
family with food. The old birds were busy every
moment, and I should conclude used in their
feasting almost every kind of bug, grub and in-
sect that we have in our lawns and gardens. I
was quite willing to contribute every squash bug
I had to the feast, and the orioles were quite will-
ing to take them. They caught many insects on
the wing, in fact levied on all the small creatures
in the trees or on the ground and kept it up
steadily during the hour they stayed with me.
The pleasant song of the bird had been laid aside,
old and young using the same call note. An-
other week and the family life will cease, not
to be known again until an entire year has
passed.

WaArBLER RETREAT

BIRD PARADISE gl

I conclude from what I see at the present time
that there are at least a dozen or fifteen robins’
nests in process of construction here in our vil-
lage. There is no lack of material and certainly
the business is being prosecuted with commenda-
ble zeal. Mud and dry grass are the materials
used, and surely when one considers the charac-
ter of the things put into the building it is quite
apparent that robin makes a large success of the
work. The heavy winds that we have had this
season have interfered somewhat seriously with
the birds’ building projects. I found on my lawn
last week a nest nearly completed. It had been
blown from the swinging limb, the owner losing
both time and work in the accident. Someway
the fellows tide over an experience of this char-
acter without any serious loss. In a week’s time
doubtless the wreck of the accident will all be
cleared away and a new house put into place. I
have seen the English sparrow play a very shrewd
trick upon the robin when he is busy with his
nest building. The other day the mother bird
had just filled her bill with a tuft of dried grass
when a sparrow flew and snatched it away, leav-
ing robin an astonished and apparently disgusted
bird. I have seen the sparrows snatch food in

92 BIRD PARADISE

the same way, robin submitting to the indignity
with no appearance of protest.

My woodchuck parishioners have passed their
quiet winter and are now taking up the duties of
the rapidly advancing spring. What a curious
scheme it is that this little animal employs to tide
over the winter’s storm and cold. Last fall all
the woodchuck residents of my parish folded their
hands and went to sleep in their burrows, no eat-
ing or drinking known by them until within the
last week. I have known them to pass to the
long sleep when the weather was warm and pleas-
ant and food plentiful. Then I have known
them to put aside the sleep in February, when
the frost and cold were everywhere in our
Northland. Once I was passing in the ravine
near the Bartlett woods in February. The
snow had drifted in until the bank on the
west side was some twelve or fifteen feet deep.
A woodchuck had dug through the snow and
when I looked into the burrow he was sitting on
the threshold of his earth cabin, evidently in a
great quandary as to what was best for him to do
next. I kept a little watch of the fellow and I
found as the days passed he got along very com-

BIRD PARADISE 93

fortably. Of course his supply of food was lim-
ited but he found enough to keep the fires of life
burning brightly, and so far as I could see,
passed the hours of his somewhat narrow life
quite pleasantly. A little later in the season a
family of youngsters gladdened by their presence
the rustic home. I found not a little recreation
in watching them as they passed through the dif-
ferent stages of woodchuck life. Curious that in
their small world they are beset with enemies on
every side. Hawks and foxes are on the watch
for them, and I am told, though I have never
seen it, that the old male members of the tribe
appropriate them in acannibal way. ‘‘The price
of liberty, even among the animals, is eternal
vigilance.”

My toad parishioners interview me now almost
daily. When I find them in the grass they seem
in a pleasant mood and, so far as I understand,
say pleasant things. When my hoe or spade
breaks into their snug winter quarters, giving
them an unceremonious tumble out into the light,
they wink some and blink some, and I am quite
sure express themselves in as forcible a manner
as the toad everemploys. I notice that they seem
in fine heart as the spring opens.

94 BIRD PARADISE

Wonderful how they pass through the winter
months and apparently make some healthy
growth. I never have been able to discover the
slightest indication that they enjoy social con-
verse with their fellows. All my toad tenants
live a hermit life, and they secure the character
which that kind of living gives. They havea
taste for the flies and bugs which infest a garden,
and I encourage all their forays into my small
realm.

It is surprising how expert they are in catching
flies. It is about the only quick motion they
make, and the only member they use in perform-
ing the feat is their long, flexible tongue. Let
the fly pass within striking distance and the stroke
comes—a flash of red, which surely reaches the
game every time. In a stage ranch in Oklahoma
I saw the feat performed by a large toad again
and again. I was sitting in the old cabin par-
taking of a frugal lunch when this huge toad
came out of his lair and showed me how he se-
cured his lunch. The flies were present in full
force—clouds of them. All the fellow had to do
was to keep his tongue flashing—a fly, and I
‘sometimes thought two, secured every time. He
spent what seemed to him a very agreeable half
hour, and it was a revelation to the parson,—the

BIRD PARADISE 95

number of flies one toad can devour in asingle
meal.

Occasionally I go down to the meadow and deep:
tangled wildwood just as the last doors of day are
closing for the night. The process of closing the
doors is always interesting, and I never have
known two of these occasions just exactly alike.
Last evening I tarried a few minutes just beyond
the confines of ‘‘God’s Acre,’’ the halo of dark-
ness clothing all things in its restful sphere. So
many friends have hung away the worn garments
of time in the little wardrobe near the church that
I love to tarry there, renewing life in the sacred.
influences of ‘‘ Auld Lang Syne.’’? How delight-
ful at such a place and time to have a little bevy
of vesper sparrows shape a requiem of the day
that seemed to be a real foretaste of ‘‘standing
ever in the light.” Vespers’ song holds some
things that are common to all the sparrows. But
just as clearly it is guardian of many strains that
no other bird commands. It was fully dark when
this experience came to me, and at least five of
the birds were opening their hearts in the song.
Without the slightest stroke of effort the song
eame to me clothed in the mantle of praise. The
voice of the meadow, the wider voice of the stars,

96 BIRD PARADISE

the wondrous harmony of all space, ah, the spar-
rows, out of their simple, pure, gracious hearts,
shaped it all into a vision—day born of night—
the night of the silent city where I stood, passing
surely to the Master’s broad, open day of ‘‘ Come
again.’’? The song ceased, darkness had its place,
and I came home from the scene, heart all aglow
with the blessed inspiration of sparrow’s sermon
on the mount.

In some ways the thrush is the bird of promi-
nence among our wood songsters. He comes and
goes in a quiet way, in fact so quiet that I never
have been able to discover him in the act itself.
The thrush corner in Bird Paradise is tenantless
or it is given a resident and no one but the bird
itself knows when or how. Last week I knocked
at the door of the corner named above, and my
friend was there. A day or two before he was
not there and no sign of his coming was visible
anywhere. -I suppose that if I had been there
early in the morning, I might have seen the birds
arriving by the night train on their elevated road.
The thrush usually appears when the leaves are
about half out. This year, however, he has been
a little ahead of time. The marvel is that he ar-

BIRD PARADISE 97

rives or leaves his Northern haunts anywhere
near the right time. Someway, however, he
does it and makes little or no mistake. I under-
stand that they pass the winter well down in the
Gulf states, getting entirely away from the snow
and cold. I never have known one to stay here
through the winter, as some of our other birds oc-
casionally do. I conclude from this fact that the
fellow has no resources in case he is left stranded
in his Northern home. Even in the summer he
seems at times in a sort of quandary as to what is
the best thing for him to do.

Whoever writes, or attempts to write, the story
of the bobolink will find a task on his hands that
never can be quite all told. I have known the
fellow nearly seventy years and each successive
season he has brought something new to be
recorded. This year he postponed his coming a
little later than usual, but it was all the same to
the rollicking fellow. He came with the genuine
bobolink flourish of trumpets, not a note missing
in his cheery song. It may have been that his
trolley line was a little out of order or something
may have miscarried in his calculations, for he
arrived in our hill country fully an hour after

98 BIRD PARADISE .-

daylight. The regular hour as I have observed
him year after year is just at break of day. The
call is sounded from high in the air, and a few
minutes later I see the fellows dropping down a
sort of mythical stairway, swaying back and forth
as they descend. After their long flight—per-
haps through the entire night—I look for weari-
ness, but nothing of the kind appears. They
seem as fresh as though the night had been spent
in sleep rather than in flight. I have a notion
that the flight of birds is restful to them rather
than a burden. It is native air and native effort,
both stimulating—rarely ever a task.

It is but seldom that the flicker comes into my
lawn and makes himself entirely athome. When
he does, he recommends himself as one of my
most interesting bird parishioners. The other
day I noticed that there was considerable excite-
ment among the robins. They flew to and fro,
giving their loud sharp cry, and seemed possessed
of the idea that their homes were invaded by
some enemy. I looked around for the cause of
the extra excitement, and finally discovered that
a flicker had come in upon the lawn and was busy
satisfying what appeared to be a pretty large ap-
petite. He had selected a place only a few feet

BIRD PARADISE OTe)

from my study window and I had an excellent
opportunity of viewing the entire process at close
range. The long bill was thrust down into the
ground and kept in constant motion. I soon
saw that he depended upon the sense of touch in
securing his food. Evidently any resident of the
earth mansion that he came into contact with
furnished one of the viands of the feast. While
he was busy at his meal, one of the robins flew
full tilt against him, but without diverting
flicker’s attention in the slightest degree from the
special object he had in view. I doubt if the at-
tacks of other birds have any effect on flicker’s
course. The even tenor of his way is about
where he keeps, but what may happen. I never
see him long at a time without his showing that
he has a real and large sense of humor. At
least, so his way of doing seems to me. I think
he knows that he is always welcome to my small
domain.

Last evening I was quite sure I heard the spring
note of one of the early birds among the frogs.
It came up from the marsh beyond the cemetery,
and was most decidedly a genuine call of the
season. What a curious way the frogs have of
launching the boat in which they sail the sea of

100 6.BIRD PARADISE

life. In fact, I know of no forward movement
anywhere that is anything else but curious.
Three families of the frogs—counting the toads as
one—begin their career in the shifting house of
the water. I can understand the process of get-
ting the eggs into the liquid incubator, but how
hatching is brought about with all certainty lies
wholly out of my sphere of knowledge. I am
quite sure every egg hatches and occasionally I
get the notion that some of them hatch twice.
Stranger, however, than all else are the transfor-
mations that take place ere the young fellows
graduate as full-fledged adults in their respective
clans. Not the slightest resemblance exists in
form between the young and old of these curious
creatures. But somebody cares for them and they
come safely through all their perils and trials.
Once or twice I have met with the young toads,
when they were moving from the watery home.
Hundreds were in the throng, all of them eager to
get somewhere on the solid land. I give them
hearty welcome to my lawn and garden, know-
ing that their work among the insects is of large
value to tillers of the soil.

Years ago, one of our most common birds bore
the name of cow-bunting. They belonged to the

BIRD PARADISE 101

blackbird family and secured their full name
through a habit they had of gathering in small
flocks around the cows in the pasture. The ob-
ject of their friendship for the cows was the
increased opportunity it gave them of securing
their accustomed food. I have seen them often
on the old farm seated on the cows’ backs—the
animals evidently enjoying their bird guests’
company. Among our many birds the cow-
buntings are the only species that take no part
in rearing their young. They build no nests,
never pair like other birds, have no nuptial song,
in short, so live that they throw aside everything
that savors of the domestic life. I am sure such
a course gives a peculiar kind of character that
has but little in it that is attractive. Just how
these fellows moored their craft at such an an-
chorage I do not know. Neither do I know how
extensively it is practiced. I never have seen a
nest built by the cow-bunting, but I have seen
their eggs deposited in the nests of other birds,
always, I believe, in those of smaller size, a
scheme that shows some little sign of thoughtful-
ness. I am told that the yellow warbler on find-
ing the egg deposited in its nest will build a
new bottom, thus defeating the cowbird’s plan.
Some one states that he has seen two of these

1o2 BIRD PARADISE

guards interposed in the same nest. If it be not
reason, what is it ?

I do not recall a year when the wealth of robin
life was so pronounced as it is this spring. They
have come in large numbers and almost as soon
as they arrive they take up the duties of house-
keeping. Some writers say that the male birds
arrive first, the females following in three or four
days. This year, however, the birds seemed to
have been paired when they came. I suppose
that when the spring quota of birds is large it is
good evidence that all, or nearly all, of the birds
reared in this section last year have come back
to the old haunts. Sometimes all the birds of a
locality perish one way and another during the
winter migration. It usually takes three or four
years to restore the loss. Just here I notice from
my study window a pair of red-breasted fellows
putting grass and mud into place, shaping one
of their summer cottages. Both birds work at it
and both seem equally skilful. When they are
nest building I have a notion that they spend but
little time seeking the daily bread. It is all there
in the brown earth, suited exactly to their taste,
but they seem to bave no time or inclination to

BIRD PARADISE 103

seek it. A little later in the season, however,
they balance the books completely, scarcely doing
anything else but eat.

The dwellers on my smal] domain show many
traits of character that seem closely allied with
those of human nature. Each species of birds
conducts its affairs as though the title to the
entire lawn and garden was vested in that single
species. Of course such a condition is sure to
provoke somebody and that somebody is sure
to resent all such provoking. The battle spirit,
I notice, is fanned into a brighter flame just after
the young birds have left the nest. This morn-
ing a mother robin was putting forth large effort
to secure a miller that had strayed upon the
lawn. Catching insects on the wing is not robin’s
forte and yet he acts sometimes as though he was
not at all conscious of the fact. After quite a
little time of strenuous effort he managed to
secure the prize. While he was busy I noticed
an English sparrow equally busy in watching
him. Hardly had the first motion in the way of
dissecting the creature been made ere the spar-
row by a sudden movement snatched the prize
and darted away with it. Robin was too much

104 BIRD PARADISE

astonished to do anything but submit to the
affront with what grace he could command. The
English sparrow is given to these shrewd meth-
ods of replenishing his larder and, of course, the
other birds do not love to have it so.

I notice that during the dry weather the little
red ants that bore holes and build houses in the
hard trodden path are on duty, apparently, night
and day. I see them everywhere and I conclude
that almost any place where they can find footing
in the hard earth will furnish them with the
requisites of what they call home. Passing along
the streets of New Hartford last week, I saw in
the hard path the little circles of red earth in
the centre of which appeared the open door with
the stream of ants going in and out. Later in
the day, in the city of Utica, I saw the little fel-
lows on duty—putting the doors of their mansions
into the seams of the great flagging stones. Hun-
dreds of them are trodden on and killed every
day, but someway they keep their numbers
good. Of course in the city their supply of food
is much greater than in the country, and in the
main their home under the large stones is a safe
and roomy one. I am at a loss in determining
how these minute creatures can work their way

BIRD PARADISE 105

down into the hard earth, building houses there
that to them are abodes of light and cheer. The
old adage ‘‘many hands make light work’? tells
a part of the story, and ‘‘always at it’’ tells an-
other part, but the task seems larger than the
genius of the workmen can compass. Still, they
do compass it and in so doing write out one of
the parson’s great object lessons: ‘‘ Being and
doing at one’s best is getting there in the first
movement at the beginning and in all the move-
ments that follow on to the end, and there is no
end.”

The dry weather has been quite a burden to
many of my lawn tenants. Some of them are
furnished with means of defense which they use
freely. The earthworms laugh at the drought.
The hot and dry vie together and the surface of
the ground yields to their influence until there
is not a particle of moisture left in at least a foot
of the earth. The worms simply retire to the
cool rooms of their castle a little farther down,
and wait in comfort for the return of better days.
What a house it is that these fellows build !
Chambers everywhere, down five or six feet from
the surface of the ground. There are no other
plowmen like them. Our best workers stir and

106 )60on BIRD: PARADISE

pulverize the earth eighteen or twenty inches
deep ; these fellows multiply that depth three or
four times. I suppose they work night and day
at their task. But is it a task? I never have
seen anything on their part that seems to indi-
cate it. If it be work then it is play also, and
the spirit of such a combination is the very
laughter of living. Sufficient unto the day is
everything that belongs rightfully to the day is
a prominent article in the earthworm’s creed.

Nearly every day I make the acquaintance of
some creature in my lawn or garden that I have
not met before. This morning as I was inter-
viewing the potato-bugs, a member of the beetle
family came from somewhere, saying in his mild
mannered way that he was a tenant of my small
domain and would enjoy being a little better ac-
quainted with the proprietor. Of course I as-
sured him that I knew of no reason why he
should not have place in my inheritance and not
only place, but daily bread and all the protection
that such a home provided. He certainly car-
ried with him the attitude of a listener, though
I discovered no full assurance that he understood
the real meaning of the welcome. To the nat-
ural vision there is nothing very attractive in

BIRD PARADISE | 107

these creatures, but when I put him under my
glass he passed to a beauty of person everyway
attractive. Curious how the work of the Divine
artist becomes more and more beautiful the
closer we come to the secrets of its being. Each
new revelation entrances the beholder and also
gives sign of larger mysteries lying farther on.
I love the realm of mystery, not that the realm
of knowledge is without its satisfaction but the
condition ‘‘seen and unseen’’ is the very order
of being. In it my joy of living gets all its own
—in short, lives, dies, lives again. The crea-
tures that journey with me, how little I know of
what they hold as their own. But much, or
little, it is mine in being theirs and theirs in be-
ing mine.

I do not recall a season when the fireflies have
been so plentiful as they have been during the
past week. Usually they appear for a short
time in low, wet places in comparatively small
numbers. This year they are to be seen in every
direction, making some of the evenings quite
brilliant. What a curious furnishing itis. In
a certain direction it aids the insect, but at the
same time reveals him to his enemies. How full
life is of these contradictions, and how true the

108 BIRD PARADISE

passage of Browning reads, ‘‘ All our best inter-
ests are on the dangerous edge of things.’’ Tire-
fly has good command of his lantern. Easily he
flashes the light, and just as easily commands
the darkness. I half fancy, sometimes, that he
makes use of his extra furnishing to guide him
in his flight. Then, again, I get the notion that
the fellows are having a sort of Fourth of July,
or Old Home Week celebration. Each one lights
a bonfire and carries it around with him. If
there is any shouting I do not catch the ac-
cents. About all I get of the gathering is the
fireworks, and these last a good part of the night.
I rather enjoy looking out in the night and see-
ing these fellows going to and fro with their lan-
terns. They seem to be saying, ‘‘Sleep on,
parson, get a good rest, we will look after mat-
ters outside,’ and so far I have found their vigil
most efficient.

A sparrow-hawk ventured into my orchard
this week and not only failed to secure any prize,
but met with several strokes of adversity that
evidently he had not counted upon. From all I
could gather I conclude that he made a vigorous
attempt to bag one of the little chip sparrows
that was housekeeping in the corner apple tree.

BIRD PARADISE tog

I heard the commotion and soon discovered that
the fellow had not only missed his aim but was
made the mark of all the birds in this part of
the village. When I saw him he was rushing
hither and thither, a dozen birds and more help-
ing him to move with unusual celerity. Their
methods of attack varied. The robins flew full
tilt against him while the sparrows gave loose
rein to their voices, but keeping at a respectful
distance from their active enemy. The swallows
were the most venturesome. Some of the chim-
ney species went far up into the air, dropping
down upon the hawk much to the fellow’s dis-
comfort. After a few moments the hawk found
his bearings, and went rapidly off to the swamp
—no doubt glad to escape even though the feast
he had anticipated lacked its principal viand. I
know full well that the hawk is shaping his
course aright when he levies on his fellow birds,
making them contribute all that they are to sat-
isfy his needs, but at the same time I have a de-
cided feeling of pleasure when he fails to carry
out his plans.

Nearly all young swallows are now on the wing.
I notice frequently a family of the fellows sitting
quietly on the telephone wires, the children busy

110 BIRD PARADISE

learning the many duties of outdoor swallow life.
I have seen the old birds occasionally feed the
youngsters as they flewby. Likeall other young
birds they are more conscious of hunger the first
week of outdoor life than they are of anything
else. What a perfect movement the swallow uses
as he passes to and fro on the wing. I never tire
of watching them and the one I see last is the one
I fancy is excelling all others. The young of the
barn and eave swallows I never have known to
tumble from the nest until they were ready to use
their wings nicely. The children of the chimney
swallow have quite a different experience. It is
not an unusual thing with them to end their first
journey from the home nest at the bottom of the
chimney. With them, however, it is not a
serious matter. They easily clamber up the sides
of the chimney and soon emerge from the top
none the worse for the first trip into the region
below. Next month they all start on their long
journey to the far South, giving us no more of
their company until another spring.

I notice that the killdeers are gathering in
small flocks. Their annual housekeeping has had
its day and the wider community life has taken
its place. Curious how easily the home life is set

BIRD PARADISE Ill

aside and the new introduced. The children of
the family roam far and wide, apparently entirely
divorced from all home ties. One would very
naturally conclude that they would grow stronger
with the passing of the days. There is every in-
dication during the helpless days of the young
birds that the relations of the family are steadily
increasing in strength. This continues until the
nestlings are equipped to care for themselves.
That point reached all home relations are sundered
as with a single stroke. In fact, it seems to set
aside with all species of birds very largely the
real affection that appears so strong during the
nesting season. The flocks that are now gather-
ing will increase in size until they enter upon the
flight southward next month. We saw the dif-
ferent species of plover passing the winter on the
plains of Oklahoma. Among them the killdeer
had place as a stirring and attractive member.
Sometimes when we were out on our long jour-
neys we levied on these flocks for a portion of our
supply of food and found it a most appetizing
addition to the sometimes scanty stock.

Occasionally I hear a call from high in the air,
telling of a company of water-fowl passing on their
way northward. Geese and ducks are both now

112 BIRD PARADISE

on the wing and I hardly know which can make
its call heard the greatest distance. The ducks I
think are quite apt to do more talking than the
geese, though both are pretty sure to be heard
most of the time. Two or three times in my boy-
hood I was present when a party of travelers
were lost in a dense fog. Once it was in the early
morning, before it was hardly light enough to
discern objects very clearly. I heard the rush of
wings, and the loud calls, the entire flock tossing
about in the old orchard, apparently wild with
fright. In and out among the trees they went,
some of them almost fanning me with their wings.
For several minutes they wandered back and forth
from the pasture to the orchard, a really ludicrous
sight. Finally the sun broke through the fog,
giving the fellows the cue to where they were, and
what they needed to do. The leader took his
place, the others quickly following his example,
and the entire flock was soon on its way none the
worse for the misadventure of afew minutes. In
my boyhood the fall and spring migrations of the
ducks and geese were large, great flocks passing,
sometimes, for several days in succession. Fre-
quently they stopped for an hour or two on our
ponds and streams, giving the local sportsmen a
chance to bag a goodly number.

BIRD PARADISE - 113

Our water birds seem to be all here. How
quietly the creatures come and go in their migra-
tions. Someway I think this class of birds move
in their accustomed places with the least appear-
ance of display of all our feathered friends.
About all I know of their leaving us is that they
are gone, and when they return in the spring to
their Northern haunts when I first see them they
are fully domiciled, no signs perceptible of their
ever having been away. Downattheswamp side
I hear the whistle of the woodcock, the sharper
notes of the snipes, the loud call of the killdeer,
and the softer strains of thelittle tip-up. Linter-
view them and each has his own story to tell and
he tells it well. Mr. Woodcock, the largest bird
of the family, I usually see on the wing, though
frequently I find him busy in a marshy place,
securing his daily bread. He has a scheme of
thrusting his long bill down into the soft mold
and by the sense of touch uncovering his food.
He must secure a large supply, for he always has
the appearance of a well-kept bird. The snipe
has many of the woodcock’s habits and is a good
second to many of his ways. The killdeer comes
out into the open fields, and is quite a master of
rapid flight. I saw a small flock this week pass-

114 BIRD PARADISE

ing high in the air—uttering frequently their loud
clear call. Perhaps the most interesting of all
our water birds is the littlesandpiper. From his
frequent use of the word tip-up, we have given him
that as his local name. In two or three places in
the swamp there are sandy places where the
tip-ups enjoy what I should term their many
games. They are expert in these games, I am
sure, and frequently an encore of mine closes a
contest that looks like a great neighborhood
gathering.

I noticed that the robins engaged in nest build-
ing about as soon as they arrived in their North-
ern home. Mud, one of the principal materials
for the nest, they find now in abundance. Dried
grass also abounds, but perhaps the chief reason
for the unusual haste lies in the fact that the sea-
son is a little late. Then, too, they really have
nothing else to do. So far as I can see they have,
on their arrival, settled all the preliminaries of
housekeeping, and of course the house after that
is the first thing needed. I have no particular
admiration for the robin as a house builder. I
suppose he does the best he knows, and that is as
high as the imperfect ever reaches. Just now I

BIRD PARADISE 115

notice that the song sparrow is busy shaping a
mansion which is really a work of art. On the
swinging branch of one of my evergreens the
foundation of the house is laid. What a marvel-
ous cup itis! But the adorning of the inner walls
is the marvel of this bird palace. The long fine
hairs are woven in until it seems like a fairy
home, born some way out of the very heart of na-
ture. It is not at all strange that the author of it
all should secure thereby the name of hair bird.
Among the songs of our early birds I fancy there
is no other that ranks quite as high as that of our
chippy friend. I am quite apt to regard it as
No. 1 among the sparrow melodies.

My neighbor tells me that a pair of hen-hawks
have put their nest in a large tree in the Birming-
ham swamp. Just how they keep their incubator
warm enough in this cool weather to hatch the
hawk chickens is a problem with the parson.
The nest is loosely constructed and even though
the old birds alternate in keeping the house warm
it would seem as though the venture would be a
failure. In my boyhood the swamp covered many
acres of land east of the village. Several of the
hawks’ nests were built there every season. Part

116 BIRD PARADISE

of the boys’ regular pastime was climbing ‘the
great trees for an interview with the hawk house-
hold. Several times we tried the experiment of
domesticating one of the young birds, but never
with any great success. Even when we had grad-
uated the bird as a real member of the farm fam-
ily he never became very domestic in his be-
havior. The young crow repaid us for all the
trouble we had with him in living such a humor-
ous, jolly life that his presence was always quite
enjoyable. The hawk never seemed to be quite
at home in a domestic state. He was built for
the wild and he seemed to know it, and I remem-
ber we were quite well satisfied when he took
wing and sailed away.

One of my bird parishioners that interests me
without being very attractive is the little fly-
catcher. He has some of the traits of his race
and some that are peculiarly his own. One of
his habits keeps him before the public every mo-
ment of his waking time. Several times a min-
ute he expresses his feelings in a metallic voice
that once heard is not easily forgotten. His rai-
ment is plain, no bright colors being allowed.
His form is that borne by his family, beauty hav-
ing not been considered when he was given being.

NII) Avagsoyy

BIRD PARADISE = 117

After the housekeeping duties have once been
assumed the male bird seems to consider it an im-
portant part of his duty to scold vigorously every
other bird that comes within range of his voice.
I have noticed that the oriole seems to give the
little fellow a stir-up that rouses all his ire. Let
the notes of the bright-colored bird sound through
my lawn, and flycatcher makes reply that lacks
nothing in sharpness. The other birds as a rule
pay no attention to the little fellow, none of them

apparently taking him seriously. Curious how
"the way one is considered by his fellows makes
itself felt in the character. My little friend, pro-
testing with all his might, grows red in the face
as no one pays the slightest attention to what he
is doing. He keeps the fires burning, however,
and grows into a stout complainer that hasn’t a
particle of influence with anybody. His work
among the flies is the saving clause in his record.
His appetite seems to crave anything in the shape
of an insect, hundreds passing his way daily.
Unlike many other species of birds, I have never
known but one pair to nest in a given locality the
same season.

On Tuesday morning I saw the first oriole of
the season. His hearty whistle from the maples

118 BIRD PARADISE

in the churchyard told of his presence, and a lit-
tle later his full song given in the old apple tree
close to the rectory rehearsed the whole story.
How fresh and bright his new suit appeared, and
how his whistle seemed to give a stir-up to all the
bird life that came under its influence. My little
flycatcher had an attack of rage instantly. Such
scolding as he indulged in seems to be an accom-
plishment all hisown. Oriole paid no attention
to the tirade, but went about his regular business
in a matter-of-fact way which insured its being
well done. No other bird rivals him in nest
building. He seems to have a real genius for this
kind of architecture, and expresses it in the deed
with wonderful skill. How deftly he hangs the
structure to the swaying limbs, and when once
secured, with what rare finish he weaves and
shapes his mansion. No other nest quite like it,
and none that shelters the little brood in greater
safety. Three or four of these oriole houses are
built in our village every season.

When the time came for the last member of
the class to appear on the stage, he seemed a
little dazed by the unusual performances of his
fellows. He clambered up to the door of the

BIRD PARADISE I1g

flicker temple, took a long view of the outside
world, then retreated to the remotest corner of
the place. The second attempt was more suc-
cessful. He stepped boldly out, and after bal-
ancing a few moments on a near-by limb, went
forward without a moment’s hesitation. How
nicely he met all the calls of the moment. Out
over the lawn, right toward the rectory, his
flight of flicker oratory lifted him to the broad
porch. Here he took his stand and after survey-
ing his surroundings for a moment there came a
clear, ringing shout of victory. Without any
question his effort bore off the prize of the day.
The happy faculty of the institution seemed to
so consider it and the hand-shaking which fol-
lowed was fully up to the commencement stand-
ard. The entire afternoon was given up to a
reception that was every way first-class. Feast-
ing, speeches, songs, calls, dancing in the broad
house of the summer air, how merrily each flicker
took his part. When the day was measured, the
sentiment of the entire assemblage gave voice, in
a most resonant ‘‘ well done.”? The next day the
halls of the bird university were silent, nothing
more of flicker education to be known there
until the advent of a new class in the coming
year.

120 BIRD PARADISE

Most of the bobolinks have left us and are
journeying toward the South. I saw a flock this
morning high in the air gaily pushing on their
way. The monotonous chirp was all the sound
they uttered and that they kept up while they
were within hearing. The male birds have
dropped their distinctive coloring, and the en-
tire tribe appears in its common, sober brown
dress. What an experience they will have from
this time on to next spring! Perfectly free to
go and come at will, plenty of food always at
their command, nothing to do but live and enjoy
life, it would seem that they might rank with
the happiest of the happy. In a measure they
do, but the vicissitudes of life company with
them wherever they go. After they leave the
North they lose largely all legal protection.
When they reach the rice fields of the South they
become real pests to the farmers of that section
and in self-defense the farmers are obliged to
wage war upon them. Thousands are killed and
used for food. About the first of January they
come to the waters of the Gulf. Here they tarry
for a little time, then launch out for their ulti-
mate destination in South America. Here they
spend a few weeks on the great plains—entirely

BIRD PARADISE 121

removed from all sights and sounds of civiliza.
tion. Just how they know when to start north-
ward again I have not discovered, but they do
know, and as surely as May comes the bobolinks
appear fully equipped for the summer’s campaign.

The courage of the little sparrow-hawk is
hardly excelled by any member of his large
family. The other morning I was busy in my
garden when suddenly a great commotion in the
orchard attracted my attention. Thirty or forty
birds of all species were participants in the up-
roar, the noise increasing until I felt quite sure
all birddom was celebrating a real Fourth of July.
Just at this juncture I discovered a little spar-
row-hawk, dashing out into the field beyond the
garden. I saw he carried an extra burden, and
a little later found that he had picked up one of
the young robins on my lawn. The birds pur-
sued him, making his course anything but pleas-
ant. He dropped down on the farther end of the
garden, but found that his troubles had only just
begun. The attacking party grew more and more
excited. They tumbled over the hawk almost
in a body. Again he tried to escape by flight,
but the birds kept with him, and the last I saw

122 BIRD PARADISE

of the party they were far over by the swamp,
where, no doubt, Mr. Hawk finally escaped with
his prize. I felt like interfering but concluded
on the whole to let the birds manage their own
affairs. ‘‘Is there a place where the creatures
will live, without preying upon one another ?”’

The great seams of deep ravines opening down
the slope, each holding a rippling brook, and
each a stroke among the hills, made when the
“morning stars first sang together,” ah! how
they seem to call to each other across the broad
slope, ‘‘The hand that made us is divine.” The
great hemlocks on their rugged sides are the
green pastures of the wood, all the year through,
and when the winter gale searches their high
places, the harp of the forest yields its richest
notes. But what shall we say of the life that
nestles everywhere in these broad aisles? On
the trees and in the trees, under the leaves, just
at the surface of the ground, and deep down in
the earth, life in a myriad forms revels and goes
forward. All the new experiences are so much
new life, and all the new life is the old trans-
figured. ‘‘ Paradise regained’’ starts with para-
dise, and moves on to paradise,—all of it that

BIRD PARADISE 123

blessed ‘‘hath” to which all is given. Bird
Paradise, as I see it, at any time, at all times,
is the ‘‘house beautiful” always building, never
built.

I conclude, from what I see and hear, that at
least two families of the large hen-hawks have
nested in the cedar swamp east of the village. I
hear their clear calls every pleasant day and
usually see them soaring high in the air. I have
thought that this species of hawk was gradually
lessening in numbers, but this year, and last also,
there appears to be a setting of the tide in the
opposite direction. They have some virtues,
though they are not well pronounced. Hawk
virtue savors of the quarry from whence it is
hewn and needs considerable pruning before it
can be given much of a place among the good
things of time. The old birds seem to live a sort
of solitary life. Their predatory habits alienate
them from all friendship with other birds. Ilike
the way this bird defends his home castle. Un-
like other birds he makes no noise aboutit. His
blows come first, and they are hearty and vigor-
ous. I remember an occasion when I was watch-
ing a nest of them in the old swamp years ago.

124 BIRD PARADISE

A party of crows were foraging on the upland just
beyond. Something disturbed them and they
came lumbering into the swamp in their heavy
way. One of them dropped down into the very
tree where the nest was, nearly into the nest it-
self. He had no sooner struck the spot than‘the
father of the callow brood struck him. He
tumbled over and kept tumbling over, the hawk
rendering all the assistance he could. The
sounds the discomfited crow uttered are nowhere
written in the vernacular of Croker’s tongue.
The order of his going had no stay in it until he
was well out of the woods. The entire flock took
their departure with him, the hawk remaining
master of the field.

Passing near the Bailey swamp I discovered
a marsh-hawk, evidently preparing his midday
meal. Somewhere in the marsh he had picked up
a savory morsel and when I saw him he was seated
on a limb dissecting and eating his prize.
Among our many species of hawks this fellow
that dwells in the marshy places is in many
respects the most interesting. He has many of
the characteristics of his large family, though in
the main he seems of a more genial temperament

BIRD PARADISE 125

than most of his fellows. His cupboard which
includes the entire swamp where he dwells is al-
ways well filled with a great variety of food.
From what I have seen I conclude that among
the smaller creatures that live there he classes
them all as welcome parts of his daily bread.
This hawk is quite apt to take excursions in the
night, being closely allied in some of its habits
with the common barn-owl. It puts its nest on
the ground or in a tussock of grass, taking care to
select a location well surrounded by water. I
enjoy the easy movements of the marsh-hawk as
he goes to and fro over his watery domain. The
other day I was watching one that seemed to be
out for a little pastime when suddenly hestopped
and dropped down to the bog and when he arose
again bore a large frog in his talons. I have
seen once or twice a party of crows invade the
precincts of this hawk’s summer home. Their
coming to the place is the signal for the most
vigorous action on the part of the hawk, the
crows tumbling over each other in their eagerness.

I heard the call of the cuckoo this week. He
is the last comer of all our birds and does not
seem to have a friend outside of his own house-

126 BIRD PARADISE

hold among the entire host of birds. He al-
ways goes neatly dressed, and glides around among
the trees very much like the catbird. We have
two species, known as the black billed and the
yellow billed cuckoos. In general appearance
they are so much alike that one cannot tell the
difference only by close inspection. From what
I see of these birds I conclude that they are fully
entitled to the dislike of their fellow birds.
Their sly, gliding movements are a very fair in-
dex of their character. Audubon gives them a
name that is not at all to their credit. He says
they not only lay their eggs in the nests of other
birds but they suck their eggs and kill the young.
I never have seen them engaged in these vandal
acts, but from what I know of their habits I am
prepared to believe that they are fully competent
to show some bad behavior. Their call is
broken and abrupt—a sort of breaking forth of
the heat in sound. In my boyhood a pair of
them nested in the large barberry bush on the old
farm every year. I remember we gave them
what fellowship we could, but they acted as
though they cared little for it. I notice that with
birds, as well as with men, the stroke of the will,
made large enough, shapes all the character.
Cuckoo wills the hurt of his fellows, and soon finds

BIRD PARADISE 127

his hand against every man and every man’s hand.
against him.

Of all the smaller birds that visit my lawn the
small flycatcher seems to be the most demonstra-
tive in asserting his presence and proclaiming his
wants. He has a metallic voice that he uses
without much intermission, during all his wak-
ing moments. He seems to regard himself as one
of the magnates of the bird world. Other birds,
however, accord him very doubtful prominence.
His appearance is the signal for a sort of indiffer-
ence on the part of his fellow birds that is quite
noticeable. Just as soon as a pair of these fly-
catchers establish their summer home the male
bird is organized into a vigilance committee that
leaves no stone unturned in doing his entire duty.
The tone of his metallic voice is gauged to a key
and manner of the genuine scold. The presence
of any other bird opens the flood-gates of the fel-
low’s feelings and the protest that follows is
belligerent in every particular. The oriole seems
to be his special dislike, so much so that I havea
notion that the brilliant-colored fellow has in
some way vented his spleen on his smaller brother.
Of course the robins and blackbirds receive their

128 BIRD PARADISE

share of the flycatcher’s attention, but it is not
quite so sharp-edged as that which he bestows
upon the oriole. How the diminutive body beare
the stroke of his abrupt call all day long without
being utterly worn out is a problem. In the
realm of our innumerable flies the flycatcher does
himself honor and performs a work that cannot
be overvalued. I have a notion that the fellow’s
eye can detect a fly that is too minute for the
human sight to discover. I have watched them
many times and was quite sure from the snapping
of the bill that the flies were passing in goodly
numbers, though I was not able to see any of
them. Asa scavenger of the air our small friend
shows a redeeming trait that goes far in restoring
him to the good graces of the parson.

Tuesday was a very perfect spring day. Its
warmth and beauty lured the parson to a long
walk far afield. The first sign of creature life
that I saw were myriads of small flies that
seemed to have just entered upon the journey of
life. There were many species and all intensely
active. I had the notion that once well out in
the fields I should get entirely clear of the com-
mon house-fly, but the fact was that I only

BIRD PARADISE 129

seemed to get a little more right where he was.
Curious that the fellow seemed glad to see me
when I had no shadow of friendly greeting for
him. The minute fellows that I could only see
as the sunlight was reflected from their wings
were in such numbers all along the swamp side
that it could be truly said they filled the air.
What a feasting place for the flycatchers who
will be with us a little later. At the brook side
I stopped for a time to hear the song it sings
when the spring storms swell the volume of its
waters. I had seen it a thousand times before,
but this morning it was practically a new brook.
The sun’s rays played with the ripples, shaping
a variety of shadows—every one seemingly alive.
In one place the long spears of sedge grass
swayed from side to side like living creatures.
Their shadows on the gravel of the channel gave
them the appearance of gems of ‘“‘ purest ray
serene.” Just at the crossing in the old road-
way I sat for a little time, and to my astonish-
ment and delight the water spiders made their
appearance. There were a pair of them to look
at, the same fellows I used to see there in my
boyhood. How easily they walked over the sur-
face of the water. I half fancied that they were
moved by the desire to show the parson how

130 BIRD PARADISE

easily they could pass and repass on the shifting
element under their feet. Rising to go, my
shadow was thrown across the brook and in-
stantly the spiders dropped to the bottom and
disappeared among the stones.

I notice that the hawks of different species
seem to enjoy the swamp scenery better than
that of any other locality in our hill country ; at
least their action seems to warrant that conclu-
sion. Yesterday I saw a pair leisurely tossing
about over the marsh just east of the village.
They belonged to the species known as marsh-
hawks, in some respects the most interesting of
the large hawk family. How easily and grace-
fully they move to and fro on their broad wings.
It certainly looked like an hour of pastime, though
there was every indication that they had an eye
for business. Quite a variety of food was pre-
sented for their choice and they improved the
opportunity offered to the best of their ability.
I am quite sure they picked up some frogs and
in one instance a field-mouse was added to the
menu for the day. I fancy the hawks really
enjoy their hunting expeditions. Success quick-
ens the blood in hawks as well asinmen. Espe-
cially so when the effort is stimulated by hunger.

BIRD PARADISE 131

In the bird it may not be less than a virtue and
in the man ranks the same if it be rightly used.

A fine specimen of a male bobolink came into
my lawn this week and stayed some little time.
During part of the visit he was quite close to the
porch and seemed really disposed to make the
parson understand that he meant to be especially
friendly. I do not recall an instance where a
member of this family put himself into such fa-
miliar relations with the human brother. If he
had his song with him he did not use it, neither
did he open his mouth to say anything of why he
was making such an unusual visit. From all
that he did not say, however, I received the im-
pression that the fellow had been grossly mis-
used. Very likely a hawk or some wandering
fox had visited his home and he only was left to
tell the story of wreck and ruin. . What trage-
dies there are in bird life! Every day they occur
and it is only a few of the large number that we
ever hear of. After an hour or two the fellow
went his way, carrying with him my warmest
sympathy, though I know it was very doubtful
if he knew what it meant. This certainly is al-
ways true, that true sympathy extended always

132 BIRD PARADISE

does the sympathizer good whatever the effect
may be on the one that it is intended to reach.

I am now receiving visits from the warblers
who have spent the summer in the far North.
The little worm eating warbler was the first to
pay his respects to the parson, and he did it
handsomely, as all his family do. I saw him
first gliding up one of the long limbs of the
larches. How easily he threaded his way, just
as much at home on the under side of the limb
as on the upper. Evidently it was his dinner
hour, the feast not limited in the least by time
or quantity. Curious how birds keep so well,
eating almost without intermission during the
day. I see by the books that this warbler is
given the range as far north as southern New
York. I wonder if the books are correct. The
birds I see answer to the description of the war-
bler in every particular and I see them only in
the fall and spring. I never have seen their
nests but am told they are built on the ground
and resemble very closely that of the oven bird.
It speaks in audible tones very seldom and at its
best uses but little that is very musical. My
visitor stayed an hour or two and I should think

BIRD PARADISE 133

managed to secure several score of grubs in that
time.

Passing near the swamp thicket this morning I
was greeted cheerily by the song of the thrush.
It came out of the coverts so smoothly and sweetly
that one wondered how such a place could yield
such music. It was the stirring trill of Mr.
Thrush at his very best. What a songit is and
how it commands the attention of all the denizens
of the wood. I noticed that when it was given
utterance the other singers were silent. Very
likely the clear ripple of the notes was so bright
and entrancing that no others could be given a
moment’s thought. Usually the singing of one
of these birds is answered by another from some
point near by. I waited for the response and
half fancied at times that it was in the air, but
none was made. The lack of response, however,
had no perceptible effect upon the singer. He
went on and seemed entirely satisfied in having
the parson for a listener. The nest, no doubt,
was hidden away in the thicket, the young being
now nearly ready to shift for themselves. It has
occurred to me that if the young birds could only
shape and use the song of the species it would add
much to the attractiveness of our groves. We

134 BIRD PARADISE

have four species that are common here—all of
them fine singers.

I saw on my recent journey south quite a
number of hawks, large and small. They were
far enough south to escape the snow, and seemed
entirely at home. One large hen-hawk was en-
gaged in the pastime of soaring high in the air.
It was a bright, clear day, and the fellow ap-
peared to be enjoying every moment of his out-
ing. Not far from him were two or three turkey-
buzzards—first-class rivals of the hawks in the
art of soaring. With clear fields and warm
weather I could readily understand that the con-
dition of my old acquaintances was greatly im-
proved over their winter condition at the North.
But I could not help propounding the question,
‘ Will these bare fields yield the fellows any large
supply of food?’’ The thick grass carpet which
we have at the North is not seen at the South.
With us this carpet furnishes the favorite resort
for innumerable bugs, grubs and mice. The
hawks know this fact and rely upon the supply
for the main part of their food. Of course in the
winter the doors of this great cupboard are all
tightly shut. In the South they are all wide

BIRD PARADISE 135

open, so far as the place itself is concerned, but
the carpet being entirely absent, there is no cover
for creatures of any kind. Doubtless there are
other retreats for the fellows, but I have the no-
tion that the fields of the South are not the pro-
lific home of the smaller creatures such as I have
named above. I noticed a small sparrow-hawk
prospecting in the immediate vicinity of several
negro cabins. He dropped down into one of the
yards, and I thought secured a luckless sparrow.
As we passed down the river from Wilmington I
noticed a small conference of the buzzards gath-
ered about some dead creature that the receding
tide had left above the water line. Two or three
hawks and as many crows took their departure
when the buzzards came upon the scene. A large
amount of food is furnished every day from the
river and ocean. The keen sight of all the birds
named above is simply wonderful. They quickly
discover the dead as well as the living animals,
and are certainly adepts in appropriating the de-
licious viands offered them.

In my boyhood several species of owls were
common here. The great hollow trees of the
wood furnished them with homes entirely to their

136 BIRD PARADISE

liking. The trees are all gone and most of the
owls also. I occasionally see the small screech-
owl, but rarely any other. As a boy I well re-
member hearing the calls of the larger owls in
the great ravine of Bird Paradise. They often
gave them in the daytime and we sometimes saw
the staid fellows in the great openings of the trees.
At one time a family of owls dwelt in the old farm
wood, that indulged in unusual hoots and calls.
Occasionally they would give a sound like the
tolling of a bell, especially solemn on the evening
of a calm summer day. I half fancied that the
fellows were holding some sort of service, and
that the bell sounding was a call to the gathering.
Another fancy of mine was that the great horned
owl was a sort of father and all around adviser
among the birds of the wood. A slight increase
of knowledge, however, dissipated all such crude
ideas and left the owl barren of any particularly
ornamental or useful traits of character. One
thing, however, the owls made most familiar:
they were lovers of the dark, and we were early
taught that with such belonged the deeds that are
evil.

The haleyon days for the minute insects are
mostly measured in the fall of the year. The

BIRD PARADISE 137

sunny, dry afternoons they enjoy in the true in-
sect manner. The little gossamer spider is among
the most interesting of the great host. I was over
at the old farm the other day and strolled down
to the hillside near Bird Paradise. At first I
thought the little fellows were not on duty. A
little later, however, the company assembled and
surely I never saw it larger. Out from the fence
and bushes the silver threads streamed with a
minute spider at the end of each one. There were
thousands in sight from where I stood, and every
fence and bush in our hill country was presenting
the same scene. The threads and the insects can
only be seen when the sun’s rays are reflected by
them. Curious how the thread is spun from the
little body—the creature letting it buoy him up
as the spinning goes on. Curious, too, how it can
all be wound up again and used over and over.
Down at the swamp side I lingered, hoping to see
another friend of my boyhood days, and sure
enough there the fellow was, seemingly the same
I saw sixty years ago. The little pool of water
enticed the boy again, and there on the surface
of the water was the happy boatman, just as I
saw him in my boyhood, —the water-spider, walk-
ing over the water as easily as some of his kin
walk over the smooth surface of the wall. I take

138 BIRD PARADISE

the old seat and watch the little creature. It goes
to and fro, sinking to the bottom at will, a verita-
ble wizard of navigation. Master of his craft in
his appointed sphere, lacking nothing, so I sit at
his feet sure that I am listening to one of nature’s
great preachers.

The growth of the present season, I think, I
have never seen equaled. My garden apparently
has not lost a moment since it entered upon the
race last spring. I find it necessary to visit it
several times a day in order to keep abreast of
its forward march. At times I fancy there is a
well-ordered contest between the different vege-
tables. Those that revel in vines seem to have
the advantage. A squash vine has pushed its
way so vigorously that it is already twenty-five
feet on its march and the end is not yet. Here
and there it has camped, leaving a memento of
the stay in a squash of no mean proportions.
The wise heads of the place are the lettuce and
cabbage. If they nod at all it is when I am look-
ing the other way. Just now the early potatoes
are proving their worth in the test that is the
proof of the pudding. What delicious balls of
fluffy white they present when they are bringing,

BIRD PARADISE 139

as they do, the best bow the garden can make.
But the variety of leaves that appear in the dif-
ferent growths is a sort of school that I enjoy
attending. Each has its own way of telling what
it is, and each is fashioned after a pattern ‘‘ seen
in the mount.’? Why not a revelation—every
leaf, every vegetable, all the growth of things
unseen? Why not a school replete with law and
gospel ?

I have seen it stated that the rose-breasted
grosbeak, whenever the opportunity offers, feasts
upon the potato-bugs. How true the statement
is I do not know, but if the fact be as stated it
does seem as though the fellow’s taste had gotten
largely astray. Of course I have no real concep-
tion of the flavor of this species of bug. It may
be of a luscious character and'no doubt the bird
so regards it. The potato-bugs are scarce this
year and as a matter of fact so are the grosbeaks.
Like other birds, the fellow may go where he
finds his favorite food abundant. By the way,
what a curious package of life the potato-bug
is. I know of but one attractive thing in his
make-up. He wears a suit that shows a stroke
of color all right. Otherwise he seems like a soft

140 BIRD PARADISE

pulpy lump of matter that never is quite so
happy as when gorging himself on a stalk of a
potato vine. Grosbeak may show some defect of
relish by using the fellow for food, but if he does
it is about the only defect I know in the bird.
Among our wood birds he ranks high in both
song and appearance. The nest he constructs,
while not first-class, serves his purpose hand-
somely. The song is a warble that feels its
course along the aisles of the wood in a way
most attractive. In fact it is one of the delight-
ful songs among the wood melodies. I think they
extend the season of song longer than any other
of our wood birds.

I saw near the swamp last week a bright crim-
son colored fly. It was perhaps half larger than
the common house-fly, and appeared to be just
entered upon the life of the spring season. What
a singular provision it is that graduates the fly
in full dress, thoroughly furnished for all the
good work that he seems ready to engage in.
This fellow was just a little dazed by the glamor
of the new world upon which he had so recently
entered. He would climb a spear of grass and,
balancing himself at the top, spread and shake

BIRD PARADISE 141

his wings as though he were testing his new
capacities before he ventured to use them. With
the glass I readily saw that his new suit was
ornamented with a variety of colors, though he
seemed quite unconscious of the fact. I saw, all
about, where the crows had been, and congrat-
ulated Mr. Fly on his good fortune of being
hatched a little too late for their early visit. I
looked about for the fellow’s native place, but
did not discover it unless a little cavity at the
base of a decayed stump was the spot. I saw
several other species of flies—all of them accom-
panied by a retinue of their fellows, but this one
paddled his own canoe without fear or favor of
any of his kind. After a brief space of balanc-
ing and warming he set the entire machine of his
powers in motion. To his evident surprise all
went well with him and the last I saw of his
retreating form he was well out over the marsh—
gaming new confidence with every stroke of his
wings. I could but moralize something like this :
Here is an exposition older than any man has
devised. He who made it all keeps it open and
keeps it in order right through the ages. On
every side are things and creatures, millions of
them, each one a marvel of construction and
beauty, in almost every respect. What else is it

142 BIRD PARADISE

but a Jamestown of wonders, its myriad doors
ever wide open to him who lingers there with
eyes to see and ears to hear?

I notice in my garden a great number of small
toads. The little fellows do not look large enough
to take care of themselves, but they seem to get
along very well. A few days ago they left their
home in the water and came out upon the land.
I have seen them making the venture in com-
panies of a hundred or more, all intent on finding
a location that they can regard as home. What
a curious instinct it is which leads them out of
the water home and establishes them in the snug-
gery on the land. Who would imagine that the
curious thing hatched in the water would ever
become a toad? The name tadpole or pollywog
seems to represent the newcomer very nicely. :
‘¢Pretty much all head and tail’? was what the
boy said when he first saw one of the fellows.
For weeks they swim about in the water, furnish-
ing food for the fish and many water birds. When
the time arrives the great change occurs. The
tail disappears, the legs are put in place and a
new spirit takes possession of the fellow. He
hies away to a new world and in a sense drops
all the knowledge that his experience in the water

BIRD PARADISE 143

house has given him. I suppose their food is the
minute flies which are found in the grass in im-
mense numbers. If the weather be warm, as it
is this season, most any place in the lawn or
garden will serve as an abiding spot. They grow
quite rapidly for the first season, but I conclude
are several years in obtaining their growth. It
is a tradition in our hill country that they live to
a great age and doubtless the idea is in the main
correct. From what I see I infer that the crows
make the young toad a favorite article of food.
It is a little difficult to understand how such a
creature can be a very savory morsel. The toad’s
work in the garden catching flies commends him
highly. He is a first-class helper in securing
good vegetables.

Among the diligent workers that dwell in the
fastnesses of my lawn, I should give high
rank to the burying beetles. Their right to the
name is secured by askill and diligence as workers
that are quite remarkable. Frequently on the
old farm in my boyhood we would come upon the
fellows pushing one of their ventures that meant
food for the entire tribe for weeks to come. How
they find the dead creature that they bury so
nicely is an unsolved problem with the parson.

1444 BIRD PARADISE

I have known the pioneer of the band to appear
in a very few minutes after a young chicken had
died. In a short time others would arrive—all
bringing their burying tools with them, and all
getting right to work just as soon as they arrived.
Little by little they remove the dirt from under
the body, letting it down gradually until it is well
below the surface of the ground. Then they
tumble the particles of earth on the upper side
until the treasure is entirely covered. The time
of the task may take many days, but when done
it is certainly well done. The food which one
creature repels is the favorite article of diet with
another. The beetles enjoy with keen relish the
food that is only made savory to them by corrup-
tion. The eggs are deposited where the larvee
as soon as hatched can feed upon the buried
body. The beetle to the ordinary vision seems
quite devoid of beauty, but when I put him under
my magnifying glass a new creature appears.
‘‘ He hath made all things beautiful in his time’?
is verified completely when we see things, “‘ not
through a glass darkly, but face to face.”

The other morning I discovered a piece of meat
dropped by some one at the side of the road. A

BIRD PARADISE 145

single blue fly was investigating the prize, not an-
other of his fellows being insight. Returning
about two hours later I found the single fly
multiplied by at least two hundred. Where did
they all come from and how did they learn of the
feast spread for them? I think their system of
conveying news must be wonderfully efficient.
But the number assembled on the occasion noted
above was simply astonishing. They must have
been dwellers in the grass of the field near by and
doubtless the company I saw was only a corporal’s
guard of the vast number on duty in the wide
country. They may do harm as our wise men
tell us, and certainly they are not very agreeable
companions, but there is the other side of the
matter. The things they feed upon are of that
character which would be injurious in many ways
if they were not removed. The fly is ascavenger
of large value, and until we have a better system
of preventing his increase we shall need him for
the good he does.

If what the toad now says corresponds with
what he does then it conveys the single idea of
winter quarters. Under the clinging vines at the
side of the barn a venerable specimen of this

146 BIRD PARADISE

ancient family has passed the summer. He
makes his presence known by certain utterances
that surely have nothing pleasing in sound, and
so far as my knowledge extends are not freighted
with valuable meaning. Mr. Toad doubtless is
more fully informed and in his own way enjoys
his special knowledge. I notice the fellow makes
full preparation for the winter some time before
the chilly blasts are exerting their influence. I
frequently find them nicely tucked away a foot or
more down from the surface of the ground, early
in October. It occurs to me that as the fellow is
situated with nothing special to do, it is a nice
arrangement if he can fold his hands and set the
long winter sleep in motion. The secret of when
to begin, however, belongs to the toad and will, I
judge, for all the coming years. I know of no
creature that counts the full grown toad as a
special viand at its feasts. The young fellow is
used, but the old fellow never! Early in the
spring the toad puts its eggs into the incubator
furnished by the pond, and I have the notion that
all the eggs hatch. The parent’s form does not
appear in the young toad. A few weeks spent in
the water, however, graduates the entire family in
full toad dress, ready for the summer campaign.
Half of them, I judge, fall a prey to hawks and

BIRD PARADISE 147

crows during the first summer. In fact only a
few, comparatively, reach the full adult size.

The dry warm weather does not quite suit the
toad citizens of our hill country. They prefer
more moisture and I judge are not over fond of
the heated term. I have not seen a member of
the family for several weeks. The last one I met
was stopping under one of my large cabbages, and
seemed a good deal annoyed when I lifted the
great leaves and looked in upon the house and its
household of one. Of course, he had no oppor-
tunity to be other than quiet and peaceful, living
alone as he did. From some significant signs
which I saw, I concluded the fellow was arrang-
ing to don a new suit of clothes. Curious how
the toad divests himself of the entire suit that he
has worn for months. Just how he does it, I do
not know. I see the old put off and the new put
on and there my knowledge halts, and I fancy the
toad’s does also. Throwing aside the old skin
and putting on a new one is exactly what is
done. A few days in the new raiment gets every-
thing into shape, so that the fellow feels entirely
at home. The single suit serves for twelve
months, and someway the wearer easily keeps it
whole and clean all that time.

148 BIRD PARADISE

Crossing the field near the swamp last week I
interviewed several of my friends who make
their home in that locality. I passed by the
birds for the time being and shook hands espe-
cially with a number of friends much smaller in
bodily size but none the less dear to one who is
in close touch with the children of the common
household. A red fly, somewhat larger than the
common house-fly, first attracted my attention
and managed one way and another to keep it for
some little time. Insects of different colors I
had seen before, but I did not recall one dressed
wholly in bright red. The fellow seemed to be
enjoying his surroundings, though they were
somewhat tame to the real lover of nature. I
got the notion that he had just added to his
equipment the pair of wings with which he was
furnished, for he appeared to be feeling of them
most of the time more as a plaything than a
member to be put to actual use. He would run
lightly up the spear of grass and balancing nicely
on the top spread his wings and wave them.
Then he would vary the movement, each new
venture no doubt giving him larger confidence
in the wider life upon which he had evidently
just entered. Finally he pushed his way down

BIRD PARADISE 149

into the dried grass apparently quite well satis-
fied with all the experience the day had put into
his keeping.

Dry weather is not conducive to what the
toad regards as his best welfare. Iam not sure
that protracted wet weather suits him much
better. Enough dampness, however, to remove
all danger of drought is quite to his liking. How
far he journeys during the night hours I have no
means of knowing, but I conclude from what I
have seen of his habits that most of his move-
ments are made after dark. Occasionally the
gruff voice of one of the veteran fellows comes to
me from the thick grass of the orchard and I can
hardly divest myself of the idea that Mr. Toad is
more surprised at the sound than anybody else.
Some six or seven of the venerables are quartered
on my small domain and are not by any means
the least interesting of my many tenants. Just
here my neighbor’s little girl comes in with a
box and removing the cover shows me a small
toad which she found this morning in their ash
barrel. The little fellow is lighter colored than
most toads are and the girl thought it might be
a different kind from those we usually see. I

150 BIRD PARADISE

told her to put him somewhere that he could get
the benefit of the sun’s rays, and he would soon
show a different color. How nice it is when a
girl of ten years can get near to these creatures
of God. It shapes valuable character for the
battle of life.

Nearly every day I meet with a number of the
humming-bird family. Sometimes their manner
conveys the idea of a casual call—no particular
stroke of friendship in it. Then they will give
such a cordial greeting that I am quite sure it
means the best kind of bird fellowship. Sitting
on the porch this morning, enjoying the sun’s
“‘eoming forth as a bridegroom out of his cham-
ber,’’ I heard a slight humming sound. Glanc-
ing around I saw a little ruby throat standing on
his rapidly moving wings not three feet from me.
How nicely he balanced there and what else was
the meaning of the visit but the heartiest kind
‘of a cheery June greeting. He moved two or
three times while he stayed, but how he did it
was all a mystery to me. I could see the little
head turn, then the body flash to another bird
station several feet away, but there was no ap-
pearance of effort, nothing to indicate that the

rN
» *

‘aed

are

CHICKADEE OUTLOOK

BIRD PARADISE 151

creature used a particle of strength in making
the movement. He gave me a few moments of
his time, then darted away, his flight apparently
vieing with the sunbeam in the compassing of
distance. Think of it, the flight of this little
fellow, recording, one hundred miles an hour.
How does he command it, and how can he stop
when once passing at that rate of speed?

All through the summer a pair of bats have
taken their evening pastime in the open reaches
of my lawn. Lately the young fellows have
joined in the outing so that five or six take their
evening meal and mingle socially, if that be pos-
sible, with these curious creatures. I have not
been able to discover their summer cottage, but
I am quite sure that it is located somewhere in
the attic of the old church. The bats are lovers
of darkness, but I have no knowledge that their
deeds are evil. Their time for work and play is
the early hours of the evening. During the day
and most of the hours of the night I rarely see
them. They move a little heavily on the wing
and seem to soon weary of their flight. The
young fellows must of necessity come short in
the daily bread, still they seem to thrive fairly

is2. BIRD PARADISE

well. I was watching them for some time last
evening and really found myself quite enlisted in
the work claiming their attention. Small flies
and mosquitoes are the main supply of food, but
I judge other creatures form no inconsiderable
part of the daily portion. Their work in deci-
mating the ranks of the mosquitoes gives them
place among our best toilers in the great vine-
yard. The only sound I ever hear from them is
a faint tremor of squeak like the soft cadence of
a rusty door hinge.

I noticed several new birds in my lawn trees
this week. The vireos and warblers have arrived
from the South and are busy locating their sum-
mer homes. The warbling vireo is the most in-
teresting of the birds bearing the name. His
song allies him closely with the warblers. In
fact, it is part and parcel with them. The
energy with which this bird repeats his song
through the summer is remarkable. His prin-
cipal rival is the yellow warbler, and the two
make themselves heard every minute of the day.
Both have the faculty of keeping up a sort of
perpetual motion and both make full use of the
faculty. I fancy sometimes that the fellows are

BIRD PARADISE 153

engaged in a spirited rivalry, each eager to outdo
the other. After I have watched them a few
minutes I find myself wondering how bodies that
are turning in every direction, never still a mo-
ment, can carry with them level heads. The full
interpretation of it all is in the deed itself. So
far as I can see they are never at fault for a mo-
ment. Year in and year out they keep up their
rapid pace and seem to be never in the least at
fault. In the game of bird athletics they have no
superior.

The scarlet tanager family seems to be increas-
ing innumbers. I hear of several being seen in the
orchards of our hill country. In my boyhood
they came out into the trees about the house
every season, but for a number of years I have
not seen one only in the wood, and only a few
there. His name of fire bird is most appropriate,
for his appearance in the forest is that of a gleam
of fire among the green leaves. The male bird
wears the brilliant colors and doesall the singing.
The song of the tanager is a pleasing succession
of notes, readily distinguished among the wood
birds. The female and the young birds wear
suits of sober colors, otherwise they would all fall

154 BIRD PARADISE

a prey to their many enemies. In nest building
this bird can scarcely be deemed much of a suc-
cess. Of course, they know what they want, and,
I suppose, secure it in the structure they build.
What seems to us a defect may, after all, be an
excellence that the bird recognizes in full. I
am quite sure that these birds are profiting by
the law which protects them in most of the states.
A few years more and they will become as com-
mon as in the olden days.

Just here I heard the song of the yellow warbler
—the first of the season. Glancing from the
window I saw a pair of the little fellows explor-
ing the tree directly in front. They were busy
securing what food they could and at the same
time intent on locating their summer cottage.
The female seemed the most in earnest in the mat-
ter, and I thought occasionally read a rather sharp
lecture to her companion. The warbler family is
a large one—some thirty and morespecies. They
are the perpetual motion contingent among our
great army of birds. Most of them I am sure
have no knowledge of what it means to sit still for
a moment in the daytime, at least I never have
seen them making any attempt in that direction.

BIRD PARADISE 155

The yellow warbler is the only one of the large
family that spends much time outside the wood.
As nest builders they are quite skilful, decorat-
ing the inner part with the taste of a real artist.
The song of this bird is sounded at all hours of
the day. Most of our song birds are quiet in the
heat of the summer’s day—not so the yellow
warbler. Once in motion in the morning the
song is in motion, and it is kept up three or four
times a minute all day long. I sometimes fancy
the song a sort of expression of the summer’s
heat, sounding morning, noon and night as it
does, through the hot season. Be that as it may,
however, it has avery cheery rendering and I
conclude cannot be given too often.

Several times in the last few days the smallest
of my bird parishioners has interviewed me
evidently with the very best of intentions. His
last visit was on a recent afternoon as I was sit-
ting on the porch enjoying the perfect June day.
My first intimation that I was the recipient of a
eall was a low buzzing sound, hardly more than
that made by the common fly. Glancing up I
saw a little humming-bird standing on his wings
scarcely three feet away. I say standing on his

156 BIRD PARADISE

wings, and that was what he was doing and doing
it nicely. He moved a little up and down, but
remained several seconds in very nearly the same
place. Ah, what bird gems these little fellows
are! ‘Songless as they are they make up in other
ways for any lack there may be in the element of
music. My visitor turned around, two or three
times while he stayed, as though he would impress
me with a clear idea of his matchless suit and of
his matchless way of wearing it. Then the
movement of the bird so quickly done that I
could hardly follow it with the eye! How can
this small creature command the strength to flash
from point to point annihilating distance at the
rate of a hundred miles an hour? When the
time came to close the interview my little friend
darted away, moving his small craft more rapidly
than is possible with any other bird. Years ago
our hill country was visited annually by five or
six species of these small birds. Now only one
species is seen at the North, the little ruby-
throat. JI am told that there are over 400 species
of the humming-bird. They are essentially
dwellers in the tropics, some of them having a
very brilliant plumage. Somewhere in my lawn
trees I am quite sure a nest is located, but just
where I have not yet learned.

BIRD PARADISE 157

Five or six species of the warblers nest in our
hill country. They are all lively fellows, and
some way practice a kind of friendship that is
most enjoyable. Occasionally I take a free and
easy saunter through the aisles of Bird Paradise.
While there I am quite apt to be a ‘ boy again,”
just for the fun of a real, old-time frolic. The
other day I went far down the ravine, and when
down lay down on the bed of leaves, and without
an effort on my part passed into the cozy rooms
of the ‘‘ house beautiful,’ that cheery temple of
genuine, whole-souled boyhood. The greatcanopy
of rustling leaves, woven in the wondrous loom of
life, the same as in the years agone, and darting
hither and thither, were the warblers—each one
‘I thought shouting an ‘‘all hail” to the boy far
below. I wondered at the readiness with which
they went to and fro in the highways of Bird
Paradise. Work and pleasure were combined in
all their movements, in fact, they really appeared
as though they were doing their best in entertain-
ing their old-time guest. Somehow a single
member of this large family came a little nearer
to me than any of the others. Earlier in the
season I had interviewed the little redstart, who
had put his nest in a small tree, a few feet: from

158 BIRD PARADISE

the brook. I was almost sure that this was the
same bird, at least, I counted him the same. To
my delight he gave every indication that he knew
me. His warble was of the fellowship sort, and
every move he made was an epic of the days of
“ Auld Lang Syne.’’ What a sermon the little
fellow preached. Just a fine ‘‘send off’’ for the
parson, who was treasuring notes for a real ser-
mon.

During our heated term I have listened with
the keenest pleasure to the voice of the frogs.
There is a sort of mouth-watering tone in the call
of one of the large frogs on a hot evening that is
most refreshing. Quite a little distance from the
rectory lies a small pond. In the evening, sit-
ting on my porch, I hear the gurgling strain of
the dwellers there and half fancy that it is a
breath of cooling influence from some grotto of
the wood. I strolled down to the pond the other
day and interviewed the residents there. I am
quite sure hearing them from a distance is more
satisfactory than a close inspection. A frog
pond in the summer is not even one remove from
what is commonly known as a mud-hole. There
may be frogs that enjoy the clear water and

BIRD PARADISE sg

gravelly bottom of the flowing brook, but those:
I am acquainted with are altogether careless
about dwelling in a clean house. Still, I am
quite willing to grant that cleanliness with the
frogs may be many removes lower in the scale
than would suit his human brothers. At the
time of my visit I found the venerable citizens of
the place sitting in state, each on his own hassock
of grass—all looking wise, as only frogs can. I
gave the frogs the credit of saying just what I
would have said if I had been in their place. In
other words, if I had been a frog, as I was a
man, I should certainly have said, ‘‘ Cool, cool,
comfortable, comfortable.’? Then, that ker-chug
with which the fellows took the water, what a
world of comfort there is in it and how it all
suits the frog perfectly.

Each season of the year I take a long stroll in
Bird Paradise. To each season belongs its own
expression of paradise life. Just the other day
I made my bow there, and I am sure the homage
paid by the parson was fraught with large good.
I don’t know that I ever go into this ‘‘ house
beautiful’? without seeing and feeling something
new, and I am not quite sure that I ever get into.

160 BIRD PARADISE

this house by the same door that I used before.
My favorite way of approach is over the high
point of. ground on the south side of the old
Wicks farm. Here I get a broad view, which
puts me into the best possible condition to enter
paradise. Then, too, sacred memories throng
every foot of the old farm, all closely associated
with some revered kinsman, each an ‘‘open door”’
in paradise. By the time I set foot in the temple
of the woods, mind and heart are both ready to
see the ‘‘king in his beauty,’’ and he is always
there in his beauty. The robes of summer, which
the trees put on and wear so handsomely, had all
been taken off, folded and put away in the great
open cupboard of the place.

A stroll in the aisles of Bird Paradise lately
was full of autumn sights and sounds. The day
was rich in the mellowness of the year and all
the wide reaches of the grove were radiant in the
quiet beauty of the season. <A family of oven
birds saluted me, though it was done by protest
rather than in the mood of hearty welcome. It
was late in the season for the household to be in
company together. Something had deferred the
annual housecleaning, but for all I could see it

BIRD PARADISE 161

was fully as successful as that done in the regular
season. Old and young birds did all their talk-
ing in the common tongue of a single call note.
Just below them on the hillside a red squirrel
chattered in response to the birds, and near him,
searching a decayed log, I saw a worm-eating
warbler.

This morning I saw a wandering skunk cross-
ing my lawn. It was light enough so that I
could see the prowler and keep entirely out of
his way. These fellows have their place and I
am quite content to let them have it. I notice
that they are scavengers of real value. Grubs
and worms of various kinds make up their regu-
lar diet. With their long claws they search the
lawn, uncovering many a luscious morsel. I am
told that they are invaluable helpers in the hop
field. Their means of defense has a great deal
of strength to recommend it, and I know of very
few creatures that are willing to contend with it.
On the old farm the skunk levied tribute on the
poultry yard, to some extent, every year. His
sluggish nature is well known, but his chief rep-
utation rests upon the facility with which he
ean poison the air of an entire neighborhood. I

162 BIRD PARADISE

never have known him to show any marked traits
of virtue. If he deals in them at all he does it
largely out of sight. His place in the economy
of life is a little difficult to discover, and the
same is true of some individuals of the homo
genus.

My woodpecker friends are now visiting me
daily. Several species are represented and all
seem glad to get back to the autumn round of
pastimes. Only the smaller birds winter at the
North. The larger ones, the ones best able, ap-
parently, to endure the rigor of the climate, all
hie away to the South. Flicker and redhead,
the two birds that I should choose as just the
ones to remain at the North, are among the
earliest of our fall birds to migrate. Hither of
these birds would seem to be the ideal one to
meet bravely the snow and cold. The large gray
woodpecker, just a little smaller than the red-
head, is a stirring, vigorous fellow, but he has
no inclination to stem the tides of one of our
Northern winters. Sapsucker, nuthatch, chick-
adee and one or two other species—little fellows
all of them—stay with us and not only stay but
really seem to enjoy keenly our coldest weather.

BIRD PARADISE 163

It may be that one reason of their sojourning
with us is the abundant supply of food provided
for them. I notice that they find food every-
where in the trees. Every particle of bark on
the trunk and limbs seemingly hides a grub or
insect. The table is always set and the food is
always prepared. Free lunch, twelve baskets
and more of fragments always left. The larger
birds I presume would find it difficult to subsist
at the North during the coldest weather. I saw
yesterday a fine specimen of the downy wood-
pecker, one of the handsomest of the tribe. It
was a sharp cold morning and the birds generally
were not very lively, but downy showed no sign
that the weather had anything to do with his
welfare. He went his way merrily, putting a
new note of brightness into the parson’s daily
life.

One of the birds that comes to us every fall
from the North bears the name of the golden-
crowned kinglet. The ruby-crowned kinglet is
first cousin to the above named and usually ap-
pears in company with it. Both birds are dimin-
utive fellows, but make up in activity what they
lack in size. From what I see of them I judge

1644 BIRD PARADISE

that their winter’s supply of food is obtained the
same as the woodpecker’s. In fact, when they
reach this section they seem to be feasting most
of the time. What their song is I do not know.
Their call note, which they use during the vaca-
tion season, has very little that is musical in it.
It is hardly more than the softest note of the com-
mon cricket. The kinglets are usually in com-
pany with the warblers and are like them in their
habits. Iam told they sometimes nest in North-
ern New York, but never have seen them in the
breeding season. Occasionally they linger in
this section through the winter, but as a rule they
journey southward to the vicinity of the Gulf.
The stirring way in which they do things insures
their welcome almost anywhere. Talkers and
doers with all their might is a bird introduction
that savors of our feathered friends at their best.

Some of the smaller animals seem to have no
other place that they enjoy quite so well as the
habitations of men. Conspicuous among these
fellows is the brown rat. Iam told that he does
a great and good work as a seavenger, and very
likely he does, but his careless way of doing it
seems to entail upon somebody else an endless

BIRD PARADISE 165

amount of the scavenger business. <A. pair of the
fellows set up housekeeping in my cellar last fall.
In one week they explored every part of it and
made some outside journeys also. They sampled
potatoes, cabbages, beets, and in fact they levied
tribute upon about everything there, but the
stroke they put in largest was among the apples.
In three days’ time, before I suspected what was
going on, they literally chewed up the top layer
in several crates, just simply to get at the seeds.
Of course I could see from the rat’s standpoint
that he was doing nothing worthy of death. His
business was to get what he wanted to eat and get
it in his own way. I freely granted all that, but
just at this juncture the parson’s business came
in, interposing serious obstacles in the way of the
depredators. Chewing being their forte they
were allowed to practice it freely. Returns from
the scheme so far are most encouraging to every-
body but the rats. Their condition, however, is
such that they do not complain.

The wisest looking of our many birds seems to
know almost the least. To look wise is no large
evidence of being wise. Owls certainly carry
about with them the Solon countenance, and just

1646 BIRD PARADISE

as certainly the weakness of the novice in the af-
fairs of every-day life. Born and reared in dark-
ness, all their training received under the cloud,
it is not at all strange that they look what they
are not. In active life, however, they exhibit
some traits of fair common sense. That trick of
flying with scarcely a tremor of noise they prac-
tice to perfection. Using their eyes freely, not
only in the twilight but in the dark, without the
least particle of injury to the sight, is another
device which they employ daily ; keeping almost
entirely out of touch with light and the things of
light is one of their largest virtues. Holding lit-
tle intercourse with their own kith and kin, and
for that matter with all other kithand kin. They
go on their way songless, in fact, less almost all
the bright, cheery things of life. No wonder that
owl character gets into the limbos, plays a losing
game from first to last. No wonder that the off-
flavor in its make-up enlarges steadily, no wonder
that they shut all the doors in their house which
scarcely needs a door. ‘‘ Why should not sucha
fellow’s vernacular become simply a hoot?’’ I
have every reason to believe, however, that the
owl is one of the creatures of which it is written,
‘ And God saw it was good.” The parson greets
him as a member of the great family born from

BIRD PARADISE _ 167

above, even if he finds no little difficulty in tracing
his lineage upward. The feat is also a difficult
. one in other directions.

It occurred to the parson that Monday morning
would be an ideal time for a large mushroom
harvest. Wind and weather seemed favorable,
and the inclination of the hunter set strongly in
the mushroom direction. With the first stroke
of light I found myself in the field, but did not
find the mushrooms. Wandering through the
tall weeds, in the dim light, I became conscious
that another fellow was wandering there also.
Just what it was I could not make out until we
both came out into an open space in the pasture.
Then I discovered that my companion was a large
and well-mannered skunk. I stopped and the
skunk stopped. I said nothing, so did the skunk.
It occurred to me that ten feet was not quite as
far from the fellow as I would really like to be.
Still, as he made no belligerent demonstrations,
I did not quite like the idea of beating a retreat
immediately. So I found myself doing the other
thing, shaking hands metaphorically, of course,
with my companion. I noted his suit of black,
nicely striped with white, the great bushy tail,
and the eyes, wary and watchful. I had heard a

168 BIRD PARADISE

great deal of the power of man in looking wild
animals straight in the eye, and I rather wanted
to try the scheme. So I looked, and the skunk
looked. All at once he pushed that look of his a
little nearer the parson. His advance was met
by the parson’s advance, butrearward. The look
squarely in the eye was in the skunk’s favor. The
scheme worked, but not quiteasI expected. After
all, I said—a crumb of comfort in the saying—
why shouldn’t the skunk win in the contest? It
was his home domain.

In the changes that have taken place in our hill
country I notice the practical disappearance of
the night-hawk. In my boyhood sixty years ago
they were a common bird in this section. Fre-
quently in the fall of the year they would appear
just at night in large flocks passing until long
after dark. They have many characteristics in
common with the whippoorwill, being sometimes
mistaken for that bird. A call note or two com-
prises their entire song. A sound they make in
flying has a harsh, whistling stroke peculiar to
this bird alone. It is now thought that it is pro-
duced by the action of the air in the open mouth
of the bird. Curious that this species of bird
should ignore nest building almost altogether.

BIRD PARADISE _ 169

Any smooth, hard surface in the fields or on the
roofs of houses will serve the purpose, the eggs
being shaped so that they will not roll about.
Its name of hawk is a misnomer, there being
nothing of the hawk nature in the bird’s make-up.
Their food is taken on the wing—consisting al-
most entirely of insects. We saw them in large
numbers on the great plains of Oklahoma, that
latitude being their winter home. I noticed that
the whippoorwills and night-hawks were quite
close friends during their stay in the South.
Curious how their habits changed as they sought
the new home in the South. There we saw them
on the ground searching for food. I do not re-
member that I ever saw them doing this at the
Northern home. Their record reads ‘ good fel-
lows wherever they are.’’

Just as I was ready to pen these notes I glanced
from my study window, and on the limb of the
fir tree, not fifteen feet from where I was sitting,
one of our medium sized hawks was standing,
holding securely an English sparrow which he
had just caught. He went deliberately to work
preparing his prize for breakfast. For twenty
minutes and more the fellow kept his perch, tak-
ing his meal as deliberately as though he were

170 BIRD PARADISE

concealed in the depths of the wood. I never be-
fore had seen a hawk of this species at this
season of the year or so near the house. The
feasting was not an attractive scene, neither was
the capture and killing in keeping with perfect
peace and quiet in the kingdom of nature. No
doubt many persons would be perfectly willing
that the English sparrows fall into the talons of
the hawks as rapidly as possible. I am notin
favor of depriving the bird of any species of its
natural food. Now and then the sparrow is
serving its country best, perhaps, as an offering
to appease the hunger of a fellow bird, and very
likely a somewhat diversified diet is better for the
hawk ; at any rate, the order in nature is the one
to observe, whether we are quite satisfied with its
working or not.

I discovered this morning in my orchard a lit-
tle tree sparrow. He was sitting in the tree, a
pretty sharp northwest wind ruffling his feathers.
To my surprise he trilled a part of his summer
song. It sounded strangely so late in the season,
and yet seemed most delightful. I watched the
fellow a few moments, thinking perhaps he would
betray the secret of his wandering and singing so
Jong after the usual time, but nothing came of it,

BIRD PARADISE 171

except another section of the song. Doubtless
the first effort was the begetting of the second,
both cheery and bright as heart could wish.
Usually late in the fall the sparrows go in troops,
several species appearing in thesame flock. This
fellow, however, was alone, not another bird of
any kind in his company. His cheery way of
being alone was the attractive thing in his man-
ner. I half suspected from his behavior that be
had sojourned in my orchard for the express pur-
pose of visiting the old place where the summer
breezes rocked his cradle last June. I con-
jectured this because he acted very much as the
parson does when he tarries within the precincts
of the old home farm. Curious how we measure
others by ourselves, and yet who shall say that it
is other than well-balanced measurement? Some
of my best moments are passed in those reminis-
cent reveries under the roof tree of the old home,
and I enjoy keenly seeing others as I see myself.
Sparrow went his way, off into the great ‘‘ void
immense,’’ but his visit so bright and cheery left
a large blessing behind him.

There is some change taking place in the habits
of our birds. On arecent morning asI was doing
a little pleasant work in the garden I heard the

172 BIRD PARADISE

full song of the vesper sparrow, and soon after a
bluebird caught the spirit of the occasion and
poured forth the gentle note which he knows so
well howto do. Bird songs in October are so un-
common that I scarcely recall a like departure
from the regular order in all my years. I do not
know of even the shadow of a reason why it can-
not be every year. I cannot uncover any reason
why they should not take the song with them to
their Southern home, and use it freely through
the winter. But nothing of the kind appears. I
have seen and known them all in their Southern
home and beyond a simple call note they indulge
in nothing that can by any means be construed
as musical. The morning that I heard them was
a bright, clear morning—a real song among the
days of song. The music of the hour no doubt
loosened the bird tongues to a refrain that was
compelled almost against the will of the singer.
I am quite sure that such compulsion will not do
any harm. On the contrary it may be that it is
the opening of a new day—a forward march on
the part of the birds to whole years of song.
Strange is it that the speech of our feathered
friends should shape itself in a single mold,
never departing from it in the way of improve-
ment through the years.

BIRD PARADISE 173

One of the interesting dwellers in our fields is
the grass frog. They make their appearance in
the month of September, at least that is the sea-
son in which I am pretty sure to interview them.
Crossing the field the other day I was given the
opportunity to shake hands with several of them
and found real pleasure in making the best of
the occasion. The largest of the company was
fall grown, and when I put him to the test he
easily compassed five or six feet in one jump.
His bright green coat was trimmed in frog fash-
ion, and when the sunbeams held him in their
embrace the fellow shone almost lamp-like in
the thick dried grass. No other creature is less
offensive in appearance or manners. The eyes
were almost brilliant and I fancied that the fel-
low was really proud of his personal appearance.
He verified an old saying, that no one could tell
which way or how far a frog would jump by his
looks. The smallest one I saw was a youth just
launched on the sea of life. His experience in
caring for himself was certainly limited and yet
he made a real success of the venture. Alone in
the great world he surely was, but nothing in his
manner showed the least sign of any hesitation
about assuming all the duties of life. In the

174 BIRD PARADISE

evening I heard a member of this family making
the corridors of my orchard resound with the
notes of the frog song. It was a cheerful effort,
and not entirely lacking in the element of music.

The season moves steadily forward to the ripe-
ness and fulness of the fall. Notwithstanding
the drought, almost all the growth of field and
garden has matured perfectly. The ripening of
the year has come early and come in large meas-
ure. What volumes of life are crowded into one
perfect vegetable of any kind. Months of growth
are there. A dozen different agents have given
all the assistance in their power. Subtle currents
of many kinds have poured into the being of
plant and fruit all their best, and the result is
that wondrous creation that in every stage of its
process is, ‘‘He spake, and it was done’? In
the ordinary year there is the ordinary return—
ripeness gauged to a standard that is far below
the royal one. ‘‘The King in His beauty’? is
what we all want to see, and not only see, but be
the very thing we see. Garden, farm, business,
—anything that our hands find to do has its
larger value in the hands perfected in the doing.
In the perfect season, the imperfect work may

BIRD PARADISE i7s

give a marvelous return, but the height to climb,
—the mark to hit, is the imperfect season so
ordered that it shall give the perfect return.
Why is it not the secret of life’s best endeavor?
Why is it not the servant’s place, in the image
of Him who called man into being and gave him
the world to conquer, yea, recreate? In the light
of such a thought my vegetables are instructors
in righteousness of no mean stature. They sim-
ply bid the parson to strike hands with the life
that thrills in plant and tree, keeping the clasp
firm and strong, until the two are one—life below
is perfected in the life above.

Occasionally I see a small flock of the golden
plovers. In olden time they came to us in the
fall of the year in large numbers—now we rarely
see them. Far up in the arctic regions they do
all their housekeeping, coming to us in Septem-
ber and October. The range of their flight I am
told is the entire extent of North and South
America. Some writers aver that the autumn
journey of a portion of this bird host is down
the Atlantic coast—the entire distance to South
America being compassed in a single flight. I
recall an instance when we were taking one of

176 BIRD PARADISE

our long missionary journeys in Oklahoma that
the golden plover furnished us with most of our
food. The two Indian men that were with me
tried the scheme of securing a few of the birds.
Their success was the small return of securing
the single bird ata time. In the lesson which I
put into their keeping a single discharge of the
fowling-piece was the measure of a dozen birds.
Most delicious they were, roasted slowly by the
camp-fire. I fancy that there is not a voyager in
the plover host that has not looked in upon the
North Pole and all its surroundings. The flight
of the plovers—all the species—is hardly ex-
celled in grace and beauty by any other bird.
Think of the strength required, in three or four
thousand miles of passage, where there is no stop
for rest or food! With such facilities for travel-
ing there is no place in the extent of this world
that lies beyond their reach. Cooks and Pearys
every bird of the entire host !

In my long stroll this morning I saw the tracks
of mice, skunks, rabbits, foxes and squirrels. In
the great ravine I saw where the dogs had fol-
lowed Mr. Fox into his quarry den. I heard the
calls of crows, blue jays, woodpeckers, chickadees,

BIRD PARADISE 177

robins and bluebirds. The song of all songs
that I heard came from the brook as it rippled
down the gorge. What a gentle murmur it is,
and how it seems to absorb and make its own all
other sounds. I stood where I could look down
into the glen, the brook dancing along a hundred
feet below me. How wild and weird it all ap-
peared. I saw again the boy of sixty years ago
—the old boy in the new boy, and the new in the
old, and someway the vision seemed the most
rosy of anything I saw in my long walk. I
found that part of the fun of seeing one boy was
seeing several others, all intent upon doing the
wood in true boy style. I knew the voices. The
peals of laughter that echoed through the wood
were all known to the manor boy. The great
trees seemed to greet the boys with an old time
“All hail.’ What an hour it was and how
much itheld. It was a sort of drawing aside of
the great curtain that after all only slightly veils
the home of homes. A great sacrament it seemed,
with its inward and spiritual grace, the grace at
its best, the revelation of life as the Master un-
folds it in the Father’s house.

What a variety of pranks our wild creatures
indulge in! My attention was attracted this

178 BIRD PARADISE

morning by the cones falling from the spruce
trees. It was perfectly still, no wind blowing.
I soon discovered that a red squirrel was loosen-
ing them one by one, and apparently enjoying
the entire effort as a real pastime. I counted
nineteen cones that came rattling down in about as
many minutes. Just a stroke or two of bunny’s
hatchet and the work was done, and I rather
think from what I see that those remaining on
the tree will come down before night. Up to
this time nothing has been done with the cones
and I am quite sure that the squirrel has finished
his work with them. Was it play on the squirrel’s
part or did he have some other motive? The
other day I saw a flock of English sparrows
romping through my lawn trees with no apparent
object but that of play. They scurried hither
and thither, even taking short flights out into
the park and the village orchards. I took it all
as real pastime on their part, though it may have
had some other object. In my boyhood on the
old farm I have known the different wild crea-
tures to have their games, or what looked like
them. Sometimes two or three different species
would join together, making a kind of fun “ fast
and furious.’? Meadow-larks and flickers quite
frequently join their forces and I have seen them

SeurrreL Home

BIRD PARADISE 179

enjoying what looked like bird coasting. The
hill sloping down to the western gate of Bird
Paradise was a favorite place for their gather-
ings. Sometimes they would spend hours there,
all passing peaceful and pleasant. There are
more things in the world of birds than our
knowledge has yet dreamed of.

During the past week the weather has opened
some of its treasures to those who care to add
such wealth to their possessions. Very gently
the south wind went to sleep as the curtains of
night were put in place. The night journeyed
on until the stroke of twelve. Then a new order
of things was given the entire freedom of our
broad hill country. The northwest took charge
of the wind and almost at the first stroke made a
perfect success of the venture. There were two
or three rushes, followed by as many roars, and
the echoes everywhere were awake and doing.
The commotion was such that I ventured to look
out upon the scene. Snowflakes filled the air.
The wind jollied them and kept them in motion.
There seemed to be an understanding between
the two that the occasion was to be made the
carnival of the season. The morning broke and

180 BIRD PARADISE

the storm sang a new song, under the inspiration
of the cheery sunbeams. All day long the breezes
had sway, and I felt sure that there was no weak
spot in their efforts. Someway I fancied that the
friction of such ardent endeavor would send the
mercury toward the stars. On the contrary it
gave the atmosphere a chill that was measured
exactly by the cipher mark. Not a sign any-
where that really looked like the least expendi-
ture of effort. The winds ran their course, the
cold kept pace with them, all of it, the beginning
and continuing, that is sure to seek and get its
own. Ah, my brothers, the winds and cold and
storm! The story of the day, rich in the min-
istry of ‘‘Sky Pilots”? that guide their airy craft
safely, let the danger be what it may.

My flock of English sparrows seems to increase
in numbers. Very likely the young fellows that
are now on the wing account in good part for the
increase. I could certainly get on nicely with
the flock reduced at least one-half. In fact they
might all be away for a day or two and things
at the rectory go on prosperously. Still the little
fellows have a place, and in that place make up
a part of my household that I should not like to

BIRD PARADISE 181

spare permanently. I rather enjoy their ener-
getic, offhand way of using an enemy. Only last
week a red squirrel looked in upon my lawn,
thinking, perhaps, to enjoy its quiet for a little
time undisturbed. Never did a squirrel reckon
more completely without his host. The sparrows
discovered him and in less time than it takes me
to tell it hustled him off toward the swamp,
every part of his small body sore with the blows
he received. I am quite sure some of the habits
of the sparrows are changing. I see them using
more insects and worms this season than any
season before. The one lame thing about them
is their song. It seems to be the same shaky
apology for bird song that it was when I first
heard it. They appear to have no realizing sense
that it lacks anything. At least they go on using
it as though it were the song of songs among the
birds. Ah, such broad gleams of human nature
aS appear among the birds! The day of creature
life declares it and I suppose always will.

When the storm was at its height I heard the
calls of the crows mingled with those of the blue
jays—all somewhat chilly like the temperature
of the air. I noticed that the crows put forth no

182 BIRD PARADISE

effort to make headway against thestorm. They
were content to keep well within the shelter of
the woods and hills through the entire day.
When one did venture from the coverts the wind
tossed him to and fro with the greatest ease. I
am sure there is no other sight in the wide house
of nature more comical than the crow when the
great winds are upsetting all his plans. I havea
notion that the humor of: the experience helps
warm the entire flock. Does the sharp cold
weather give a new lustre to the glossy suits of
the black fellows? I fancy that it does; at least
so it appears to me. Perhaps on a day of wind
and storm there are great compensations which
the crow knows and enjoys. I have tried anum-
ber of times to look in upon them when they
were shut in to one of their forest fastnesses, but
never with a very large measure of success.
Some of them are always on guard and the ap-
proach of a stranger is sure to be heralded to the
entirecompany. The bluejay has several marked
characteristics that: give him close kinship with
the crow. Neither does any migrating that we
know about. Both have voices that are wholly
free from all musical tones. So far as I know
they have no friendships with other birds. Per-
haps their relation to other birds is best expressed

BIRD PARADISE _ 183

by the Ishmaelite condition, ‘‘ Hand against
every man.” Living such a life is sure to outlive
all that is princely in real being. Curious, these
birds, a long way from the fellowship that is per-
fect, and still my friends. Ah, there isa twang
to that that fits the human bow exactly.

Friday night was given to a snow carnival that
threw a great coverlid at least a foot in thickness
over all the fields. It came without a particle of
wind, a revelation of Mother Nature’s handiwork
not often seen. The trees held the crystals in
great quivering masses, while over the roofs of
the buildings it was curled and festooned like a
living creature. I heard the gentle breathing of
the storm at times through the night, and was
somewhat prepared for the morning’s revelation.
With the coming of the sun the storm died away,
leaving the earth clothed in its great mantle of
white. An hour later the wind looked out from
its western fastness and followed the look with a
bound that fairly filled the snow particles with
new life. The trees shook down their fleecy
mantle and everywhere over the fields the char-
iots of snow were driven with a free hand. Here
and there the drifts were shaped, no two of them

184. BIRD PARADISE

telling the same story. Just beyond Roost Cot-
tage the wind carried the snow particles and so
dropped them that they lay in a great pile of al-
most perfect shaping. Back of the schoolhouse
and sheds the frolicking snow was given a resting
place that grew into a lone parapet, its crest ten
feet from the ground. Down in the field in full
sight from my study window I notice a long line
of drifts that show the curves and moldings of
most styles of architecture. How does the wind
in its careless way throw the snow together,
. shaping so many beautiful things? All my lifeI
have seen and known of the work, but someway
do not fathom the mystery much more than I did
at first. ‘‘ Fulfilling somebody’s will ’—long ago
that was a discovery made by man, and the par-
son hears and heeds.

The advent of the snow has been a revelation to
the foxes. Iam not sure that they like the snow
and cold ; still, as far as I can see, that is the
impression they give me. While the ground is
bare I rarely see one of them, and when I do he
seems to be away from home. To be seen as well
as to see seems to be an important element in
Mr. Fox’s character, and the broad snow carpet

BIRD PARADISE 185

brings him into large prominence as he goes
blithely on his way. One of his favorite strolls
is along the slope of Simmons’ Hill. If nothing
is hurrying him he will take abundance of time
and the trail he leaves behind is a very clear in-
dex of a quiet spirit. When the hounds are
sounding their horn—even though it be some dis-
tance away—the movements of the fox betoken a
condition of mind filled with alarm. I rather like
to see the fellow illustrating both conditions.
Someway I get something out of each condition
that gives one a clearer vision of the creature so
wild and alert. Not much occurs anywhere in
their vicinity that they are not conscious of. I
have seen them when the faint squeak of a mouse
arrested their attention and set every faculty of
their being on the alert. What hunters they are!
I know of no other wild animal that can hear and
see so much as the fox. And when once his at-
tention is aroused he is almost sure to secure the
quarry that comes into the range of his knowledge.
Many things in the character of the fox I like,
still I do not want him too friendly.

In the thick fog this morning a company of
crows became wholly lost. I heard the flapping

186 BIRD PARADISE

of their wings and a little later their loud calls.
Looking out I saw the party trying to find their
way out to the daily feeding grounds. Their
method of getting on was lumbering and heavy,
and for a time seemed not much more than mov-
ing heavily in rather ofa contracted circle. They
came down quite close to the ground, dodging
here and there among the trees, evidently entirely
lost. Some of their movements were most ludi-
crous, especially the appearance of surprise when
their best endeavor only brought them around to
the place they started from a few minutes before.
I put in a few shouts accompanied by clapping
of hands. It was an element in the day’s expe-
rience which apparently they had not calculated
upon. It made the parson a sort of storm centre
in the flock of dusky fellows, and such a hustling
as followed the shouts was an exhibition of crow
movement where none stayed upon the order of
his going. In two or three minutes the entire
flock had scattered out in every direction, and I
could hear them talking the matter over, no
doubt laying blame upon the parson for his
rude interference with their well-laid plans. I
found some consolation in the fact that the crows
in the same situation would have emulated my
action to the very letter. No other creature in

BIRD PARADISE 187

the range of my knowledge enjoys a real joke any
more than a crow.

Occasionally I hear of one of the little grebes
being seen in our hill country. The fellows are
active and in some ways interesting, but why
they should with their equipment seek the snow-
covered fields is a mystery. On the wing or in
the water they find their way quickly and are
more or less graceful in all their movements.
But when they attempt to practice walking they
show in every movement the ungainly efforts of
the novice. I suppose that we are sometimes
favored with their visits, through the agency of
a great storm. I am told that the heavy winds—
finding them on the wing near the coast—drives
them far inland before they can effect a landing.
Under such conditions, they seem to lose all
realizing sense of where they are or of where
they desire to go. A few years since, a large
number of these birds were given a shipwreck
of this character, hundreds of. the creatures ap-
pearing in Central New York. Most of them
perished, only a very few being able to get back
again to the old home. Being water birds they
depend upon the brooks and open ponds for their

188 BIRD PARADISE

food, all of which in our severe cold weather are
virtually closed to them. The grebe is furnished
with two local names—dipper and dabchick.
They nest far to the north, and I am told the
nest is most singular among the many curious
nests of birds. One writer says: ‘‘ Imagine a
little floating island of mud anchored securely
to a marshy bank. Place in the centre, nearly
level with the surface of the water, a handful of
grass and leaves and you have the nest of the
dabchick. Frequently the water, as it is moved
by the wind, sways the nest back and forth and
ofttimes the eggs rest in the water. All the same,
however, to the grebe. The work of incubation
goes on—the little family in due time graduating
to the broad freedom of their watery home. Of
course they have many enemies and the young
are constantly exposed to their ravages, but
enough escape of the annual brood to keep the
number good.”’

There seems to be an extra number of English
sparrows spending the winter in our place. I
am not sure that the extra number is massed in
one flock as has been common heretofore. I see
them everywhere in the village and every day
on duty apparently with all their might. Their

BIRD PARADISE 189

winter supply of food is somewhat circumscribed,
but like many other species of birds they can get
on for several days very well with a limited
amount of food. From the parson’s standpoint
it would be a nice thing for them to migrate and
spend the winter in the South. We could spare
them here at the North and the outing I think
would do them good. I should miss their games,
if they are games, and there is a certain kind of
cheerfulness about them even when they engage
in their battles that is nice to contemplate. If
the fellows are ever conscious of the many changes
of weather in our inclement season they rarely
ever show it. Heat and cold seem to affect them
about alike and both are greeted cheerily so far
as I can see. Really there is some good in the
English sparrow.

With the advent of the snow-bunting we may
count our winter as fully launched. I have heard
the calls of these birds several times, but as yet
have not seen any of them. True to their usual
practice they first people the air several hundred
feet above the fields below. I have a notion that
the fellows spend three or four days on the wing
when they first arrive in our section. I hear
them passing sometimes in the night, giving out

Igo BIRD PARADISE

the same call they do in the daytime. I hear
them, too, several days before I see them—pretty
good evidence that they have very little inter-
course with sublunary things when they first
reach their winter haunts. Of all our birds it
seems to me that bunting has the best right to
bear the name of snowbird of any that I know.
His color, song and habits all tend snowward,
and I know of no other creature that gets quite
so near to the heart of the cold driving storm.
When bunting gets his wings into close touch
with the wings of the storm both storm and bird
seem to delight in the fellowship. One of my
free gramophones has place in my ‘‘ house beau-
tiful” when bunting and storm join as one ina
carnival of song. Someway the songs are all old
and just as clearly all new. No repetitions ever,
naught in the entertainment they give but the
blessed unison of voices that never pall upon the
eager taste of ‘‘the ear that hears.’’

I have seen this week a small flock of yellow-
birds. They came into the field near the rectory
and really seemed to act as though they were just
home from a foreign land. I have the notion
that birds, like human beings, have times of

BIRD PARADISE ig!

genuine homesickness. While they live after a
manner that makes every place home, there are
places that stand first on the heights of their re-
gard. I interviewed the flock I saw but elicited
nothing touching their whereabouts since the nest-
ing season closed. From what I have seen I con-
clude that they took a trip well up into Canada.
They had nothing really to do, that is from my
standpoint, and a journey would pass the time
for them and perhaps help fit them for the varied
experiences of the winter season. Of all our
small birds the yellowbird is the last one that I
should expect would remain at the North during
the cold weather. His size and his clean bird
character would seem to fit him perfectly for a
sojourn in the sunny South. I have seen a bird
there that resembled our yellowbird closely, but
I could not ascertain to just what species he be-
longed. Of course if he found his way south-
ward in the winter we should lose his cheery
presence—a change in our cold season that we
would be loth to have occur. The little fellow
uses a very pleasant call note in the winter and
in all his actions is everywhere as bright and
lively as he appears in the summer. A little
later they will gather in large flocks, ranging over
the fields among the merriest of our winter birds.

192 BIRD PARADISE

It is a curious fact that nearly all of our winter
birds rank below the average as singers. They
have little to put aside when they drop all the
songs they use. I have recently seen an article
where the writer speaks very highly of the blue
jay as a singer. He kept one in a cage fora
number of years and of course had an excellent
opportunity to learn all the musical facts the
bird could furnish him. I have heard their
sharp calls and some of the softer notes, of which
the writer speaks, but nothing that I could term
a real bird song. The little chickadee uses his
song throughout the year and it is most attract-
ive, though brief. None of the woodpeckers,
so far as I know, use anything that could pos-
sibly be rightfully entitled a song. Burroughs
speaks of the rattling noise they make high up
on some dead dry limb as a sort of apology for
a song and possibly his surmise may be correct.
Snow-bunting trills a few notes as he passes high
up in the air, but his real song he reserves for the
nesting season later in the spring. Yellowbird
follows the same rule, using in the winter only a
brief call note. If the matter were left to me to
decide, I should certainly have some of the regu-
lar song dispensed in the midst of the frost and

BIRD PARADISE 193

cold. Still, if my knowledge were to decide the
question, I can readily understand that the whole
scheme might read ‘failure, from first to last.’’

Occasionally during the winter I hear the call
of the owls from out of the darkness—weird
speech of the night. If there be any bird of our
many species whose language appears to be en-
tirely appropriate to the occasion then it seems
to me the owl is that bird. He has no concep-
tion, I am sure, of anything that could be called
a song. The most attractive sound he makes is
a little more than a gruff outburst of muffled syl-
lables that are most honored by being forgotten
as soon as possible. If the owl knows about his
place among the creatures, knows how he has
lived and is living, then one would suppose that
his vision would be heavily freighted with dis-
couragement. I cannot see in all the years I
have known him that he has made a single par-
ticle of improvement in any direction. His walk
and talk, his living by night and by day, his en-
tire endeavor in being an owl all seem to be ex-
actly the same they were sixty years ago. It
would seem that threescore years ought to show
some improvement if any had been made. Be

194 BIRD PARADISE

that as it may, there he is, wrestling with the
owl problems of life, and it may be, solving
more of them than we think. I have thought
sometimes that if there was some way by which
I could record the fellow’s adventures as he goes
about in the dark it would be a book well worth
perusing. I judge from the little I know of his
life during the winter that there are days when
he has no knowledge of anything that he
could term his daily bread. Possibly when the
snow is deep and the cupboard bare he may
journey southward, but if he does we have no
knowledge of it. Some day we may know him
better.

One of our most interesting small birds bears
the name of nuthatch. There are two species—
the white and the red-breasted. Six inches will
fully measure the length of the bird, but his ac-
tivity is so great that I sometimes think him
much longer. The white-breasted species is the
most common and can be easily distinguished by
the color of its plumage and by its peculiar call.
The back is a lightish blue, and the breast white.
The song is an incessant repeating of the sound
“‘guank.’’? The range of the little fellow is over
most of North America. He knows nothing of

BIRD PARADISE | 195

migration, being a common resident the year
through. Holes in the trees or posts furnish
them with nesting places, which they line with
feathers and fine grass. A pair have nested in
this vicinity this season and I have seen them
almost every day. There is a sort of domestic
flavor to their song that renders it attractive and
the movements of the little fellows in the trees
are always interesting. I know of no other bird
that can assume so many different attitudes in
the same length of time. I sometimes think
their favorite position is the reverse order of the
head downward. One writer states that he has
seen them when asleep in this posture. In my
boyhood this species of birds was a citizen of the
woods almost wholly. Now, however, they are
common in the lawn trees and orchards. I know
of nothing that is harmful that can be attributed
to them. They are favorites with all bird lovers.

A neighbor of mine, out of the wealth of akind
heart, sets a winter table for the birds. It is
spread on the back porch of her house and is
patronized by quite a large number of happy
guests. I notice in the company woodpeckers,
chickadees, sparrows, blue jays and occasionally

196 BIRD PARADISE

at night, I suppose an owl] drops in, being the
only feaster at that hour of the day. The birds
that visit the place seem on peaceable terms with
one another, which is not always the case, when
they meet in the summer. They use their call
notes freely, which is about all the song most of
them have. The woodpeckers are not very talka-
tive in the winter, though they appear lively and
happy hearted. The chickadees are sprightly
and use their entire song more freely, if possible,
than in the summer. What cheery little fellows
they are. The very tone of their voices is most
attractive. Of course the English sparrow is on
active duty wherever he finds anything to eat.
His capacity for food is not excelled by that of
any other bird. No other bird more talkative,
and I half conjecture that no other bird really
says less. For noise that reaches far and is high
keyed, the blue jay furnishes a supply that is
simply unrivaled among the feathered songsters.
I think he enjoys using his voice and startling all
birddom with the sharp, piercing sound.

I hear that my crow friends are gathering in
their winter haunts. Someway their wireless
telegraphy has given them the news that has

BIRD PARADISE 197

brought them, almost to a crow, into the old
places. I cannot conceive of any advantages
which the weather just now extends to them. I
don’t know that the weather really enters into
the problem they have to solve very much. So
far as I can see they go to and fro pretty much
oblivious to everything else but something to eat.
I see them going to their night’s rest among the
hemlocks in the old Addington woods—mercury
dropping far below zero during the night. From
every point of view that man commands the bed-
chamber of the crow on such a night is about as
cheerless as one can imagine. I have heard them
from the old farm giving expression to some of
their feelings and while the utterance was not
particularly cheering, it had very little in it that
one would regard as a protest against any of the
surroundings. Once, I remember, the entire flock
came rushing out of their bedchamber in the mid-
dle of the night and after circling around for a
time went off to a new place of rest on Frankfort
Hill. We saw nothing of the cause of the dis-
turbance, but conjectured that some prowling
owl dropped in upon them, levying tribute for an
early breakfast. The crow, I fancy, is not the
custodian of a great deal of courage, at least he
rarely uses the article even if he possesses it.

198 BIRD PARADISE

A friend writes me that he sets a table for his
bird visitors supplied with bones and suet. He
states that he has seen the downy woodpecker eat
his fill then take a piece and carry it to an oak
tree forty yards away and secure it in the shaggy
bark. It is an instance of provision for the rainy
day not common to any great extent with the
birds and not common, in that particular way,
with many of our animals. I have seen it with
different species, but varied in the manner of
doing so that no two acts appear to have much in
common. A friend of mine, who resides near the
large wood just west of the village of Clayville,
described the action of downy woodpecker that
really showed what had all the appearance of a
process of reasoning. He came out of the wood,
took his place on a maple tree that stood near my
friend’s house and after tapping it with his sharp
bill in a dozen places flew away. The maplesap
trickled down the rough trunk and the flies soon
congregated in large numbers. Downy returned
and feasted on the flies, his previous work ap-
parently preparing the way for the feast. The
shrike will sometimes store a small amount of
food, but I know of no bird that will provide to
any great extent for the future. Most of the

BIRD PARADISE 199

birds that stay with us during the winter have
their food provided for them to such an extent
that enforced fasting with them is rare. When
their supply of food is shortened through stress of
weather they can easily find their way to an
abundant store all ready for use.

One of my winter pleasures is a stroll along the
swamp side. When the weather is right and the
walking in keeping with it there is a very
gracious return of pleasure, nicely distributed
over every foot of the way. The other morning
I bent my steps in that direction, and although
the weather was not perfect nor the walking very
satisfactory, still I managed to gather some real
treasure during the hour. The evergreens wore
the coats which give them their names, and I
fancied their winter salutation had more life in it
than the best that the summer gives. I rapped
at the doors of the muskrat houses, but gathered
no response. A flock of blue jays came out of
the thickets near the hillside, and I am quite sure
I never met them when they had more to say.
Blue jay talk has the merit of abundant sound,
but farther than that I am not prepared to pro-
nounce upon its excellence. My cheery friends,

200 BIRD PARADISE

the chickadees, seemed to keep step with me dur-
ing the entire walk in the vicinity of the swamp.
I am sure I understand them, and am quite sure
that they understand me. Half a dozen crows
gave voice from the hilltop of the old farm and
as I caught their hoarse accents, I easily reached
the conclusion, ‘‘a good second to the rattling
volleys of talk fired by the blue jays.’’ Return-
ing homeward, I saw where Mr. Fox had stepped
lightly over the snow, his footsteps telling out
the character of the merry-hearted fellow that
made them.

The woodpeckers are getting on their winter
dress and manners. They have some trials in
common, but each species is quite original after
its kind. They are all peaceful fellows, in the
main, though none of them will submit quietly to
any extended abuse. Yellowhammer is only
half measured in the woodpecker family ; still he
honors handsomely the distinguishing traits of
his race. Among the smaller birds he has size
and strength, so that he has little to fear from his
smaller companions. His activity insures safety
from the birds of prey, so that on the whole he
can behave in a natural manner. There is no

BIRD PARADISE © 201

merrier bird, no bird that outdoes him in romp-
ing, rollicking fun. When hespeaks his language
is full of a sort of ‘‘hurrah boys”’ that wakes the
echoes on every side. His playfulness is prover-
bial ; in fact, all his work seems to be done in a
playful manner. His eminent domain includes
all the domain there is, and no citizen of his broad
realm is ever other than a freeman, in thought,
word and deed. His way of building his house or
of training his children seems to secure the young
birds from the trials and perils that most of the
other species meet. I never have seen the young
flickers tumbling around on the ground half
fledged. Probably they have some experience
of that kind but it has not come under my ob-
servation. In short, yellowhammer goes and
comes, works and plays, and no other bird illus-
trates more completely than he the riches of
hearty, whole-souled, merry bird life.

Occasionally I see a woodpecker this winter,
but so seldom that it hardly seems like one of our
old time cold seasons. From what I see in the
woods I judge that they are not present anywhere
about here in their usualnumbers. Possibly they
are adopting the customs of other birds and are

202 BIRD PARADISE

taking a trip to the sunny South. IfIwerea
woodpecker, as I am an observer, [think I should
hie away to the soft air and open fields of the
summer clime. But woodpecker no doubt knows
his own business and adopts the best scheme pos-
sible for his welfare. There is something in a
true character, practically oblivious to the chang-
ing moods of the weather, that is more or less in-
spiring. Our winter birds appear to present this
kind of character, and what is more noticeable,
to rejoice in it. In the great ravine on the north
side of Bird Paradise I find the woodpeckers
usually when they are scarce everywhere else.
The place has all the conditions of a winter resort
for the fellows and they improve their oppor-
tunity. I have not been there this winter, and
it may be that the dearth of birds is in vogue
there as elsewhere. Two of the gray woodpeck-
ers and three or four sapsuckers make up the
count in my lawn trees so far this season.

It is seldom that a flock of wild geese is seen in
our hill country. Last week a merry company
of a hundred or more passed over on their way to
their winter home. To the young people of the
party every step of the way was a revelation. I

BIRD PARADISE 203

am told that the advanced guard of the migrating
host consists entirely of young birds. Just how
the wise ones know I am not informed, and I
have my doubts about the statement holding all
the truth. In my experience in Oklahoma I
found that the old and young birds journeyed to-
gether. Iam quite sure that the old birds are the
leaders of each flock. What plodders they are.
All the night through they go steadily on their
way seemingly little wearied by the effort. Dur-
ing the day they spend considerable of the time
on the ponds and along thestreams. In my boy-
hood it was a common thing to find them in the
marshes near the old swamps, and our sportsmen
secured them easily. Occasionally I have seen
the large cranes here in company with the geese,
though I doubt if they care to associate very much
with each other. One of the most sombre objects
in the wide house of nature is a crane stalking
around in the shallows of one of our hill ponds.
Handsome with them must be what handsome
does, for the vision of their persons never re-
veals it.

A long walk across the fields this morning had
many wintry aspects, and yet it was nicely punc-

204 BIRD PARADISE

tuated with delightful spring touches. Robins
and bluebirds were everywhere and every one
seemed to haveasongtosing. It was not entirely
a concert conducted by the males, for many of
the other sex were present and joined cheerily in
the common refrain. Just how the fellows find
food to satisfy them I cannot learn. There are
bare spaces of ground, though most of the fields are
still carpeted with snow. There is food tucked
away in the grass, grubs and insects, and very
likely they make use of this great cupboard
freely. I notice that the bird life early in the
spring is more spirited than at any other season
of the year. Of course at that time they have a
large amount of business on their hands, and itis
business that they enjoy working at with all their
might. Very nearly as soon as they arrive from
the South they search through the trees for the
right place to construct their summer cottage
and if the weather is favorable they get right to
work getting everything into shape. The early
comers are none of them real adepts at nest build-
ing. Robin eschews all beauty in his work and
bluebird makes little or no effort beyond the
shaping of a house that serves all practical pur-
poses. Each works out his own plan, and that
meets all requirements in every case.

BIRD PARADISE — 205

Curious how the mild weather interferes with
some of the plans of our winter birds. Several
species go into hiding somewhere when the south
wind mellows the temperature of the air. I
never see or hear the buntings only when the
winds and snow are holding one of their stirring
carnivals. The yellowbirds rarely interview
me in mild weather. So, too, the wood birds
are not apt to call on the parson except when
they come on the wings of the snow and the cold.
I like the kind of character which rises to meet
the occasion, especially when the occasion in
wind and storm has become more or less for-
bidding. Bunting’s method of using a storm is
an admirable one. He responds to its shouts
and clamor in kind for kind. He sails with the
wind any whither that the wind may please to
take him. At such a time he trills his best song,
as he also shows his greatest activity. What
preachers the birds are. In fact, the fellows are
living texts and the sermons, like the texts, are
rich, I sometimes think, with the ‘‘alive and
dead and alive again forevermore.’’

Where do the crows sojourn for several weeks
in the fall? They disappear for a time, scarcely

206 BIRD PARADISE

one showing its dusky form during the time.
The movement they make is not a necessity from
lack of food, or stress of weather. It may have
place through the desire for a greater variety of
daily bread or it may be an outcome of the fel-
low’s love of adventure. Why not a North Pole
in the crow world and why not many a Cook and
Peary vieing in the strife to discover all there is
to discover? As I know the crow character, it
has many curious traits and perhaps the love of
adventure is not lacking in the list. I feel quite
sure that there are times in the fellow’s experi-
ence when he indulges in a kind of drollery that
might well be termed North Pole humor. At
any rate it seems to have very little warmth in
it. I sometimes cherish the notion that the crow
host is marshaled—especially in the winter sea-
son—by a leader that uses his authority accord-
ing to a code of laws peculiar to the dusky army.
Even among the smaller flocks there are indica-
tions that lead one to conclude that many of their
movements are shaped by one in command.
They never leave their movements unguarded.
I have verified this repeatedly. Wherever a
flock of crows has assembled some prominent
outlook is occupied by their scouts. The ap-
proach of an enemy is announced by loud calls,

BIRD PARADISE — 207

the tone of the call sounding the alarm. Asa
scavenger the crow ranks among the first. Al-
most everything is fish that comes to his net.

One of the Utica dailies describes the experi-
ence of a dog in a short interview with a com-
pany of English sparrows. When the ordeal
was over the dog no doubt was a number of
degrees wiser than he had ever been before. I
have seen the same scheme put into operation by
the sparrows on my lawn, only the animal dis-
ciplined was a squirrel. Last fall my attention
was attracted by an unusual noise in the maples
front of the church. A little investigation re-
vealed the fact that a squirrel had fallen into the
hands of a company of English sparrows and
they were squaring accounts with him for
some of his depredations on their nests earlier in
the season. Every bird was shouting at the top
of his bird voice, and wings and legs and feet
were mixed in a mass completely hiding the
squirrel. After the mélée had lasted a few min-
utes the excited crowd rolled out of the tree like
a ball. Down they went to the ground, the
squirrel making frantic efforts to escape. He
clambered up a tree and out to the old church

208 BIRD PARADISE

tower, every sparrow striking him hard and at
the same time freeing his mind in the vehemence
of sparrow speech. Through a crevice there the
red fellow darted, escaping his persecutors by a
most narrow chance. I am quite sure that a
few minutes more of the sparrows’ work would
have ended Mr. Squirrel’s career. I had little
sympathy for him, knowing that he ‘‘ was reap-
ing as he had sown.”

Occasionally the conditions on Paris Hill seem
to be entirely favorable for a first-class storm.
In some way last Sunday offered inducements
that were freely accepted by the storm bureau,
and in an incredibly short space of time were put
to use that I have never seen excelled in our hill
country. All day Saturday the skilled workmen
were busy getting everything into shape for the
carnival on Sunday. During the evening I
could hear the legions gathering and I half
fancied that the extra efforts of the wind were
the stirring commands of the one in charge. A
little after midnight the winds took full posses-
sion of the occasion. When the morning came
the scene had put on a demeanor that invested
it with a grandeur not often seen in our winter

BIRD PARADISE — 209

storms. Without any question everything in
the realm of storms was wide awake, and doing
its large best to make the undertaking a perfect
success. Two or three times during the day I
found my way out into the path of the winds.
On each occasion naught but sure anchorage kept
the parson from drifting away on the swelling
tide. I almost envied the buntings that were
riding the wild steeds of the sky, not in the
least endangered by their apparently reckless
venture. I could see no reason why the rush of
the great winds should have any stay short of
destruction on every hand, but the reason was
there. On the tablet of the trusting heart it
reads ‘‘thus far and no farther.” Absolute safety
assured. Ah, the supremacy of that blessed
truth clothes the storm in its robes of gracious
beauty—every stroke of its hand a benediction
of joy and love.

Birds have very little affection for red squirrels,
and bunny bears the feathered brothers no abid-
ing good will. I notice that the English sparrow
takes. particular delight in making the fellow’s
life a burden to him. Last week a flock of a
hundred sparrows and more discovered a red

210 BIRD PARADISE

squirrel in my lawn trees. They gathered about
him until he seemed the centre of a great ball
of feathers. The contact was so close that the
squirrel seemed perfectly bewildered. The ball
of life went up and down the tree. Occasionally
he would emerge from it and start off on his
journey, but all in vain. The sphere of sparrows
would roll over once or twice and the old order
of things was reéstablished. The babel of sounds
which the sparrows emitted gave my lawn promi-
nence throughout the village. The conflict went
on for several minutes, the squirrel slowly work-
ing his way toward the church as though he
considered that a place of refuge. Finally he
dropped into a half-concealed cavity in the trunk
of the tree and his persecutors left him. I had
no particular sympathy for him as I knew of his
system of preying upon the eggs and young of
the birds.

Each successive year I find more and more
reason to believe that the broad shelf of wood
and ravine, stretching along the eastern slope
from our village, was properly named when it
received the title of Bird Paradise. I never
stroll there without finding something that seems
a real part of a paradise of birds. Each season

LHW, NYaLSa\\ IHL

BIRD PARADISE | ait

tells its own story, and tells it well. I listen
to the story, and someway the last one told seems
the best. Just now, the summing up of the
year, in common parlance, reads, ‘‘ A tale that
is told.” But a tale that is rightly told, when
one reaches the last word, opens simply to some-
thing higher and more precious. The leaves
that are all down from the trees tumble and
rustle about, but have their higher mission of
giving all their best to the new foliage that will
come with the spring time. The trees, themselves
bare and leafless, sway and bow in the winds,
and every movement breathes through the wood
the benediction of the ripeness and richness of
the year.

I heard this morning the plaintive call of the
wood pewee. I have heard it oftener this season
than any previous winter that remember. What
a sort of weird, weary note it is. It sounds as
one might imagine the bird to feel—all alone in
the snow and cold. This fellow belongs to the
fly-catcher family and in the summer feasts upon
the flies, which it catches on the wing. What it
uses in the winter for food I do not know, but
fancy he makes a virtue of necessity and lives
largely without eating. Curious that many mem-

212 BIRD PARADISE

bers of this species migrate, while a portion of
them stay at the North. One would rather like
to know how they divide the responsibility, giv-
ing each his duty to perform. In the domain of
instinct, however, I can as readily understand
how only a portion of those moved by it should
obey its monitions as how all should. I appre-
hend the birds know little or nothing concerning
it at heart. I get nothing from them but the
simple facts.

A short visit from a little screech-owl one
morning this week gave a sort of introduction
to the day that rarely occurs in the parson’s ex-
perience. The fellow’s call came from the trees
on the front lawn. It was hardly light enough
to detect his form but the weird hooting was
easily a thing of the night. Of all the owls this
smallest of all is gifted with a voice and use of
it that distinguishes him among all his tribe. I
failed to detect him in the trees but caught his
hooting over and over. What an uncanny sound
it is and how it awakens the echoes of the dim
morning light. A little later I heard him from
the orchards east of the village and I conclude
with the rising of the sun he went his way to the

BIRD PARADISE 213

coverts of the swamp. This smallest of the owl
family is about the only representative of the race
that we now have in our hill country. In my
boyhood there were five or six different species.
The cutting away of the forests, especially the
large hollow trees, has effectually removed their
lurking places so that most of them have jour-
neyed to a more genial clime. I like the smaller
fellow for his many traits that shine with the
best of owl goodness. Of course he is not perfect,
though he stands high in the ranks of birds of
the night. Perhaps he does the best he can situ-
ated just as he is.

The bare branches swayed in the wind, cele-
brating the change by strains of new music.
Boy-like, I put my feet down into the thick
carpet of leaves and went a long distance, enjoy-
ing the rustle that resounded through the wood.
Every little while I wakened some denizen of
the place, that seemed to wonder what particular
business the parson had disturbing the quiet of
paradise. Just at the eastern outlook, a little
bevy of chickadees gave greeting, and nothing
else in the entire stroll was quite so cheery. The
great hemlocks on the farther hillside bowed a

214 BIRD PARADISE

sombre welcome, and put the deeper tone into
the music of the forest refrain. Seated on the
edge of the ravine, I found special delight in
tracing the brook as it wound along to the open
field below. There were places where the sun-
light filtered through the branches, turning the
ripple of the stream into a pile of glittering
jewels. But the carpet laid down so gently—
woven so deftly—wide and long as all the wood
—what a marvelous texture, and how easily it
was fitted in all its parts. I could see great folds
taken up and laid down again—no workman
visible in all the change.

My little screech-owl has now become a regular
visitor. Just at dusk one day he appeared earlier
than common and seemed to be in an unusually
merry mood. He came close to the house, under
my study window, and appeared not in the least
shy. Like the crows, he was getting most of his
food from the grass. If he has intelligence he
makes no showing of it in his appearance, and I
conclude that his social development is not more
pronounced than his triumphs of intellect. Oc-
casionally he gets a return from that small horn
of his that really has something musical in its

BIRD PARADISE 215

make-up. I half conjecture from his manner
that he is as much surprised at the outcome as
any one else. When the snow hides the ground
and most of the small birds are gone I am quite
sure my small friend suffers with hunger. At
such times in my boyhood we used to find the
fellow seeking refuge in the old farm barns.
Like other birds, however, he can suffer hunger
for a time without much apparent discomfort. I
suppose he knows all about the hours of dark-
ness, but no one else is the wiser for it. I do not
know that his deeds are evil, but he is a real
lover of the darkness. In my small domain half
the time belongs to Mr. Owl pretty much alone
and in his way he seems to enjoy it.

I had hardly thought that there were any fur-
bearing animals left in our hill country to trap,
but I am told that it is a business successfully
prosecuted by a number of persons in our town.
Living in Clayville is William White, who re-
ceives quite an annual income from the furs he
secures by trapping. Mink and skunk are the
principal animals that he traps, though there are
some others that he obtains more or less fre-
quently. Think of having a line of traps along

216 BIRD PARADISE

the streams and among the ponds that requires an
entire night to visit. See the equipment in the
time of deep snow for such a journey. Snow-
shoes, lantern, bag to place the spoils in and
plenty of real manly resolution to face storms and
the various vicissitudes of such an excursion. I
can understand how it offers some inducements
to one who cares to be induced in a stirring man-
ner. Alone in Mother Nature’s great house—the
storm raging, winds and snow playing hide-and-
seek among the hills—the darkness dense and
black on every side, why not a place to realize
fully that the winds are the winds of God, and all
the forces of nature playthings in His gracious
hands? There are nuggets of pure gold in the
realm of Nature that can only be picked up in
such a manner. The trapper going out into the
night may well consider himself the eye open to
it all under the one, all-seeing eye. He holds in
his keeping the key to the ten thousand mysteries
all around him. To use the key is to unravel the
mysteries, and the mysteries unraveled are open
doors, every one of them in heaven.

I do not know that the chickadees intend any
special amount of good to any one by their daily

BIRD PARADISE — 217

visits to our village, but I do know that the
visits confer good. Like their Master and ours,
they go about doing good, and that is about the
only method I know of getting good. The real
test of our doing that which is good lies in the
consciousness that the river of life is flowing un-
vexed through the rightful channels in our small
domain. My chickadee friends may not know
any such test, may not be conscious of conferring
good upon anybody, but all the same they minis-
ter most graciously to the human brother and, so
far as I know, never leave undone what they
ought to do. The song they use is instinct with
the ‘‘soul of wit,’’ three or four notes measuring
the entire refrain. On the other hand, the notes
are of such a character that one never tires of
their repetition. If I were to choose from all the
bird songs the one charged with the most home-
like notes, I should give the preference to the
chickadee effort. I regard it as the finest antidote
I know for homesickness. The little fellow goes
to and fro, a perfect bird petition of ‘‘ Give us
this day our daily bread,” and not only illus-
trates the prayer handsomely, but shows in his
living the answer wondrously complete. When
I want a first-class sermon from a first-class
preacher I take my place in the great temple not

218 BIRD PARADISE

made with hands, chickadee himself the text, and
the message—the entire discourse a living breath
from the courts above.

On that one bright, clear morning of last week
I noticed the birds were unusually lively. I saw
them in my orchard and lawn tree and heard them
from the trees in the park. Blue jay was promi-
nent in sending out his call, not only in the fre-
quent repetition but in its far-reaching power.
Chickadee’s mild-mannered speech was entirely
in keeping with the bland character of the morn-
ing. Two or three crows flying over said their
say, and while it did not fit in very perfectly with
the cheery offering of the day it was no doubt the
best they could do. A little company of nut-
hatches were busy in the maples near the church
door, their soft voices blending nicely with the
mild temperature of the morning. A downy
woodpecker balanced in a friendly way on the
limb a few feet from my study window as
though he was an ambassador of peace from the
‘great realm of the weather. Down in the pasture
the goldfinches were breakfasting on the seeds of
the weeds just at the fence side. I could hear
their cheery call and occasionally see them flit-

BIRD PARADISE — 219

ting from place to place. I said a real bird
good-morning and followed it with my best greet-
ing, cherishing the idea that somehow the birds
knew what I meant.

I am quite sure that two or three families of fox
parishioners reside in my large parish. I see the
tracks they leave in the snow and occasionally I
see one out for the daily walk. In the White
Creek ravine west of the village is one of their
favorite haunts. Another is located in the gorge
at Bird Paradise, and still another in the Smith
woods on the Utica road. I think they rather
enjoy locating their dwelling place in or near a
stone quarry. Someway they seem to know that
such a place is a retreat for them where they are
practically safe from harm. Just now with the
thick blanket of snow I have a notion that with
all the fellow’s resources he carries about with him
a feeling of hunger most of the time. When he
does get out on one of his strolls he frequently
passes along the slope of Simmons’ Hill. His
movements are free and easy, showing a native
grace that is the very poetry of motion. His
steady warfare upon many kinds of vermin makes
him a valuable scavenger, but his forays on the

220 BIRD PARADISE

poultry yard pretty effectually hide all his virtues.
I yield him the favor of seeing his good qualities
first, which is one of the methods of fellowship
that really conserves the good, both in the seen
and the one who sees.

With what ease and dispatch our insects and
some of the smaller animals get into winter quar-
ters. With many of them there seems to be no
preparation any further than simply to fold their
hands where the winter stroke finds them. Just
here on the window sill are two or three flies that
I am quite sure have put on their winter suit and
put it off several times already. The newly kin-
dled fire warms up their nest, life is astir, and to
all intents they are flies again, ready for any es-
capade of fly life. The fire dies down, the cold
asserts itself, and my small friends are as inert
and lifeless to all appearance as the piece of wood
upon which they lie. So with the bats and the
woodchucks in the main, though the larger ani-
mals always show some signs of life. It seems
like a very handy way of doing things, and no
doubt there are many beings in other walks of life
that; would be glad to adopt some such handy
scheme. Rip Van Winkle had some experience

BIRD PARADISE 221

in the business, and while it served to tide over
several hard places he did not in the end exactly
like it. I apprehend that most of us, under such
circumstances, would feel that we had lost some-
thing of value.

One of the old signs of the countryside reads,
‘‘When the field-mice improve the fall weather
to put their homes in the hollow trees, then the
winter to follow will be a severe one.’’ I have
known the sign to fail as often as otherwise, but
then nearly all signs do that. Part of the lasting
value of the ordinary sign is its failure to ratify
the original outreach. What a curious life it is
that the little field-mice present to us. Whether
we can use them as prophets or not, the fact re-
mains that they go to and fro in the wide fields
always on duty, as they see and know the grace.
Sometimes when I am crossing the fields I visit
the large stone heaps, knowing well that my small
friends harbor there and have something to say
to me. Not long ago I turned over a half de-
cayed rail, and in so doing uncovered the nest of
a pair of these little fellows. It was the species
that we term the jumping mouse. There were
four or five young ones in the nest, and the way

222 BIRD PARADISE

they sought safety was most amusing. Hach
young fellow fastened his teeth firmly in the
mother’s side—holding on stoutly while she
jumped rapidly away. At the sides of the stone
piles I frequently find evidence that shows the
ranks of these little creatures decimated by the
tragedy of a night-time. A strolling fox or
skunk, lying in wait, has taken his prize at the
door of the fellow’s humble dwelling, feasting
upon it in sight and sound of the frightened
household. Ah, how widely this condition of
creature life reaches! Hardly a life in the wide
domain of being that continues its existence but
uses this means. To be requires something not
to be, and who shall say that it is not the saving
of all?

The chickadee always behaves well, but some-
way J think he is at his best in the winter. The
little fellows take possession of my lawn trees—
apparently just as happy in the snow and cold as
when the flowers bloom. While they are socially
inclined, I rarely ever see more than five or six
in a flock. As architects, they rank with their
near relatives, the woodpeckers. In the cold
weather their snug homes in the trunk of the

BIRD PARADISE 223

tree defy the discomforts of the season. They are
particularly well situated for light housekeeping.
Their table is as extensive as all the trees in their
reach. Bark table-spreads and the viands, just
under the bark—always ready for use. Faultless
table manners mark their demeanor, while they
are taking their meals, and food-taking employs
most of their waking time. When I visit the
wood I am met at the door by the chickadees,
and usually they accompany me during my entire.
stay. Easily I get the idea that they are extend-
ing a cordial welcome to the parson. The idea
does me good and seems to do the birds good
also. The ups and downs of life are nicely illus-
trated by the chickadee’s movements. He ap-
pears the happiest when he is running down the
tree. His athletics combine all the turns and
twists that can be made by a living creature.
Then that song of his! What can be cheerier—
the very tone of it, domestic in every sense of
the word! <A piece of meat hung in the porch
centres their attention during the winter, while
furnishing them with a feast that they appreciate.

The Audubon calendar for 1908 bears on its
first page a picture of a bevy of nuthatches that

224 BIRD PARADISE

seem to impart a summer air to what otherwise
would be regarded as a winter scene. The two
species—red and white breasted—are given in
the sketch and if one of them should sound the
peculiar call of the bird the picture would be
complete. These birds bear a close resemblance
to chickadees and sapsuckers and are easily mis-
taken for those birds. Their movements, while
very similar to the ones above named, have some
turns peculiar to the species. They seem to be
the real acrobats of the bird host. No other bird
gets up and down the trunk of the tree with the
perfect ease of these fellows. Head downward is
their favorite attitude and I am told they fre-
quently sleep in this position. They are adepts
at’ shaping their nests. In some half decayed
branch they excavate a hole eight or ten inches
deep. This they line with some soft material
and after rearing their young make it their home
for the remainder of the year. I scarcely ever
see them in my lawn trees only in the winter.
No other bird excels them in good-natured friend-
liness. I never see them quarreling with other
birds and among themselves they pass the time
in the fellowship of a household that is a unit
in its common aims and work. On the old farm
in my boyhood they were daily visitors during

BIRD PARADISE 225

the winter. These that I see now seem to be the
same birds that I saw sixty years ago, and so far
as their actions are concerned they are the same
fellows.

A pair of nuthatches patrolled my lawn trees
one day this week. The weather was not per-
fect, but it was not allowed to interfere in the
slightest degree with the birds. They went
about their business, which really looked like
play, in the cheery fashion peculiar to their race.
Up and down and all around they went, and I
fancied there was not a square inch on the trees
they did not look over. They would roll around
at times, as though hung on a pivot, the little
body balancing perfectly. They gave voice to
their feelings, and no more domestic sound can
be heard anywhere. With nuthatch, I am per-
fectly willing that he should keep the ripple of
song he possesses, for it certainly ripples in a
most delightful manner. What a great store-
house of food in common with the woodpecker
these fellows have nicely provided for themselves.
One who knows how perfectly, in the fall of the
year, cans a hundred and more different varie-
ties of meats, and all that nuthatch has to do

226 BIRD PARADISE

when hungry is to open a few of these cans and
appropriate the contents. So far as I know, none
of them ever spoil, or if they do, there is always
enough left to supply every possible want. Com-
mend me to nuthatch as a can opener. With
that little bill of his he loosens the cover, and
with a dexterous toss of the head throws it off,
taking the contents apparently in the very act of
opening. The know how of birds often seems to
be the outcome of a sort of instinct that works
with care and dispatch, even when entirely
untrained.

The hill country brook has a character all its
own. Then it has a phase of being which be-
longs wholly to the season through which it is
passing. I never cross one of the old-timers
without tarrying, if I have the time, to pro-
pound a few questions. It may sound a little
curious to say that I talk to the brook and the
brook talks to me. I am getting to the place
where I feel, if I do not know, that there is noth-
ing dumb in the wide domain of life but he that
won’t speak. The speech of the brook ripples
with good things. It mingles all with laughter.
It sings as it runs, and no other thing in nature

BIRD PARADISE — 227

is more alive or more sure of a hearing. The
winter stream, with its crystal ornaments, ap-
peals to all the best in all other hearts. Those
smooth stones in the channel, thrown together as
they are, never seem irregular or out of place.
Every sound of the stream murmurs with a winter
tone and the deeper pools flash out to the waiting
parson visions of victories where the water re-
joices. Ah, how much there is that is good in
the brook, that goes on forever !

A little nuthatch from the swamp interviewed
me this week. He came in to my lawn trees
without any particular ceremony, and I noticed
seemed to regard the locality as a part at least
of his home. One of the distinguishing charac-
teristics of our birds is the manner in which they
enjoy their privileges in Mother Nature’s great
house. All their movements indicate the owner-
ship in fee simple of the entire domain around
them. How easily they accomplish it all. They
all own it together and all enjoy it together.
‘‘Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness’’ in
their own house and in their own way—their
declaration of independence reads that way, and
they behave that way. My visitor went about

228 BIRD PARADISE

his special business and attended to it with assid-
uous care, never once even intimating that he
was anywhere else but at home. His soft note
was full of a domestic flavor that was most pleas-
ing. He stayed nearly all the forenoon, but the
call did not seem very long, as he amused him-
self most of the time. I took care to inform him
as best I could that he was always welcome.

Going quite early to the barn on a recent
morning, I was saluted by the call of the little
screech-owl. The fellow had dropped into one
of the evergreens on the front lawn and was evi-
dently desirous of surprising the parson with his
curious medley of sounds. I went out to the
tree and watched some little time, but failed to
get sight of the fellow. He kept up his call
until the sun looked over the eastern hill, and
the night was gone. Then I conclude he made
his way to the covers of the swamp just east of
the village. This owl is the smallest of the sev-
eral species known in our hill country, in fact,
I think at the present he is our only regular owl
resident. I sometimes hear his call in the night
and I hardly know of any other sound made by
birds that seems quite so uncanny. These little

BIRD PARADISE 229

fellows are great scavengers. Grubs, large in-
sects, mice, frogs and toads are among the viands
of their daily bread. JI suppose they make use
of some of the smaller birds when they come in
their way. I saw on the plains of the southwest
a little owl that seemed like an exact counterpart
of our diminutive friend. Its home was with
the prairie-dogs and it was known as the burrow-
ing owl. I learned that it occupied the holes
that the dogs had abandoned, living on good
terms with its active neighbors. I heard its call
and in some respects it resembled that of its
Northern kinsman. Another difference was quite
marked. Our Northern bird does all its active
work in the night ; the Southern bird is on duty
through the day, hiding away in the darker
rooms of its home during the night. Irather like
the call of this bird of the night. It savors of
life, even though its weirdness seems a little for-
bidding.

The chickadees have begun their annual visits
to my lawn trees. They time their first coming
to the ripeness of the season. Last week they
appeared and I have heard or seen them every
day since. I know of no other bird more domes-

230 BIRD PARADISE

tic in his tastes and the note he utters through
the day savors quite fully of quiet home life.
The young fellows begin the use of the note
pretty soon after they get command of the art
of flight. So far as I can tell the bird seems to
trill his note of song mostly for the comfort
which it secures to him. He goes on his way
searching the trees for bugs and worms, telling
out the gladness of his little heart almost at
every turn he makes, and he seems to be turning
all the time. Like his first cousins, the wood-
peckers, he appears to care very little what posi-
tion he is in, as he busies himself with his bird
duties. It is a standing marvel to me the amount
of food he manages to dispose of daily. Their
regular hour for eating is all the time through
the day. They begin with the day and fre-
quently I discover them, eating and eating, as
the sun goes down. It is simply wonderful how
the birds eat as they do and avoid nearly, or
quite, all sickness. Of course they can’t eat be-
tween meals for they only have one meal a day.
But continuous feasting, life apparently made up
almost wholly of that, it would seem might
throw good health to the winds, but nothing of
the kind appears. On and on they go, healthy
and happy. No use for doctors or medicine, no

BIRD PARADISE 231

aches or pains, no sighs or groans, nothing but
free-hearted, joyous bird life. Verily the fellows
seemed to have discovered the secret of living,
and living well.

I feel quite sure that all of our birds at differ-
ent seasons of the year take long journeys that
might be considered of the nature of migration
if not the thing itself. Those that remain North
in the winter will at times disappear from their
usual haunts, sometimes remaining away several
weeks. Frequently those that journey early to
the South, like the meadow-lark, will appear in
the old places, sometimes tarrying through the
winter. I never have seen any members of the
species that reach South America in their annual
migration returning North until the summer is
well established. Frequently we see larks and
robins here in mid-winter, and some entertain
the idea that there are birds that remain North
the entire season. It may be that they are cor-
rect in their conclusion. There are single birds
that seem to lose the sense of migration, and in
such a case they are obliged to tarry at the
North, getting along very well if they can secure
plenty of food. I am disposed to think that in

232 BIRD PARADISE

most cases where the birds are seen at the North
in the winter, such as larks and robins, they
have journeyed from the South—in some way
reaching their summer resort entirely out of
season. In all cases, however, there is no diffi-
culty in the birds getting along very nicely if
the food supply meets their wants. I notice that
all birds endure the cold very well if there is
plenty of food at their command.

One of my favorite winter birds is the pine
grosbeak. His visits are irregular, sometimes
two or three years passing without a single speci-
men of the species being seen in our hill country.
The last I saw I think was three years ago this
winter. The male bird wears a very handsome
suit, part of it quite brilliant in its bright red
color. They have no love for the sunny South,
at least they never visit that favored region, but
seem to be entirely satisfied with the cold and
snowy Northwest. Their regard for the ever-
green woods gives them a part of their name—
the thickness of the bill yielding the latter por-
tion. Their song, if the word can be rightly ap-
plied to it, is a sort of soft rambling warble
broken by a few whistling notes. They are

BIRD PARADISE 233

socially inclined, for I never see them only in
small flocks. Occasionally they appear in com-
pany with the crossbills—a bird that seems to
possess some of their traits besides being a winter
visitor to our hill country with the grosbeaks.
In the nesting season they hie away to the dense
forests of the far North, rarely ever breeding
south of the Canada line. I judge that the time
of their annual visits to our section is timed to
meet with and enjoy the inspiration of the driv-
ing cold and snow. Certainly their action as I
see them is of that cheery sort that makes the
best of existing conditions. Let them be what
they may, I am sure there are times when they
pass days without much food except the scant
supply which they manage to secure from the
wide snow-fields. The buds of the forest trees
are their principal reliance in the time of deep
snow.

A few birds were on duty, but the summer
songs were all among the things of the past. Far
down the ravine a small company of crows talked
together—occasionally sounding their trumpet
hoarsely through the wood. Under the wide
carpet of leaves I fancied I could hear the sub-

234 BIRD PARADISE

dued tones of the innumerable insects and worms
safely housed for the winter. Down the glen the
brook went its way, telling the same old story
that it was telling in my boyhood sixty years
ago. The great hemlocks, dark and solemn, did
not seem a day older than when I first knew
them. Several of them told me of the days long
Since passed and of the crows’ nests to which we
clambered with the keen delight of the hunter.
The outlook on the eastern side, which I had
seen hundreds of times, seemed new, as it does
each successive time I see it. I cherish the
notion that the birds and squirrels enjoy the
beautiful view just at their door. It is their
privilege to enjoy it and it does the parson good
to think they do—anyway it does no harm to en-
tertain the notion. Part of the way of under-
standing the birds and animals is by the way of
misunderstanding. Browning says, ‘‘ Through
the path of mistakes we reach the highway of
life,” and if the principle be a good one I like to
apply it broadly. I came out of the wood temple
by its southern gate where, sitting on the old
crooked fence, I mused of the facility with which
Mother Nature cleans and readorns her great
house. She commands the rains and frost, the
winds and sunshine, puts them all to work and

BIRD PARADISE — 235

lo! the transfiguration. Just a grand forward
march from use to use, from beauty to beauty.

This morning, just at the break of day, I
noticed the crows seemed to be in quite a quandary.
There was a thick fog and they rocked about in it
like ships on an unknown sea. Some of them
dropped down into my orchard and tumbled over
and over each other in trying to get their bear-
ings again. A crow lost is as helpless a creature
as one can well imagine. It seems to affect his
powers of flight. The wings work but some-
way allin vain. I suppose the feeling that he is
lost makes everything about him seem strange.
These fellows that landed in my orchard didn’t
appear to have the least idea who the parson was.
Their bowing and cawing was fully up to crow
politeness, but not in the least intended to apply
in that direction.. When they finally got out of
the dilemma and fairly on the wing I watched
them out of sight, and soon after heard an uproar
in my neighbor’s orchard, a repetition probably
of the twists and turns I had just witnessed. I
am always interested in the idiosyncrasies of crow
character. The don’t-care, bubbling-over ele-
ment in it is always at the front. Then the

236 BIRD PARADISE

ludicrous side of things seems to be on his vision
always. The more he is frightened the more odd
and whimsical he seems to be. His attitude after
he has recovered from one of his great frights is
the fellow at his best as a humorist. He struts
about with a sort of self-assertive air, utterly
scorning the idea that his equanimity has been in
the least disturbed. Crow assurance has no
modesty to recommend it.

From where I sit in my study, the broad slope
of Simmons’ hillside is in full view. The carpet
of snow covered it completely a few mornings ago,
and the morning sunbeams were dancing over the
crystals as though the dancers and crystals were
one life. I fancy they are one, far beyond our
knowledge. Just at the southern portal of the
hill a hawk was floating upon his broad wings,
apparently enjoying his house, all clean and
white. Down near the old maple at the hill foot
a pair of crows were lazily exploring the field, no
doubt looking for a savory morsel to break their
fast. What lumbering fellows they are, and yet
they fill their crow places very nicely. Ihave yet
to learn of a creature that is without place and use
in the great economy of being. Crossing the hill
a year or two ago I heard a harsh, loud scream.

BIRD PARADISE — 237

Looking up I saw an eagle high in the air, mov-
ing toward the north. With what grace and
strength he moved, denizen of the earth, and yet
free to command and use his little ship of state.
I watched him until he hung a mere speck far
over toward Oneida Lake. Now and then one of
these great birds strays into our hill country, but
their visits are few and far between. The
meadows of this hill are favorite resorts for the
meadow-larks. I never pass there in the nesting
months without hearing their song, and when the
young fellows are leaving the nest I often get a
view of the family training school, which is really
a house of more than seven gables. I havea
notion that the old Psalmist had something more
than the mere physical structure of the hill in
mind when he wrote: ‘‘I will lift up mine eyes
unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.”
Why not, all the life of the hill,—one common
heart in it all.

Occasionally I see a flock of the goldfinches,
all nicely transformed into real birds of the snow.
What a genuine bird’s life they lead the entire
year through. At the height of the summer they
build their nests and rear their families. Then
they sing and give praise with the best member

2383 BIRD PARADISE

they have. At that time they dress in brilliant
colors and go about happy as the day is long.
When the. nesting season is over they all put on
new suits. Curious that the females renew theirs
in precisely the same sober color that distin-
guishes them in the opening of the season.
Curious, too, that the males should wear the
brighter colors. But stranger yet, the new suit
of the male is precisely like that of the female.
All the winter through they sport together,
dressed in suits of olive green—the males shifting
back to the summer suits when the spring opens.
They are among the brightest of our winter birds.
I see them frequently in a field, where the waving
stalks of grass and weeds offer them an inviting
feast. Their manner of taking it savors of the ut-
most freedom. The table is a wide one, and the
guests go from seat to seat, uttering their winter
call and feasting to their hearts’ content. I am
told that like the snow-buntings they frequently
make their bed in the snow—the soft robe of
crystals folding about their little forms giving
abundant warmth and protection.

The winter story of the partridges is a book of
the swamp fastnesses well worth perusing. If the

BIRD PARADISE — 239

fellows are left to themselves they manage to fill
up the pages of their daily life with some of the
best of bird experience. There isno other bird of
my acquaintance that carries about with him
cleaner thought and action. I say thought.
Surely what is it if it be not thought? I have
watched them often when they were unaware of
my presence and the movements they made be-
tokened thought, or at least what we call thought
in man. The process by which the old birds
warn their young of approaching danger and the
methods they take to lead the enemy in a counter
direction all show a kind of reasoning that is near
enough genuine to be the article itself. I think
partridge loves the snow. His suit of winter
clothing is every way admirable for the season.
It is so woven that it keeps dry even in the days
and nights of driving rain. Impervious to the
cold and easily kept clean, though worn months.
without washing, he seems to be in perfect order
for all kinds of weather. The buds on the trees.
supply him with food, while the pure white snow
furnishes a warm cozy bed that is always ready
for use. What a book such a house could issue
-ifit had the means of publishing well in hand—
rather, what a book it does issue, and how
cheerily it reads to him who understands.

240 BIRD PARADISE

The weather certainly greeted us this year with
the true Christmas greeting. Coldand crisp, with
good sleighing, filled the record completely. The
parson tested it somewhat with a short walk and
found it perfect for the day. Enough snowflakes
sifted down to mark the hours properly, and the
breezes tossed them hither and thither in real
Christmas style. We noticed that the fleecy
clouds were having a real carnival. All day
long, and far into the night they danced to lively
tunes which the northwest winds played for them,
and such feasting as winds and clouds enjoyed
comes to them only now and then. Ilike to fancy
that the keen, frosty air is a great Christmas cake
prepared especially for the clouds and winds.
Then the notion gets place with me that all the
good things which contribute to a real winter’s
day find in each other the other self. It looks
that way, and then it is only a step to the fancy
that each workman in the great house is a sort of
living creature. Why, sometimes I am quite sure
I hear them saying with the Master, ‘‘ Wist ye
not that I must be about my Father’s business?’
And how grandly they say it. Just a great mag-
nificent song set to music that is surely heavenly.
As I pen these words the winds are coming out of

BIRD PARADISE 241

the west ruddy with the cold, but so elated with
it all that I find myself saying, ‘‘ All the winds
of the sky-fields clap their hands.’’ Note this:
There is no scrap of time in the wide realm of
nature wasted. Every moment is saved, and
every day is Christmas Day.

In the storm of snow the other morning I
was quite sure that I caught the notes of snow-
bunting’s winter call. The wind was blowing a
gale, cold, keen and biting, and the snowflakes
filling the air—bunting’s favorite weather. The
sounds indicated that a small flock of the birds
was riding on the wings of the wind, enjoying
themselves as only snowbirds can. I was in
hopes that they would drop down to the pastures
below, but they had other plans more to their
liking. I have no doubt but that the flock I
heard had been on the wing all night long.
While our hill residents were courting ‘‘ balmy
sleep’’ the buntings were courting the winds—
greeting them as hale fellows well met. What
an experience they passed through. From far
away to the north they had taken their wonderful
trolley the evening before and the long journey
of hundreds of miles had been the merest pastime

242 BIRD PARADISE

to them. Someway they jolly not only them-
selves as they travel, but they give one the im-
pression that they extend the same greeting to
everything else that they meet. The great storm
of wind and snow seems to give them the keenest
delight. Their storm song has a crystal sound
as though the snowflakes themselves were ren-
dering the music of living creatures. In their
long flights the buntings take but little food. I
sometimes wonder if they have not outstripped
us a little in mastering the calls of the fleshly
temple. The temple is there and the calls, but
the heart of the bunting turns to the winds and
cold, finding its greatest delight in their stirring
fellowship.

What a fine cold storage plant our birds and
smaller animals have at their command during
the winter season. I have been noting its excel-
lencies and find that in pumber and quality they
are not easily surpassed. The grass over the sur-
face of all our fields is so woven together that in
many places it forms a fine thick carpet. In the
meshes of this covering grubs and insects innu-
merable find their winter home. The blasts of
the north wind announce to the vast hosts that

BIRD PARADISE 243

the hour of their long slumber has arrived.
Curious how the viands stored in this refrigerator
all keep fresh by keeping alive, and the keeper
of it all is cold and frost. But see the conveni-
ence of the whole matter. The feasters, crows
and other birds, foxes and smaller animals, when
hungry have simply to tarry right where they
are—dining-table everywhere—and feast upon
the greatest variety of food put before any body
of feasters. The loaves and fishes of this vast
world have not as yet been numbered by any one
and the fragments are ever being gathered but
never measured.

One of our smallest winter visitors is the red-
poll linnet. Locally it bears the name of the
little snowbird and in many respects is among
the most interesting of our winter birds. When
the time of housekeeping arrives he hies away
to the shores of the Arctic Seas, so far away that
I think very few have seen its nest or heard its
nesting song. The musical effort it makes in its
winter haunts is a sort of rambling lisp that one
is quite willing should quickly reach its con-
cluding note. Like the snow-bunting this bird
seems the happiest when the cold and storm of

244 BIRD PARADISE

wind and snow are at their height. Their visits
to this section are not made every year ; in fact
it is now several years since I have seen the
little fellows. It is marvelous how such a small
package of bird life goes to and fro in the snow
and cold apparently perfectly oblivious to the
biting sting of the weather. For months they
romp and rollick through the snow country, per-
fectly satisfied with all their surroundings. Their
food is easily obtained, as it consists largely of
the weed seeds found in the hedgerows and old
fields. In times of great depth of snow they use
the buds of the trees—a repast that is always
ready for them. Redpoll, like most of our winter
birds, is socially inclined, though I think he pre-
fers the gatherings made up of his own species.
He wears a coat of a rich crimson color and is evi-
dently quite satisfied with his brilliant personal
appearance. We always extend to them a hearty
welcome, for their coming is redolent with the
best of bird cheer.

I heard the loud cries of the blue jays this
morning. They had come up from the swamp
and were having a little blue jay fun in my neigh-
bor’s orchard. They have visited the village

“BIRD PARADISE 245

only two or three times this winter—something
unusual in our hill country experience. When
the weather is open they doubtless find plenty of
food in the woods and swamps. The deep snow
interferes somewhat with their food supply and
sends them searching for it in the orchards and
lawns of the village. Of course they bring their
bugle with them, and are sure to use it if they
have a shadow of a chance to do so. [I like the
note they use if I do not have too much of it. It
certainly has more to recommend it in the winter
than in the summer. Someway the snow-fields
seem to soften the tone in a measure. Then the
belligerent echo of the summer is absent also,
which is certainly a great improvement. The
jay throws down the gauntlet to all other birds.
He is utterly careless regarding their rights. I
sometimes fancy that he has the notion that the
world was made especially for him. Some day,
perhaps, in the forward march of evolution he
may appear in a new character, and how his fel-
low birds will enjoy the coming of that day !

My first visit from the blue jays this winter oc-
curred this week. Quite a number of them came
up from the swamp and for a time the village

246 BIRD PARADISE

rang with their sharp voices. When I first saw
them they were passing to and fro in the park,
evidently enjoying their visit as a sort of Christ-
mas carnival. There was some food hunting, in
fact that is a large portion of the work of all our
winter birds. I say work, but really their food
is so arranged that about all they have to do is to
go from tree to tree and simply pick itup. I
rather enjoy watching them when feasting. Their
table manners are perfect after their kind, and
while they are not over-generous in sharing the
viands with one another there is a certain kind
of fellowship in what they do that savors of real
brotherhood. I noticed that one of the birds
made a careful inspection of the old nests that
hung on the leafless trees. With his stout bill he
tore them apart and scattered the pieces over the
snow. From some of the movements that he
made I inferred that he found some food there,
which suited his taste. I studied their callsa
little, hoping to decipher some of their meaning.
For my pains I did not receive much more than
I already possessed. They knew what they meant
and used the knowledge no doubt to advantage.
The faultless fit of their bright blue suits was
most noticeable and their spotless appearance
added not a little to the attractiveness of their

BIRD PARADISE — 247

company. Blue jay in the winter is really a very
attractive companion.

Quite a number of the inhabitants of our hill
country have gone into winter quarters. From
what I see I judge that the process is an easy one
—simply going to sleep, having first found the
right place. The insects perhaps—the greater
portion of them—are always in the right place.
The stroke of cold comes and the rubicon is crossed
without any thought or even slightest sign of
preparation. If the weather be favorable the lit-
tle fellows may wake and sleep a dozen times
during the winter without any particular harm
ensuing. The earthworms have a sort of pre-
sentiment of what is coming and take refuge in
the lower rooms of their large mansion. The ants
and grubs, toads and frogs close the outside doors
of their various houses and drop off to sleep with
no thought troubling them as to when or how
awakening may come. The woodchuck retires
to the deepest part of his underground cottage
and even before the cold and snow arrive has for-
gotten life and all its cares. Two or three times
I remember seeing the bat in full position for the
winter’s campaign. One might readily think

248 BIRD PARADISE

that they would find a nook weil out of sight of
all earthly things, but nothing of the kind ap-
peared in the instances that came to my knowledge.
In the darker part of the old barn loft, the little
hooks along the edges of the wings were fastened
to the board or rafter, and thus suspended the lit-
tle creature braved with perfect success the cold
and frosts of winter. When to do it and how to
do it they seem to understand perfectly.

The weather makes itself felt among the wild
creatures, as it does among human beings. This
I note, however, with the birds, that is not as
common with the lords of creation as it ought to
be. They seem to meet it all with a cheerful
spirit, and if food be plentiful go on from day to
day in ajoyful manner. Even as I write a com-
pany of chickadees are passing to and fro in my
lawn trees, and though the weather is cold and
snowy there is not a bird other than bright and
happy. Of course they are warmly clothed and
have nothing else to do but eat, drink, and be
merry, yet that does not always insure happiness.
Sometimes the conditions appear perfect, and the
creature’s action exceedingly imperfect. But I
see so little of this among the birds that I rarely

BIRD PARADISE — 249

have occasion to note it down. My black cap
friends have no knowledge, I believe, of any other
manners but those that are recorded in the book
of life. If behavior carries the birds safely within
the house beautiful then chickadee has nothing to
fear. Among the saints of the bird host these
little fellows rank high ; in fact Isee no way they
can be outranked. Their winter cottages are
nicely located in the hollow of a sheltering tree,
and in the cold season of the year they have few
enemies to trouble them. Sometimes several of
the little fellows occupy a single cottage—a stroke
of wisdom that enhances the comfort of the com-
mon house wonderfully. In the thicker part of
the old swamp these chickadee homes appear, and
sometimes when I drop in upon them the entire
village comes out to greet me.

I have watched a little lately expecting some
winter visitors from the Arctic regions. One of
the most lively and cordial of them all is the lit-
tle pine siskin or pine-finch as it is sometimes
called. They are not regular visitors to our lo-
cality, but I see them nearly every winter. As
the name indicates they are lovers of the ever-
greens and spend most of their time in the pines

250 BIRD PARADISE

and larches, They use in their winter haunts a
feeble call note, but of course like other birds save
their song for the nesting season. They are about
the size of the common goldfinch, and appear very
much the same, as I see them. I have seen it
stated that they sometimes build nests and rear
their young in the winter. As most of their food
is furnished by the pine and spruce cones they
would have no difficulty in finding a supply for
the young birds. Some writers state that they
occasionally breed in the Adirondacks and North-
ern New England, but I have never seen their
nest. I frequently see the siskins and goldfinches
feeding together in the hedgerows, and as their
‘winter dress is nearly the same in color they are
easily confounded. They have the dipping flight
of the goldfinch, and the few notes they use re-
semble those of that bird.

Our great flock of crows is now slowly forming.
I notice that the regular annual movement of the
host is asserting its power. Somewhere east of
us the roosting place has evidently been selected
and early every morning the black fellows wing
their way to the wide pasture which I fancy ex-
tends a hundred miles and more westward. I

BIRD PARADISE 251

wonder if other great flocks have place in our
Northern country. Of course there is room for
them and doubtless they fill that room. The
crow is a sort of nondescript among the birds.
I have noticed that he is quite apt to do what we
do not expect him todo. In fact that seems to
be the upshot of most of his action with his fel-
lows. To all appearance he enjoys a real sally
of wit with the keenest zest. When he is off
guard all his movements savor of a drollery that
is most amusing. Nothing that he enjoys more
than poking that long bill of his into the busi-
ness of all his fellows and he is sure to do it if he
has half a chance. I have watched them getting
settled in their roosting place for the night. No
minstrel show was ever more amusing. They
are all end men, and I often feel that most of the
noise they make is genuine laughter. No crea-
ture that I know is more given to the convivial
than the crow. If matters are favorable he eats
most of the time. The coverts of the grass are
stored with his principal food and he enjoys it
all with true crow gusto. How the fellow keeps
the fires of life burning on some of our zero
nights is a mystery to the parson. Think of that
bedchamber on the bare limb of a great tree,
the winds tossing the limb and ruffling Mr.

252 BIRD PARADISE

Crow’s feathers all the night through! Mani-
festly the fellow is totally undisturbed by it all.
He is the same old crow whether he sleeps or
wakes, whether it be cold or warm. He acts as
though he had fully learned how to make the
best of things, let them be what they may. Why
is not that alone quite a liberal education ?

I saw this week a small flock of snow-buntings
having one of their bird games in the very midst
of the snow-storm. There was hardly sufficient
stress of wind to meet the requirements of one of
their games and yet they made full use of what
was proffered them. They jollied the flakes of
snow, whirling about among them as though they
were all living creatures. Some of them went
far up the stairway of the sky, even passing out
of sight among the whirling flakes. Others went
down to the old pasture back of the cemetery,
where they partook of a real feast spread bounte-
ously for them in one of the hedgerows there. I
notice they vary their winter song to suit the
occasion. When riding full speed on the wings
of the wind they use a song that almost seems to
be a part of the storm itself. When taking their
food they shape the song into a very quiet re-

BIRD PARADISE 253

frain that can be heard only a short distance
away, and on a pleasant day they trill a song in
keeping with the day but not as loud and stir-
ring as when the storm israging. Happy fellows
they all seem to be and most gladly we give them
the right hand of fellowship.

I see the peculiar tracks of the skunk here and
there in the soft snow. The singular character
of this creature is very plainly pictured in the
trail he leaves behind him. His movement is of
the sluggish sort and the footprints are multi-
plied in number far beyond those of any other of
our smaller animals. Last night one of these
fellows walked around my barn two or three
times. He took good care to examine every
crevice he could find, and I noticed that where
the fowls were snugly sleeping he made extra
efforts to push his way into the enclosure.
Of course, the fowls protested, the noise they
made frightening the intruder away. I could
see where he moved across the field, leav-
ing a well-plowed furrow in the snow. This
animal can hibernate at will. When he chooses
he can snuggle down in some out-of-the-way
place and pass days pretty much oblivious to

254 BIRD PARADISE

all things about him. Then when he chooses
he can wake from sleep and take up the duties
of his narrow life again. At times I more than
half conjecture he is far from pleased with the
path he is treading in the journey of time. The
trappers make his way a thorny one, and every
winter hundreds pay the penalty of wearing a
coat that is of large value in the marts of human
trade. In Oklahoma we had a species of the
skunk family not much larger than the common
brown rat. They had all the characteristics of
the larger species except size, and frequently
dwelt under the same roof with the human
brother.

How the brooks rejoice in a real January thaw.
Of course they are attractive even when chilled
with the frost and cold. Their light is rarely
ever so shadowed by the bushel that its beauties.
are completely hidden. But when zephyrs from
the South play with the snow, setting the white
crystals to dancing with an almost forgotten
warmth, then the rippling laughter of innumer-
able rills is heard everywhere. Down through
the fields they flow, wandering with a sort of jolly
freedom that is most exhilarating. Istood by the

BIRD PARADISE -— 255

channel of White Creek the other day when
the offering of the broad hillside was being
received by the larger stream. From every
side the little rivulets were bringing their
treasure and pouring it without stint into the
keeping of the main current. The scene was in-
spiring. Each rill sang its own song, the brook
itself blending and harmonizing the many strains,
making the occasion a concert long to be remem-
bered. I turned away from it all with the feel-
ing that Mother Nature had given me a large
glimpse of some of the beautiful things in her
great house.

For some reason there have been an unusual
number of woodpeckers in our hill country this
winter. I see them every day in my lawn trees,
busy I suppose with the many duties that fall to.
their lot. As I see them they seem to have but
one object really in life. To all appearances eat-
ing is the one great duty and privilege that they
seek to honor with all their might. Ina very
marked manner somebody is saying to them every
moment, ‘Dinner is served.” Anditis. The
table set for them is by far the largest extension
table I know. "Wherever trees are standing there.

256 BIRD PARADISE

the table is, and such a variety of viands as ap-
pear is scarcely known anywhere else. Man uses
a very few of the different species of creatures
for food, but my woodpecker parishioners appro-
priate countless numbers during the year, es-
pecially during the winter season. Many of them
are smaller, I am sure, than the human eye can
discern, and one might conclude that feasting on
such minute particles of food would hardly ever
enable the eater to really feel or say, ‘‘ Enough.”
Curious that a part of this large family migrates,
though most of the species remain here the entire
year. Why they do and why they do not are of
the secrets not yet uncovered to mortals.

With the coming of the snow I am sure to re-
ceive calls from the birds who linger with us
through the winter. Many of the calls have for
their incentive a business motive. But they come
frequently when the social element is largely to
the front. Their method of shaking hands is full
of real bird spirit, and while what they say is
somewhat obscure it has a cheery tone which I
greatly enjoy. Among the smaller winter birds
the chickadee certainly ranks very high. They
seldom look in upon me in the summer—just why I

BIRD PARADISE 257

do not kuow—but in the winter they are almost
daily visitors. What a clean domestic flavor
marks their brief song. It comes down from the
tree as though the heart of the tree was in it. In
the wood they seem to regard themselves as
custodians of the best hospitality the sylvan aisles
afford. Very often when I visit Bird Paradise a
little bevy of chickadees will meet me at the en-
trance and accompany my steps throughout the
entirestroll. Their attitude is that of hospitality,
and someway its greeting is warm-hearted,
through and through.

The woodpeckers are now occupied with their
daily winter rounds. I see them in my lawn trees
busy with work which no doubt is of great mo-
ment to them. So far asI can tell from what I
see these birds are fortunate in having no other
occupation but that of picking up their daily
bread. Every moment of their waking time is
given to it, and the marvel is how those small
bodies can compass so much. I sometimes get
the notion that their daily menu is all comprised
in two or three different dishes, and I wonder how
the fellows can keep so sleek and cheerful on so
spare a diet. Butis it true that a few articles con-

258 BIRD PARADISE

stitute the sum total of their regular food? For
aught we know there are hundreds of delectable
things, all nicely prepared and put upon the table
of the great tree restaurant. The bird can stroll
about and select what he pleases—having new and
fresh viands.every meal. There are a dozen
problems that trouble seriously the many mortals
of the humau family that never give a particle of
unrest to our bird brethren. No defect in their
cookery. Servant problem not a part of their
histury. Fashion, style, cook books, no use for
them. Come and go, eat and sleep, romp and
play, woodpecker life, and yet I suspect they are
not quite satisfied with it. If I mistake not the
aspiration to be what they are not is ever their
quest, and who shall say how largely the quest is
honorable ?

The flocking together of the birds shows the
working of the social instinct and I often fancy,
especially in the winter, that the large gatherings
further some scheme that seems of common in-
terest to the entire species. Take the blue jay,
for instance. Yesterday morning I heard their
loud calls from Addington’s orchard, fifteen or
twenty of the blue-coated fellows vieing together
in a concourse of blue jay calls that I do not re-

BIRD PARADISE 259

member to have seen excelled in all my knowl-
edge of birds. I watched them for a while, but
could not make out just what they were trying
to do. The presiding officer, if there was one,
had several assistants, and every member of the
conclave had something to say, and I thought
said it over several times. The orchard where I
saw the party is a sort of favorite place with
them, and I notice they are fond of gathering
there very early in the morning. They can easily
reach it from the swamp and, I apprehend, the
acoustics of the place favor its selection with the
jays. Contrary to their usual custom, they went
directly back to the swamp, where I heard them
a little later, telling over doubtless the story of
the early morning. Their word vocabulary is
small, a single expletive serving for winter use,
but I fancy they vary the meaning of each call
by some subtle shade of expression known only
to the jays.

Wednesday morning of last week gave the most
princely showing of nature life that has ever
fallen to my lot to see. The night before the
winter artist had been at work while men slept,
putting a robe studded with splendid jewels over
all the trees and fields in the great house. When

260 BIRD PARADISE

I first looked out upon the scene there was just
enough light to show the sheen of white thrown
broadcast everywhere. The crown was put in
place just at sunrise. There were a few loose
clouds in the eastern sky, enough to lift the sun-
beams, as it were, giving each what seemed to be
a new power. The white was given a glimmer
like molten silver and with it colors appeared,
violet, pink and yellow mingling and dancing
among the crystals until the beauty of it all be-
came so weird and grand that it fairly fascinated
the eye that saw and felt its power. Ah, the
magic influence of it all, just ‘speaking and it
is done.” Then what a gallery it is, vast, and
free as it is vast. I wait where its shadows fall,
and the faintest gleam of the faintest shadow is
of the very tracery of life, jewels of the fadeless
crown.

An extensive walk last week took me along the
borders of the swamp and far afield in the open
reaches beyond. It was a cool, foggy day and I
did not expect to meet many of the inhabitants
or fall in with any new adventures. I knocked
at the doors of the ant-hills, but received no re-
sponse. I noticed that all the gates of their
mansions were closed tightly, and knew the resi-

BIRD PARADISE 261

dents were well entered upon the unbroken quiet
of their long winter campaign. A brief conver-
sation with the crows revealed the fact that they
were rejoicing over the somewhat unusual supply
of food they had in the desiccated grasshoppers
stored nicely in the wide cupboard of the thick
grass. I assured the fellows that I knew of no
better use to which the grasshopper could be put.
Just at the brook side, where the water ripples
away to the valley below, I saw where the musk-
rats had preémpted a claim and were busy put-
ting up their winter cottages. Just beyond their
cabins I saw in the light snow the trail Mr. Fox
leaves behind him as he goes tripping along.
Returning, I came upon a flock of yellowbirds
feeding on the seeds that waved in the tall grass
at the roadside. Their salutation to the parson
was bright and cheery, a very proper conclusion
with which to close a long stroll.

A pair of nuthatches have been over from the
swamp this afternoon and given an hour or more
to patrolling my lawn trees. They belong to the
woodpecker family and although the smallest of
this large household are in some respects the
most attractive. I rarely see them in companies
of more than two, but the two are social after a

262 BIRD PARADISE

very pleasant pattern. I know of no other bird
that excels nuthatch in all the evidences of good
breeding. I never have known him to utter a
harsh note. His ways are ways of peace. Even
his note of song, like the bluebird’s, is so gauged
that it always seems the offering of a good heart.
But the most pronounced of his many virtues
is the domestic air which accompanies all his
actions. Someway he appears like a true lover
of home, with all its family cares and pleasures.
His salutation to his mate honors bird fellowship
with some of its best greetings. The pair hunt
and work and play together, never showing the
least sign of disagreement. When I want a stroke
of true bird manliness I turn to nuthatch, and so
far he never has failed to fill the bill perfectly.
Quite frequently, when I am strolling through
the swamp, I knock at the fellow’s door in one
of the old trees of the place. How his little
head pops out of the open door and how quickly
he follows it with the active body! I know of
no cozier home among the birds, especially in
the winter months. The door of the home, like
the hearts of its inmates, always stands wide
open, and one of the parson’s keen enjoyments
is the greeting that follows a hearty pull of nut-
hatch’s latch-string.

BIRD PARADISE — 263

I saw yesterday a party of hunters wending
their way to the swamp south of the village. A
little later I heard the sharp report of their guns.
No protest came from the partridges so far as I
know, but the blue jays lifted up their voices and
I fancied commanded quiet. If they did do any-
thing of the kind they certainly failed in their
effort, for I heard the shooting for an hour or
more. What a stirring, forceful fellow the blue
jay is! When I hear him from the thickets of
the swamp he seems to be almost all scream. His
call is a scream, and there is no vestige of any-
thing but harshness in it. Living as a pirate
back through the ages, so he has a voice match-
ing his character, hard, sharp, and most forbid-
ding. There is scarcely anything the jay says or
does that I really enjoy. He wears his blue coat
gracefully, but that is merely the husk of a kind
of ‘‘full corn in the ear’’ which bird lovers care
very little about harvesting.

A fine specimen of the hairy woodpecker made
me a visit this week. I first saw him in the
orchard, and one might readily infer from his ac-
tions that he had been engaged to clear the entire

264 BIRD PARADISE

place of insect pests. A little later he appeared
in the lawn trees, still engaged in his favorite
work. He seemed to know right where the grubs
and flies harbored, and surely his method of se-
curing them could not be excelled. I noticed
that his winter suit was not only a perfect fit, but
it was made of a material that sparkled in the
sunlight in a most attractive way. This species
is the largest of all that stop with us during the
winter. J have a notion that he does some mi-
gratory work as the year passes. I miss them for
a time during the cold season, and also for a time
in the fall of the year. As they have nothing
really to keep them in any one place, why should
they not take ajourney? In fact, everything fa-
vorsit. Their larder is as extensive as the entire
country, and it is always open to their feasting.
Their roads are highways never blocked, and
their trolley system furnishes a rapid, cheap and
comparatively safe method of transportation.
Equipped as they are, one can easily entertain
the notion that journeying is their forte. At any
rate, the jolly workers are ‘‘hale fellows well
met’’ with the parson.

A downy woodpecker someway has become
possessed with the idea that he should visit the

BIRD PARADISE — 265

parson at least once daily. He comes into my
lawn house unannounced, but all the same largely
welcome. I rarely see him in company with any
other bird, no, not even with one of his own
species. What a faultlessly neat suit of clothes
he wears, and how surprisingly spotless he keeps
them, wearing them as he does night and day for
more than half the year. Both the tailor and the
laundress of this bird are adepts in their respective
vocations. Occasionally he speaks a single word
—an utterance that seems to fall from his tongue
entirely unstudied. If he means anything by the
effort I have not been able to divine what it is.
His different positions at the table where he feasts
so extensively box the compass completely every
three minutes. If he captures the game he pur-
sues, the particular angle of the bodily presence
is a thing oblivious to his consciousness. All
winter long this bird, or others like him, will look
in upon my small domain nearly every day, bring-
ing with them their own special life and cheer.
They must know that their welcome is as large as
I can make it.

The school children discovered a little screech-
owl in the church sheds. In the olden days the

266 BIRD PARADISE

discovery would have been the occasion of a com-
bined hunt, resulting, very likely, in the death
of the owl. As it was there was some hunting
done, and the little fellow took refuge in the rec-
tory barn. The bird found a niche which his
pursuers could not find and made good his escape.
The boys assured me that they wanted to catch
him, show him to me, then give him his freedom
again. I approved of the motive and told the
boys I would get my eye on the fellow during the
winter. What bright little fellows these owls
are! Isee them quite often and hear them fre-
quently in the night-time. They are not adepts
in their musical efforts, and still I rather enjoy
the weird notes that they manage to utter. It is
curious that the counterpart of our screech-owl
should be found only in the Southwest. There
they live with the prairie-dogs, and at a little
distance appear the same as our Northern bird. I
do not think the dogs are fond of the owls’ com-
pany, though they tolerate it with a very good
grace. In the olden time the screech-owl and his
first cousin, the barn-owl, were regular guests in
the farm buildings. Some of them nested there
every season, rendering a full equivalent for their
comfortable quarters in catching rats and mice.
They do some harm among the chickens when

BIRD PARADISE 267

they are small, but on the whole render a service
in the destruction of vermin far greater than the
injury they do.

The snow sifted down until it lay on the fields
and lawns two or three inches deep. The morn-
ing song of the birds was omitted and the birds
themselves seemed to be a little dazed by the un-
usual weather. I saw the robins later in the day
looking around as though a condition of things
had been introduced of which their counsels had
taken no note. Most of the birds found their
way to the shelter of the woods and swamps and
some I suppose took the bird trolley for a
warmer clime. How they keep in touch with
things so nicely I have no means of knowing,
but someway they do, and are able to make good
use of their knowledge. It is rarely that I can
persuade the robins to take any food that I pre-
pare for them at such atime. If I do get it to
them it has to be done in such a way as to
awaken no suspicion that it is other than a per-
fectly natural table spread before Mr. Robin. I
have a notion that most of our birds can get
along nicely with any kind of weather if they
have access to a plentiful supply of good food.

268 BIRD PARADISE

On the old farm the robins, bluebirds and spar-
rows would domicile in the big barns and in that
manner tide over the cold storm handsomely. It
may be that they can abstain from food for sev-
eral days without any serious results following.
I have known some species, notably the little
grebe, to refuse all food for ten days without ap-
parently suffering in the least. This may be
one of the ways that ‘‘God tempers the wind to
the shorn lamb.’’ The recent storm gave us the
damp snow. It clung to the trees, clothing them
in a mantle of fleecy white. The birds seemed
to regard it as a special festival in their honor.
They would fly into the trees scattering crys-
tals and calling to one another like a company of
boys at play. The sun came out a little later
and every bush and tree flamed with fire that
seemed to inspire the birds with new zeal.

INDEX

Index

BLUEBIRDS, 17, 19, 73

Blue Jays, 181, 244, 245, 258,
263

Bobolink, 25, 67, 72, 74, 85,
97, 120, 131

Brown Creeper, 50

CATBIRD, 70

Chickadee, 216, 222, 229, 248,
256

Cow-Bunting, 100

Crow Blackbirds, 76

Crows, 181, 185, 196, 205, 235,
250

Cuckoo, 71, 125

Duck, 111

FLICKER, 36, 40, 44, 47,53» 59,
66, 81, 84, 98, 119
Fly-Catcher, 116, 127

GEESE, 111

Geese (Wild), 202

Goldfinch, 237

Grackle, 76

Grebes, 187

Grosbeak (Pine), 232
Grosbeak (Rose Breasted), 139

HAWKE, 134, 169
Hawk (Hen), 115, 123
Hawk (Marsh), 124, 130

Hawk (Night), 168
Hawk (Sparrow), 35, 108, 121
Humming-Bird, 150, 155

KILDEER, 26, 29, 38, I10

Kingfisher, 52

Kinglets (Golden Crowned and
Ruby Crowned), 30, 33, 163

LaRK, 231

Lark (Meadow), 42, 55
Lark (Shore or Horned), 16
Linnet (Red Poll), 243

NUTHATCHES, 194, 223, 225,
227, 261

ORIOLES, 89, 117

Owls, 165, 193

Owls (Screech), 212, 214, 228,
265

PARTRIDGE, 18, 238
Passenger Pigeon, 41, 46
Pewee, 24

Pewee (Wood), 211

Pine Siskin or Pine-Finch, 249
Plover (Golden), 175

ROBIN, 23, 27, 63, 65, 75,91,
102, 114, 203, 267

SCARLET TANAGER, 153

272

INDEX

Snow-Bunting, 189, 205, 241,
252

Sparrows (English), 180, 188,
207, 209

Sparrows (Junco), 28, 31

Sparrows (Tree), 170

Sparrows (Vesper), 172

Swallows, 80, 109

Swallows (Eave), 83

THRUusH, 69, 96, 133

VirxOs, 152

WARBLER, 57, 132, 157

Warbler (Yellow), 154

Water Birds, 113

Woodcock, 64

Woodfinch, 86

Woodpecker, 162, 200, 201,
255, 257

Woodpecker (Downy), 198,
264

Woodpecker (Gray), 48

Wookpecker (Hairy), 263

YELLOWBIRDS, 190